Chapter Sixteen

Beat Your Heart Out

Friday 2nd, May

Libby lifts her drumsticks above her head and counts us in for the one hundredth time, or so it feels.

As agreed, this afternoon we're in Peterson territory, which leaves me feeling weird still, but we have to practice. We're not gaining time or getting any better and if the past hour is anything to go by, it's going to be a long slog between now and the talent show, thanks to Max and Libby's bickering.

And Libby must really hate her sister because though she'd promised not to, she continues to drops her name in and out when arguing about guitar tuning and time signatures, and Max isn't impressed.

"Wait, stop," he calls out, swinging his guitar round to his back, stopping half way through the second verse. "Something's still off."

Kicking the bass drum pedal, Libby loudly groans, "Yeah, you."

"I knew you'd say that."

"I knew you'd say that." Libby mimics. She flashes me a grin and I'm caught in the middle once again. "Because it's true."

Max tugs at his hair, obviously stressed. "Then you come play for me. Show me what I keep doing wrong. Go on."

She scoffs and adjusts her ponytail, pulling it so tight it fans out like a pineapple. "Not my problem you insist on down tuning your guitar."

"It's not my problem you've such a bad attitude," he swiftly counters.

"Guys, it was me," I say, cutting the tension with my arms. The microphone slips down and bounces off the concrete garage floor, assaulting our ears with a noisy reverb. "I'm what's so off about this whole thing - my singing." I don't mean for my voice to sound so weak and feeble, as if I might burst out into tears, but it stops the bickering.

Libby hunches her shoulders forwards over her kit. Her eyes dart back and forth on Max, who looks down at his feet.

I try again. "The drums are fine. The guitar is fine. Everything is fine, but me." Ain't that the truth.

"Josie, don't say that," Max assures, voice low and soft. "You're doing great."

"You could project a bit more," Libby cuts in, "I mean, you're kind of singing at the floor right now."

I suck in a deep breath as Max shoots her daggers and walks  to pick up the microphone. When he hands it over, his fingertips linger on my wrist for a beat until I reach out for the stand.

"I don't want to upset you," she says, glancing at my pink cheeks rapidly turning cherry red. "I don't want to, like, make you go-"

Red. How naive of me to believe like she might not notice.

"Josie," It's Max again. "Do you want a drink? Maybe we should take a quick break?"

"Water would be good," I say, thanking him and when he rests his guitar against a moth eaten armchair and slides out towards the house, I slouch down on it, completely over being a rockstar.

"Is that how you know Max?" Libby says, jolting me away from contemplating hopping the fence. "Because of this?" She circles her cheeks with one finger.

I shrug, "Kind of."

"You both have the same facial thing?"

"Idiopathic Craniofacial Erythema," I say, covering my face with my hands.

"Well that sucks," she says lightly. "Sorry."

Peeling myself away from the armchair, I give another shrug because I don't have the energy to talk about it and take the microphone again. Twisting the cord round my wrist, I stare at the wall and start to mouth the last verse's lyrics.

"Come here," Libby sighs, nodding at the drum kit. Warily I lean away. "Josie, just trust me."

It's a tall order but I leave the microphone and traipse slowly over, stepping up onto the makeshift kit stand. When I turn back, she nudges the small black stool and says, take a seat, but I don't budge.

"Just sit down Josie."

Fearing further groaning, I plonk myself down. "Happy?"

Libby shakes her head and ponytail. "Not until you shake off whatever's gotten into you or is holding you back."

"Nothing's got to me."

"You need to cut loose. I figure you can use these," She passes me a pair of drum sticks, "and thrash your heart out."

"No thank you."

"But whenever I feel angry or upset about something I come in here and just, kick the crap out of them, so might help you too?"

"Doubtful."

Forcing the sticks into my hands, she says, "I'm not expecting a Megadeath drum solo or anything, jeez! Just do whatever. Hit the damn things. Kick the pedal. Pretend like I'm not here."

I twiddle the wooden sticks and lightly tap a cymbal. "But you are."

"I actually started playing the drums so my parents would realise I exist," Libby pouts, offering a genuine moment that isn't snarky or a dig. "So, I could be heard and then, seen. All they've ever cared about is perfect Sophia and her stupid dreams of being a doctor and Uni and whatever she's ever wanted."

"I'm sure they care about you," I offer, my resolve that Libby is only a stroppy high schooler slipping. Turns out everyone has problems, whether they're flashing bright red or not.

Libby scoffs and hits the snare with her finger. "Nah."

"No ones perfect either," I say, swallowing the image of 'perfect Sophia', no doubt just as blonde and blue-eyed beautiful as Libby, who seems unaware that she is.

Her nose wrinkles and she huffs, "Yeah but you've never met her. There's a reason Max went goo goo gaga over her. Everyone does."

I twist the sticks and tap the cymbal again. Shaking all the thoughts placed in my head, from now and yesterday.

Then, I hit the snare drum and the pedal, which booms out an almighty kick that I can feel under the stool and in the air.

And as I continue to hit drums and cymbals in no rhythmic order, my cheeks fire up but I don't feel as conscious. I pound and thrash and slam the sticks up and down until I'm so red in the face that Libby has to grab my arm and say, "Maybe that's enough for now."

I don't want to but I hand the sticks back and slide away from the stool with legs feeling full of pin and needles. My hands too. And my head.

I feel alive. Ready to kick some ass.

"Did that help?" She asks, once I'm back at the microphone stand and less wobbly.

"Yeah," I say, breathless, sweaty. "I think it did actually!"

Libby congratulates herself with a pat on the back and grins, "Great!"

"That was fun!" Much better than any therapy session I ever had.

"Guess that stuff I said about my sister helped," she mumbles, resuming her position behind the kit. "Though if it makes you feel any better, you're way cooler. And not self obsessed or a terrible person or a massive pain in my back side-"

"What? Why would it make me feel better? I mean, thanks, obviously but-"

"I wasn't born yesterday. I'm not dumb," She cocks her head to the side and at the sight of Max crossing over the grass on his return from inside. He's got a jug of water and three glasses balanced in his arms.

Libby shoots me another grin. "You two, it's obvious you like him."

I tightly wind the microphone cord back round my wrist and shake my whole body. "We're friends. I already told you. I'm helping him out for this talent show, that's all."

"Sure you are."

When the glass garage door slides open and Max steps in, we both fall silent. Lifting his head, he stares me up and down. My face like a beacon, flashing. "Josie, what happened?"

"Turns out your girls pretty good on the skins," Libby says laughing. I turn away and ignore her choice of words, Max does too as he sets down the jug and glasses and offers some.

"Water?"

"Oh god yes!" I watch him top up a glass and down it all in one go.

"Drumming's thirsty work, right?" Libby says, directing her words at Max who takes a sip of his water and then picks up his guitar. "Which means, after this next run through I would appreciate it if you'd point me to your computer, as per our agreement."

Max scoffs as he adjusts his guitar strap. "Yeah yeah."

Taking the microphone and Libby's count in, I move up front. My eyes focussed on the wall ahead, ready to sing and channel conflicted feelings and energy into a better performance than all those before.

"One, two, one two three FOUR!"

* * *

Max wedges his feet between the banister poles and stares at his bedroom door, which's been shut for the past forty-five minutes.

"How much longer?" He asks, though he knows I don't have an answer either. Libby's still sat on the other side, tapping away at Max's computer with wild abandon and I'm doubtful she's about to stop anytime soon.

I push the tips of my toes out towards the stair banister too and groan, "Who can say."

Max quietly chuckles.

Something creeks and rattles the floorboards as we continue to sit on the upstairs landing, our bums on soft, cream carpet, backs against the spare rooms wall.  Melissa soon emerges, slamming her door shut.

"Wow. What happened to you?" Max says, gasping in amusement. She steps towards us, her eyes smudged black. She's in baggy tartan pyjama bottoms and a ripped Tsunami Bomb t-shirt, stained with what I hope is just red hair dye.

"Gig," she yawns, "Been sleeping it off all day. The guitarist dove off the stage straight on top of us."

I wince as she pulls her fringe up to reveal a cut along her hairline. She grins, like it's the best souvenir ever.

"It was freaking rad," she sighs.

Max nods. "Looked it."

Coming close to the banister, Melissa stretches out and peers down at us. "Why are you guys out here? Not another spider incident, I hope," she pokes Max's leg with her foot. "This one is a total pussy when it comes to our eight-legged friends, aren't you?"

He shakes her comment off. "We've got someone over."

"A friend," I offer, "She's just using Max's computer because her's is..."

"It's Libby," Max says, filling in so I don't have to lie. "Suspended from school again, before you ask."

Melissa rolls her eyes and sighs in sync with him, as if it's old news. "Weird. What are you doing hanging out with her?"

"Not 'hanging' out, she's helping us practice for the college talent show."

"Drums?"

"Yeah."

Melissa begins to lower herself opposite us, back against the banister poles. "I know she's a wunderkind on the skins, but how's this happened?"

I squirm and my stomach tightens. I don't really want to relay the whole story. Luckily Max is quick to cover for me. Maybe he wants it to be the short version too. Not the whole chase me down the alley, spy on the neighbours, stumble across the sister of a secret lover saga it really is.

"Heard her playing and thought we could do with a drummer, to give us an edge," he says, casually. "She agreed but one of the conditions is she gets to use my computer to talk to her boyfriend on some music forum.

"The Peterson's can't afford phone?" She snorts.

"Banned. She's grounded too, for now at least, so no phones or mobile," he replies, shrugging. "My arm was twisted."

Melissa groans. "Yeah, you both look mega thrilled to have her here."

Dragging his feet along the carpet in circles, Max eyes up his door again. "Hate to admit it but we actually do sound better with her."

"We do."

Wrinkling her nose at me, Melissa sighs and says, "But you're both still missing an integral part."

"We are?"

I echo Max's confusion and wait for her to reply.

She looks at us as if we're the dumbest people to walk the earth. "If I'd known you were actually half serious about winning this thing, I'd have thrown my hat into the ring a lot sooner."

Max leans forward and squints at her, shaking his head. "What are you talking about?"

Melissa begins to reel off a list of songs, half of which I've not the foggiest about. When she stops, she spreads out her hands and goads us into replying. "What do they all have in common?"

"I give up."

"Bass," she says, sharply. "Bass. Every single one of those classics has a sweet, infamous bass line. It's what keeps the wheels turning. You can't expect to sound any good, if you've not got any bass."

Max turns to me, his eyes rolling back. "Mel used to play bass."

"Oi! What's this 'used to' business? I still do, from time to time. And now that dad's fucked off, I can actually play as loud as I want."

"True."

"So, what do you think?" Melissa pokes him again, a big grin plastered across her face smudged with last night's make up. "Might even be fun. Mum will be well chuffed, can you imagine? Us to actually doing something, together?"

Max starts to grin too. "Yeah, she would be." Then, he turns to me, "What do you say Josie? Adding another into the mix can't hurt, can it?"

My cheeks flash pink and my mouth is pretty dry but I manage to reply. Three is a crowd after all. "Sounds great."

Melissa smiles at me, which is actually a more surprising turn of events then gaining a new band member.

"Welcome aboard then sis."

"Thanks. I've always wanted to be in an all girl band," she says, teasing.

He bites. "Not funny."

"You could grow your hair out a bit more, then you'd fit right in!" Her laughter echoes round the landing and though I feel kind of bad for Max being the butt of the joke, I do push my hand up to hers when she goes in for a high five.

And with it, I begin to feel like the chances of winning the bet against Maddie have gone up ten-fold.

"Right, who's going to tell her then?" Max side eyes his bedroom door, Libby a few feet away, oblivious.

Melissa's hand shoots up a nano second before mine races to catch up. Max can only gawp at us as his stays by his side.

"Last one to raise their hand has to do it!" She shouts, chuckling away. "Unlucky, punk."

"That's not fair."

She copies his pout. "Them's the rules, slow coach. Isn't it, Josie?"

Again, I know I shouldn't agree or take sides, but it's the first time she hasn't called me 'Presentation Josie' and I want it to stay that way.

My shoulders slump as he hopefully glances at me. "Sorry dude..."

Gently shaking my leg with excitement, Melissa drags herself up from  the carpet and tells us to text her when the next practice is due. "In the meantime, I am going back to bed."

"Alright for some," Max grumbles, fixing his stare on his bedroom door, still not budging.

When she's done a loop down to the kitchen for orange juice and back up for sleep, I turn to him and whisper, "I don't mind telling Libby."

"No, it's alright," he says, swatting my offer away. "She already hates my guts, so"

"That's not true."

With his eyes cast low, Max jabs his finger into the carpet. "Trust me. All Peterson women do. Libby's really no different."