Riven (Riven 1)

“How’re you doing, kid?” Huey asked, answering on the second ring. I smiled at the knowledge that my friend had been on alert for my call.

“I’m actually okay, I think. But I kinda don’t trust myself to walk around alone, so now I’m following Theo around like a damn groupie and I’m pissing myself off.”

“Ha, you as a groupie. Hilarious. I’ll save that one to make fun of you for later.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“Whitman, you know what I’m gonna say.”

I sighed. He was right. I did know. But I still needed to hear it from him.

“You’re making smart choices. Feeling a little shaky? You’re sticking with someone who keeps you on track. That’s exactly what you should be doing.”

“Yeah.”

“So then what’s this really about? Theo annoyed that you’re sticking with him?”

“No.”

“Well, then?”

I slid down the wall to sit on the patterned carpet and dropped my head back, closing my eyes against the tunnel effect of the hallway that was making me woozy.

“I might…Theo and I wrote this song. Together. And he wants to play it tonight, at his show. He’s in there with the band right now, talking about it. And they may say no, so it’ll be a moot point, but…they might say yes. And if they do…”

“Name the feeling, Whit.”

Huey was a big fan of the feel your feelings methodology. Said if you knew the feelings then it was easier to deal with them clean. Of course, it annoyed the holy shit outta me because I always felt like a kindergartner when he made me do it. But I couldn’t deny it was fairly effective.

“Fear.” Fear that they’d hate the song, that I’d fuck it up, that I’d let Theo down. Fear that I wouldn’t love performing anymore. Fear that I would.

Huey waited.

“And excitement.” Because what if? What if I could have this again?

“Hope,” I said softly, almost choking on the word. “Is hope a feeling?”

“Doesn’t matter. You feel it, it’s a feeling.”

“I really want this, man. I want it so fucking hard it’s like I’m ripping into it with my teeth. I want my fuckin’ life back.”

“Sounds like maybe the want is stronger than the fear. That’s good, kid. That’s real good. Fear is the mind-killer.”

Dune was one of Huey’s favorite books. It was one of the first things we’d ever talked about.

A door opened down the corridor and I saw Theo’s head poke out.

“Oh, hey, I gotta go. Thanks, man. Really. Thanks.”

“Hey. I wanna meet this kid when y’all’re back in New York.”

“Yeah, okay.” The idea of Huey and Theo together kind of broke my brain. “Thanks.”

Theo was striding toward me and I could tell from his smile that we were a go. As I pushed myself to my feet, I felt heavy but light-headed.

“We’re in!” he said, and threw his arms around my neck, kissing me solidly.

All I could do was nod and hope that my mouth was forming something resembling a smile, because inside the terror was so stark I could hardly breathe.

* * *

—

The first time I performed my own songs live, I was nineteen. I had a broke-ass guitar, a borrowed amp, and the conviction that I was going to either faint or die as I walked onstage. There were about fifteen people in the audience, and in the time it took to take the five steps to the microphone, I was certain that every single one of them hated me. I practically tripped over my own mic stand, and my hands were shaking so hard that only the strap was keeping my guitar in place.

I hadn’t felt that way since then. But right now, five minutes before taking the stage with Theo, I felt ten times worse. I was sweating so badly that my shirt was sticking to my back and under my arms, and I probably stank. My hair was a mess from running my hands through it so much. I thought I might possibly vomit at any moment. The morning’s coffee and beignets were a distant memory by now, but I hadn’t been able to choke down anything else all day.

Theo was eyeing me like I was a rabid dog he was scared to approach. No surprise there, since the last time he’d asked if I was all right—in a sweet, concerned voice, with a supportive hand on my shoulder—I’d snapped at him and jerked away. He’d held his hands up and backed away slowly, and I’d felt immediately guilty.

Washtub Prophecy had done their set, to a lukewarm response. But then, arrogance in a band that hadn’t paid its dues didn’t go over too well in Nola. It had been decided that Coco was going to go out onstage to introduce us. Ven’s argument that Theo had to make an entrance was agreed upon by the band, though Theo had clearly been uncomfortable with it, and they hadn’t wanted to all just sit there onstage while we performed our song.