so completely connected to Stokes through our passion for music and the angst of our youth is a defining part of my life, and part of the reason why it hurt to realize it never meant as much to him. That I never meant as much.

As close as I felt we became, there always seemed to be another side of him I couldn’t reach, and a part of him I never really knew. His band did, though. He let them in.

“It’s really great to see you,” he says with his classic charming big-toothed grin and a tone you’d swear was genuine if you weren’t familiar with his pattern that butters you up and lets you slip away just as soon as he’s got what he wants.

He wasn’t like that in high school, or maybe he was, and I was just too naive back then. People see what they want to see in others—who we wish they were. That’s all we really are—figments of perception embroiled in the judgements of the ones who see us—sometimes a version of ourselves we wish we were, too.

Stokes made me feel cool, understood, and comfortable.

Standing in front of him now, the rapport we spent years developing seems lost.

“Is this your place?” I point up at the house, flanked by two craftsman types similar to mine, all much bigger than the houses in my neighbourhood, and closer together. “My mom doesn’t live too far from here.”

“Oh yeah? How’s she?”

Stokes barely spent any time with my mom, but he’d know her if he saw her.

“She’s good. She sold the house and moved in with her new boyfriend. Well, I guess they’ve been together almost four years now. Are you still in Toronto?” Why am I rambling?

“Yeah, I share a place with Roy—Royal.” He shoves his hands in his dark jean pockets again and turns away from me to the house. “We practice here most of the time. It’s Lucie’s, our keyboardist. Do you remember her?”

I nod and smile, although I’m not sure she’ll remember me. I’ve been introduced to the band a few times over the years, but we’ve never had a conversation. I’ve always been an outsider to them. They probably think I’m Stokes’s weird, desperate friend. I guess I was pretty desperate for friendship.

“They’re all waiting back there,” he says and nods toward the side of the house as he takes a slow step in that direction across the front yard. My boots glide through the wet grass behind him. “You ready?” His low voice rises in tone, revealing a vulnerability to him that I’ve always appreciated. Something to ease the tension.

“I’m a little rusty. Haven’t sung in a while.” I follow close behind him to the shady side of the house by a large green, cedar hedge that separates the properties. A damp early evening chill settles in, and I wrap my open black raincoat across my chest for comfort and warmth. “So, the whole band’s here?”

“Yep, except Pash” —he turns back to me with a tight, awkward smile— “but I guess that goes without saying.”

We emerge from the shadows to a deep green back yard with a little white guest house at the far side by the little, white wooden fence separating the neighbour’s yards. The window by the door glows yellow from the inside. It guides our way across the grass cast in shadows by the remaining orange leaves on the maple trees surrounding the property.

Stokes slows his pace and turns to me. I get another whiff of his cologne and it stirs excitement and nerves into a concoction that tightens my chest.

“We’re so glad you came. Just show them what I already know you can do, and we’ll do this thing, okay?”

I nod, forcing a smile that I hope hides the fear in my eyes as I take quick breaths, folding my arms across my chest.

You’re doing them a favour, I try to tell myself to relieve the pressure and anxiety mounting in my chest as he twists the knob and opens the door. I follow him into a dark grey, padded kind of studio—probably soundproof. The kind my dad always wished he owned instead of rented. Two people sit on the couch. I recognize Lucie’s shiny shoulder-length black hair first, and then her pierced nose and petite frame. She turns to me, her hand entwined with the hand of the person beside her I don’t recognize. Royal sits in the far corner behind his drum set, his muscled arms bulging from his T-shirt and his neon green hat on backward, staring at me without a greeting as I nod to him.

The one beside Lucie stands and nods to me with a smile. “Hey, welcome to our house and the studio. I’m Mika, Lucie’s girlfriend.” Her androgynous style hadn’t made her genre obvious, so I’m glad she clarified. She turns back to Lucie. “I’ll leave you guys to it, babe. See you after.” Mika passes me without a second glance and Stokes shifts to my right side, revealing Cline’s dark shaggy hair ducked down by the mini-fridge behind the door, pulling out a green bottle and cracking it open. He glances at me and walks by, pushing the bottle to his lips. Did he nod in acknowledgement? I can’t tell.

“Guys, you remember Lynda?” Stokes asks, remaining by my side.

Royal sets his sticks on the set and Lucie pipes up. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Good, thanks.” I turn to Cline, but he avoids eye contact and drops on the couch on the opposite end of Lucie. “Good to see you guys again.”

No one responds, and the only warmth left in the room is still by my side.

Band posters line the walls, none of theirs, but all of bands they probably admire. Black cords line the floors by the baseboards, connected to all their instruments and equipment, twisted the way my stomach feels as the silence continues.

“So,” Stokes huffs. “I filled Lyn in a bit on what we’re needing, and the dates we need

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