- What did we say, Morgan, seriously?

- We said No decisions without notifying the rest of the group.

Aiden sighs.

- And what did you do? he asks in an exasperated tone.

- I made a decision without telling the rest of the group, Morgan answers, a big smile on his lips.

I was the one who caught him first, distributing leaflets to the entire high school. I grab one, which he was about to give to a girl. It is a simple yellow printed paper, on which is written, in bold type :

CONCERT : PROBLEMS' CLUB

9/15/23, 19:30, PUBLIC GARDEN.

COVERS OF DIFFERENT GREAT ROCK MUSIC

SINGERS : JOHN PRITS & ADELE FRENK

PIANIST: AIDEN RICHFIELD

BASSIST: MORGAN SMITH

DRUMMER: EDELINE GRANT

- Give me a good reason not to slit your throat right now... slip Adele between her teeth.

Morgan pretends to think.

- Since now, almost half of the high school knows about it... You'll be up to your neck in it if I'm not here.

She lets out an expletive. Morgan smiled.

He's always been like that. Daredevil, and indomitable, from the tips of his toes to the tips of his white-dyed hair. At the age of eight, he had broken his ankle when he fell from a tree. This incident had marked us all at the time, because we were all present when it happened. It was also because of us that it took place. The Smiths had been angry with us for a long time, and, for nearly six months, we had not seen Morgan again, nor had we heard from him. From what he had taught us, once recovered, his parents had forbidden him to come to us, and to talk to us, because they considered us too dangerous.

Those days are long gone now, and the Smiths even invited us to spend the afternoon at their place today.

Everything then clicks in my head.

- Your idea, there... I mumbled. You've been planning it for a long time, haven't you?

Morgan's banded smile reappears on his face.

- A month and a half.

- And you already have ideas for music, I hope? John growls.

- Not a single one! Morgan answers proudly.

Adele lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

- Morgan, Morgan, Morgan... does she. You are developing more and more my murderous impulses...

-----|||-----

- It's not possible to be so skinny, Jojo! You'll have to eat more! I made cookies, fortunately.

Helen Smith hugs John tightly in her thick arms. I have always loved this woman very much. Helen has dark skin, large black eyes and hair as dark as her eyes, curly and thick, which she often surrounds with colored scarves. 

We were the first to arrive, even before Morgan.

Mrs. Smith approaches me, having released John from his embrace. He gives me an excited look, and passes a hand in front of his neck.

- Hey! Can you see me under that fringe? she laughs.

I'm smiling.

- Yes, M'dam Smith. Perfectly fine.

She makes us settle in the living room, and goes into the kitchen to take her cookies out of the oven. We sit down on the couch. A smile passes over John's pale face as he smells the sweet smell of vanilla and chocolate. Helen Smith's cookies are reputed to be the best in the entire state.

I put my hand on hers. We didn't repeat our experience a month earlier, but I am rather proud to know that, in addition to having finally managed to confess my feelings to John, I allowed our band to keep its singer.

- Ah... I haven't seen you two in a long time!

Helen places a large plate of still steaming cookies on the table. John's eyes widen with pleasure when he sees the size of the cookies. She serves us two large cups of hot chocolate. In real death of hunger, John throws himself on it, despite the smoke that evaporates from the brown and boiling liquid. Morgan's mother sits on the couch near us, single-handedly taking the same place as Johnny and I.

— You must have something to tell me in five...

 - Eddy and I are a couple.

I miss choking on my chocolate when I hear the frankness of John's words.

- Oh, yes? What good news!

She leans towards me. I can feel her warm breath on the back of my neck, and her silk scarf brushing my cheek. Helen slips me :

- I suspected it, Edeline... I suspected it. The signs are not deceiving, darling.

I'm choking for good with the burning liquid, some of which splashes on my white sweatshirt.

-----|||-----