Page 4 of Never To Suffer

I’m submitting everything now before we change our mind!

In two weeks, we’ll find out if we really are good enough.

CHAPTER 2

AWAKE NOW

MR BELLA

The familiar vibrationof Connor warming up his drum kit greets me and rattles the flimsy door of the studio. I’m not sure it should even be called a studio, since it’s a rented storage unit full of junk from Connor’s family. His mom has a hoarding problem, and instead of getting her help, his dad moves everything out here every few years so she can start her collection all over again. The stacks of newspapers provide stellar sound absorption, but the black trash bags of random crap should get tested for—well—everything.

The door screams when I push it open, and Connor swears about the light and how it burns him. Noah’s in her usual spot in the corner on an old couch, notebook out and head buried. She uses this time to get the creative brain flowing, writing poems for her blog or doodling. Across the room and as far from everyone as she can get, Rory blocks out the world with her headphones and face buried in her phone. We’re not a well-oiled machine; we don't even qualify as functioning co-workers. A fix for that sits at the top of the list of hurdles we need to clear now that we’ve gotten our welcome email for the competition.

“Sup, jerks!” I announce myself as if the loud, creaky doorway wasn’t enough. “All in favor of looking for better working conditions and winning this contest, say aye!”

“Dude, we can’t afford that shit. Also, your apartment has more mice than this place does. Glass houses and throwing rocks or whatever it is,” Connor teases, giving himself a rim shot before he adds, “and my unit is free!”

“Eww, don’t talk about your unit!” I tease back.

“Why, cause I’m the only one in here who has one?”

“That’s unconfirmed and will remain that way,” Noah chimes in, tucking her notebook into her backpack and hanging it on off the giant roll-up door. “So, what’s the plan, oh fearless leader of the freak show? How are we getting our asses to Portland?”

The plan doesn’t exist, but I can’t tell them that. I can’t shoot us in the foot before we’ve even taken a full step toward this. In place of sleep last night, I paced and did internet searches I’m not proud of, trying to figure out how we’re going to do this contest and survive. Both in terms of the stress and the cost. When Xander came home around two in the morning, he forced me to drink some tea while he gave me a foot massage and assured me we would make this work and handed me a couple hundred dollars toward Portland. He said it came from a last-minute freelance gig, which I don’t bother to ask him about. Anytime I do, he shuts me out, so there’s something he doesn’t want to share about it. It doesn’t require an office or consistent hours, so I’ve been envisioning him building websites for the mob.

Yo, you wanna knock some guy off? We’ll knock some guy off. Check out our website, knocksomeguyoff dot com.

“I ran the numbers and did some research on the area?—”

“You?” Rory scoffs. “I wasn’t aware you could even add, let alone create a budget, research costs, and—” She only stops because we’re all staring at her.

“Thank you, Connor, is what she means to say, since she didn’t exactly volunteer any of her free time to help.” I glare at Rory, who rolls her eyes. She loves to bring all the negativity to the function. “We’ve already been accepted, so no need to fork out cash for demo reels or new material, so that’s, you know, good? But I did send the marketing photos and some other shit.”

“LA Proper takes Portland by storm! Where are we playing, anyhow?”

“Well,” Connor says as he sends the group chat photos of the venue, a map, and other details. I’m pretty impressed by everything he did while I spent my time pacing myself into an early grave. “They’re bringing in a ton of bands, and setting up two to three stages, and here’s the location they picked. I mean, it’s, you know, kinda cool. Right?”

Noah flips through the photos and snorts a laugh before staring at Connor to gauge how serious he is. “A warehouse?”

“Two warehouses! One stage and two bars each, with an outdoor stage setup for night shows. It’s gonna be so fire.”

“Bro, doesn’t it, like, always rain in Portland or something?” Noah asks, looking between Connor and me. She’s met with blank stares since neither of us have ever been to Portland to answer that. “Fuck it! I’ll play in a damn tornado for a shot at this.”

“When will we know the lineup or stage?” Rory asks. “Like, play one set and out or how much time are we talking?”

“They’re supposed to email us a loose itinerary in the next day or two.” I set up my computer and squat down to map out the motels Connor pinned, but a ding and a notification window pull my attention elsewhere. I’ve got a new email. It’s from NotOkay Records.

“Okay, so wait, are we taking the van or?—”

“Shut up!” I yell, pointing at my screen. “They’ve emailed us!”

“Who? Wait, NotOkay Records? Oh fuck, that was fast.” Noah scrambles off her chair and runs over.

“Is that good or bad?” Marco asks as he moves closer. “Come on, open it!”

My finger hovers over the touch pad for a moment, then drops with two quick taps.

CONGRATULATIONS!

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