Coda by Emma Trevayne

Author:Emma Trevayne [Trevayne, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780762447282
Publisher: Running Press
Published: 2013-05-07T06:00:00+00:00

We’re only half an hour late to soundcheck.

“We’ll have the apartment to ourselves tonight,” I say, running my hand down her back. My father doesn’t really count. I can hear the cacophony outside, but I’m only listening for her answer.

“Hmmm. Choice. You’ve got to get out there.”

“Go with him for a sec?” I jerk my head toward Yellow Guy, already at the door, obviously waiting to see if I’d ask Haven to leave. She kisses my cheek, keeps hold of my hand until the last possible second, and takes his arm to lead him out into the club. I look at the others, take a deep breath, and exhale.

It’s been too late to stop for a long time, but tonight still feels different. Tonight we ask for help, and when some of those people outside—the ones dancing, singing, and chanting with freedom they’ve never had anywhere else—go home, they’ll be charged not just with the music they’ve heard tonight, but also a task for the days to come.

“Just another night, man,” says Mage, clapping me on the shoulder.

“For Johnny,” I say. I haven’t stopped wishing he was here with us, and every time I think of him my anger at the Corp climbs another note on the scale.

“For Johnny,” Phoenix agrees. She’s glowing; the nudge she gives me is jerky and impatient. Besides me, I think she loves this the most of all of us. The ferocity of the music meets its match in her, and she relishes the fight. “Come on.”

Six times I’ve walked out of this room, climbed the steps to the stage, and looked out on an ever-growing throng of people. I’ve smelled the sweet tang of sweat and perfume, been blinded by lights and chrome. Six times I’ve glanced at the others, in position behind their instruments, and stepped to the mic with my fingers already on guitar strings.

Tonight, I inspect the audience a little more closely than usual. For Haven, yeah, but I know she’s there and just want to look at her for a second before I move on. Tango is on the balcony, purple hair taken out of its normal, severe knot so it can hang down over the railings. The sound implants in her hands are flashing in time with the noise. When we start to play, the streaks of light will go crazy. She waves, I smile back.

I catch a few comments from the crowd; people are wondering if I’ll jump off the stage to go kiss some girl again this week. Tempting, but no. That has to wait.

Mage starts. I feel the thud in my feet. One, two, three, four . . .

Scope next. Glass bottles—each a different, perfect note—give the first hint of melody and the bodies begin to move. They know this one.

The xylophone joins in, Phoenix’s arms a blur of accuracy. Three more bars. Two. One.

My turn.

I’m home like I am in no other place except with Haven, and she’s here with me, against the back wall, pink lips parted in readiness for the lyrics she’s learned over the past week.

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