Page 5 of Faking with Three

“No, no, it’s not that,” he says, a bit too quick. “It’s, uh, actually about the band.”

I brace myself, giving him a chance to spit it out. “All right, hit me. What’s going on?”

There’s an awkward shuffling noise, like he’s fumbling with the phone. “Well, here’s the thing… We’ve been talking, me andthe guys, and, uh… we kinda think the band’s taking a different direction.”

I blink. “A different direction?” I echo. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It just means we’re going in a different direction,” he says.

I finally get it. “You mean without me?”

“Look, it’s not you—it’s, uh…” Cam pauses, grasping for words, “well, actually, it kindaisyou. You’re a little too, uh, old-school, man. We’re going for more of a, I dunno, ‘synth-wave meets grunge’ vibe now.”

“Synth-wave meets… grunge,” I repeat, my mind spinning at the combination. “And that’s what you thinkmysound is getting in the way of?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Well, yeah. I mean, you’re more of a classic rock guy, right? You’re all about guitar riffs and, like, actual melodies. We’re trying to be… atmospheric.” He says the last word with a dramatic flourish, like I’m supposed to be impressed.

“Right,” I say, deadpan. “Atmospheric.”

Another voice chimes in. Jesse, of course. “Hey, Ethan! No hard feelings, dude. We’ll still be cool, right?”

“Right,” I say slowly. “We’ll be… cool. So, just to be clear, the band thatIstarted,Inamed, andIhave written every decent song for is now going to be, what, moody elevator music?”

I can practically hear Jesse’s shrug through the phone. “It’s just a different vibe, dude. You know how it is. Bands change, people grow.”

“Sure, sure,” I say, scratching my head. “People grow. Especially when they’re shedding founding members like dead skin cells.”

Cam jumps in, probably sensing my sarcasm. “It’s nothing personal, man. You’re great. But, like, we’re evolving, you know? And you’re… well, you’re more of a ’70s guitar solo kinda guy.”

“Got it,” I say with a deep sigh, leaning back on my bed. “I’m basically a fossil.”

“No, no, we’re not saying that,” Marco jumps in.

“Yeah, thanks, Marco,” I say, letting out a long exhale. “Well, best of luck with the… atmospheric synth-grunge thing.”

“We’ll send you tickets to the show!” Cam says, as if that’s supposed to make me feel better.

“Oh, can’t wait,” I reply drily. None of them get the sarcasm.

“Later, man!” Jesse says, and with a few crackles, the line goes dead.

I stare at the phone for a second, letting it all sink in. My own band just dropped me out of nowhere. Actually, scratch that. I knew they were up to something with all the looks and whispers over the last few weeks. I won’t be surprised if they’ve had my replacement lined up for a while.

I toss my phone down and stare at the ceiling, letting the news about the band sink in. But before I can fully process it, my phone lights up again. It’s Jax.

Jax and I met on the first day of freshman year, both wandering around campus trying to find the same Intro to Psych lecture hall. Jax looked like he belonged in the NFL (and he did) and had the easygoing attitude to match. We clicked right away, bonded over a shared love for bad horror movies and a mutual disdain for boring lectures. He’s a former hockey player, but after a rough injury cut his career short, he moved back home to focus on his own thing. Then a few years later, he had the genius idea of making social experiment videos online—“people eat this stuff up,” he’d said.

“Yo, Jax,” I answer, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What’s up?”

“Congratulations. You’re talking to a free agent,” I say, deadpan.

“Sounds like I’m catching you at an interesting time. What’s up?”

“Just got dropped frommy own band,actually,” I say dryly.

There’s a beat of silence before he breaks into laughter. “Wait,yougot booted? From the band that you put together?”

“Yep.” I shake my head, a smirk tugging at my lips despite myself. “Apparently, I’m holding back their new sound.”

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