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“Stop, stop, stop,” I called, and the raucous strums and crashes died.
“Again?” Adam huffed from behind his drum set. “Jordan, this is the fourth time. Can we get through one song without you criticizing us?”
I folded my arms. “Maybe, if you guys could actually play. Adam, you're half a beat behind us, and Byron, your tone is awful.”
Byron rolled his eyes and, carefully setting his guitar down, squatted to adjust his pedals. Adam, on the other hand, wasn’t so easily berated.
“I’m the drummer! You’re supposed to keep time with me.” He banged on a cymbal for emphasis. “And you can barely sing and play your keyboard at the same time. You keep missing your cues and forgetting lyrics. And your voice is hardly any better than either of ours.”
I felt my face flush, and I silently cursed our Irish and English ancestors for passing down their fair skin. “Yeah, well…it’s really hard to focus on both at the same time.”
Byron finished his adjustments and rose back up. “We just need more practice,” he said diplomatically as he slung his guitar strap back over his shoulder.
“We suck,” Adam declared. He twirled a drumstick around in his hands. “We don’t even have a bassist. Why did we think we could do this?”
“We can do this,” I said. “We just have to focus.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. There are other ways to impress Jeff. Preferably ones that don’t involve humiliating ourselves.”
“This has nothing to do with Jeff,” I insisted, though my face burned even hotter. The garage is always stuffy in the summer, even with the door rolled up, but suddenly the heat was stifling. “I just want to win the Battle of the Bands. That thousand-dollar prize could go a long way, you know.”
Adam snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that he said he thought musicians were super hot and then three weeks later, you thought up the idea of a band.”
Byron cracked a smile but didn’t come to my defense. We all knew Adam was right, but that didn’t mean I wanted to admit it.
“Whatever,” I grumbled, turning back to my keys. “I just thought it would be cool to do something with you guys.”
“I’m sure,” Adam said, tapping his sticks.
“Oh, lay off,” Byron broke in. “Like you didn’t make that mix CD for Tiffany Kilbourne to try and get her attention.”
“Or pretend to speak French and offer to tutor Kerry Bruno,” I added.
“Or pretend to be a dark and mysterious bad boy and made Mom think you actually got that tattoo.”
“Or try to do that backflip at the pool and land flat on your back.”
“Or jump from the shed and break your ankle trying to do that tuck-and-roll.”
“Or—”
“Okay, okay,” Adam broke in, glaring at us while Byron and I laughed. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things to impress a lot of girls. But it’s a rite of passage.”
“And that’s why we’re helping Jordan with this,” Byron said as he plucked a few notes. “Even though we are kind of bad.”
“We need another singer,” I admitted. “I just can’t do two things at once.”
Byron looked thoughtful as he kept plucking. “We could ask Claire,” he suggested.
“No,” Adam and I immediately said.
“We’re trying to look cool here,” Adam added. “And there’s no way our eleven-year-old sister will make us look any cooler. She’d probably insist we change our name to Les Wicked Miserables of the Opera and sing show tunes. And I’m quite fond of Boys Without Shoes.” He punctuated his statement with a beat from the kick drum, where Mallory had graciously drawn a shoe inside a red circle and slashed it out.
“Well, who else can we ask? Mallory sounds like a constipated dog, Vanessa isn’t much better, and I refuse to ask Margo.”
“I’ll sing for you,” said a new voice. All three of us turned to see our younger brother, Nick, enter the garage. He headed to the fridge and retrieved a can of soda. Adam lifted a hand, and Nick tossed him one, popping the tab on his own as he turned to face us. “And I won’t even make you change the name.”
Adam immediately looked like he wanted to reject the idea, but Byron and I looked at each other. Truthfully, Nick wasn’t a terrible singer. He’s not Claire, but he can hold a tune decently well. And true, he’s fourteen and sometimes a desperate tagalong, but right now, we were the desperate ones.
“Do you know My Friends Over You?” I finally asked.
“Sure.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “I didn’t think you even liked pop punk that much,” he said as he replaced them on his nose.
The thing is, I really don’t. I’m much more into classic rock, like the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd. “New Found Glory isn’t bad.”
Nick smirked. “Isn’t that one of Jeff’s favorite bands?”
I grabbed one of Adam’s drumsticks and chucked it at him. He dodged it, cackling.
“Shut up or you won’t even get a chance to sing for us.”
He shrugged. “Hey, if you don’t want to impress him, I don’t have to help. I’ve got no skin in this.”
Adam chuckled to himself as he chased after the stick. I just glared at our younger brother. “I’ll tell Charlotte you slept with your teddy bear until you were thirteen.”
Nick held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, you got me.” He took the mic from me. “I’m ready if you guys are.”
I got back behind the keyboard stand, while Byron found his pick and Adam sat back down behind the kit. He counted us off and we began the song. I had to admit, it actually sounded a lot better now that I could focus on my keys. And Nick was a better singer than me. We let the song play through to the end, the last of Byron’s guitar notes fading out into the June evening.
“Mark the time and day,” Adam said, tossing his stick in the air. “Jordan let us finish a song.”
I ignored him and turned to Nick. “Alright, the position is yours if you want it.”
Nick’s eyes lit up, but he tried sound nonchalant as he said, “Cool. Thanks.”
“Take five. Then let’s run it again. After that, we can try All These Things That I’ve Done and Check Yes, Juliet.”
I ducked inside to use the bathroom. When I came back, I heard Adam say my name, and I stopped outside the garage door to listen.
“—Jordan doesn’t realize that Jeff already likes him. I swear, if we get to the end of this competition and Jeff doesn’t immediately jump his bones, I’m locking them in a closet together until one of them makes a move. This is getting painful.”
Byron laughed. “Hold off on that. They can’t get together until at least July. Any sooner and I’ll owe Vanessa ten bucks.”
“Ten?” Nick sounded shocked. “I bet her twenty.”
My brothers are such assholes, but I smiled anyway. Despite their teasing, I knew they always had my back, and this whole band thing, whatever happened, was still going to be a fun way to spend time with them. I was even looking forward to hanging out with Nick more. Dorky fourteen-year-old or not, he’s grown up a lot in the past few years. I’d even go so far as to say he’s pretty cool, even if I wouldn’t ever tell him that.
And if this band thing just so happened to impress Jeff, well, that was just a bonus.