The Prospect

THE PROSPECT: CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tricia

The soft, noise canceling headphones were heavy against the crest of my head and even though they were adjustable, the dang things kept slipping off. Every time I went to catch them and push them back, my arm hit the microphone with a pop. We had to stop the session. And start over again.

Four. Freaking. Times.

Brian tapped on the glass and with a push of a button, his voice came over the speakers in the room. "Let's take five, okay? Be back at 5:55 and we'll give this one last go of it."

What is wrong with me? I dropped my face into my palms and rubbed against the low pulse of a headache beginning behind my eyes. Except, it wasn't just me. We were all off today. Jenna was keeping the beat slower. Jamie's rhythm was slightly off and Kurt was singing flat today.

I caught Jenna's eye as I took a swig from my water bottle. She gave me a half-smile and shrugged, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. I could practically hear her voice in my head, Whatchya gonna do?

I shrugged back and she dropped her sticks down on her stool and said, "I have to pee." Kurt and Jamie had also already left the sound room. But I didn't want to leave just yet. I didn't need a break from the room; I needed to get acquainted with it. Walking out would be like admitting defeat.

The room was scary. And confining. And it was such a chamber for sound, you could almost hear yourself too well. We weren't used to this. We were a Southie garage band, used to playing for drunk people at dives over bar fights and people making out in the dark corners of the room.

Tears welled in my eyes. Maybe we don't have what it takes.

The door swung open and I wiped my nose, looking quickly at the lights in an effort to blink away my tears. "Tricia," Brian said behind me. I took a final moment's breath to compose myself, then turned to face him.

"Hey Brian," I said, hoping my voice wasn't as shaky as it felt. My smile trembled and God, oh, God... please don't cry.

I heaved a sigh and dropped my smile, giving up the act and shaking my head. "I'm sorry," I said honestly. "I don't know what's wrong with us today. We know these songs like the back of our hands—"

Brian chuckled. "This is normal, Tricia. Yes, it's true that some bands kill it their first days in the studio, but, more often than not, we throw out the first day's recordings. You'll get used to it." He offered me a warm smile and squeezed my shoulder. "Trust me. I'm not worried. You shouldn't be either."

Looking around the room, he spotted my acoustic guitar in the corner of the room. My guitar I'd had since I was eleven years old with Kiddo's quarter jammed into it. "You got any slower songs? Something you guys could play acoustic?"

I hadn't played a show with my acoustic guitar in at least two years. And even then, it was just me, my guitar, and a microphone at a coffee shop. I'd never used it when playing with our full band.

I set my electric guitar down carefully and lifted the acoustic guitar, strumming my fingers across the strings. "We're not really that sort of band," I said, looking up at Brian.

"Not right now you're not. But that's what Brie and I are here for. To help you guys grow."

I ran my finger across the quarter Kiddo had embedded into it all those years ago. Something warmed in my chest and coiled, like newspaper lighting on fire and quickly turning to ash.

After I got off work yesterday, I drove straight to my mom's house and cried in her lap. I hadn't cried like that in years, but she just stroked my hair and held me as I got it all out. And then... she confirmed it. Everything Kiddo had said. It was Sam's idea to steal the car. It was his big, dumbass plan and he had been the one to get Kiddo arrested...not the other way around.