Page 6 of Omega Rock

MIA

A splitting headacheawaits as I wake to the sounds of birdsong. Early summer is fully here, as are the loudest birds in the neighborhood. I roll over and smash my pillow over my head.

I’m notentirelysure what happened after that one drink Sable got for us, except that the drinks did not end there. Although I can hardly picture Sable enabling this many at the bar.

I roll over and slowly open my eyes to the waking world. An open, quarter-empty bottle of whisky sits nearby.

Ah. Explains it.

I sit up and close the bottle, then reach for my phone which desperately needs to be charged. My fingers dance with muscle-memory over to my social media apps. I quickly post about the show last night with a few pictures Sable took and sent me—Thank you Davis and Brett, let’s play together again soon!—and then commence an hour-long scroll through new comments, my likes, and far too many other videos.

Reading the screen hurts. I need water and to take my heat suppressants. But I can’t unglue my attention from the stream of comments. Many are new ones to the viralDreaming Latevideo, but others are on videos from last night that I was tagged in. And they’re not all great.

Let her sing only on socials. No live talent.

Boooo Mia.

That viral vid must be auto-tuned to hell.

People can be so fucking rude and courageous behind their keyboards. But they’re not wrong, last night was not by any means my best performance.

I’m so in the zone that I actually jump when my phone starts ringing. A photo of Wes, my talent manager, and I shows up on the screen. He looks a little less than thrilled to have my wild arm around his neck, but he’s a big softy underneath all the grump, graying red beard, and lack of musicians-on-retainer funds. And, most importantly, Wes actuallycaresabout his artists. I know I’ve struck it lucky with him, so if he’s calling now to kick me off his management roster I might actually cry.

No, I’lldefinitelycry. There’s a thick pressure in my throat saying tears are imminent.

I accept the call anyway. “Good morning, Wes.”

“Good—” He pauses and there’s a shifting sound. “Afternoon, you mean. It’s 1 p.m.”

I glance down at my phone again. “So it is.”

“Are you hungover?” he asks. I can practically see his eyes narrowing down at me—it wouldn’t be the first time over the last six months.

“No,” I lie. “Are you?”

“No—Listen!” he sputters, and then laughs a little. It lets me know it’s okay to laugh, too, so I do. Mostly to keep back the tears building in my eyes for no particular reason andallthe reasons at the same time. “I need you today, in two hours, at Carnation Studio. You need to make it. This is not optional.”

My eyebrows scrunch together. Carnation Studio is about an hour away, and I’m several hours away from being functional. “What? Why?”

Wes clears his throat. “Because I’ve lined up a gig you don’t want to miss. I know you won’t want to. Be there, be at your best. You’re trying out for a band.”

My confusion only worms deeper. “I’m a solo act.”

“Yes,” he says, “one who needs a real band consistently. This is an opportunity for that, but it won’t be under your name. A new identity.”

“I don’t know…” I like what I’m doing. I just need to find and hire a consistent drummer and bassist, and maybe an additional guitarist.

“It’s not a suggestion, remember?” Wes asks. “It’s an order. Be there. Believe me, this is worth it. You want to make it in this industry? Trust my gut, Mia.”

Wes has, so far, not led me astray. I relent with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll be there. Takes me an hour to get there, though, remember?”

“So leave soon,” Wes says. “Hydrate, painkillers, coffee, grab something greasy on the way. And bring your guitar.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply with a mock salute he doesn’t see. Instead, he just hangs up and leaves me with the weight of this news.

A real band… Yes, that is what I want. Being a solo act is hard. But will he have found the right people to work together? And how many others are trying out for this unnamed band?

My curiosity is getting the better of the need to bristle at the idea of doing away with my Mia brand. It’s only been around for six months—officiallyanyway.

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