Page 27 of Disharmony

I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

She doesn’t press the issue and nods in understanding then starts pacing the cabin.

“Those idiots,” Cookie blasts. “When I find out who did it, I’ll—”

“Just forget about it, okay?” It’s obvious who was behind the scheme, but retaliating won’t achieve anything. It will only attract more trouble. “Let’s not give them a reaction. I’ve already given them the show they wanted.”

“Don’t take it personally,” she says. It’s hard not to when you have a message scrawled above your head. “Being a high-profile newbie that is kicking ass online draws people’s attention.”

“I bet this isn’t what you had in mind when you got a roommate,” I groan. It’s not just my bed that was caught in the firing zone. A lot of the spatters wrecked Cookie’s wall hangings and dream catchers. “I’m sorry that you’ve been dragged into it all.”

“It’s just stuff.” She waves her hand dismissively. “But it’s you I’m worried about. You scared me back there. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

She doesn’t know how right she is.

“I was so happy when I got the call to say I’d been accepted. But now?” I sigh and shake my head. For the first time in my life, I start to see that Brick might have been onto something. There’s a comfort to the familiar. “I don’t know whether I can make it in this industry or if I have what it takes. Maybe Tiffany is right. I’ve been kidding myself this whole time. I’ve had my ten minutes of fame, and that’s all music will ever be to me.”

“Hey, you listen to me right now. You’re Ash-fucking-Cooper, you got that?” Cookie says. “What happened to the girl who told Tiffany she wouldn’t sit with her? I know we don’t know each other well yet, but I’m guessing you’ve been through things worse than anything these campers have. Don’t let them take this chance away from you because you’ll be letting them win.”

“But I shouldn’t even be here.” It’s not something I wanted to admit, but now, I’ve started, I can’t stop. The thoughts I’ve held in since arriving hurtle out like the build up to the chorus of a power ballad. “I’ve applied here for three years in a row and got rejected each time. It’s only because of the video online that they gave me a chance, and now? The music they want me to play isn’t even music I like. It’s not me. They want me to be someone else.”

“Who cares why you got rejected before?” Cookie says. “The only thing that matters is that you’re here now. There’s a reason why you were accepted. In the music business, everyone has to sell a bit of their soul to make it. The question is, do you think it’s worth it?”

“I did,” I reply. “But after all this? I don’t know. It’d be easier to pack up and go home.”

“That’s what Tiffany wants,” Cookie says fiercely. “But everyone saw you kick ass at the campfire, you’ve got what it takes. You just need to believe in yourself, and that song? I don’t even know what it was, but you rocked it.”

“Oh, that…” After waking up in a slasher scene, the campfire party seems far away. “It was a song by the Basilisks.”

“The Basilisks?” She looks blank, like I’m talking to her in another language. “Never heard of them.”

“You’re missing out,” I say with a smile. “They’re the best.”

She reaches down to grab her laptop and hands it to me. “Prove it.”

“They’re not exactly the usual type of thing that people play around here,” I say hastily. “But, fuck it.”

Hearing them again is the only thing that would make this shitty night better.

* * *

Cookie nods in appreciation after listening to their fourth song. “Their music isn’t my usual taste, but you’re right about the lyrics. They have real power.”

“I know,” I gush. I’ve given her a full and in-depth education on the entire Basilisks evolution like a college professor. “Venom writes them all.”

“Venom?” She arches an eyebrow. “What kind of name is that?”

“A good one,” I shoot back defensively. It sounds badass, like the rest of their stage names. “Look, I’ll show you.”

Lucky for Cookie, she’s getting a lecture from the master. I pull up a search engine to open a picture of the Basilisks’ latest album cover to show her the three band members. Venom, the genius songwriter and talented guitarist with magic fingers. Then Ripper, who plays the drums and is surprisingly talented on the piano too—even though he doesn’t play often. Ripper also provides backing vocals that are so sweet they’re like a crashing lullaby. Finally, the lead singer with the scream of angels is Zed. When he roars, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Together, they are legendary.

The Basilisks are always wearing creepy masks, face paint, and prosthetics. It’s their thing. No one has ever seen their faces underneath. The hardcore fans speculate about what they might look like; a few have even gone so far as to make computer generated images. None of that interests me. Who cares what they look like? It doesn’t matter. The Basilisks’ insistence on privacy only adds to their mysterious charm and makes me respect them more. They want their music to speak for itself.

“They sure like to dress up,” Cookie comments. “They look as freaky as they sound.”

“I know, right?” I’ll take it as a compliment. The Basilisks are doing something different. Something to set them apart from others in their genre. “If you think that’s freaky, then take a look at their last tour photos.”

They like to have a theme for their tour costumes, and they’ve done it all, from clowns to zombies. One time they even dressed in what represented their greatest fears. Venom went as a reptilian creature, Zed wore a thorny crown which made him look like the King of Hell, and, my personal favorite, Ripper dressed in black with a burlap sack over his head. He cut slits for eyes to reveal his glow in the dark contact lenses.

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