by Avon Gale
“I told her I’m sure you’d be happy to talk to them, especially the seniors who might be thinking of auditioning like you did. I know how much you would have appreciated having some help with the process.”
I would have appreciated having someone tell me the truth and lock me in my room so I didn’t go to the audition. She was being ridiculous and ungrateful, and she knew it. Sawyer smiled again, still tinged with the anxiety that seeped its way into her blood whenever anyone mentioned Juilliard. She tried to remind herself of how proud her parents were of her, how they’d been thrilled at the scholarship she’d earned, how they’d come up for her performances like they would have done if she’d been playing at the University of Tennessee. But that only made the ugly, stark truth that sounded like a screech of a bow across untuned strings harder to face.
“Of course I will,” said Sawyer, fingers so tightly crossed she could feel them beginning to cramp. She thought about uncrossing them, telling herself she could always give Mrs. Smith’s orchestra students the truth.
They’ll tell you not to apply to Juilliard unless you’re ready to live and breathe music. What they mean is, get ready to drown.
Her mom gave her a hug and left her room, humming slightly off-key and leaving Sawyer standing there with her fingers crossed, trying to breathe.
Vix yawned and rubbed her eyes, hurling her much-maligned duffel bag into the back of the van. She had a crick in her neck from sleeping on that stupid couch in Jeff’s basement, which was technically her own fault. She could have shared the double bed with Jeff, but he snored and she was going to have enough of that to deal with soon enough, thank you very much. She could have slept in the Townleys’ master bedroom upstairs, but she’d had too much to drink, so climbing the stairs seemed like way more effort than it was worth. Plus, she’d have had to make the bed before they left.
She could have gone home to her parents’ house a few miles away and slept in her old room, but no thanks. She’d had dinner with them when she’d shown up a few weeks ago and lied about when she was leaving. Her parents found their youngest child as baffling as Vix found them, and though they said all the right things about “this will always be your home” and how she was “welcome anytime,” she didn’t think they really meant it. Everyone was happier if she stayed at Jeff’s, including Vix, despite the couch’s resemblance to a mostly empty beanbag.
In fact, she should have slept on the beanbag. But Connor had passed out there, and he was impossible to rouse and too tall to move. Like everyone else, he towered over Vix’s five-foot-two frame. She really had to start finding bandmates who weren’t giants. Or who had a guest room with a comfy bed.
Speaking of bandmates, Vix was surprised to see Sawyer climbing out of a . . . was that a taxi? . . . in Jeff’s driveway. Why the hell hadn’t she mentioned she needed a ride? They could have swung by and picked her up at her house on their way out of town. She couldn’t live that far out of the way, and it was too early for the traffic to be too much of a problem. Weird.
As per instructions, Sawyer had one suitcase, a backpack, and her violin case. She was clutching the latter to her and searching in her bag, probably to fish out her wallet, maneuvering the case out of the way with the ease of long practice and tossing her hair back to keep it out of her way.
“Stare much?” Jeff murmured, appearing next to her.
Vix scowled up at him. “Shut up. I’m just wondering why she didn’t mention needing a ride.” That, and wow, Sawyer had an amazing pair of legs. She was also wearing cowgirl boots with her dress, which Vix appreciated. Once again, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d seen Sawyer before. Had they gone to the same high school? It was possible, though Sawyer would have been at most a freshman when Vix was a senior. And Vix hadn’t exactly been social with her own classmates, much less anyone else.
Jeff shrugged, appearing unconcerned. “Dunno. But you probably won’t find the answer by staring at her legs like that.”
Maybe not, but it sure wasn’t a hardship to try.
They both watched as Kit walked over and grabbed her bag, and Sawyer gave him a grateful smile and finished up with the cabbie. Vix crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed for no reason she could think of. They had no rule about band hookups, probably because Connor was ace, she and Kit were the opposite of each other’s type, and Jeff was way too straight. Put another girl in the mix, though . . .
Scowling, Vix told herself to stop it. She hated when people bought into that bullshit about other women being competition simply by existing, and she refused to view a female bandmate as a threat. This was a band, they were in this together, and men and women were perfectly capable of working together. Hell, she refused to view anyone as a threat, regardless if they were a bandmate or not. Unless they were literally threatening her, in which case, she was small but mighty, so they better watch it.
“Ugh.” Connor ambled over, his eyes heavy lidded and his face drawn in tired lines. “Why do we have to leave so early?”
Vix patted him on the arm. “Because you’re an idiot.”
“Um.” Connor blinked at her. “What? Why is that the answer?”
“Oh, sorry,” Vix said sweetly. “I was answering the question you should have asked, which was ‘Why did I drink so much and stay up until two in the morning when we have to leave at six?’”
Connor made a face as Sawyer approached, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and way too awake. “What time did you go to bed?” Connor asked, clearly thinking the same. He sounded vaguely accusatory.
“Eight thirty.” Sawyer blinked her wide, pretty hazel eyes. “Why?”
“Like, eight thirty at night? That eight thirty?” Connor asked.
“Well, yeah.” Sawyer glanced at Vix with a confused expression. “It isn’t eight thirty in the morning yet.”
Connor groaned. “Great, you’re a morning person. I thought we got rid of the morning person. Is that, like, a fiddle-player thing?”
“Bryant was a morning person because he was hooked up to a 5-Hour Energy IV drip,” Vix pointed out.
“Unlike Miss Diet Coke here,” said Jeff, after he stowed Sawyer’s suitcase in the back. He nodded at Vix. “If you ever want to watch Vix lose her mind, steal her morning beverage of choice and prepare to die.”
“Hello, Diet Coke was so high school. I drink Coke Zero now.” Vix tugged at Sawyer’s arm. “Come on, let’s get settled.”
“Do you need me to drive?” Sawyer obediently followed Vix to the van. “I mean, if y’all were up that late, I can take the first shift.”
“Nah, Jeff always drives first.” Vix was suddenly excited at the prospect of having another girl to talk to on the bus. Not that she didn’t love her band, but seriously, this was going to be awesome. Her brief flash of annoyance was probably due to the early hour, the bad night’s sleep, and the fact she hadn’t cracked open her Coke Zero yet. “Besides, have you ever driven a van before? Like, one this size?”
“Ah. No.” Sawyer climbed in after her and bounced a little on her seat, stowing her bag by her feet and immediately putting on her seat belt. She seemed to be two seconds away from clapping her hands.
Vix burst out laughing as she collapsed next to Sawyer, her phone, earphones, and Coke Zero already in her lap.
“What? Why are you laughing?”
“You look like you’re about to go to summer camp.” Vix smiled. She was hungover and the tiredness dragged at her, and usually she wanted nothing more than to put her headphones on and zone out when it was this early. She’d sleep until it was time to grab gas and food, switch drivers, and maybe then be ready for a conversation. But she couldn’t help it. Sawyer’s enthusiasm was adorable.
“Well. I was always excited about that too,” Sawyer said, laughing a little. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and she smelled good: shower-clean and faintly like eucalyptus. She was holding a plastic water bottle and so alert, it could have been six in the evening.
Well, that sort of fresh-eyed thing was probab
ly to be expected from someone on their first tour. Vix slipped her headphones over her head but left them resting down around her neck, and listened to Connor and Jeff bickering in the front seat about directions, though they’d just pulled out of Jeff’s parents’ driveway.
“Why aren’t you doing, like, violin stuff this summer?” Vix asked.
“I am,” said Sawyer, eyebrows raised. “Unless you’re really bringing me to kill me and dump my body, not play the fiddle.”
“I wouldn’t have gotten up this early if I was going to do that,” Vix joked. “I meant, like, classical-violin stuff. Isn’t that what you usually play?”
Some of the brightness went out of Sawyer’s eyes, and her expression became a little less open. Uh-oh. Definitely a story there, but Vix didn’t want to push. They all had their own stories, didn’t they? That was why they were musicians. And they were compelled to tell them every night in front of strangers, which was why Vix didn’t mind asking nosy questions.
“Yeah, usually. Normally in your third year, you join chamber ensembles that tour the country or internationally.” Sawyer looked out of the window and spoke to her own reflection in the dark glass. “I didn’t get a spot, though.”
“Wait, seriously?” Vix gaped at her. “There’s someone better than you at violin at your school? Holy fuck, man.” She shook her head. “That’s insane. And, hey, their loss is our gain, so I can’t say I’m sorry you didn’t get in.”
“I didn’t—I didn’t actually, um, try out for a spot,” Sawyer said, in a very soft voice. “I, ah, I got sick the day of the auditions.”
“And they didn’t, like, give you a makeup date?” At Sawyer’s shake of the head, Vix scowled. “That’s bullshit. You must have been really sick.”
“It’s very competitive,” said Sawyer. “I think this is going to be more fun, anyway.” She turned to Vix and gave her another smile, but the genuineness, that glee, was missing.
Yeah, definitely a story there. “I’m glad.” Vix yawned. “I’m usually not this chatty in the morning, though, so I’m gonna grab some more sleep. Remember to speak up or whatever if you need to stop.”
“We’re used to traveling with Ms. Coke Zero Addict and her pea-sized bladder,” Kit put in from the seat behind them.
“Ha ha,” said Vix, and closed her eyes. Usually the music and the familiar hum of the tires on pavement put her out in seconds. It took a little longer this time as she lay there with the music in her ears, teased by the slightest scent of eucalyptus until finally she fell asleep.
Their first show was at a venue called Cellar in Chicago. It took them about eight hours to get there, and they were all ready to be out of the van by the time they went in for sound check.
They were opening for a Missouri band called Minus a Wildflower, with whom they’d played a few gigs before. The band was all older guys with beards and plaid shirts, and they tended to play music that was a little more twang than rock. They had a washboard and a song where the drummer played the spoons, and they drew a decent crowd for a Thursday night. Vix had played this venue before, and she knew from a quick glance at the band’s Facebook page that while it might not be a packed show, they’d have a decent crowd. Hopefully. These things could sometimes change on a dime. She’d seen shows with six RSVPs turn into a full house, and played to half-empty rooms where they’d expected at least a few hundred.
Sawyer was tuning her fiddle and chatting with one of the guys from Minus a Wildflower, who was admiring her instrument—and not in a creepy way, either. Sawyer had changed into a different dress, this one white and lacy, and left on the cowgirl boots. It was a perfect ensemble for the show. Her dark hair was brushed and shining, and the only jewelry she wore was a beaded yellow necklace around her neck. Which, Vix noticed, she kept idly playing with every now and then, rubbing the individual beads between her fingers.
“You’re staring again, yo.” Jeff handed her a glass of vodka.
Vix shrugged and took the shot, letting the warm liquor rush through her. They had few options when it came to rider requests, so asking for bottled water and some decent vodka was usually honored. “What? She’s pretty and you know it.”
“Well, yeah, but not really your type—or is she? I can’t ever figure out your taste when it comes to girls.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “If you’d let me watch you with a few, it’d help.”
Vix rolled her eyes. She’d known she was bisexual since she was fifteen and never had a problem with it, and when she’d told Jeff back when they were dating, he’d thought it was awesome. She’d never managed to convince him that her being bi wasn’t about him or getting him off, even if the few times she had been with him and a girl, she’d liked how much he enjoyed it. The point was how much she’d enjoyed it, regardless if he was there or not. “I don’t like to make your life easy, Jeff.”
“That ain’t no lie.” He smiled. “She’ll be great. She’s got most of the songs memorized already, you know.”
Vix did know. At first she’d been worried that two weeks of practice wouldn’t be enough to get Sawyer up to speed, but that had been a waste of energy, because Sawyer had the music down by the second practice. Their practices were always successful, though Sawyer left after they were finished and never wanted to hang out and drink or watch dumb movies in the basement with the rest of them.
Maybe it was okay. This was only a summer thing, wasn’t it? Bryant hadn’t ruled out coming back some day, but it seemed unlikely, and privately, Vix thought his touring days were over. Having a baby was a lot of work, or so it seemed. A goldfish seemed like too much effort for Vix, though. She wasn’t fond of needy things.
They went onstage at a quarter past eight, and by that time, Vix had consumed a few more vodka shots and a beer, smoked a cigarette, and chatted with a few fans at the bar. Sawyer stayed in the greenroom, but that wasn’t unusual. Only Jeff and Bryant ever went out and mingled along with Vix, and she was convinced Bryant only did it for promo reasons and not out of personal interest. Vix liked talking to their fans and so did Jeff, but the rest of the band was pretty content to stay out of the limelight. It was one reason why they’d vetoed it every time she brought up changing the name of the band, or making it something like “Victoria Vincent and the Insert Clever Name Here.” They were happy to play and let her take lead, and to be honest, she liked it that way. It wasn’t easy being a woman in this industry. You tended to get overshadowed by men even when they didn’t name their bands after themselves.
Vix stepped up to the mic and said a brief hello to the crowd before launching into the first song. She could see Sawyer to her left, looking fresh and pretty and smiling to herself as she set the bow to the strings and started the first notes of the song.
The crowd was the usual sort she’d come to expect at shows like this, when they were the opener in a small venue on a weeknight. There were some dedicated fans in the audience, and Vix was never going to get over how weird it was to see people taking her picture with their cell phones. There were plenty of assholes who were standing close to the stage and talking, which always pissed her off because if you were going to do that, couldn’t you go to the bar? She’d heard that infamous indie rock musician Noah Greer, who was about her age and a prodigy with words (and a total brat), had stopped shows until people were quiet. Vix understood the instinct, but she’d never try something like that. Somehow, Noah could do that and it was viewed as part of his persona, like Vix’s freshly dyed purple hair. But Vix knew how this business worked, and a woman with that same attitude? She’d be back to playing in Jeff’s garage for his neighbors if she tried that shit.
Vix caught sight of Sawyer a few times during the performance. Sawyer was sweaty from the heat of the lights and the energy she put into her playing, her hazel eyes bright, and okay, fine, she was seriously hot. It was the sheer joy on her face, that transformation that overtook her when she got into the song, that made her so captivating. The short dress and her legs in those boots sure didn’t h
urt, though.
“We want to thank you guys for coming out tonight,” Vix said, after their third song. One of the venue staff brought her a PBR in a can, and she laughed and raised it to the crowd, thanking them and taking a deep drink. She had a bottle of water, but it’d already gotten warm under the lights and the beer was crisp and cold. “If you’re wondering, our fiddle player Bryant Davenport went and got hitched—poor, dumb man,” she said with a sad shake of her head, and the audience laughed.
She toasted with her PBR can. “Not only that, he fast-tracked it to parenthood, and he and his husband got themselves a baby as a wedding gift, so he bid the touring life goodbye.” She waited for a moment, fully prepared to give a scathing dressing-down to anyone in the crowd who made a single homophobic comment about her gay former bandmate. Luckily, there was nothing but a cheer. “Means we got us a new face on the fiddle, and she’s amazing, isn’t she? This is Sawyer Bell, and it’s her first rock concert, so give her a warm welcome.”
The crowd cheered enthusiastically. Sawyer gave a little wave of her bow and blushed adorably, and Vix entertained a naughty thought or two about Sawyer wearing a pair of white panties, those boots, that necklace, and nothing else.
It wasn’t a long set, and maybe there were too many people talking, but Vix didn’t care. She loved performing, and it was so freeing in a way to stand up in front of strangers and sing the words her heart and soul had inked onto the page. Some of her songs were from high school, written during a time when she’d rebelled against her family without knowing why and without them noticing she was doing it. She sang some of her songs with her eyes shut, the lights hot against her closed eyelids, and felt the music pulse and ebb like waves around her.
Their last song was “Ozone Break,” and Sawyer knocked it out of the park. The fiddle sounded amazing, lending a vibrancy and urgency to the song and nicely underlying the lyrics. Vix thanked the crowd, and they headed back to the greenroom. Eight hours in the van, sound check, hauling their gear on and off the stage . . . all for about forty-five minutes of performance time.