unREASONable by Arya Matthews

Track 1

Marshall

I kick the green room door closed to shut out the squealing fangirls at the far end of the hallway. I love them. I really do. They’re my bread and butter, but after a three-hour show, I’m sweaty and sticky and dying for a second of silence, which I know I won’t have until we’re back home in a couple of days.

“The next gig is the last time I’m on the bass. I swear. The last time.” CJ flops onto a worn leather sofa and drops his head back. He loves the guitar. Bassis just okay. It’s his job—his second choice—not his dream.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard that before.” Shane, our lead guitarist, tosses a towel at CJ and snickers when it hits him in the face.

“I mean it,” CJ gripes at Shane as he covers his face with the towel.

Our manager barges in without knocking. “Boys, boys.”

She always does that. Kiera is excellent at promoting us and awful at respecting boundaries.

“That was amazing. Amazing!” She clasps her hands together, making me wonder, for the hundredth time, whether she isn’t our biggest fan. She probably is. When we signed with The Label, we had a hard time finding a manager that shared our vision. Kiera, inexperienced but super enthusiastic and in the middle of redefining her life’s career, jumped right in, and cried from every corner just how great we are.

CJ starts from the sofa, “I am not playing the—”

“Bass anymore. I know. I know, my darling.” Kiera sits next to him and lifts the corner of his towel tent. “I hope you can endure through one more show though.”

“I can’t exactly bail on the last gig of the tour, especially since we’re playing it at our home base.”

Kiera pats his cheek. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ve always had the best work ethic, Cristian. Because of that, I have a surprise for you.”

CJ sits up, the towel sliding onto his lap. “We’re getting another player?”

The exhaustion in the room melts away, replaced by a charged, anxious silence. Everyone exchanges glances. I peel off my sweaty T-shirt and pull on a dry one, but I keep my eyes on Kiera. She lounges on the sofa with her arms up on the backrest, a cunning smile on her made-up lips. I don’t like that smile one bit. When Kiera smiles like that, mad schemes follow.

“Well?” Zach asks from the corner while he changes his socks and shoes.

Kiera continues, “The Label is willing to let you add another member to your band, but there are conditions.”

I sit on the edge of a small coffee table. Of course there are conditions. Hopefully, they are too much for CJ to accept, and things will stay as they already are—perfect.

“Such as?” CJ asks when Kiera extends her pause for longer than necessary. She wields dramatic tension like she’s the one who invented it.

Her smile broadens. “You can be the lead guitarist, but Shane will probably need to be on rhythm—”

“We’ll rearrange as needed. If needed,” I mutter. The Label will let us add someone? They have no say in how we handle the band roster. Not as much as they like to believe anyway.

“Done,” CJ blurts out before anyone else can weigh in on the matter.

I look over at Shane, who would be giving up a lot of his spotlight if this happens, but he shrugs like he doesn’t care one bit.

Kiera laughs. “Ever so eager. But wait for the rest of it.”

CJ waves her off, and I get an uneasy feeling in my gut that the rest of the conditions won’t be so simple.

“The Label will pick the bass replacement on their own, without an audition or you having a say in who that is. You’ll have to stick with their choice for six months, long enough to record a single or two. And at the end of the probation period, you’ll be able to decide whether to keep your new bassist or not. It’s really not that bad if you think about it. Call it a music experiment.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the rest of the band launches into the fray first, CJ being the loudest. “No way! That is not fair.”

“How can you expect us to agree to this?” Shane adds. “Without an audition? Never.”

“Seconded,” Graham chimes in while he packs his favorite pair of drumsticks in his duffel bag.

“No audition, no new bassist,” I say. “Sorry, CJ.”

Before either Kiera or CJ can respond, our phones chime with a text from our driver telling us he’s ready when we are and that the venue staff have cleared our path.

I grab my jacket. “Let’s go.”

Our driver’s got great timing. Everyone’s eager to get some rest, and hopefully, this talk of the new bassist will expire on its own now. At least for tonight. I can bet my Telecaster, though, that CJ won’t leave it alone altogether. He’s desperate to ditch the bass.

“Do you know who The Label wants to give us?” Zach asks Kiera once we pile into the minibus. I could punch him for stirring the pot again. “What if it’s Adam Jarvis? There’s been talk he’s been wanting to split from Random Ravens. Or Sam Kingsman? He’s just finished a record with Gabriela Mendoza, so he’d be available for new projects.”

I shake my head and crack open a cold bottle of Diet Coke. “Theoretically. He’s always in high demand. We may be too late already. If we chose to do this.”

Zach’s got more speculations up his sleeve, as usual. “I know! We should ask them to poach Tristan Bailey from Acid Churro Dreams.”

Shane joins in. “His temper is legendary, though, so maybe not. We already have Marshall.”

He laughs and ducks behind his seat, ready for me to throw something at him. The only thing I’ve got is my caffeinated potion, but I need it. Besides, if I threw the bottle at him, it’d prove his point about my temper, which I may or may not have issues with.

Kiera’s scheming smile is back. “I can’t give you anything right now, guys, but I promise you, the g—the addition would be amazing. Honestly, you should agree to it.”

Sitting next to CJ, I insert myself into Kiera’s line of sight. “No. Not without meeting him and having him play with us. Absolutely not.”

Kiera shrugs, still eyeing CJ. “I guess you don’t want to play guitar as much as you say you do.”

He fidgets with a key pendant hanging from his neck. “It’s tempting,” he says to me.

“I know that you’re really, really sick of the bass, but this insane idea will come back to bite us. Big time.”

“Just six months, Marshall. And if it flops, I’ll play bass again.”

Hope. That’s all that I see in CJ’s eyes.

I sip the soda and try to ignore my friend, but Project Viper is his baby. He conceived the idea, harassed the rest of us into joining, and worked his fingers to the bone until we signed with a reputable recording label. If anyone has the right to negotiate the matter, it’s CJ. He gave up everything for the band. Even picked up an instrument that he didn’t really like to fill in the spot when we kept failing to find a bassist early on. Maybe it’s time for CJ to have something go his way.

“We want it all on paper with a signature from The Label’s president, especially the part about kicking the new bassist out in six months if he sucks,” I say to Kiera.

“Of course, Marshall, darling.” Our manager rubs her hands. “This is going to be the best. You think you’re popular now? Oooh, boys. You haven’t seen anything yet!”

CJ and I exchange looks. CJ seems curious, but I’m doubtful it’ll go according to Kiera’s plans. Her enthusiasm is way too suspicious.

“This is going to bite us,” I repeat because I know we’ve just signed up for certain doom.