Page 40 of Sing Your Heart Out

I lift my brows. “Dee was the one who paired everybody off. So you can take a failing grade when there are so few people, Marco… but I won’t.”

Marco looks irritated with me. “So… you do the work for both of us.”

I smile evenly at him. “Sure thing, Marco.”

He winks at me and turns around to rummage through the refrigerator. I clear my throat again.

“Just one more thing.”

He turns, the spoon stuck in his mouth. “What?”

“I’m going to let Dee know exactly what you did on this project. So…” I shrug. “The ball is in your court, my friend.”

Marco suddenly slams down the jar of peanut butter on the kitchen island, his face turning red. “You are scum. You know that?”

My smile widens to a grin. “Right back at ya, Marco. It’s like we have the same mind right now.”

I point back and forth between us and Marco storms off toward the foyer. He returns a few minutes later wearing a shirt and carrying his guitar.

“We work fast, eh?” he says, pushing my notebook out of his way and sitting on the couch. “I have got a major hangover. So whatever you want from me, you have better get it in the next two hours. I really need my sleep.”

I sigh. “All right, Marco. I’ll tell you where I am right now. I haven’t got any chords or anything yet, but I do have some lyrics. I thought that we could write a good song about infatuation.”

He pulls a face. “What is that? It is like love, no?”

“Sort of. It’s being obsessed with a woman physically… like you think you’re in love, but soon enough your buzz wears off. It turns out it was just infatuation.”

Marco sighs. “Let me see what you have written. This doesn’t sound like a good song.”

I can feel my blood start to heat. “Hey, at least I have written something. If you had your way, you would sleep all day and do literally nothing.”

He plucks my notebook up off the couch, thumbing through it. He stops every so often, then closes it with a snap.

“There is nothing in here worth even writing down,” he says. “It is a waste of paper.”

My fists clench. “Dee said that she wanted us to write a sexy alt-rock song with a Latin beat. Okay? This could be it.”

“Ay!” He claps his hands. “Little white boy wants to tell me that he can write something for a Latin beat? Eh? I do not think so.”

I narrow my eyes at him, willing myself not to lose my temper. “You talk a lot of shit, Marco. But if you weren’t fucking Dee, you would’ve already been eliminated. You realize that, right?”

He looks at me for a second, wiping at his mouth. “You cannot even write, my friend. You are only good at the little bitch work. You are the one they call to finish up the work of others.”

His words slice me like a knife. “I assure you that isn’t true. Don’t be a pussy.”

He snorts. “It is true. That’s what you did with Sarah. You take her songs and just tweak them a little. Then you present them to Dwayne and Dee as your own creation. I know the truth, though. You are a thief, as plain as day.”

I grimace, standing up. “You know what? I think I should make this entire song alone. That way everybody knows who the real songwriter is.” I shake my head and grab my guitar and my notebook. “I can’t believe Dee thought that this was a good idea.”

Then I strut off to work in my room. At first, my whole head is just full of Marco’s cruel words. You are a thief, as plain as day.

I punch a pillow so hard that it explodes, feathers going everywhere.

But then I try to channel my feelings. That rage, that sense of inadequacy, all roiling inside me.

I start playing a riff that has been in the back of my head for a while, four chords played in quick succession. Then I stop and write down some lyrics. I play some, then write some more words down.

By the time that Dwayne calls everyone down to the living room for elimination, I am ready. I think my song is pretty good, but I definitely didn’t finish a song with Marco.

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