unREASONable by Arya Matthews

Track 4

Marshall

Shortly after dinner, Kiera finishes her phone call and comes back to the living room. She’s smiling like she has finally achieved the biggest triumph of her life. I really hate that smile.

Kiera hands Fiona a set of keys. “Alexandra, Fiona will show you your new home. I hope you like it.”

I shoot a questioning look at Zach when I recognize the chibi sushi keychain—the keys to the guest house. The pianist shrugs. That is so not an answer as to why he allowed the tiny Russian to stay on our property.

After Alexandra and Fiona take off, Kiera turns to me with a much more somber expression. “Now, stop glaring at everyone, Marshall. You signed the contract, so suck it up.”

The whole band stares at her with astonishment, not just me. We’ve never heard Kiera speak like that. She’s the ever-peppy Fairy Queen of Land Neverfrown, even when she means business.

Hands in the pockets of her long cardigan, she pins each of us with a look. “We’ve got to talk about some house rules in terms of Alexandra. One, she will live in the guest house. I thought it’d be best to give her some privacy.”

Everyone nods, but I have to address something that’s been gnawing at me since I first saw the girl. “How old is she?”

Kiera shrugs. “She’s nineteen.”

“She looks younger.” Zach flops on the couch and starts a video game.

She does look younger. Just about five feet tall, a thick braid over her shoulder, long bangs over her eyes. Curvy hips but somewhat modest on the “front lines.”

“She’s nineteen.” Kiera’s tone hardens. “But even though she’s technically an adult, consider me her guardian. So, if either one of you gives her so much as a papercut—”

“Please, Kiera.” Her insinuations aren’t lost on me. “As though anyone would want to get that close to her.”

“You know the saying, Marsh, about protesting too much?” Smirking, Shane waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Stuff it.”

He shrugs, but his dumb smirk remains. “Just saying.”

“Enough.” Kiera throws us all another warning look, and a chill crawls over my skin. Apparently, I’ve been underestimating this woman.

“Did she come to the States alone? No parents, no siblings?” CJ asks.

“Yes, alone. She’ll tell you more later. Now, I know you expected some famous bass virtuoso, but give her a chance.” She turns to me. “She’ll be amazing for you. Think of all the social media hype we’ll gain with her appearance. A cute Russian girl with vocals worthy of an opera performance?”

“We need a bass player.” My surliness returns in earnest. “We need someone to take CJ’s place, not a singer. I can handle the mic just fine on my own.”

“She’ll be your bass player, don’t worry. But we’ll milk all of her talents to promote you. She’ll make us lots of cash.”

Now everything makes sense. It’s about the money. The Label owed someone a favor, so the president brought in a daughter of some rich big cheese to play band. My guess is she can play zilch and sings even worse, no matter how much Kiera sugarcoats it. From rock stars to babysitters in one day, all because CJ couldn’t stand playing bass anymore. We should have never said a word of this to Kiera and just quietly auditioned someone on our own.

The front door creaks. The Russian returns.

“That house is so…” She notices that I’m watching her and sidelines straight to Kiera. “Am I really going to live in that house all by myself?”

Kiera smiles, all warmth and sunshine again. “You’ll get used to it. And you won’t be alone. You’ll have Fiona. Just call her, and she’ll come whenever you need her.”

“Ya ne nuzhdayus’ v prisluge,” Alexandra mutters.

I don’t need a servant.

I’m never telling her I understand Russian. It’s not public knowledge, but I’m trying to finish an art history degree I started when I was eighteen. It takes forever when you’re more than full-time employed in a band and can’t attend anything in person. That’s how I speak Russian. That’s how I’ll support myself when I’m old and can’t handle the stage anymore. I’ll teach art history. In the meantime, if she has a tendency to blurt things out to herself, I’m going to hear some rather entertaining comments.

“You want to show the boys what you can do with that bass?” Kiera asks.

Finally, something useful.

Alexandra’s eyes widen in unmistakable fear, and I suspect she’s going to fail so spectacularly that Kiera will have to oust her out before the end of the hour, contract or not. Our manager can be a maniac at times, but she doesn’t want us to flop on stage. She’s probably never heard the little Russian girl play before and agreed only because The Label told her to.

Alexandra picks up her bass. Its hardshell case hides most of her frame. “Not here, right?”

“Right. Rehearsal room has the amps and much better acoustics.” CJ takes her bass and leads the way.

Alexandra follows him like a grateful puppy. Pathetic.

I enter the rehearsal room last. She opens the case and pulls out a beautiful Fender Precision Bass in a candy-apple red finish.

“That’s a sweet P-Bass,” CJ says. “I used to have one like that until we sold it at a charity auction about a year ago.”

“What do you want me to plug it into?” Alexandra asks as she puts her shoulder strap on.

CJ and Shane dive toward the bass amps, but I’m already there.

“Don’t trip over yourselves,” I say to those two, then grab the coiled cable, fling it loose, and walk to our newest member to plug it into her bass.

Alexandra’s hand tightens around her shoulder strap, and she takes a step back from me. I pretend that I don’t notice, but it’s amusing that I make her nervous. Good. She should be.

I go back to my original spot. Observation works best from a distance. Alexandra looks positively dwarfed by her P-Bass. I shake my head when she fidgets with the settings on the knobs for volume and tone. She’s a kid with a battle-axe.

“What’s your favorite song?” Shane asks with his usual enthusiasm.

“Um. Any song or one of yours?”

“They’re yours too now,” CJ says with a playful smile.

Is he flirting with her? He’d better not be. She’s here to work, not waste time on who knows what.

Alexandra says nothing in response. She strums the strings with all of her fingers, softly, like it’s a six-string guitar.

Arms folded on my chest, I wait. She’s going to make such a mess of things.

CJ plugs in an electric guitar. “How do you feel about giving Court of Fools a go? If you don’t know it, I can pull up the tabs for you on my phone.”

“I definitely know that one. Although, it’s the vocals that make that song.” Biting her lip, but only on one side, Alexandra steals a glance at me. “The instrument parts are quite simple.”

“How about I Don’t Want to Answer That then?” I suggest.

That song made us visible on the international charts. It’s easily in our top five most popular songs, and it’s one of our top five most complicated songs as well. Aspiring guitarists cover it on homemade videos all the time. She’s bound to fail.

“Okay.” She circles around the room, the cable dragging after her. “No, wait.”

She stops at the window and looks at us. Her gaze pauses on me again. I stare right back. What is happening in that head of hers? What was she thinking when she agreed to this?

Either way, she doesn’t back down, and I have to give her credit for that. But she doesn’t look too excited about it either. One little girl out of my awesome band in three, two, one…