Page 17 of For One Night Only

Keeley drops her sticks, pointing at herself. “Me? Tell me one thing I did wrong. I’m all ears, Valerie.” She laughs dryly as I stare at her, trying to come up with something, but she’s right. Not that I’m going to admit it. “Nothing? That’s because I did my fucking job andpracticedbefore we all got together. Unlike you, clearly.”

I did practice. Today is just a mess, and Keeley isn’t helping. I roll my eyes. “You could check your attitude, for starters,” I mutter.

She gapes at me, rising from the throne. “Say that to my face, I dare you.”

“Stop it!” Jane says, rising from her bench, eyes widening. “Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

Keeley raises a hand to her neck, chagrined. “Sorry, Jane.”

“I’m the one you need to apologize to!” I spit, setting my jaw. “You’ve been a total bitch since I got here.” My throat tightens the moment the words slip out, and I know it was too far.

“Dude,” Riker says, narrowing his eyes at me.

Keeley reddens, slamming her hands on her thighs and glaring in my direction. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The room falls silent as we stare each other down. This isn’t the Keeley I know. She’s snarky, but she was always a great collaborator. Any criticism was constructive.

“Well, this clearly isn’t working,” Caleb finally says before leaning down to chug from his water bottle. His throat bobs, and I look away.

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe we need to try another song,” Jane suggests, flipping through her notebook.

Keeley swivels in her throne to look at Jane. “Will another song magically fix Valerie’s raging personality issues?” she says. I wince at the sheer hostility in her voice, knowing full well I put it there. Keeley stands. “I didn’t sign up for a summer of bullshit. If this is how it’s going to be, I’m fucking out.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Riker says, eyes wide. He never did like it when tensions rose. “Let’s not be hasty. Jane’s right, we should try another song.”

I clear my throat, neck warming. “No. We need to play ‘Ghosts’ until we get it right.”

Keeley rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say,boss.” I set my shoulders at the jab. She counts us off without warning, and I hit my entrance for the second verse alright—I hit it so hard it feels like I’m punching the lyrics. Caleb flinches beside me.

But I’ll be damned if I miss another note. There’s no point in this reunion if we suck. It’s a herculean effort to get through the song, and the next one isn’t much better.

Our late lunch is a much-needed break, but eating doesn’t cool the tension. We come back to our instruments grumpy and sniping, and I’m faced with the overwhelming fear that we can’t pull this off. Maybe there’s too much rust—or maybe there’s too much history between us.

Maybe they can’t forgive me enough to get through an entire set.

After another hour of discord, we stop again. “This isn’t productive. Let’s take a break and come back to it tomorrow,” Caleb says.

“We haven’t gotten anything done!” I say.

He slips his bass strap off his shoulder, already beginning to stow the instrument away. “Do you really think we’re going to get anywhere? We all need to clear our heads.”

I open my mouth to argue but stop myself. This practice is miserable, and I’m not at my best. Turns out you can’t muscle through music and expect it to feel good. “You’re right,” I say.

“Someof us could benefit from more practice,” Keeley says pointedly.

“It’s been a while since we played these songs. We’re all a little rusty,” Jane says kindly, even though she’s been note-perfect all rehearsal, throwing in new riffs and filling in harmonies like that last Vegas show was yesterday. “Let’s call it for today.”

“I’m going to…yeah,” I say, neck pricking with shame at the way I talked to everyone. I put down my guitar and hurry back up the stairs to go hide in my room…again. The walls are thin enough that when everyone has made it back upstairs, I can hear the conversation in the hall, and I worry for a minute that it’s about me.

But I quietly put my ear against the door, and…it’s not. They’re talking about evening plans, maybe going out. No oneknocks on my door to invite me along. I guess I burned any lingering goodwill between us all.

Fine. I’m perfectly fine staying here alone and wallowing. Did I really beg the band to reunite for this disaster?

The front door opens and closes, and for a few minutes, I think I’m alone, but I hear someone shuffling outside. A soft knock follows. The last thing I want to do is face any of my former bandmates right now.

“Valerie?” Jane calls. “I know you’re in there.”

I sag a little, knowing this at least won’t be a fight. “Come in,” I say. She slips into the room with a reusable grocery sack on her arm.

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