It’s what Cameron once called a germ of endearment.
Thoughts of Cameron had no place in that room, and I quickly shoved them out the door. I didnotneed distractions, and Cameron was a distraction wrapped up in a hot package.
Too hot to handle. I didn’t need that kind of heat either.
By the last half hour, my shoulders hurt, and my brain was full of overheating circuits. My pencil had no eraser left. My water bottle was empty, and I was ninety percent certain I’d drunk half of Milo’s at some point. I’d told people to stop and start so many times the words had lost all shape.
I lifted my hand for what I promised myself would be the final time. “All right, this is it. Top to bottom, with no stopping. Nobody dies. If you do die, do it quietly on the rests.”
“Noted,” Julian said.
“Funeral pianissimo,” Zane added.
I inhaled, and heard the room inhale with me. I brought them in.
It wasn’t smooth. The first verse wobbled, and the first harmony spread like butter left out too long. The “Mama” hit somewhere left of soul and right of sincerity. The rock section threatened to rip off its own leash before Liam’s baritone pulled it back. The “Galileo” was a near-disaster followed by a miracle,followed by two bats colliding with a chandelier and then, suddenly, the chandelier refracting the light just right.
At the end, our breaths spent, our throats raw, sweat beading at our temples, we landed together on the last chord, ten men exhaling into unity.
Silence.
Outside, a siren Dopplered past. In the corner, Max’s phone vibrated against a chair like a tiny impatient cricket.
I lowered my hand, very slowly.
“Holy shit.” Milo’s whisper came out reverent.
Elliott pushed out a shaky little laugh and immediately covered his mouth as though he’d burped in church. Julian’s snark didn’t arrive in time to save his fondness. Finnley blinked away tears he didn’t apologise for. Oliver pushed his glasses up and nodded once likeyes, that’s a thing that can exist. Liam made finger guns at the ceiling and then elbowed Oliver as if to sayyou did that. Zane pretended to inspect his cuticles. Sebastian inhaled as if he wanted to keep the sound in his lungs longer.
Max clapped, one broad sound that made the room jump. “First rehearsal,” he said. Then he grinned. “And we didn’t die.”
“Give it time.” It came out softer than I meant. I glanced around the circle of faces, these men we’d chosen, who had chosen us back, and let the feeling crest. What surged through me wasn’t joy, not yet, but something quieter and more dangerous.
Hope.
I cleared my throat. “Notes.” I flipped my clipboard to a clean page and realised I’d filled them all. I wrote in the margin anyway. “Finnley, brighten less on ‘little.’ Zane, you’re a baritone tourist; commit to your lane. Milo, runs happen whenIsay they happen. Sebastian?—”
“Perfect,” Sebastian said.
My lips twitched. “Almost. Which is my favourite insult, by the way. Oliver, that breath plan was great; roll it to the group chat. Liam, whatever you did in bar fifty-six, do that forever. Elliott, come see me about vowel shape. I want to move you from brightehto puree. Julian? Nice restraint. Keep it.”
Julian put a hand to his chest. “He complimented me. Someone write this down.”
“I did.” Oliver was already typing on his phone.
Max flung an arm over my shoulders and reeled me in like a big brother. “Captain Clipboard?”
“What?”
“You did good,” Max said simply.
I felt the words land where the music had rung, inside my ribs. I shrugged as if they weighed nothing. “We still have a long way to go.”
“Sure. But now we know which direction is forward.”
I looked at my men, my group. The nameRough Harmonysuddenly felt less like a joke and more like a mission. I exhaled, and what came out was a laugh I hadn’t intended. “All right. Same time Saturday.”
A chorus of groans greeted my words.