This is the moment where most people would respond with an emphatic yes, but I can’t. I need to think about this, wrap my brain around the idea that I could possibly play strings on a track for the most popular rock band in the country.
“Um . . . Can I take some time to think about it?”
Now Ashton does go quiet. A beat passes, then two, and I picture her looking down at the phone in confusion, probably wondering if I’ve lost my mind.
“Yeah, of course,” she finally says. “But things are moving fast, so can you let me know today?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Okay, great. Just give me a call back at this number. And you really were phenomenal last night. You’d be such a great fit!”
I let out another one of those forced laughs. “Okay, thank you. I’ll let you know.”
We say goodbye and hang up, and I slouch back in my chair as if I’ve just run a marathon.
Loaded God Complex. Me. On a track. In a studio.
Together.
How am I supposed to act around rock stars? I can barely befriend the other violinists in my orchestra, let alone celebrities.
Margot wakes up from her nap on the couch and does a big stretch, then trots over and leaps gracefully onto the kitchen table.
“What am I going to do?” I ask her, and she pushes her warm cheek against mine, purring like this is the easiest decision in the world. Then she walks to the patch of sunlight at the other end of the table and begins grooming herself. “Big help,” I grumble.
Grabbing my phone, I call my mom, and she answers on the first ring.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Mom, I just got the weirdest phone call.”
I convey it to her, and my heart starts pounding again. Once I’m done, she sits quietly on the other end. The furnace hums softly in the background. I check the temps in Denver every day, and they got six inches of snow today, so Dad’s probably out with his snowblower. He loves anything with an engine, and I’ll bet he’s offering to clear all the neighbors’ driveways as well.
“So?” I say, standing to go stare out my kitchen window. “What do you think?”
After a moment, Mom sighs, and I can tell one of her big speeches is coming.
“I think you need to go for it. You’re so talented, honey, and the world needs to see that! You can’t play second chair forever. This could be life-changing.”
Fear grips me, twists my stomach into a knot. “But—”
“And I know it scares you,” she says, cutting me off before I can come up with an excuse for why I can’t play, “but you can’t run away from these things. Imagine how disappointed you’d be if you turned this down and then had to listen to some other violinist play the part that was meant for you.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but she’s right. I’d never forgive myself.
I’m silent for a few beats, and I can all but see that proud little smile she gets when she’s talked me into doing something I don’t want to do.
“Let me know how it goes,” she says, and I groan.
ASHTON WAS ELATED WHEN I told her I’d come in for an audition. Now a little note is hanging from the calendar in my kitchen, staring at me from across the room. LGC Audition @ 12. I glare at it while I sit at my kitchen table, my laptop open in front of me and a hot cup of tea steaming to my right.
I pull up a new browser tab and type Loaded God Complex into the search bar. Thousands of results pop up: songs, music videos, upcoming shows, and news articles—mostly about their lead singer and guitarist, Dex Reid.
His picture is all over the internet, and he’s usually either shirtless and showing off his plethora of tattoos or is being danced on by half-naked women with boobs so perfect and round that they can’t be real—at least, mine certainly don’t look like that.
I keep scrolling. Most of the recent stories are about Dex and Serena White, an actress even I know. According to the tabloids, they were the hot new thing this past summer, but they called it quits before Christmas. There are a ton of photos of them together, and she’s gorgeous: blond hair, big blue eyes, designer clothes that look like they were made for her.
Well, they probably were.
I click away from their photos and choose a song at random, “Last Night.” It starts with an electric guitar, the string noise amplified to the point it almost makes me flinch. The drums come in, followed by Dex’s vocals. He’s got a rough quality to his voice, a masculine edge that makes me lean almost imperceptibly closer to the screen and hit the volume button so I can hear him more clearly. I stare off into space as he holds a high note I wouldn’t have thought him capable of, and a tingle goes down my spine.
As soon as the song ends, I close my laptop and sit back from the table.
“Shit,” I whisper. Margot opens one yellow eye to look at me from where she’s lying on the back of the couch. “What did I get myself into?”
chapter 3
I CAN’T BELIEVE I LET my mom talk me into this.
I’m sitting in the parking lot outside the building where I’m supposed to have my audition. There’s no name on the building, just a number, and I’m afraid I’m at the wrong place. What if I walk in there and they have no idea what I’m doing here? Or what if I can’t find the right place and have to walk around looking like an idiot with a violin case?
These are the worries that keep me up at night.
I check my face in the rearview mirror. While I don’t usually wear makeup, I put some on today, hoping to bolster my confidence and amplify the flecks of green in my brown eyes. A touch of mascara is smeared under my left eye, so I swipe it away, run a hand through my straight mousy-brown hair, and force myself to get out of the Civic.
Filling the parking lot around me are cars that feel too expensive to even look at, let alone drive. I parked far away so there’d be no way I could scratch any of them with my car door. That’s the last thing I need today.
