This Is What It Feels Like by Rebecca Barrow

Author:Rebecca Barrow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-10-16T16:00:00+00:00

Dia

They fell into a pattern: practice in Hanna’s garage, go to work, practice again, live their lives for an hour or two here and there. Dia found herself exhausted from staying up late, playing in the living room while Lex slept, then getting up early to get to the bakery. Sometimes her dad passed by her, going out or coming in from his shift, and he’d stop and listen as Dia played him something, nodding or giving a suggestion. “That’s good,” he’d say. “What about the chorus?”

But for Dia, the exhaustion was worth it every time they played, every time she opened her mouth to let their words slip out, when they ended practice aching and sweating. And she looked forward to practice now—for the music, and for the fact that it no longer felt like a battle between her and Hanna. She wasn’t sure, but she thought they were kind of . . . becoming friends? Ish? In these time-pushed circumstances, it was hard for her to hold on to the grudge, to remind herself again and again why she’d cut Hanna out.

Because, more than anything else, this Hanna seemed entirely different to Dia now. Different from both the person she’d been when she was drinking, and even the person she’d been before that. This Hanna was someone who Dia found smart and a little tough and, truthfully, intimidating.

They were at the Golden Music Supply Store, a little over a week out from round two now, walking the aisles. Dia had Lex in the stroller, occupied with her phone, and Jules and Hanna followed behind her, talking over each other.

“I’m saying, we sound better when we slow the end down,” Hanna said. “Otherwise it all gets rushed and all the detail gets lost.”

“We just don’t have it yet,” Jules said.

The store was this kitschy palace of everything and anything you could ever want for your alternative musical needs. Dia ran her fingers over the top of a display case, peering at the mandolins inside. A poster of Glory Alabama hung above the case, their faces decorated with the swirls of their signatures. “Well, we’ll clean it up,” she said, staring up at the four women’s faces. She’d always been amazed that they’d come from the same place as her: sat in the same classrooms, hung out at the same skate park, bought their strings from this very store. “Messy is not acceptable.”

Hanna made a face that Dia ignored, and Jules said, “I still like ‘Pretty Baby’ best.”

Their writing sessions had been good; so far they’d come up with a handful of skeletons of new songs, and now they were trying to pick which two to focus on. They kept going around in circles, though, bickering over the smallest aspects of each one.

Dia kind of liked it. This was what they used to do, dissect their music into tiny pieces and then put those pieces back together again, a broken puzzle. It was fun.

“I’m starving,” Dia said, turning in the direction of the guitars.

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