Page 47 of Disharmony

Brilliant, my viral hit has reached celebrity circles. When my career flops, the video immortalized on the internet will be all that remains of my flash of fame.

I nod reluctantly. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“The song you were playing just now was…” He hesitates, letting his sentence end and then shakes his head before going on, “You were playing it too fast.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Too fast?”

What the hell does he know?

The Lionhearts’ songs feature the same four chords over and over for three minutes. They are catchy but all sound the same and have nothing else going for them. The Basilisks songs are different. They take you on a journey of discovery and build to epic climactic moments.

Zach shrugs, burying his hands in his pockets. “If you slowed down for the chorus, it would complement your voice and give more time for you to showcase your range. Why don’t you try it again?”

“Seriously?” I’m not sure whether he’s messing around. “You want me to play that again?”

“I’m a mentor,” he says. Zach bends down to pick up the drumsticks I dropped and passes them over. Our fingers brush for a second, and the fiery heat of his hands make me jump. Zach’s eyes meet mine, and I look away. “Why don’t you let me do my job, Ashley?”

“Fine.” I accept his challenge and snatch the sticks from his hands of hell. “And it’s Ash, not Ashley.”

“Ash.” He nods like that makes sense. “It suits you.”

He pulls out a chair and sits opposite the drum kit.

“Don’t you want to get ear plugs?” I ask.

I don’t have the money to be sued for damaging his hearing.

“I’ll be fine.” Zach laughs, then winks. “Even a Lionheart can deal with a little metal.”

“Suit yourself,” I say with a grin, deciding I’m not gonna hold back. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I start to play. As the song goes on, Zach raises his hand and stops me at certain points to offer suggestions. Grudgingly, he makes some good points. If he’s so knowledgeable, why does his band churn out the same shit every year?

“You should sit up more and push your shoulders back,” he instructs. I try to position myself the way he’s describing, but it feels unnatural. “No, you’re still slouching. You need to open your diaphragm. It’ll help with the growl.”

I glower at him, trying again. “Better now?”

“No, worse.” He scowls and rises from his seat. “Can I show you?”

I tap my foot impatiently. “Sure.”

Zach stands behind me. He pauses before placing his hands on my shoulders. They hover an inch away.

“May I?” he asks.

“Fine.” I exhale in exasperation, then grumble, “but I’ve been sitting like this for years.”

“You need to be more like this.” One of his hands pulls my shoulders back and the other pushes gently against my lower back to correct my posture. “Trust me, the subtle shift will make all the difference. How does that feel now?”

I cough, trying not to think about how many girls would kill to be in my position right now. “Okay… I guess.”

“Good,” Zach replies, returning to his chair to watch. “Start from the chorus and sing it again.”

I take a deep breath and start:

“Your eyes are open, but empty.

The swarm will take you.

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