Page 1 of Spark

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KENDRICK

Chicago

Twelve years ago

“Let’s make a pact about this Rufus guy,” my big brother, Kai, says from across the basement. As he speaks, he’s bent over, meticulously hooking up an amp, which means Savage and I are free to exchange a look.

I didn’t lie to my brother for kicks, by the way. I just knew telling him the keyboardist coming to audition for our fledgling band any minute now is a dude who plays linebacker for my new school’s football team was the only way he’d keep an open mind.

After Kai’s band at his hipster music college downtown fell apart following his breakup with the lead singer, he’s now got it stuck in his headourband isn’t going to have any girls in it, which I personally think is stupid. Kai is three years older than Savage and me and in his first year of music school, though, so the band is kind of hisbaby at the moment. At least, accordingto Kai. If you ask me, with Savage being front and center and so fucking talented and charismatic—there’s no doubt he could become a superstar on his own, unlike Kai or me—I personally feel like Savage, not Kai, should call the shots. At least, as to whether a female keyboardist should be allowed to audition for us tonight.

Granted, Savage couldn’t run a band if his life depended on it. He’s flighty. Never on time. And when he finally makes it to wherever he’s going, he’s easily distracted and totally lacking in motivation, despite his insane, God-given star quality. But still, the fact remains I’m irritated my big brother thinks he can act like a dictator, and I know Savage feels the same way. Hence, me lying to Kai about the identity of the keyboardist coming to audition for ustonight. Not for Kai.For us.

“I’m just saying,” Kai replies, his attention still focused on the cords and wires he’s connecting for our imminent jam session with Rufus, “we should all agree this dude has to be a perfect fit—and I’m talking musically and personality-wise—or else he’s a no-go. We don’t needa keyboardist. I know you wantone, Savage?—”

“So do I.”

“—but why set ourselves up to split the money four ways, instead of three, if?—”

“What money, Kai?” I blurt, cracking up at my brother’s ridiculousness, while Savage’s chuckles shake the couch cushion next to me. Fugitive Summer, as we’ve recently decided to call ourselves, hasn’t played anywhere but this dank basement in our apartment building. We haven’t even posted any of our rough demos online, either. And yet, somehow, Kai’s utterly convinced that with Adrian Savage as the face and voice of our band, we’re headed for worldwide fame and fortune.

It’s real pie-in-the-sky stuff, regardless. But even more sobecause we all know I’ll drop the band like a hot potato when I get the football scholarship I’m gunning for. Come to think of it, though, Kai probably thinks he’ll easily replace me on drums, once I’ve handled my best friend for him and gotten him invested in the band. And you know what? He’s probably right about that.

Kai straightens up from the work he’s been doing. “The gigs will pour in once we get the right musicians in place and dial in our sound. And from there, the money will come. That’s why we have to do everything right at the beginning: because soon we’re going to have more gigs and money than we know what to do with.”

Savage is the one to crack up first this time. “No disrespect, man, but we sound like every other garage band.” That’s why he keeps pushing for a keyboardist—so we can fill out our sound with all kinds of cool stuff that can’t be created on the classic combo of guitar-bass-drums.

“I can do amazing things on Pro Tools,” Kai insists.

“Yeah, for the recordings,” Savage shoots back. “But you’re the one who keeps saying we have to be able to play our songs live because nobody buys music anymore and streaming doesn’t pay shit.”

“You do say that a lot,” I agree.

“Stop kissing his ass, Kendrick,” Kai grits out, glaring at me with dark, intense eyes. Kai takes after our late father with his brown hair and eyes, while I take after our mother with sandy hair and light eyes. It’s why nobody thinks we’re brothers when they first meet us. Not to mention, because Kai’s broody and closed-off by nature, and I feel like life is too short not to enjoy the ride.

“He’s not kissing my ass,” Savage spits back angrily. “He’s being truthful, for the greater good of the band.” He shifts on the couch, gearing up for whatever he’s about to say next. “If nothing else, we need someone who can sing harmoniesbehind me. You sing like a bag of cats, and KC can’t harmonize for shit. No offense, KC. You know I love your voice.”

“No offense taken.” It’s a basic fact: I can’t harmonize for shit. I’ve been working on it during runs at football practice and in the shower, but improvement has been pretty slow.

“So, if we’re adding someone to sing harmonies,” Savage continues, “let’s also make sure they play an instrument none of us can play. Ideally, someone who’d contribute some fresh songwriting ideas, too.”

“Well, that’s a tall order,” Kai says with a scoff. “Someone who sings harmonies, plays keys, andwrites kickass songs—andwants to be in a band, instead of being a solo singer-songwriter? Guys, I’m the only one going to music school, remember? And I’m telling you?—”

“Here we go again.” Savage rolls his eyes.

“—that the kind of musician you’re talking about would never want to playbehindyou, Savage. They’re going to want to be front and center, if not solo. And we don’t want anybody who sees our band as a stepping stone. We all have to be completely committed to Fugitive Summer.”

Kai’s eyes meet mine, and I flash him a warning—one that saystread carefully, Kai Cook. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times. If he pushes too hard on the “our band is life” bullshit, Savage is going to walk, whether I’m in the band or not.

“But I mean, obviously, I’m open to trying to find someone like that,” Kai says quickly. “Hence tonight’s audition.”

“Gee, thanks,” Savage says sarcastically.

Kai looks at me. “This Rufus guy can harmonize?”

“Like a beast,” I lie without hesitation. Truly, it’s amazing how easily falsehoods keep tripping off my tongue, all in the name of making sure my brother gives Ruby a fair shake. In reality, I have no idea if she can carry a tune, let alone sing harmonies, let alone sing them “like a beast,” any more than Iknow if she can play more than simple “Chopsticks” on her keyboard.

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