Chapter 4
“Riley!”
The coffee pot in my hand jumps at my mother’s screech and dark liquid spills on the counter. I yank out my earbuds. “What?” I snap, reaching for a paper towel.
She comes around the kitchen island and points at my arms. “Are those tattoos?”
“They’re henna.” I throw the towel in the trash and finish pouring her coffee.
Brown eyes widen on the red ink swirls around my little biceps while fingers with gnawed on nails rub a temple. “What does that mean?”
I push the coffee toward her, smiling at her obvious shock. “They’re not permanent.”
She doesn’t reach for the cup. “Then what’s the point?”
Drum beats echo throughout the kitchen until I dig out my iPod from my pocket and slide it to off. “Because I didn’t want to wear a bunch of bracelets,” I say as if that explains everything.
Her expression remains perplexed as she reaches for her coffee. Like usual she looks tired. Though it’s after nine in the morning, she’s still in her robe. Her shoulder length brown hair is damp, so at least she took a shower. There have been several days this summer when my mother stayed in her robe and laid around in bed until it was time to get ready for work at two in the afternoon. The change from part-time day employee to nighttime manager at the department store she’s worked at for years has been challenging for her, and then there’s the divorce of course.
My fingers drum on the counter. “I…um, joined a band.” I hadn’t wanted to discuss the whole band thing with her unless I made it. “Chloe wanted me to wear a bunch of bracelets, but I can’t drum—” My mother’s raised brows have me pausing.
“A band?”
“You know with guitars and a crowd.” I open the dishwasher and grab a stack of clean plates.
“Really?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Do you have time with your classes?”
“Mom,” I say over my shoulder as I stack dishes in the cupboard. “I didn’t even take a full semester. I already earned credits for Calculus and Senior AP English. Just for the fall, I went light.”
“What about Jamie?”
I’m aware this is what’s really bothering her. Mostly, she doesn’t want Jamie with sitters, but I know money’s on her mind too. “We only practice three times a week. By next month, it will be just two, and Chloe said she would watch Jamie on the nights you’re not home.”
“Hmmm…” She takes a sip of coffee and looks past my shoulder toward the sliding glass doors that lead to the yard and pool. The lines of her forehead are tight as she glances back at my arms. “What kind of band?”
“They play mostly Alternative Rock.”
“Girls?”
I shake my head and open the silverware drawer. “Just me.”
Worry lines her pensive expression. “Where will you be playing?”
“I saw them at the old movie theater down town. So probably there. Maybe some bars,” I add with shrug and drop in a pile of forks.
Her hands spray on the counter. “Riley, you sure this is a good idea?”
Several thoughts run through my head. Foremost is the fact if I was away at college like I should be, she wouldn’t even know what I was doing. Then there’s the fact I’m almost nineteen. But I don’t want to be disrespectful to her. “Mom, this is my chance to still play and be part of something.”
Jamie runs into the kitchen. “Mommy!” she says in a squeal and wraps my mother in a hug around her waist. Now that my mom works full time instead of part time in the mornings Jamie sees a lot less of her, which saddens me. When I was eight, my mom didn’t work at all.
Squeezing back, my mom says, “Pancakes for breakfast?”
Jamie nods into my mother’s narrow waist. My mom was always working on losing ten or twenty pounds but over the last seven months, she’s become too thin. Both Jamie and I take after her though: petite, dark brown hair, and brown eyes. Jamie’s are a rich, warm brown. Mine are light like toffee.
“Help me make them?” she asks and Jamie shakes her head yes. “Get the mix?”
I’m ecstatic my mother’s actually doing something other than watching TV with my sister. Jamie bops over to the pantry while I pull out a mixing bowl.
Looking worried, my mother slides her coffee cup back and forth over the counter. “I’m not sure I get it, Riley. This change from marching band to rock band. But I know you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Just…play the music. Don’t get sucked into anything you normally wouldn’t do.”
Sex, drugs, and rock and roll here I come. “Mom, you know me better than that.”
She sighs. “I do. You’re far more responsible than I was at your age. But everyone can become desensitized.”
My lips press together to stop a response as I shut the dishwasher. If anyone has become numb, it would be my mother.
****
“You’re rushing again,” Romeo says for about the fifth time. “How many times do I have to tell you to slow us down on the bridge or we’re all going to crash?”
I bite the inside of my mouth. He has been hounding me since I sat behind the drum set. First, lighten up on the fills and now slow down. I’d like to use his skull for a drum. We’re back in the same space where I tried out. Apparently, Sam’s aunt owns the antique store beneath us and this is where they’ve always practiced.
With a hand choking his guitar strap, Romeo asks, “Do I need to get you a metronome?”
What a dick. His insinuation I’m a beginner and need help keeping time pisses me off more than anything he’s said or done thus far. Though my sticks are clenched in one palm, I keep my tone even. “Ah, no.”
He lets go of his strap. “Really? Because so far you can’t seem to count.”
“Back off, Romeo,” Justin says. “She’s not going to be perfect the first practice.”
“Thought she was super drummer?” Romeo says snidely.
“She is.” Sam winks at me. “Cute too.”
“I’ll get it this time,” I say in a calm tone, ignoring Sam’s flirting. I’ve refused to let Romeo see how much he’s riling me up. I’m not going to cave now. It’s hot up here even in a tank top and shorts. I wipe my brow before counting off the beat with my sticks.
We do another round of Paint it Black by the Stones. I nail it. Romeo doesn’t say anything but Sam offers compliments and Justin a fist pump.
After a few more cover songs, Sam yanks off his bass and sets it against the boxes lining the wall. “I need a smoke.” Disappearing down the stairs that lead out to the street, he yells, “Be back in ten.”
Romeo turns to Justin, running hands through his hair until he clasps the back of his neck and the muscles of his arms bulge. “We’re not going to be ready for U-Palooza.”
“Why? Riley’s doing great.” Justin tosses the sheet of music he’d been reading from on one of the chairs lining the wall across from us. Pop cans, fast food bags, and other papers litter the space underneath. Ugh. Sloppy boys.
Romeo’s chin lowers. “With six songs.”
“So we’ll do a shortened set. Who cares?”
Irritated, I roll my sticks across my thigh while they argue like I’m not here, like I’m not part of the band.
Romeo’s arms drop and his gaze narrows on Justin with a visible irritation. “I care. We’re not some garage band.”
Justin rolls his eyes. “Don’t get your perfectionist panties in a twist. We should be able to get three more done.”
“It’s still not enough.” Romeo turns to me. “Can you read music?”
I nod. Although, drum notation is a bit different, reading music isn’t too hard after five years of piano lessons.
“Take the sheet music home and be ready for next practice.”
“Will you fucking stop?” Justin pulls his phone out. “We’re going to be far more ready than we would have with that ass wipe you wanted.” He turns to me and his expression softens. “Just ignore him and take a quick break, Riley. You’re doing great. Looking good too,” he says with a wink. Enough with the stupid winking. Pressing buttons, he walks to the far side of the dusty room. “Hey Jessica, you busy tonight?”
“What is your problem?” I say lowly when Justin is across the room and hopefully not paying attention to us.
Romeo’s dark eyes pin me to the stool. He stands facing me with his sleek black guitar hanging from his neck. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”
His irritated gaze stabs at my confidence. “Just because I’m a girl?”
A tick bounces under a cheekbone. “Mostly…”
The sticks clenched in my hand smack against the stool seat. “That’s a bunch of bullshit.”
“It’s not what you think,” he says while his gaze continues to stab me while the angle of his hair almost reaches his tightened cheekbone.
My lids lower and my lip curls. “I think you’re a chauvinist pig.”
That tick becomes more pronounced before a smirk curves his sensual lips. “Think whatever you want, but a little more aggravation and I’m sure you’ll break then your little ass will be gone.”
My brows drop low. “Don’t ever refer to my ass again, asshole.”
His smirk widens. “What a dirty little mind you have, Miss M. I’d like to say I’m delighted with the knowledge, but I’m not.”
I knew he was going to be a pain. I told myself to ignore him, but I really, really want to use his skull for a drum at the moment. Instead of jumping up and tapping on his head, I smile sweetly at him. “I can guarantee I won’t quit. Obviously, me in the band pisses you off. And I’m finding that I like to piss you off.”
His perfect face twists into a scowl. I hate to admit it but he even looks hot wearing a scowl. He opens his mouth, but Justin comes over in time before I have to listen to more of Romeo’s crap.
I roll my sticks between my palms and give him the evil eye. Why is it if a person looks like they stepped off the cover of a magazine, they’re usually a certified dickhead?