Page 137 of Disharmony

“I’m sorry, sir,” Zed cuts him short, “but that’s all we know.”

“We should go find her,” the guy says, going to stand up, “or ask Cookie? She’s gotta know what’s going on.”

“Unfortunately, no one can leave while the performances are happening,” Zed says, stopping him in his tracks. “But there’s only one more song to go before the cameras roll in for the live performance. You can leave after that.”

“That’s bullshit,” the guy sits down and crosses his arms. He gives off jock vibes and, from his broad shoulders, I’ll bet he’s a football player.

“Are you her boyfriend?” Ripper questions, voicing what we’re all curious about but are too chickenshit to ask.

Zed will be pissed, but I can tell from the pulsing vein in his neck that he wants to know the answer as much as we do.

“I’m her best friend,” the guy says, “and we’ve driven hours to see her sing.”

Ash mustn’t have told him or her father what happened last night. Judging by their protective attitudes, I doubt either of them would have left her if they thought she was sick, which meant there’s another reason why she hasn’t shown up to perform.

Why else wouldn’t she be here?

fifty-four

Ash

I must have lost my fucking mind.

I smudge purple shadow over my eyelids and begin work on a winged cat eye with thick liner. When that’s done, I put on my favorite dark plum lipstick and try to silence the doubts creeping in. I’ve taken a lot of risks in my life, but this is the biggest one yet.

You can do this, Ash.

People want to strip me of my power and change who I am. They want to mold me into something I’m not. Hell, I’ve tried to fit in. I’ve followed what they’ve said to do for weeks, and where did that get me? Almost freezing to death in a lake being rescued by a freaking boy band member.

What I’ve learned this summer is your dreams aren’t worth sacrificing who you are. If doing this tonight will blacklist me from the industry, it’s a risk I’m gonna take because I can’t live a lie forever. If they can’t accept me for the artist I am, this isn’t the right place for me. My heart and music belongs somewhere else…

The Basilisks music blasts from Cookie’s laptop at the other end of the cabin. With everyone else at the final show, I have no worries about being reprimanded. Hearing them again gives me an extra confidence boost. It’s almost like they’re here and encouraging me on.

What would they say if they knew what I was about to do?

Will they be watching the show from their tour bus?

If the guys are who I think they are, I know they’ll approve of my decision. As much as I admire them for wearing masks permanently, I’m making the decision to take mine off.

Car tires crunch and come to a stop outside the cabin, and I give myself a final once over in the mirror, grinning at the sight of my opal septum clicker. Fuck you, McCallister. I’m wearing the same outfit I wore when I met the Basilisks and put my denim jacket over the top, complete with my mysterious gifted patch that was slipped under the door to give me the reminder I needed.

Don’t let the bastards get you down.

My movements are a little shaky and off-balance, and my head is still dizzy, but my purpose is clear. When I shut the cabin door, a weight leaves my shoulders as I drop the walls I’ve constructed for weeks. I’m leaving behind the version of me that Jacqueline and McCallister have tried to resurrect.

“Are you ready for this?” Conor asks as I slide into the backseat of his car. He’s traveling under the guise of dropping off extra equipment, and the tinted windows will conceal me.

I take a deep breath, catch his eye in the rearview mirror and say, “I was born ready.”

* * *

It only takes a few minutes for us to reach the back of the big stage. We pull in next to a number of vans and crew members dashing around to assemble the cameras for the live stream.

The guests from the first show will already be in the mess hall, where a screen has been assembled to broadcast the show as it happens. Among them, Dad and Brick will be there, wondering why I didn’t show up. They won’t have to wait long to see me. They want me to be the best artist I can be, and that’s what I’ll do.

Leila is already waiting and hurries over to the car. Everyone is too preoccupied to notice her slip away as the television crews start their sound checks at the front. She slips into the backseat next to me, armed with equipment.

“Put this in your ear.” She hands me an earpiece, then proceeds to wire me up, then she hands me a microphone. “They can’t cut you off if you use this one.”

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