Riley and Abbott are already onstage, messing with the drum set. Jared hops up and scopes out the scene, probably deciding where he'll set up his guitar and amp. I hang back by the bar, just watching for a moment.

People trickle in and take seats at booths or high tops. Most of them look like college students, with that rumpled Friday look in their eyes, like they've just finished classes for the week and are ready to unwind a little or a lot.

Mostly a lot.

I lug my guitar case onto the stage and kneel before it, running my hands over the zebra stripes and relishing the moment. Then I pop open the latch and take Betsy into my hands.

It's not long before we're all set up and ready to go.

This is what I live for.

A darkened room, people slowly getting drunk, the low buzz of anticipation. The familiar excitement bubbles in my stomach as I tune my guitar, testing out chords and making slight adjustments. I can't wait to start, for that moment when the four of us become the most important people in the world. Or, at least, the bar.

Mac, the owner, comes up to see if we need anything.

"I'll take a gin and tonic," Jared says in his best of-age voice.

"Nice try," Mac says, chortling. "How about a nice Shirley Temple?" He turns to me. "How about you, princess? Would you like a Shirley Temple?"

I shake my hair out of my eyes and nod at him, and then Riley speaks up. "A Shirley Temple sounds great, Mac. I'll take one, too."

Mac brings us our drinks and wishes us luck.

I take a sip of the sweet drink and set it on the floor, out of the way.

A soft thrum starts in my chest when the house lights go down. It's always like this, like my heart is just waking up when it's time for us to perform. Abbott is already sitting before his drums. Jared pulls his guitar strap over his shoulder. Riley takes her place behind the microphone.

Mac turns on the stage lights, and I'm blinded for a moment. Then my eyes slowly adjust to the brightness. I scan the crowd and spot a few familiar faces from school. My eyes fall on the heart-shaped, upturned face of Rose Evans, who is sitting near the bar with a glass of what looks like Coke. When she sees me looking her way, I waggle my fingers at her. She waves back.

I find Betsy right where I left her and loop her strap over my shoulder, facing the crowd. Riley picks up the microphone and switches it on. I stand a little behind Riley, and her brown hair is highlighted like a chocolate halo.

Abbott hits his sticks together four times, and I follow his cue and launch into the opening chords of "Outside." When Riley starts to sing, one head turns after another until nearly everyone's eyes are on her. A few people start nodding along with the song, like they recognize it.

It's hard to describe how it feels, making music with the Sea Monkeys. The closest thing I can think of is standing in church, everyone reciting a prayer together. Except, for me, this sense of unity is much stronger than it is in church. When we're blending our sounds together, it's like we're all connected in this way that I've never felt within the walls of St. Anthony's. Riley and Jared and Abbott and I, we're bound together, and there's something that ties us to the crowd, the people who are listening to us, too.

In what seems like the blink of an eye, we have gone through five songs, and it's time for a break. The house lights go up, and I lay Betsy in her case and straighten, ready to gather everyone for Rose's interview. Riley is talking animatedly to Abbott, but Jared has disappeared already.

Damn it.

"Do you guys know where Jared went? We've got to do an interview with Rose." I cast a glance toward the edge of the stage, where Rose is now standing with a notebook and pen.

"He said something about going to get some fresh air," Abbott says, nodding toward the back.

I sigh. "I'll go find him. Will you guys start talking to Rose?"

Riley nods.

After throwing an apologetic wave to Rose, I skip down the steps off the stage and hurry down the hall, away from the crowd, toward the door leading outside. It's not uncommon for Jared to take a breather between sets, but I'm disappointed that he'd leave without saying anything, especially when he knew we were supposed to meet with Rose.

I push the door open and plunge into the cool evening air. Wrapping my arms around my body to keep warm, I look to the left and see a couple of college kids leaning against a wall, smoking cigarettes.

"Hey," I hear Jared say.

I turn around to find him nervously running his fingers through his hair.

"What's up?" I ask. "We're supposed to be talking to Rose."

"Can't you just..." Jared hesitates. "Can't you do it without me?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just don't feel like doing the fucking interview, okay?" His tone is sharp, and I take a step back. "Hey, I'm sorry," Jared says when he sees me moving away from him. He steps toward me and grabs my arm, his fingers closing over the exact area I sliced up last night.

I wince.

Jared takes one look at my face and then rolls up my sleeve, exposing my newest injuries. "What the hell, Lil?"

I close my eyes.

"What's going on with you?"

There are so many answers to that question that I can't even decide which to present as an explanation for my cutting. Things are bad at school, but they're not any better at home. I think about the letter Grams received in the mail today. Six months. Six months until my whole life turns upside down.

I want to tell him all these things, but I can't. It's like my mouth physically won't open. My heart is galloping, my blood is pumping, but I can't make my voice work. I open my eyes, tears stinging, and shake my head.

Jared drops my arm and turns his eyes skyward.

"Jesus, I can't deal with this right now."

"It's not—"

"Don't even say it, Lil. It's a big deal. A big fucking deal!" Jared throws his arms up in the air, still not looking at me. He looks at the darkening sky, at the House of Rock sign above my head, at the brick wall a few inches to my right, but not at me.

"I'm trying," I say, but my voice is weak, so timid that even I don't believe me. Really, have I been trying?

If I had, I would have removed the knife from beneath my mattress. I would have talked... to anyone. But I didn't. Not to Grams, not to Jared, not to Riley. I'm not trying, not at all.

"I..." My voice trails off. I don't even know what to say.

But it doesn't matter because Jared is already talking over me. "Do you even see anyone beside yourself? Do you realize my dad got fired the other day? I had to beg my supervisor to give me more hours, and now I have to, like, babysit my dad to make sure he remembers to make Jake dinner. I just don't have the time or the energy to deal with..."

It's his turn to trail off.

But he doesn't need to finish.

"Me," I provide.

He doesn't have the time or the energy to deal with me.

I get it.

I do.

He holds out his hands, palms up, almost helplessly. "Like I said before, it's just too much," he says.

There it is.

The way it always is.

I'm too much.

For Jared.

For my mother.

For everyone.

We both stand there awkwardly, like we're expecting the other one to say something else, but neither of us does. And the whole time neither one of us talks, there's this pressure building up in my chest. I can feel my lungs struggling to process air. I can feel myself start to lose control.

"That's fine," I say, trying to be adult, trying to be reasonable. "It's..." but the word is caught in my throat. Fine. It's fine. It's totally fucking fine.

Before I even know what I'm doing, I reach out, and my hand is in the pocket of his jacket, fumbling, searching. My fingers close around his keys.

"What are you doing?" Jared asks, pushing me away, but I already have the keys in my fist. I spin and run away from him as fast as I can.

He calls my name.

I don't stop.

My boots slap against the pavement, the same way my heart smacks my ribcage. All I can do is breathe in and out and in again.

Don't think.

Don't. Think.

Suddenly I reach the parking lot. When I get to Jared's car, I yank open the door and throw myself inside. I can hear him behind me, so I slam the door shut and hit the locks. Taking a brief moment to adjust the rearview mirror, I notice the mascara-blackened tears I hadn't even realized were pouring down my face.

Don't think.

Just drive.

Even though my hands are trembling, I manage to get the key into the ignition. I twist it hard to the right, and the engine roars to life. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jared round the corner. I grab hold of the gearshift and throw the car into reverse, stomp on the gas.

The wheels squeal as I'm thrown forward, but then I hit the brakes and all is well. I switch gears and try not to think about the lazy summer days when Jared took me out to the dirt roads and let me drive this very car and how we would park it under a tree to watch the sunset and—

Stop it.

Just. Stop.

I spin the wheel and almost run over Jared as I pull out of the parking lot. Lucky for him, he manages to jump out of the way. And then I am sailing down the street, toward a light that is turning yellow.

But I don't slow down.

I jam the pedal down, as far as it will go, and I leave that light behind me, along with the stranger I once called my boyfriend. His words run through my head again and again... I just don't have the time or the energy...

The only way I can make his voice go away is by driving, by putting distance between us as quickly as possible. I am headed toward the south side of town. I don't know. It doesn't matter where I go. As long as I'm far away from here. The road ahead of me is long and straight and empty, yellow bits of line stretching out into nothingness. But then my vision blurs, tears obscuring my vision. I reach up to brush them away. 

Buzz.

I fish my phone out of my pocket. 

Jared has texted me. 

WTF?

My lip trembles. I know I shouldn't text him back, especially in this state. What would I say, anyway? The main thing running through my head is that he never really loved me, only used me for sex and music. But that is too long to text and I'm not sure I want to, anyway. 

I need something short and not sweet.  

Distill it down to what I really want to say: You never loved me.

Just that one last thing, before we're done forever.

Something keeps me from typing out the message. I throw the phone on the floor of the passenger side. When I turn my eyes back to the road...

 the sound of a horn

the feeling of weightlessness

the smell of night

and blood

and

then

nothing