unREASONable by Arya Matthews

Track 13

Marshall

I park in the Nest’s driveway and force myself out of my ancient BMW. Piles of glowing pumpkins of all shapes and sizes crowd the porch, along with bales of hay and festive black and orange garlands. Elise’s work. She loves Halloween. Correction: Elise loves all holidays. She will be home tonight with her siblings, nieces, nephews, and cousins, but that doesn’t prevent her from decorating our porch.

I stop being distracted by the pumpkins. I can do it. I can give Alexandra an I’m-ever-so-sorry-for-being-a-jerk present. This morning’s rehearsal was a nightmare, same as yesterday’s, and it’s got to stop. I can take the first step and restore the shaky peace we’ve had. As soon as I stop feeling like someone’s made me swallow a handful of nails.

I used to be able to shower all kinds of trinkets on girls the one year I attended college in person. Is it the increased popularity that makes me think twice before displaying attention to anyone or just Alexandra who has a knack for making me say all the wrong things? And holy everything, she does have that knack. Even when I’m not particularly mad at her, I manage to blurt out something absurd and insensitive.

Not tonight.

Tonight I will control my temper and be a gentleman, like Kiera always tells me to be. I will apologize one more time and make sure Alexandra believes me. And I’ll stop aggravating her and the rest of the band with my inability to handle change. I hope.

Inside, the smell of hot peppers assaults me. Zach didn’t forget. Looks like we’re going to have a proper Halloween night with tteokbokki—rice cakes in burn-your-face-off sauce. Zach’s parents are full-fledged Korean, and the first Halloween we were officially listed as the Tangs’ charges, Zach’s mom made us the spicy rice cakes. It was the best night of our teenage lives, and we’ve made it a tradition since then, tours or gigs notwithstanding. No costumes, no trick-or-treaters. A stay-in night with self-proclaimed brothers and a date with pain.

I sneak down the hallway, carrying a new Taylor mini bass behind me. First, I’m going to scope the scene, then I’ll decide whether to hide the Taylor until later or give it to Alexandra in front of everyone. I probably should do it with everyone present. I sure haven’t been their favorite person since the busted Riot Night.

The air in the kitchen shimmers with spiciness. Plates of rice cakes swimming in red sauce, bowls of sliced pears, soda cans and glasses of chocolate milk cover the wide marble-top island. Zach plays shaman at the stove, and the rest of the band, including Alexandra, sit around the island and chat. Her words about feeling like an outsider won’t stop haunting me.

As a kid, for years I fought with bullies and other types who shunned me for being a foster care kid with cheap clothes and explosive personality. Everyone in Project Viper struggled with being ostracized in one way or another during our early teenage years. That’s how we got together in the first place—a bunch of outcasts at school. Even Zach had trouble finding friends. He went to a regular school with us despite his family’s riches because his parents didn’t want to spoil him, but he’s a piano prodigy. That in and of itself comes with an interesting set of character traits. The Tangs got custody rights of me, the O’Neals, and CJ when I was sixteen, and things had become a lot different after that, but either way, I’ve been as mean to Alexandra as some of the people from my past have been to me. I hate myself quite viciously for that. I’ve become one of the villains without realizing it.

Alexandra’s long hair hangs down her back like a pitch-black curtain. Black is my favorite color. I’m full-on mesmerized. How did she grow it out that long? Why do I always want to touch it? What’s happening to me? My thoughts about her suddenly center on the physical, almost needy. But I don’t need anyone. I have the Vipers. I don’t need a girl.

She’s almost a Viper too.

I challenge myself to consider this notion a little further. Do I accept her as one of us? No. Not really. She’s a new teammate, someone we have to teach but also respect for what she brings to the table. Alexandra will never be one of us simply because she didn’t grow up with us and doesn’t share that bond. But Alexandra is a Viper, and yet, to me, she isn’t. Part of the band, not part of the brotherhood. Part of my life, not part of my heart.

CJ’s next to our new bassist, as usual. His eyes shift away from her, and he finally notices me.

“There you are.” He waves me over. “I texted you a hundred times. Started thinking you ditched us.” Ever so slightly, he tilts his head toward Alexandra while giving me a meaningful look. Unlike the others, he never said anything about my fight with her. That’s CJ for you. He guilts you with silence.

Leaving the Taylor around the corner, I check my phone. A handful of notifications hang in the top bar. I shrug. “I was busy.”

“Alexandra, are you in?” Zach places the last plate in front of her.

I sit across the corner from her. “She can’t take the heat.” I make sure to sound as lighthearted as possible and accompany my challenge with a friendly smile.

Alexandra turns her whole body to me. “What are the rules?”

I grin, sensing the best kind of trouble ahead. If she lasts three bites, I might consider thinking about her as one of us.

“The rules are simple,” Zach explains as he sets a can of chilled Diet Coke in front of me. “Eat as many as you can. One of us counts the cakes as we eat together. The first one out does all the dishes, and the winner chooses the punishment for the rest. Either way, you’re better off either being the last one or the first one for sure. But no cheating. You can’t give up early on purpose.”

“The winner gets to pick any punishment?” Alexandra’s eyes stay on me, schemes dancing in her eyes.

“Any punishment. No matter how stupid.” I crank the can open and take several sips so that my eyes wouldn’t wander down to her lips and the curves of her neck that tease me from behind the veil of her hair. Somebody win and make me dump a bucket of ice over my head. I really, really need it.

Alexandra cracks her knuckles. “Let’s do this.”

The guys chuckle, each in his own devious way, and grab their chopsticks.

Graham counts us in, his drummer habit kicking in. “Three, two, one—go!” He counts every rice cake we chew through.

Zach does a number with the heat level of the sauce, and it burns, burns, burns. By the fifth one, Alexandra’s whole face is red. She bites her lips, but not a sound escapes her mouth. When Shane sneaks a piece of pear, she does the same.

When we conquer a dozen, Graham pushes away his plate. “Man, what did you put in it today? It’s nothing but pain.” He downs his chocolate milk in one go.

The rest of us resort to several gulps of the cooling liquid as well.

“Keep counting,” I say.

“Ya vizhu prizrakov,” Alexandra whispers to herself.

I’m seeing ghosts.

I don’t even try to hide a chuckle invoked by her comment.

“Thirteen?” Graham continues counting.

Alexandra chews on another rice cake and clamps a hand over her mouth.

“Have some milk,” Zach says, looking just as red as everyone else.

She takes a huge gulp and sits for a minute. I think she’s going to be sick, but Alexandra eventually swallows and says, “Keep going.”

After eighteen rice cakes, I start feeling queasy. My nose drips, but so does everyone else’s.

Shane puts his plate on the counter next to the sink. “Way to summon death, Zach.”

“It is Halloween,” Zach jokes but joins the younger of the O’Neal brothers in his surrender. “Yeah. A little too much.”

“Quick, fish out the rest from the pot,” Shane tells him, “before the current sauce settles in too much.”

Zach returns to the stove.

CJ, Alexandra, and I stare each other down in turns. Who will give up next? After two more dumplings and an odd look at me, CJ calls it quits.

“One more?” I challenge Alexandra, who has turned pale.

She raises a finger and takes several deep breaths. “You guys do this for fun?”

Zach snickers near the stovetop. “Don’t you just love it?”

Alexandra stares at him with raised eyebrows. “Love? No, I wouldn’t call it that.” She presses a fist to her mouth.

“One more?” I ask again. I can taste the victory. What should I ask from her?

A kiss.

The thought sends a twitch through my fingers, and I almost drop my chopsticks. Do I actually want to kiss her?

No. Well...

No. Hmm...

No!

“Look at you, Marsh. You lasted longer than usual.” CJ munches on pear slices, insinuations all over his face.

“Of course he did.” With a determined huff, Alexandra shoves another rice cake into her mouth.

I hurry and do the same, but I know I can’t eat many more after that. Four, maybe five.

Graham counts three more for us. I barely swallow the last one and take the smallest sip of water to help it down. Anything more will set me off. As much as I want to win and demand something ridiculous from the stubborn Russian, I much prefer losing to throwing up.

I place my chopsticks on the table. “Fine, you win.”

The guys whoop.

“So close.” CJ gives me an approving wink.

I press my forehead against the cool marble countertop.

Alexandra does the same. “Never again.”

Zach and Shane guffaw.

Graham flings the freezer door open, grabs a bag of frozen strawberries, and presses it to his neck. “Ice cream?”

“Only if I can have all of it.” Alexandra’s fingers crawl for her glass of milk.

Graham hands out pints of ice cream, and for a while there are no sounds other than quiet sniffling and content sighs.

I savor my cookies-and-cream and watch Alexandra’s face color return to normal. “So, what do you want us to do for you?”

“It’s not exactly a punishment.”

Zach leans half of his body across the island. “Do tell,” he says in a playful voice.

She sucks on her spoon and looks at me from the corner of her eye. “I want a song on the next album.”

Before I can respond, CJ says, “Done.” We engage in a staring match. CJ’s eyes say, “What are you gonna do about it?”

“A song? We get off that easy? Phew.” Zach feigns inordinate relief.

“Well, I don’t know. Songs can be tricky, especially duets.” Shane’s face splits in his customary smirk, challenging and flipping annoying.

“If CJ said you can have a song, then you can have a song,” I say and dig up a large piece of chocolate cookie. For now, this conversation is over. Alexandra won fair and square.

As the first person to give up, Graham starts cleaning up. He shoves the plates and cups into the dishwasher, wipes the countertops, washes the pots, and puts everything away, all in less than twenty minutes. I get an unpleasant sting of memories of doing chores while I was still in foster care. Some families were harsh. One foster “dad” was a straight-up nightmare of a drill sergeant. He timed his own kids on everything, and I didn’t escape the fate.

Next time I look up from my ice cream, everyone’s left the kitchen. When did that happen? Did they leave me in peace, knowing that when I don’t talk, I’m deep in thought and need to be alone? I appreciate that they respect that. No matter how long we stay an active band, we will always be a family of our own.

A cough rasps from the living room. I jerk around but still don’t see anyone. All the lights are off. Leaving my mostly empty ice cream carton on the table, I approach the couch, where I find Alexandra watching something on her phone.

She sits up abruptly and puts the phone away the moment she notices me. “I was just resting for a minute, but I suppose I can do that at my place. Um, Zach’s place, technically. The guest house. Right.”

“Wait here.” I go to fetch her gift.

When I return, Alexandra eyes me with her familiar suspicion.

I hand her the Taylor. “Happy Halloween.”

She unzips the case and runs her fingers across the strings. “An acoustic bass? So small. You got this for me?”

Being asked straight on like that sets me on edge again. I remind myself that the reason I got the Taylor is to try and build a few bridges with Alexandra. Building bridges involves certain materials—concrete and metal, bricks and mortar. I got the bricks—the Taylor. Now it’s time to do some talking and put in the mortar.

“Yes, I got this for you. It’s a mini edition. Should fit your smaller hands well.” I join her on the couch. “And don’t get offended. The long scale bass just looks like a challenge for you sometimes. I was only wondering if a short scale would be more comfortable.”

She wipes her hands on her jeans and takes out the mini bass. “Not offended. I know I have super short fingers. Oh, wow. The smell.” Alexandra takes a deep breath and slowly releases it. “It’s the best.”

I also catch a whiff of the strong wood scent that wafts from the bass and smile. Some people love the smell of a new car. Peasants. Now, the smell of a new acoustic guitar can make anyone lightheaded with glee.

Alexandra starts playing a song I don’t know. I fold my arms and lean back on the couch with my eyes closed, happy to make no comments and listen to her fingers weave through soft notes of several ballads. I was right. Playing a shorter scale bass guitar stitches her somewhat choppy sound into a smoother technique. And now that the mini Taylor feels like a success, maybe she’ll consider getting a smaller electric bass. It’ll be lighter, and she won’t look so dwarfed by her instrument.

“Have you tried this? The strings are butter.” Alexandra doesn’t speak, she purrs, and a shiver runs down my arms. “I had no idea they made them like this. So light.”

The sound of the closing zipper prompts me to open my eyes.

Alexandra caresses her new guitar’s case. “You totally lost to me on purpose.”

I cross my arms. “You have no proof.”

“I don’t need any proof. You haven’t once let me have the last word in an argument.” She looks at me through her long bangs. “Why this time?”

“Another rice cake and I was gonna be sick.”

She laughs with both hands pressed to her face. “Had you waited another second, you would’ve won. I literally opened my mouth to say I was done when you surrendered. What were you going to ask for your prize?” She turns to me and crosses her legs in front of her, yoga style.

I mirror her pose. “We typically do something ridiculous. Shane had to play banjo for one gig. One song, though. Graham took over the band’s social media accounts behind Charlie’s back once. But this time…” My mind latches onto the fact that our knees are almost touching. What would she do if I moved an inch closer?

Alexandra rests her elbows on her knees and leans closer. “This time what?”

It’s a relief to know she holds no grudge against me. Or maybe she does, but for now, at least, she tolerates me. Her blue eyes sparkle with curiosity and mischief, and her thick black hair tempts me to plunge my hands into it.

“I was gonna dare you to kiss CJ.”

Yeah, I lie.

We stare at each other in silence for only a second, but it stretches like a bungee cord.

One of Alexandra’s eyebrows lifts. “CJ?”

Busted. It doesn’t matter what I say now.

“You seem to like him the best of us, but I figured you’d still squirm about it. The punishment’s supposed to make you uncomfortable after all.”

She doesn’t even blink at that. “What about the rest of the guys? What would their punishment be?”

“I’d make them kiss CJ as well. To be fair.”

She bursts out laughing. I join her as I imagine that scene. Maybe I should’ve persevered. It would’ve been mean but so memorable.

Before I can catch my breath, Alexandra leans in and leaves a lightning-fast kiss on my cheek. “Thank you,” she murmurs, “for the bass.”

My heartbeat skyrockets. I grab her hand and keep her close. My thoughts scatter like fish from a shark, but I still try to understand what’s happening here. I can’t. Am I losing my mind? It’s simple. Just a kiss on the cheek. But what do I want to do now?

She doesn’t speak and doesn’t move. Her warm breath, sweet vanilla and cream, tickles my cheek.

Then she kisses me again.