Page 41 of Out of the Blue

“I’ve already spoken with Apex about this, and we can simply put out a general denial. Better yet, we can post a photo of you with the Prednisone.”

They all approve of my idea to battleFirst Rumors. When vocal support for the idea wanes, Dwight asks, “So what’s the bad news?”

I bring up the site with analytics from Apex. “Here’s the tracking for your social media.” I pass the phone to Joey, who looks at it and conveys it over to the other guys.

When Trent gives it back, I say, “Now, your numbers are pretty good. Solid, even. But, they’re essentially tied with California Skies. Which is a good thing. If you were lagging behind, it would be awful. You’re not.”

Maurice interrupts me. “We should keep doing what we’re doing. It’s working.” The others agree with him.

Their support for each other, their solidarity, twists an unknown part of my heart. Ignoring my stupid organ, I know they need to crush California Skies. If we’re essentially tied, how will Apex make the decision? They could have a “Battle of the Bands” or do some other crazy stunt. Hell, they could do that anyway. But why give them the ammo? “I hear you. I really do.”

Observing my posture, Trent says, “But—” He bends over and kisses the sensitive spot behind my ear.

Refusing to turn to mush in front of his bandmates, I wrap my hair around my pointer finger. “But I’m afraid without a true ‘winner’”—I use air quotes around the word—“Apex will devise another competition between you two. Wouldn’t you rather win it outright on the first go-round, rather than have to deal with whatever comes next?”

Although, if Braxton found out he’s Trent’s father, all bets might be off. I slant a glance at the man himself and shove the thought aside. No. Trent wants to win on his band’s own merits. I understand.

The guys toss around marketing ideas, getting more outrageous by the moment. When Joey whips out his cell phone and starts snapping photos of the guys doing goofy things, I start to laugh.

“I know what’ll get all the likes,” Dwight announces.

He tosses Trent his phone and spins around. When he unbuckles his belt, Trent yells, “Dude! What are you doing?”

“Dropping trou. That’ll get us some notoriety,” Dwight tosses over his shoulder.

“Oh, hell no!” Trent throws the phone back at Dwight, who catches it. Barely. Rebuckling his belt, he grumbles, “Got any better ideas?”

While their antics are humorous, we need to get serious here. StopFirst Rumorsin its tracks and win this competition. “I might.” I broach the topic approved by Mr. Hewitt. “How about some more behind-the-scenes stuff?”

Dwight’s hands land on his belt again. “That’s what I was trying to do before!”

Before he can pull the same stunt, I raise my hands. “No. Not like that. What I meant was to give out some information only you guys know about your band. Like how you came up with the name The Light Rail, for instance.”

Four sets of eyes pitch to the floor. What did I say?

“That’s dumb,” Joey answers for the group. The rest of the guys agree.

Now my curiosity is piqued. “What is it? Now you have to tell me.”

“Have you told Fee?” Dwight asks Maurice, who shakes his head.

Hmmm. This could be going somewhere. Remembering they met back in junior high, I ask, “What? You used to take The Light Rail to school?”

They kick the floor, appearing to be recalcitrant kids again. Trent sighs. “Fine. I’ll tell her. It’s not like she’s going to shout it to the whole world. Not worth it.”

“Bet you twenty she does.” Joey reaches for his wallet. The others place their wagers.

They really do bet on everything. Might become a marketing angle, too. First, I need to find out where their name came from. “Trent? You promised.”

“Yeah, Trent. Can’t break a promise,” Maurice mimics my voice.

Trent doesn’t appear pleased, though. More like—embarrassed. He runs his hand down his arm, over where his mother’s tattoo lives, and inhales. “When we were kids in high school, we used to take the Light Rail everywhere. As in, ride on it to all of the stops.”

His words linger as I try to sort out what he told me. And what he didn’t. “Okaaaay, so you used to ride the train?”

Dwight agrees. “Yup. That’s it. End of story.” The other two’s heads bob.

I half-close my eyes and slant a look at each band member. Something’s not adding up. This isn’t a story to be embarrassed about, not like the way they reacted earlier. A light bulb goes off. Two, actually.

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