unREASONable by Arya Matthews
Track 10
Alexandra
In the guest house, Fiona twists the bass this way and that, eyebrows raised high, appraising its back and Marshall’s signature. “You made him do it after all.” She came by to check on me right as I returned with my now signed bass.
I smile and stick my tongue out, all warm on the inside. Marshall chicken scratched that signature in a hurry, as though the marker was burning his fingers, but he did it nonetheless. “I guess he’s a stickler when it comes to keeping his promises.”
Fiona hands back the bass. “Well done. You showed him that you’re to be reckoned with without causing any conflict.”
“I guess I did. Such a lucky thing too. I couldn’t believe he messed up. I wasn’t even going to say anything at first, but I couldn’t help it. He always points out my mistakes.”
“Good for you.” Fiona pats me on the shoulder. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
I take the bass guitar to my room and spend a long while caressing Marshall’s signature with my fingertips. For one thing, I got him to admit that he was wrong. For another, my first attempt to build a better relationship with him worked better than expected.
After the girls confirmed that Marshall and three of the other Vipers had troubled upbringings, I resolved to try and be patient with Marshall despite his grouchiness. My thinking was that maybe if I were the first one to show him that I want to be friends anyway, he’d soften up. It seems to have worked. We had our first normal conversation. Sure, I annoyed him by pointing out his mistake earlier, but he didn’t throw me out of his room and didn’t refuse to sign the bass. Now, if I have to leave the band, I’ll have this perfect memento from him. One of a kind. Just for me. A compliment, however reluctant, from Marshall Jones himself.
The next morning, I get further proof that Marshall’s still a work in progress. I arrive late for breakfast, but I smile and make eye contact with him. Marshall continues eating with a stone-cold expression as his eyes follow me around the dining area. I check my clothes. Red, vegan leather leggings and a white, long-sleeve thermal tee. All new and clean. I smooth out my hair. What’s wrong then?
Shane takes his dishes to the sink and pats my shoulder on the way there. “You look good,” he says, leaning low so only I would hear him.
“I know,” I mutter back, not entirely sure why he’s said that.
In the afternoon, while I hide in the guest house for a few minutes of quiet, CJ texts me and tells me to come to the main house upstairs loft. Hmmm. It’s been a few weeks, but I haven’t been upstairs very often. It’s the Viper bedroom territory. Even when I went to claim my autograph from Marshall, I came uninvited. I work on ignoring the lonely thoughts that creep up on me. The guys aren’t shutting me out by not inviting me to hang out with them upstairs. They spend plenty of time with me in other areas of the house. The inner voice reminds me it’s either meals, fitness, or practice. It’s never a time with friends like I have with the girls.
I comb my hair and go back to the main house. No need to dwell on things that are out of my control. I can’t force the Vipers to like me, Marshall being daily proof of that. I can only give it my best shot and hope it works out.
On the staircase that leads to the loft, I pause and listen to the Vipers bantering. Marshall’s laughter is loud, and he sings every other sentence, using well-known tunes for his replies. I’ve never heard him do this before. My feet glue themselves to the stairs, and I absorb every little bit of his voice. I was determined to not let all these feelings of loneliness get to me, but I can’t help regretting being here when Marshall is so full of joy and humor with his friends and so clammed up with me.
“So, how do you guys feel about Alexandra so far?” CJ asks.
“I’m already here!” I shout from the stairs and climb the rest of the way. I may be dying to know what they think, but I won’t eavesdrop.
The Vipers sit in a circle on the floor, surrounding six huge plastic containers, one of which is black with a red skull and crossbones.
“You made it.” Looking ashen with discomfort, CJ pats a space on the floor between him and Zach.
“An honest evaluation wouldn’t hurt.” I sit next to him. “I’d rather not wonder if I’m wasting your time.”
“Sorry,” he groans.
“Okay, sure. Let’s talk about it.” Zach scoots closer to me. “If we had to vote on whether or not you could stay permanently with the band today, I’d say yes.”
“You would,” Marshall says.
“That makes a no from you.” I refuse to crumble in front of him. “CJ?”
“Yes,” he says, a little too quickly. Then again, he wouldn’t give a different answer. I’m here to save him after all.
I look at Graham. He shrugs, as always. A whatever grade is not helpful right now. That leaves Shane. I face him.
“No,” Shane says but hurries to add, “for now. I think you’re awesome, but I need to see you in action. How you handle shows, public appearances, and other stressful events.”
Shane’s not apologizing, and that’s a relief. It’s his band and livelihood after all, but two out of five after a month is not a good result. However, it’s only been one month. I have five more to prove I can do it.
“What’s all this?” I do my best to look at the containers and not Marshall, who’s quiet now. Of course.
“Fan mail.” CJ flashes me a huge, sinister smile and wiggles his eyebrows.
Zach leans closer. “You’re gonna love it.”
“Or she’s going to get scared,” Marshall says as he opens the first container.
Upon closer examination, I see that it’s got his name on the lid. The other containers are also labeled.
“I seriously doubt there’s anything scarier than you.” I hold his probing gaze. “And if I can handle you, then I can handle anything.”
“Nice!” Zach lifts his hand for a high five. I hit his palm.
“Handle me?” Marshall grins. “You wish you could.”
CJ slips the lid off his container, distracting me from the sudden turn my thoughts take at the idea of handling Marshall Jones. I’m not going to go there. I will totally not think of messing his black curls or tracing his hard bicep with my fingers. Nope. Admiring Marshall is off limits, from a distance or otherwise. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to learn from CJ.
Who, actually, is more trouble than Marshall. The singer keeps his distance, but the former bassist crosses personal space boundaries without thinking.
“Next time, there will be seven boxes,” CJ says as he drapes his arm over my shoulder.
Marshall keeps watching me, so I hug CJ back before I ask, “Seven?”
“Yeah.” CJ taps my nose. “One for you too. I bet it’ll overflow.”
“Or we’ll have another black box.” Graham starts digging in the Jolly Roger container.
“You be nice,” Zach scolds him.
Graham shrugs. “I’m not saying it’ll happen, but it’s a possibility that Alexandra’s addition won’t be welcome by the fans.”
“True,” Marshall says.
CJ holds me tighter and shakes his head. “Don’t listen to these two unbelievers, Matryoshka.”
“I won’t.” I hug him with both arms and stick my tongue at Graham.
CJ lets me dig in his box of envelopes, cards, and printed emails. He’s been great. It’s obvious he has a lot to do with the band’s overall creative direction. He always bombards the band with new lyrics. Marshall listens to him. All of the Vipers do. Their bond is undeniable and unshakable. There’s never any topic off limits, never any real disrespect. They roughhouse and call each other names, but everything is done in good humor. And when it’s time to play music, they give it all without reservation. When I first saw them perform, I was afraid this endeavor would take everything from me. I’m not afraid anymore. I know I can give my soul to music. The Vipers have been for years. Giving everything they’ve got to music helps them thrive.
“Why so thoughtful?” Zach asks while CJ laughs at something Graham has dug up from the black container.
“Why is all mail open?” I ask. “For safety?”
Zach nods. “Charlie’s team rips through everything before it gets to us in case there’s something dangerous. The rest of the nasty stuff goes in the black box, and we decide whether we read them or not.”
“Are there ever any death threats?” I whisper.
Zach chuckles. “Sometimes, but we do well with keeping our lives private, so it’s not a big concern. Besides, The Label keeps tabs on the most desperate of crazies. Don’t worry.”
“How come you’re so normal?” I realize it’s not something we’ve been talking about, but the thought jumps from my mind to my tongue in less than a second.
Zach scrunches up his nose. “Come again?”
I love those wrinkles on his nose that make an appearance whenever he’s confused or annoyed with something. “How come there’s no alcohol, no swearing, no smoking? You stick to a fitness routine, don’t party, don’t do drugs, don’t parade with a new girl on your arm every week. You’re not what most people expect rockers to be.”
“Ah, that.” Zach chortles. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s because we’re mama’s boys.”
“You’re the only one with a mom,” I point out.
“Yes, but Zach’s mom is every Viper’s mom,” Marshall says. He’s got good hearing, apparently. “She would destroy us all for stupid behavior. Also, it’s in the contract for the Nest. It’s the only condition that warrants us the use of the property: no alcohol, smoking, drugs, or raves. Didn’t you have to sign something like that as well?”
I had to sign so many papers, I lost track of things I wasn’t supposed to do. I figured if I sat tight, I’d be okay.
“And that’s it? The contract is the only thing that keeps you all so dignified? You’re all complete nightmares then when you’re on tour? I seriously doubt that. Come on.” I elbow Zach in the side. “What’s the real reason? You know I won’t make fun of you.”
Zach drills me with a dubious look. “You? Won’t make fun?”
“When have I ever made fun of you?”
“Not yet doesn’t mean you never will,” Marshall chimes in again, and this time I glare at him.
“He’s right, you know.” Zach smiles.
His resistance, however teasing, robs me of all excitement at this opportunity to question one of the more chill Vipers about the band. I also lose all interest in fan mail. I know the guys probably didn’t mean it this way, but ultimately, it’s nothing but another reminder that I don’t belong with them.
Zach reads the messages and sorts them into stacks according to what people call him. Hot-n-sexy stack grows much faster than the rest.
“You’re full of it.” Shane lays waste to Zach’s order by mixing all the letters into one big mess.
Zach retaliates by pulling a stack of gift cards from Shane’s fist. “Why do you always get the good stuff?”
He’s not kidding. Shane’s extracted something like thirty restaurant gift cards from his fan mail.
“It’s because I’m cute.” Shane bats his eyelashes at Zach.
Graham tosses a wadded letter at Shane’s forehead. The younger O’Neal hisses and rubs his skull. While he’s nursing his superficial injury, CJ sweeps in and collects all of Shane’s and Zach’s gift cards and stacks them in front of me.
“Enjoy. You deserve it for all the nonsense you get from these two.”
“My spoils!” Shane wails from his spot. “You took away the only good thing about fan mail.”
I laugh and catch Marshall smiling.
Zach saves me from dwelling on Marshall’s unexpected softness by sidling closer and saying, “We don’t do drugs or anything because what’s the point? We don’t want to be that band. Why ruin our health or our reputation so early in our lives? Music is enough. Financial freedom is more than enough. We have fun as is.”
I take a moment to process this. My face must show some kind of a concerning sign since Zach asks, “Are you disappointed?”
I hold his gaze. Zach watches me as he waits for my answer.
“You guys are so awesome.” I feel safe telling him that. Whether he takes it seriously or not, he’ll have a funny comment, strike a pose, or laugh.
“We are awesome.” Zach tilts his face upward, endlessly proud of himself, although there’s a note of relief in his posturing all the same.
Do the Vipers actually care what I think about them? So far I’ve felt like I’m the only one dying for approval and acceptance. I laugh at the idea but stop when Zach takes my chin with his fingers and examines my face.
“What is it?” I stutter out.
Raven-haired Zach with his dark brown, sharp, bottomless eyes that reveal his Korean heritage is close enough for me to catch the citrusy scent of the hair products Elise uses with the guys. It’s easy to ignore his appearance because he jokes around all the time, but he’s definitely more than a little attractive.
He glances at something to the side then brushes his thumb against my cheek. “An eyelash. All gone now.”
“Next time just tell me.” I slap his hand away and grumble in Russian, “A girl can only take so much before it breaks her heart.”
Marshall snorts.
Zach’s face grows puzzled. “Cussing me out in Russian? I never would’ve thought my matryoshka has such a foul mouth.”
“Don’t get too comfortable with mymatryoshka.” CJ reaches over my shoulder and pushes Zach away.
The pianist crosses his arms on his chest. “Wanna fight me for her?”
CJ mimics his pose. “I’ll win too.”
At first, I press my hands to my cheeks, then I realize that they’re messing with me. I grab them both by the ears and yank nice and hard.
“Listen to me carefully, my darling sweeties.” I copy Kiera’s manner of speaking in hopes to make sure my message is clear. “I am nobody’s matryoshka, so stop it.”
“I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” Zach squeaks. When I release him, he rubs his ear, although he’s still smiling. “Strong grip.”
I focus on CJ. “What about you?”
“Don’t you like me? At all?”
I nail him with a scorching look, one to match my burning cheeks. Take me seriously, dang it! “You’re just asking for it, aren’t you?”
CJ slides his fingers under my hand on his ear, freeing himself from my grip, and says in a low voice, “Let’s do Riot Night after this.”
“What’s Riot Night?”
“It’s when we break all the diet rules and go out for an evening of junk food,” Shane says with a huge grin on his face.
“What do you say?” CJ asks.
Despite my rough handling of him, he has no hurt or offense in his eyes, only expectation. He makes me feel guilty for my outburst. “Okay.”
“You done setting up your date?” Marshall glowers at CJ, but when his friend chuckles and gets back to the fan offerings, Marshall’s irritation shifts to me. Jaw clenched, he eyes me up and down, probably wishing, again, that I have never been born.
I stifle a sigh. So much for any kind of progress toward gaining his good opinion.