Rowdy Boy

Rage boils up inside me, and I pick up a nearby empty coffee cup that was left on a table and throw it at the wall while I roar out loud.

Fuck Michael, fuck this audition, and fuck this band.

Everything is ruined.

Everything I worked so hard for.

Everything I put my reputation on the line for.

Gone.

Just like that.

As if it never meant a thing.

I sit down on the stage and stare at the new guitar my parents bought me as a thank-you for watching the house and hiring a cleaner. It was earned with the drug money I hate so much, but I accepted it so I could salvage whatever we had left of our band.

And now it’s all gone to shit.

Chapter 31

Monica

Minutes ago

I wasn’t sure I was actually going to school today. After what happened at Cole’s party, I figured the entire school would know within minutes what had transpired. That I was almost used by Michael and his gang and that Cole had been in a fight to save me, only to bring me back inside and shut down the party. People were upset.

But none as much as me when I discovered he also shared that goddamn picture of me without my permission. I never asked Cole to take it in the first place. He did it to make me shut up about the drugs Michael did … and now he shared it anyway.

Who knows where else that picture ended up and who else got to see it.

That picture is out there in the world now, thanks to Cole, and what was the reason? Just to punish me for getting close? For daring to like him?

I cannot fucking get over it, no matter how much I ruminate on it while walking through the hallways. But I’m pulled from my thoughts by a ruckus going on up ahead.

Somewhere in the hallways, people are fighting, but I can’t tell who as the hallways are crowded with people taking pictures and videotaping it. What’s going on?

I push myself through the people huddled together, only to find Cole punching Michael in the face.

“Don’t you ever fucking talk about her ever again,” Cole barks at Michael, who is lying on the ground against the lockers. “You fuckin’ hear me?”

“You two deserve each other,” Michael replies with a half-smile that reminds me of the night in the woods. “You just hit an innocent guy.”

Innocent? Far from it. But no one else besides Cole and I know the truth, and it shows. Everyone’s in shock that Cole just punched him and that they’re yelling at each other. But Cole doesn’t even seem to care anymore.

“Innocent, my fucking ass,” Cole says. “You’re the worst bandmate anyone could ever wish for.”

“Lucky I’m not a band member anymore then,” Michael responds.

“You’d better hope I find the person who did this,” Cole says.

The person who did what?

Send the picture?

My heart beats in my throat.

“And that Monica is lenient on you when she decides she’s going to tell the truth,” he adds.

Michael’s face darkens. “What truth?”

Cole doesn’t even seem to notice we’re here, watching him. “You and your fucking buddies know what you did.”

A chill runs across my spine.

“Yeah, well … where’s the proof?”

Cole suddenly kicks him in the nuts, and everyone gasps in shock, including me.

I’ve never seen Cole this filled with hatred … and there’s only one explanation for it.

One I threw off as impossible the moment I found out that picture had been shared.

But was I wrong about who sent it?

“Waste of fucking space,” Cole growls at Michael, and he storms off through the crowd, far away from the scene of the crime, while Michael lies there on the ground like a defeated dog licking its wounds.

I’m stupefied by what just happened and stay frozen to the ground while others help Michael up and share the photos and videos they took of the incident.

I don’t know everything that transpired, but I do know one thing … Cole came to my defense when Michael ridiculed me. Even though he had no reason to. Even though he told me to leave, even though he chased me away with his anger, he still tried to protect me when it mattered the most.

When the world was watching, he didn’t choose his reputation or his band.

He chose me.

I have to know what that means.

I walk into the direction he went, following the thread of fans that pursued him regardless of his actions, just to get a glimpse, a taste. But somehow, even they don’t know where he went, as they’re circling the hallways and checking all the doors.

Maybe he shook them off.

I walk into a different hallway, one where I will only find him on practice days.

The same room where he played his songs on the first day we met.

The door is locked, and the window shutters have been closed.