He shook his head, walking off. I followed behind him, waving to the other techs and producers as we passed.

Gold and platinum albums dating back decades hung on the walls.

“Shouldn’t you be happy?”

He scoffed. “No, cause then I have to pay you.”

I patted his shoulder. “It also means less work for you.”

“More. I’ve got to go behind you and check all your work.” He pushed open the door to the smallest booth in the studio.

Now it was my turn to scoff. “And how many times have I made a mistake?”

His grumble was my only reply.

On the other side of the double-paned glass, a guy sat behind the piano crammed into the space, scribbling on the sheet music in front of him. “It’s his first time. Be gentle with him.”

“I always am.”

He folded his arms across his chest and held open the door. “Does your mom know you’re here tonight?”

I kept my eyes on the sliders and knobs in front of me. “Of course.”

“Jesus, you’re the world’s worst liar. If she calls the cops, I’ll tell them you broke in here.”

“Broke in and started sound mixing demos for artists who’ve paid for booth time?”

He shrugged. “Kids these days are crazy.” The door closed silently.

I shrugged off my coat and set it on the couch wedged in behind me. Ashtrays filled with abandoned joints and beer bottles covered every flat surface that wasn’t the mixing boards. Home, sweet home.

I flicked on the intercom into the soundproof room. “You ready?”

The guy in the beanie and jean jacket jumped. He shielded his eyes trying to peer into the darkness on my side of the glass.

I flicked on the light and waved.

His head jerked back. “Are you twelve?”

“Eighteen, I assure you. You paid for two hours and the clock’s ticking. Should we start?”

His gaze narrowed and he nodded skeptically.

I flipped the lights off on my side of the glass, checked my levels on the soundboard and pressed record. “Ready when you are.”

4

Bay

The weekend was over too quickly—not because I hated school, although it wasn’t my favorite, but because avoiding Dare would be impossible, since we shared three classes. I was also sleep deprived from my late-night trips to the studio, and there’d been a close call when my mom called the house phone just as I was closing the front door. She almost never called that late, and hadn’t in the nearly eighteen months I’d been sneaking out. But every so often she would, always saying the call hadn’t gone through to my cell. For twenty heart-pounding minutes after I hung up, I waited beside the phone to see if she’d call back.

As tired as I was, my thoughts kept drifting back to Dare.

Had he heard me play? Was he laughing his ass off at how terrible I’d been? My stomach clenched, knotting and churning.

Strapping my helmet on, I shoved the last of my pop tart into my mouth. Brown sugar, cinnamon, and I had a daily breakfast date.