Stroke of Luck

07

Bash was, to put it kindly, unpredictable. As I walked up his driveway later that night, I didn't even bother wondering what the favor he needed from me was. Whatever it was, I wouldn't be able to guess it.

When I saw him, I froze, my eyebrows automatically shooting up. I wasn't sure I would ever adjust to his strangeness. Right now he was laying on his back on the porch, his head hanging down onto the top step.

"Laying like this calms me," He said before I even had a chance to ask.

I shrugged, taking a seat beside him. "Fair enough. So what's up?"

He inhaled sharply, swinging around so he was sitting upright. "I have a favor to ask you. Maybe I should give you a beer or two first."

"Nice," I scoffed. "You're officially a straight white frat boy." 

"It was an honor just to be nominated."

I laughed, pushing his arm lightly as I scanned the scene in front of us. The neighborhood was calm and quiet with only a few stars and streetlights countering the darkness. It was nice here. I used to live in a neighborhood of ranches with chipped paint and people who would go months without paying their electricity bills. Wells felt much more like home - a home, of course, not my home.

"Greer?" Bash asked, but I was distracted by the car I'd noticed in Sylvia's driveway. It was modern and shiny in a way that screamed 'I got a better job and left my drunk wife for someone younger and hotter'. I rolled my eyes. "Greerifer?"

"Shut up, Bash," I muttered automatically, my eyes still trained on the car.

Bash was silent, reminding me that my irritation was misdirected.

"Okay," I conceded. "That was uncalled for."

"Is everything okay?" He leaned forward as if trying to look into my eyes.

I turned the other way. "I'm fine, but it's late and I want to go to bed. Can you just cut to the chase?"

"It's 9:00 PM," Bash commented. "Alright, fine. Have you heard about the Battle of the Bands?"

"Yes," I said slowly, suddenly confused. What did that have to do with me?

"Well," He bit his lip. "My band's drummer, Johnny, and our singer, Adam, broke up so now Adam doesn't want to do the show anymore because he doesn't want to work with his ex. So, I was thinking, most of the bands entering are boy bands, so we would stand out if our lead singer was a girl. Maybe a pretty yet snarky blonde?"

My brows shot up. No fucking way. "I can't sing," I replied immediately.

"Yes, you can," Bash countered. "Sylvia told me all about how you used to star in all the musicals at school when you were little."

I scoffed. "That's weird, since Sylvia views me as the equivalent to Lucifer."

"You give yourself way too much credit," Bash pointed out. "You're not half as much of the stone cold bitch you want everyone to think you are."

I shook my head. He didn't get it. Sylvia didn't view me poorly because of who I was. She viewed me poorly because of who my mother was, but I couldn't explain that to Bash.

Instead, I said, "Look, I'd love to help, but being in your boy band sounds like far too much testosterone for me."

"More like far too much commitment. That's what you're really afraid of, isn't it?" He inquired, and I shrunk. "Commiting to someone or something would make living here feel a lot more like a new home. Just think about it, alright? You would only need to sing with us in that one show."