unREASONable by Arya Matthews
Track 3
Alexandra
Four days after the concert, Kiera, Fiona, and I drive to the Viper Nest, the band’s residence and practice facility. Of course they’d have a lair and a name to go with it. I won’t admit it out loud, but I think it’s awesome, if a bit odd, that they live together. Don’t they have girlfriends? If I remember correctly, at least one of them does.
Mid-September Portland obliges and dishes out a string of sunny days. It feels like the middle of summer, so warm compared to good old Saint Petersburg this time of year. So different with its boxy, simplified American architecture, yet so familiar with an abundance of banners and business signs.
“The Nest is on the edge of Arlington Heights,” Kiera says from behind the wheel. “It belongs to the Tang family—”
“The keyboardist’s?”
“Correct,” Fiona confirms from the passenger seat.
Kiera continues, “You’ll notice that houses are kind of one on top of the other in this neighborhood, but the Tangs managed to snag a large parcel of land there back in the day and built two houses—”
I have to interrupt again. “Two houses?” How can anyone afford one enormous house, such as the ones passing by outside, let alone two?
Fiona laughs. “The Tangs are very wealthy. Think hundreds of millions. Zach doesn’t broadcast it, but his grandparents in South Korea own a highly successful corporation. Or five.”
Kiera jumps in once more. “Fiona’s right, but anyway, the Tangs moved to Utah, and since they treat all Vipers like their sons, they let them use the house. Plus, it’s nice and private.”
Kiera keeps talking, Fiona adds in her comments here and there, but their words float right past my ears. I don’t care that much where the Vipers live. I just hope they’ll like me.
The road winds left and right, then loops around. At the end of that loop, we pass through a tall wrought-iron gate and park next to an impressive two-level manor with a wraparound deck and pristine landscaping of different shrubs and rose bushes.
“You’ll stay in the guest house.” Kiera points at a smaller house at the opposite end of the vast driveway.
My mouth drops. I know I’ve been gawking a lot since my arrival in the US of A, but that is quite some guest house. Also two-level, the guest house is finished with spotless white siding and more rose bushes, all of it set against a background of freshly mowed lawns. There’s also a three-car garage on the side. Not that I’ll need it. I don’t know how to drive, and with only six months to mesh with the band, I doubt driving lessons will be on my agenda.
Right as we climb out of Kiera’s black Tesla, my new phone buzzes in my pocket. Not many people text me here. The majority of them are already with me, so I’m all the more curious as to who’s reaching out.
CE: Good luck tonight.
Connor Eaton. He’s the one who brought me here. Even though none of our previous conversations made it seem like what I’m about to do will be impossible, his text reminds me that I’ll need a whole lot of luck to pull this off.
“Ready?” Kiera asks.
Fiona’s already headed straight for the main doors.
I shoot a quick thanks to Connor then haul my bass out of the car. The sharp scent of cut grass still hangs in the air and grounds my nervousness a bit. “Ready.”
What else does she expect me to say? Can’t she tell I’m all nerves and jitters? On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing she can’t tell. If I can keep my poker face without even trying, I’ll take it.
I’ve been looking forward to this since the moment I heard of the opportunity, but after the show, my anticipation has been different. It’s no longer the typical fangirl excitement or dreams of a flashy career (although there’s some of that as well), and it’s no longer fueled by my hunger for a chance to earn legitimate money and, hopefully, get a new start. My anticipation now carries hints of desire to prove myself. To prove to the Vipers that they won’t be ashamed of me. That I won’t be a burden. That I will do everything in my power to keep the flame of their fame burning bright. All I have to do is survive half a year with five of the best alternative rock musicians in the world. And pretend I know something about playing bass.
“Wait.” Kiera taps my forearm. “You know what your role will be with the band—play bass, assist with vocals as necessary. However, the band isn’t expecting you.”
I stop staring at the enormous house and raise an eyebrow. “They don’t know I’m coming? Or they don’t know they’re getting a new bassist?” Neither sounds good. She realizes that, right?
Kiera cringes. “Oh, they know all that. They’re just not expecting you.” She motions with her hands up and down, encompassing all of me. “So be ready for anything, okay? And remember, they can’t kick you out. As long as you don’t commit any crimes or tarnish the band’s reputation, you’re staying for at least six months. I’ve heard you play and sing. You’re easily on the same level as them, so make quick work of them. Stun them with your talent and claim your place. They will resist, but I know you can do it. I see a fighter underneath the surface of a cute girl.”
Easy for her to say. Besides, she’s completely wrong. I don’t have a place with them. I’m an outsider and an intruder regardless of my musical abilities. We’ll see about the fighter part.
Kiera’s half-warning, half-encouragement plants a foreboding tightness in my chest. I square my shoulders, refusing to let it settle in. “Let’s do this.”
Fiona opens the door for us. “No fear,” she says with an encouraging pat on my shoulder.
I expect the house to be loud with music, the band practicing or something, but the white walls with several family photos and abstract paintings echo only the faint sounds of a television and Kiera’s high heels clicking against the gray marble floor.
We enter a wide room with tall ceilings and a massive screen on one of the walls. Four of the Vipers stand around a long sectional, chatting quietly, but my focus is on the one who sits on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen. Shoulder-length black hair, high cheekbones with hints of fuzz, and the ever-traditional gray T-shirt. Marshall.
He’s so quiet, so ordinary. Catching a glimpse of him like this feels almost intimate.
“Afternoon, everybody,” Kiera greets in a confident voice, all “boss” at that moment. “This is Alexandra Lermontova.”
“New assistant?” one of the guys asks. Buzzed, warm blond hair, a muscular build, hands in his jeans pockets—Shane O’Neal, twenty years old, the current guitarist and the youngest member of the band. Which still makes him a year older than me.
Realizing that I’m the youngest person in the room makes me feel like a baby. It’s the worst. I’m not a baby. I won’t act like one. I’ll be diligent and responsible.
Kiera flashes him an icy smile. “You’re funny, Shane, sweetie. Alexandra is your new bass player.”
The shock on their faces is priceless, but I can’t shake off the feeling that I’ve stepped into a snake pit.
Ha. Project Viper? Snake pit?
Now is not the time to entertain myself with puns though. Back to being nervous. My hands tighten around the handle of the case that holds my shiny new bass. Fiona’s no fear echoes in my ears, but it grows dimmer and dimmer under the evaluating looks of the Vipers.
“No way.” CJ Sanchez is the first one to break the silence.
Lean and naturally tan, the rumored flirt of the band sports dark hair with bleached tips. He’s smiling. From the photos of him online, I know that he smiles a lot in general. This time it looks more like, “Ha ha. Good joke. Where’s the real bassist?”
Fiona pushes me in the back, forcing me to stand next to Kiera instead of slightly behind her. The Vipers continue staring at me in disbelief. It’s dang awkward.
Zach Tang steps forward and offers me his hand while his dark, almost black eyes evaluate me in a quick glance from my feet to the top of my head. “Nice to meet you. I’m Zach. I play the piano. I’m also the effects wizard, as I’m sure you know.”
“I do know that, and it’s nice to meet you too.” I shake his hand. His friendly attitude relaxes me somewhat.
“Where are you from?” Zach stands next to me while the rest of the guys continue staring. “Your accent is awesome.”
“Lermontova? She must be Russian,” Marshall says. He’s still on the couch, arms crossed, frowning at the football game on the screen.
I’m shocked by his crisp pronunciation of my last name. He said it just like a Russian would, and his guess about my origins is spot on too. I would’ve been more impressed if not for his apprehensive tone though.
“Alexandra is indeed from Russia. From Saint Petersburg,” Kiera replies. I swear she’s more excited about me being Russian than about my skills.
Marshall finally deigns to face me. To glare at me.
My long black bangs are my only defense against him and the alarming electricity that crackles between us. He’s going to be a problem. While the rest of the band still hangs suspended in surprise, Marshall’s tense posture sends a strong message that I’m unwelcome. It’s fine. I expected at least one of the Vipers to react this way. But even as we continue our glaring match, I know with an undeniable surety, once and for all, why he’s the face of the band. Why their popularity grows stronger and more widespread every year. Marshall’s green eyes arrest with their intensity, and his mouth is nothing short of a magnet for kisses, even while it’s pressed into a thin, clearly disapproving line.
“No.” Marshall strikes without mercy deep into my soul, then continues watching the game.
One word, just one syllable is enough to crush my resolve to stand firm. I blink and shrink behind Kiera again. Irresistible on the outside, Marshall is a true viper. Did he somehow sense that one of my deepest fears since boarding the plane to the States was them rejecting me? They have every right to. They need someone experienced, charismatic, and probably a little older. Someone who knows how to deal with the press and the online community, how to handle a tour, how to use a recording studio, not a barely nineteen-year-old with quaking knees.
“Now Marshall, darling, be a gentleman and abide by the deal,” Kiera chides him.
With impressive speed, he hops over the side of the sectional and joins the rest of the group. “We agreed to no audition. We agreed to all the insane secrecy. But what’s this?” He waves at me with derision. “Where did you find this matryoshka? How old is she anyway, fourteen? Are we a teen music boot camp now?”
I take another step backward under that onslaught of questions. Okay, okay. Be done now. I get it. You’re disappointed.
“She’s older than you were when you started the band.” Kiera stands next to Marshall, and now the two of them look at me together—one with disapproval, the other with an odd kind of pride. If not for Fiona, whose sole presence keeps me from turning and running outside, I would’ve crawled out of my skin from embarrassment.
Marshall shakes his head. “Take her back.”
The thought of returning home squeezes my whole body with panic. There is no home. This is it. The small suitcase in the trunk of Kiera’s car is all that’s left of my life. There is nothing to go back to. Not anymore. No family. No safety. No future.
I swallow, set my bass on the floor, and engage Marshall in yet another round of glaring. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for him.” I point at CJ.
Sanchez laughs at the top of his lungs, then comes over and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Marsh. The matryoshka stays. I like her.”
Kiera gives me a covert thumbs-up. The Vipers’ drummer and Shane’s older brother, Graham O’Neal, pats Marshall on the back but says nothing.
My heart finally slows down to a more reasonable pace, which is quite a feat given CJ’s proximity and his strong, clean cologne, or body spray, or whatever it is that assaults my senses. Marshall may be the face of the band, but CJ can give him a run for his money. So can Zach, and the O’Neals. Sizzling hot musicians. It’s going to be my new cuss phrase from now on.
Marshall clicks his tongue and looks away. Have I won?
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’ll ruin us.”
I haven’t won anything. He just thinks I’m not worth the bother.
“All right, all right, everyone. I ordered dinner. It should be here any minute.” Kiera motions for us to move to a large table in the adjacent dining area. “Let’s have pizza and introduce Alexandra to our chaos.”
“Pizza! Pizza!” Zach and Shane chant together, arms pumping like they’re twelve, not twenty and some.
“Come on now, Matryoshka,” CJ says. His arm is still around me, and I don’t mind. It’s been a long time since anyone held me. He leans in and whispers, “And please don’t say you don’t like pizza. Otherwise, I’ll have to join forces with Marshall and boot you out.”
It looks like I’ve acquired a nickname, and a cliché one at that. Oh, well. It’ll have to do for now. It could be worse than being called a traditional Russian nesting doll. And I’m starving. I haven’t had any food today because when I’m nervous, I can’t eat. It all comes right back up. Puking in front of Project Viper hasn’t been on the list of my goals for the day, but I think I’m calm enough to stomach a bite or two now. “I love pizza.”
“Great. And if Marshall gives you any trouble, you tell me. We’ve been friends since seventh grade. I know how to deal with him.” He winks at me.
“You two lovebirds coming or what?” Shane yells from the table. When we join the rest of the group, he adds, “Careful, Alexandra. You’re his favorite person in the world now. I’m actually worried that if you can play bass in any kind of a decent way, he’s gonna propose.”
Everyone laughs.
CJ picks up a placemat and tosses it at Shane’s face, although he’s also smiling. “Shut your yap.”
“CJ, sweetie, manners,” Kiera scolds him gently. Her phone rings. She checks the screen and heads out of the room. “I’ve got to take this. Fiona, I’m leaving you in charge.”
Fiona issues the smallest of sighs, making me wonder whether she’s just as on edge about this whole thing as I am.
The doorbell chimes. CJ pulls out his phone. “Pizza’s here.”
They must have an app or something that shows their gate security camera.
“I’ll get it.” Fiona goes to deal with the order.
He follows her. “I’ll help you.”
Zach rushes to the cabinets in the kitchen that sits right next to the dining room and piles a bunch of cups, plates, and napkins onto the shiny marble countertop. When I try to help him bring the dishes to the table, he stacks everything into one tall tower and angles it away from me. “You’re the guest of honor. Today, at least. I got this. You enjoy yourself.”
Enjoy, he says. Right.
Fiona and CJ return right after we settle around the table and place several cardboard boxes in the middle, causing the guys to inhale with their eyes closed. Particles of baked dough and melted cheese hit my nose as well when Shane flips the box closest to him open. The pizza inside is a simple pepperoni, but my mouth waters like it hasn’t had food in a decade.
Everyone fills their plates and cups. I expect alcohol, at least beer, but no. They either drink soda that came with the pizza or plain water. Is someone recovering from an addiction and the rest are showing their support?
“Do you have any questions?” Shane says to me after everyone’s gone through a slice. “We’ve been together for a few years now, but you don’t know us at all yet.”
I only have a million questions, but where do I start?
Marshall reaches for a slice with mushrooms and onions, but his hard green eyes are on me. “She’s the one who needs to convince us to keep her, not the other way around. So I say, we ask questions first.”
Fiona shoots him a tight-lipped look, and butterflies resume their death match in my stomach. What if someone asks something I don’t feel like sharing? What if they laugh at me? I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and roll with it. No fear.
“You all get one question each,” I say.
“Here’s an easy one,” Zach starts. “Tell us about your family. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
The keyboardist chooses the most dangerous questions of all.
“I’m an only child. And the rest of my family… It’s complicated.” I take a long sip of root beer and set the cup a good distance away. It tastes too much like cough syrup. Disgusting.
“That’s a common thing around here,” CJ responds and reminds me that all Vipers but Zach come from troubled families. I’m dying to know more about how they overcame their difficult upbringings, but it’s not a good time. I’ll have to wait until I’m on closer terms with them to pry about that.
“Do you play any sports?” CJ continues. “You’re Russian. Hockey? Figure skating? Skiing?”
Oooh, stereotypes. I love stereotypes. “No. I don’t do any of those things just because I’m Russian. And I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t bring my pet bear with me.” I bite my lip hard, regretting my sarcasm. I can’t be flippant with them. Not yet.
Graham snorts, and Zach bursts out laughing.
“Well played.” Shane toasts me with his water cup. Instead of asking a question, he says, “How about you get a turn? What do you want to know about us?”
Hmmm. Asking Marshall if he’s always such sunshine in a bottle to people he doesn’t know isn’t going to help me win any points with him. How about something simple then? “What instruments does everyone play? I mean, other than what the media says?”
Marshall turns to Fiona with an are-you-kidding-me look. I have a feeling he’s going to think that everything I say is dumb.
Zach humors me. “I’m not hiding any secret talents. My parents have dedicated their lives and my childhood to raising a prodigy pianist, but I joined a rock band instead. Epic fail.”
He and Shane high five, both of them chortling.
“Drums,” says Graham O’Neal, who until then hasn’t uttered a word. At that, his explanation is over.
CJ plays bass and guitar. Marshall plays guitar as well but admits he isn’t as good as CJ or Shane. That explains why I’ve never seen him with a guitar, but I still can’t believe he said it. He’s so full of himself, it’s hard to accept he can reveal his shortcomings in such a casual way.
When it’s my turn to answer, I keep my voice low. “I also play guitar and—”
“Bass. You’re a total pro, right?” Marshall leans back in his seat and, draping his arm over the back of the chair, smiles at me.
He’s painfully handsome when he smiles, but there is a certain menace lurking in his eyes. He’s baiting me.
“Oh, Alexandra will be a great bassist,” Fiona says before my neurons even start firing in a consideration of a response. “And you should hear her sing. She’s got the loveliest voice I’ve ever heard.”
Her praise is wonderful and all, but Marshall’s eyes grow colder. “Will be a great bassist?”
CJ intervenes. “Next question.”
Marshall picks that right up. “What are you afraid of?”
My heart slams against my ribs with a painful thud and comes to a screeching halt. Scorching hot memories don’t bring with them the heat they should. My hands become cold and sweaty and slide right off the shiny table when I grip its edge.
Everyone waits, all eyes on me, but all I see is dancing flames.
“Remember, we’re asking all these silly things just to get to know you a little,” Fiona says. “No one will judge you. Perhaps some of us even share your fears.”
I blink away the flames. My panicking brain scrambles to figure out a way to skip out on answering. Maybe I can go to the bathroom or something, but under Marshall’s scrutinizing gaze, I can’t come up with anything short of running out of the room.
“I don’t like fire,” I wrestle out at last.
CJ pats me on the shoulder. “Could be worse. Shane’s afraid of heights.”
Marshall tosses a wadded napkin at him. “And so are you.”
“And so am I,” the former bassist confesses. “But not as much as Shane.”
Everyone laughs, even Shane, who doesn’t seem offended at their fun at his expense. They engage in a quick exchange about their own phobias and ignore me for a moment. I use the distraction to slip away to the deck outside and breathe some cool air. My hands shake, and I clutch them tightly as I lean on the railing with my eyes closed.
Why did Marshall have to bring up fears? In and of itself an innocent topic, it stirred up emotions and mental images I’ve been struggling to keep at bay for the last six months. It’s not a childhood accident that instills the fear of fire in me, and it’s impossible to talk about what does, but it’s vitally important that no one talks about or even mentions fire ever again. I know I have to talk about it in order to heal and all, but healing isn’t happening right now, only survival.
The door slides open, releasing a clamor of cheerful voices. CJ joins me at the edge of the deck. “Are you okay?”
I rub away the tears that prickle my eyes with my fingers. “You guys live in a cool house.”
CJ gives me a soft smile. “Hey, it’s fine to be overwhelmed, especially with Marshall’s warm welcome. You are welcome here, though, no matter the circumstances. And if you ever have trouble with anything or just need to talk, I’m here for you. Ask anyone. I’m a great sounding board.”
I can’t help but laugh a little, although his words make me want to cry all the more. I don’t have any siblings, but I’ve always wanted one. It seems a bit too cruel for life to give me one now. “Thanks. I promise I’ll do my best.”
CJ taps my nose with his fingertip. “I know you will.”