Page 57 of Voice to Raise
“They will if we get to Rocktoberfest.” I took a drink of my tea. “I have plans.”
“You have dreams.” Freddie downed the rest of his root beer and belched again. “Nothing wrong with aspirations.”
“Let me ask Mama if she knows anyone.” Creed gestured toward our equipment. “We should get started again. I want to get home before midnight.”
“Going to turn into a pumpkin?” Reese with the gentle teasing.
“You know Mama Bear likes to have all her cubs tucked in before the witching hour.” I winked at Creed. Personally, I loved that Mama took such good care of her kids. Perhaps too much, though. My friend really needed to move out and get a life of his own. Often I’d considered inviting him to move in, but that felt wrong. Not so much that my parents wouldn’t have approved—although they wouldn’t have—but that if I brought someone here, someone to share the space with me, they would have to be pretty damn special. I loved Creed, but I didn’t feelthatway about him. Even in a home as cavernous as this one, I worried about stepping on his toes. Or, more likely, him stepping on mine.
“Woof. Woof.” Freddie grinned.
We all turned to him with varying looks of confusion.
“What? That’s a bear.”
Creed bust out laughing. “Dogs woof. I have no idea what a bear sounds like, but that isn’t it.”
“Wait.” Freddie frowned. “If you don’t know what a bear sounds like, how do you know it doesn’t sound like a dog?”
My mind screeched. Really, neither of them was talking sense. Which was completely par for the course.
“Show me what you’ve got.” Reese pointed to my notebook. “We can worry about projections after we’ve got a melody and lyrics.”
Ever the practical one. I might be the front man for this band, but Reese was the common sense and the brains. Too bad she couldn’t write lyrics worth shit.
Four hours later as I lay in bed, after my bandmates had gone home, I tried to recreate Spencer’s condo in my mind. About five hundred square feet? Give or take? Plus that pint-sized balcony.
Huh.
The primary bedroom, bathroom, and walk-in closet in this house were almost that size.
Give or take.
So his entire life could fit into my parents’ bedroom.
That thought sobered.
Last night, as he’d drifted in and out of consciousness—well, a sort of sex-drunk haze—he’d talked about his old condo in the sky. The boyfriend he’d believed himself in love with until when, after Spencer had done the moral thing, the asshole Paul had stepped up to take over in a rather immoral fashion.
Instantly, I hated the guy. Sounded like a pompous jerk.
Spencer deserves so much better.
Yeah, but did that mean me? I was disorganized, scatterbrained, hyperfocused on music, and wanting to make a difference in the world.
While also being obsessed with likes and clicks.
Blossom loved that about me.
Spencer detested it.
With good reason. He saw me as a flash in the pan. As someone not serious.
So you’ll just have to prove that he’s wrong.
Easy, right? Show him my brilliance with the song and—
What? He’s going to fall at your feet in gratitude? Invite you to move into his micro-condo? Make room in his bed for you?
