If This Gets Out(41)

TEN





ZACH


I’ve never been in this much trouble with Chorus.

Or anyone, really.

I can tell this is serious by the cold, distant way everyone’s been treating Ruben and me. Like even being close to us will mean they’re also in trouble. It started as soon as we boarded the bus to go back to our hotel, and it hung over us the whole journey. Erin is being extremely careful with her words, and Jon and Angel aren’t really talking. The worst, though, is Ruben, who is ignoring me again. I almost don’t know what I hate more, the way he spoke to me on the bus this morning, in a tone that was actually viciousness disguised as friendliness, or this. The endless, icy silence. In the past, maybe being in trouble together would’ve brought us closer, but he went straight back to acting like I’m invisible.

I’m in my bathroom now washing my face. The meeting starts in a minute.

He called me a child. And he all but confirmed to the interviewers that the tension between us is real. Being in trouble right now is all his fault.

I splash water on my face. Getting upset now won’t help anything, and I can’t mess this up.

Ruben is waiting at the end of the hallway for me when I leave my room. Early, of course. What I feel is not anger, though, it’s this dull ache. Like something is missing. Like this wouldn’t be so bad if we were tackling it as friends.

When we got back to the hotel, Erin gave us half an hour to freshen up and get ready for the call, and her tone made it very clear we were to look faultless or else. So now we look more like young businessmen than pop superstars, but that’s fitting, because we’ll be speaking to Geoff. Pop is a business to him.

That’s all it is, really. I don’t think he gets how music feels to me. How important it is. How it’s the quickest way to feel any emotion possible, and how powerful, how necessary, it is. It’s so much more than something that can be used to make money.

I reach Ruben, and he just tilts his head up in greeting. Right. The silent treatment is still going. Good to know, and good thing two can play at this. We get into the elevator, and ride it up silently. I cross my arms, and lean against the wall.

The air is crackling, though. He’s staring forward, his jaw set, his expression plain. He’s picture-perfect. If he’s nervous, or anything, he’s not giving it away. Does he really not care about what could happen? Or is this an act? I open my mouth, and he glances at me, his eyes telling me not to, so I shut it.

I’ve never seen him act like he did at the interview. Hell, everyone in the room picked up on it. Even though they didn’t come out and say so, the interviewers could clearly tell something was going on between us. It’s so unlike Ruben to do something that hurts the band, or anyone, but I think he was trying to hurt me.

When the interview airs tomorrow night, it’s going to add even more gasoline to the stories already circulating. I’ve seen it happen before, and it’s always scary fast. A story can go from being a rumor to a fact in seconds. Not only that, it can so easily become a defining fact. The thing people think of when they think of Saturday.

We could become known as the band that all secretly hate each other, only tied together by our contracts.

I roll my neck, and sense him watching me.

The elevator chimes.

“After you,” he says, smiling graciously.

I ignore the fire in my chest and walk out.

Down the hall, Erin is waiting in front of her room. She opens the door for us, and we file in. The air feels heavy and gloomy. The MacBook set up on the desk may as well be a guillotine.

“Take a seat,” says Erin, her face grim.

Ruben and I go across the room, and sit down in front of the computer.

On the screen, at a desk, is Geoff.

“I’m assuming you know why you’re here?” he asks, his voice deep and gravelly.

Neither of us say anything for a moment too long. It speaks volumes.

“I’m sorry,” says Ruben.

Geoff’s eyebrows slant down. Even though he’s in a different country right now, I still start to sweat. If he decides to stop supporting us, we could fade away and become a band the general public only vaguely remembers.

“Sorry isn’t good enough in this case. You need to be better. Let me make this very clear, you two are in deep shit. You both understand that, right?”

“I do,” says Ruben.

“Definitely,” I say.

“No, I don’t think you do,” says Geoff, his voice rising. “You two fucked up. You have to promise me you’ll get whatever is going on under control. You have to.”

“We will,” says Ruben.

“Seriously, we will.”

“I know you will. You’ve worked too hard to jeopardize everything now.” He looks into the camera, and it feels for a moment like he’s made eye contact with me directly. “Think about Jon and Angel. How could you let them down like this? You’re a band, that means you’re supposed to work together.”

I bow my head, because he’s right.

“And think about everyone that works for you, trying to make your dream a reality. Do you even care about them? Do you care that they might lose their jobs because of this? If the band goes down, they go down with you.”

“Of course we do,” says Ruben.