We tried again.
Julian over sang to prove a point, washing Elliott out. Oliver and Liam adjusted, but then Finnley floated up too soon to the harmony above the melody and Milo, who had been vibrating like a can of fizzing coke, couldn’tnotriff over “real life,” and Zane?—
I stared at him. “Are you singing?”
“I’m considering it,” Zane deadpanned. “I’m auditioning the concept.”
I counted to four in my head. Then eight. Then sixteen. “Sing.”
Zane sang, and damn it, he was good.
Annoyingly good.
“Better,” I said. “Reset.”
We reset. We reset again. We reset until the wordresetlost all meaning, and my pencil had chewed marks from my teeth.
Oh my God.
Elliott apologised for everything he did, even when he did nothing.
Julian said “with love” before every critique, but the words still felt as sharp as a blade.
Sebastian asked for a metronome.
Finnley attempted a Freddie Mercury stance and knocked his own chart off the stand.
Milo called the song “a cathedral of harmonies” and then forgot to come in.
Oliver kept everyone in key by sheer force of patience.
Liam smiled and patted shoulders like a primary school teacher with a gift.
Zane announced he could only commit emotionally if he got a five-minute coffee break every fifteen minutes.
Max told a joke.
I didnotlaugh.
“Again,” I said.
Max moved closer and murmured, “If you keep chewing your pencil like that, you’ll end up eating the thing.”
Breathe.
I unclenched. “We’re slurring consonants. If I hear one more swallowed ‘life’ I will perish.”
“Don’t perish,” Max said. “Who would we get to laminate things for us?”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. I looked at the lineup we’d made, at the nine men who’d walked into the rehearsal with swagger and nerves and hope.
Give me strength.
“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Max’s low murmur filled my ear again. “You’re trying to map us like code: problem, fix; bug, patch. But this isn’t IT, and people don’t compile like programs. If only.”
I forced myself to take a deep cleansing breath.
“Group, eyes on me.” The room fell silent, and nine pairs of eyes focused on me. Another breath. “We’re not chasing perfection today. We’re chasinglock. That moment where the chord stops being individual voices and becomes a single sound. If you can hear yourself, you’re too loud. If youcan’thear yourself, you’re too soft. Give me breath at the edges, consonants at the same time, vowels in the same mouth shape. And for the love of Freddie,listen.”