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  “We're going to slow it down for this last one, for all you out there who had a rough Valentine's Day,” I say before starting on the opening notes for My Immortal. I see couples start to form on the dance floor, it's a little bit of a downer song but it's romantic as hell, exactly the sort of song that I want to end The Shattered Dreams on.

  I get through most of the first verse pretty easy, it's relatively flat in the vocal range, but when we rise towards the first bridge, I feel it in my throat. I rocked it out too hard with the screams in Get Up, and I got too caught up in Hot for Teacher. I don't have it left in me to take it up into that super high tenor that we practiced. But Cora's out there, dancing her dance, with a guy she likes maybe. So for Cora, I find the notes. I have to close my eyes, I can see Cora dancing by herself, her strawberry blond hair with the blue dress she's wearing tonight, just graceful and lovely. My Muse, and I sing for her.

  Chris is caught a bit off guard when I hold my hand up to stop us from going into the hard-middle bridge, but as a backup, we'd practiced the 'all slow' version quite a few times, so he's not totally flailing. He adjusts well, Tim going with it to create something we'd never done before. Instead of being slow the whole time, or having the hard rock section, we kind of go with something almost soulful, and I find myself swept away in probably the best performance we've ever given. When the last note is picked on my guitar and it fades, I open my eyes, and I see Cora still looking up at me. She's smiling, and Duane's got his arm on her shoulder.

  Maybe I do feel an instant of jealousy. I mean, she is my date, right? Sure, we're just friends, but she is my date. But... well, we had our dance. It was a good one, but we had a dance. So, I'll let her dance who she wants to dance with. I gave her my best, and that's what I've always wanted to give to my Muse.

  Chapter 3

  Cora

  Another great day in Southern California, and for that, I am grateful. Then again, May in Southern California is almost always perfect weather. The summer heat hasn't quite dropped in yet, and it's late enough in the year that we aren't getting the winter and early spring rain that sometimes comes in. We get enough that we're kinda green in May.

  Graduation took place not in the football stadium that we share that with Simi Valley High, but instead in a nearby arena. Afterward, a bunch of people jumped in their cars, heading either to the beach near Malibu or to Disneyland. Me personally, I just want to kinda chill and reflect.

  Thankfully, Mom and Dad understand, and after bringing me home, they let me change and just go off on my own. Which of course means I find myself here, at Rocky's house. Mrs. Blake was even expecting me and has a little gift for me when I showed up.

  “Cora, congratulations,” she says, handing me a wrapped box. I'm slightly surprised, it feels heavier than I thought it would be for a graduation gift. “You know, it's been great having you come by so much over the past few years.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Blake,” I tell her, accepting her hug. “And thank you for being so cool about me bumming around with Rocky all this time.”

  “Robert's been blessed to have you in his life,” Mrs. Blake says. She's pretty active in the local church, so I hear a lot from her that's sort of church-tinged, but at the same time, she's laid back enough that she lets Rocky be Rocky. Even if she does insist on calling him Robert, the only person I know who does so.

  Mrs. Blake's probably known how I felt about Rocky since about the time I was a freshman, and she just smiles, nodding. “I know. I always thought you two were good together. I was hoping after prom... well, anyway, Robert's out in the garage.”

  I thank Mrs. Blake and carry my little present out to the garage, where Rocky's sitting and watching the YouTube video I posted of The Shattered Dreams doing their thing at the prom. I was glad that I could get one of the prom committee to set up a couple of HD cameras around the gym, it's probably the best video I ever made for them. “Hey, Rocky.”

  Rocky turns around and grins, getting out of his chair and coming over, hugging me. My heart flares, but when he sets me down, I can see it in his eyes that the hug didn't mean what I was hoping it would mean. Again.

  “It's amazing, Cora. Seriously, it's blowing up, we've already gotten over a hundred thousand hits!” he says, tugging me over. I look at the read count, and Rocky's right, the video of the prom performance has been out just over a week but is now standing at over one hundred fifty-two thousand views. Scrolling through, there's a ton of positive comments too.

  This is what rock should be! - 8 likes

  I wanna ride the lead singer like a pony! - 27 likes

  “Hmmm, that one wasn't really about the music,” I note, seeing Rocky blush. He doesn't realize it, but his self-consciousness over his good looks just makes him even more good looking, at least to me it does. “Hey, don't knock it, Rock. You know that the days of ugly rock stars are over. Video killed the radio star and all. You got the looks that make girls go weak in the knees. Come on though, let's take a walk, what do you say?”

  “Sure, why not? You wanna go down through the canyon?”

  “Got a flashlight?” I ask, knowing he does. It's a strong one too, one of those twelve LED jobs in case we need it. “Then let's go.”

  The walk down the trail that starts about a quarter mile from his house is peaceful, the traffic blurring to near silence as soon as we start to drop lower, into the brush that makes up a lot of the canyon. The shadows stretch out, but the full moon's up, and between that and the flashlight we're fine. They say that there are mountain lions and coyotes up here in the canyon, but the worst that Rocky and I have ever found is a king snake one time that scared the hell out of me until we realized it wasn't a rattler.

  “So... we've graduated,” Rocky says once we pass the big rock about halfway down that we've always kind of used as the gateway to allowing us to talk privately. “You feel any different?”

  “I don't know,” I reply, wanting to reach over and take his hand, but too afraid to. “What about you? I mean, we're never going to go to SHS again, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. It's weird that way,” Rocky admits. “I mean, I guess it won't be quite as big a difference for you though, you're heading to college once summer vacation's over. You're still not done with school, you know what I mean?”

  I nod, my heart breaking for the millionth time in the years that Rocky and I have been together. Why can't he see? “So, you've made up your mind that you're going to skip school and go straight to trying to make it with a band?”

  Rocky nods and I can see him kind of half smile in the moonlight. “Let's face it, Cora, I'm not an idiot, but I'm not the type made for formal higher education, you know what I mean? But it's cool. You know, I may not be scrambling as hard as I thought I would be. That little channel you put together on YouTube? There's a band already reaching out for me, not to try out, but to invite me in. From what I know, they're better than the guys in Reseda that I told you about. They were even thinking that with their old lead singer jetting, that they could use a rebrand. I guess being called Hunky Limburger wasn't working for them.”

  I laugh, the choices that some bands make for themselves in terms of names are just… damn. “Yeah, I can't see you being Hunky Limburger. So, you’ve got an in?”

  “I think so,” Rocky says, and we start walking again. “I talked with their drummer, a guy named Ian, he says that they are pretty close to making it a full-time job for themselves. They're based in Huntington Beach right now, and if we click, he offered me a chance to crash at his apartment.”

  “Wow... so, you're going to be on your way,” I say, shaking my head. “Well, we won't be that far apart, I guess. I mean, LA City U is close to Hollywood, as soon as you guys land a studio gig you're going to be getting pulled up there too, right?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Hey, speaking of LACU, isn't Duane Phillips also heading there?” Rocky asks, smirking. “I saw you two dancing at the prom.”

  “Well, you know, he just kinda came up and sin
ce you were on stage, I was trying to be nice...” I stammer, but Rocky cuts me off.

  “Any chance you and him might spark some?” he asks teasingly, and my heart shatters in my chest again. He just doesn't see me that way. He doesn't see that the whole time I was dancing with Duane, I wanted it to be Rocky in my arms. That it hurt me afterward when Rocky didn't want to dance anymore, and that the reason I was quiet when he took me home was because I didn't want to act like a total girl and start crying about it all. He thinks… he thinks I'm just a friend.

  What the hell do I say to that? “No... I don't think so,” I finally choke out, glad that at least there are some shadows down here. I gotta roll the dice, try to be more forward. “You know Rock... you've been the closest thing I've ever had to a boyfriend all through high school.”

  “You always are gonna be special to me, Muse,” Rocky says, but in that same tone, the tone that says pure friend zone. “Hell, you and I, you're my sister from another mister. I'm going to hold you to that promise. We're gonna make a million dollars together; you behind the boards, me on the mic.”

  “Yeah... yeah, I guess so,” I whisper, giving up. He just doesn't see me that way, not now, not before, maybe not ever. And I won't have a chance to see him much after tonight. I want to force the issue and grab him by the cheeks and kiss him the way I’ve always wanted to… but I can't. “Hey Rocky, you mind if we start to head back? I guess graduation and all, it just took more outta me today than I thought.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Rocky says, turning around on the path. We walk up the trail in silence, I just can't trust myself to not start crying if I say anything, and Rocky's already thinking ahead to this meeting with Ian, whoever he is. We hit the sidewalk, and get to the front of his house, where the streetlights illuminate my car.

  “So... Rocky,” I say, trying one last time. “Rocky... I don't want to stop seeing you.”

  “You won't, you know that, Muse,” Rocky says lightly. “Come on, we're staying in LA County, it's nothing. But you don't worry about me, you just keep busting your butt. You're gonna be someone's dynamite producer, Cora. Just keep grinding, and being that super-smart chica I know you are.”

  I swallow. “I... I want to be your producer,” I finally work out, trying to say what I want to say but I just can't, I don't have the guts. “I want to work side by side with you.”

  “We will,” Rocky promises. “You just take care of yourself, Muse. We'll see each other again.”

  He reaches out and gives me a hug, but I can feel it even in the way he hugs me... I'm just his 'sister' to him. We might as well have bro-hugged the way he feels about me. He pats me on the back even and steps back, letting me get in my car. “Hey, I'll give you a call tomorrow or something, as soon as I get a chance to talk with Ian, see how the connection is. We'll get together sometime before you start school, right?”

  “Right,” I say, sniffling and starting my engine. I drive away before Rocky can see me totally break down, and start to head home. I'm about three-quarters of the way there before I can't do it anymore, and I see that I'm close to SHS. On a whim, I pull into the student parking lot, shutting off my engine and crying hard. I don't know how long the storm lasts, but when it ends, I feel empty. My heart is cursing me for being a coward, unable to tell Rocky that I love him.

  “Coward,” I curse myself in the rearview mirror. I curse the blue eyes that are staring back at me in the parking lot lights, the eyes of the lost little girl who can't even tell the boy she loves how she feels about him. “Fucking coward.”

  The words cause me to start crying again, but it's shorter, and I see something in my mirror again. It's my school bag, I never took it out of my back seat, and I grab it, pulling it open. It's pretty empty, but inside I see the pad of paper that I would use for writing music stuff in, a composition book that was useful for notes. I find an empty page about half way through, along with the Flair pen that I used, too.

  I get out of my car and sit on the trunk. It's facing the school, and the light from the security lamp overhead lets me see better. I uncap my pen and focus. If I wanted to write to Rocky… what would I say? It takes me a minute, but then it comes to me, and my pen moves, almost on its own.

  The light is so bright

  But still, you can't see

  The glare has blinded you

  It's kept you from the truth

  We've been together so long

  I can still remember the day

  When I knew in my heart

  That I wanted to be more than...

  How can Four Letters hurt so much?

  How can they break my heart?

  It's only six little letters

  How can Four Letters hurt me so?

  When they're put together this way

  When I want you to say love,

  And what you say is friend.

  I want you to find every happiness

  I want you to find your dream

  But can't there be a place

  For me in your paradise?

  I stand in the shadows

  Hoping and praying for the day

  When I hear a simple knock

  And find you at my door

  Until that day, I'll be here for you

  Because as much as it hurts

  Not having you is worse

  So, I go to bed every night

  And I say a little prayer

  That a miracle can happen

  That Four Letters can become four

  And we can make love out of friend.

  When I finish it, I think about tearing it up. It's cheesy, it's sappy, it's everything that Rocky and I have joked about being some of the worst rock in history. “Then again,” I whisper as I cap my pen and put the notebook away, “Jim Steinman made careers for Meat Loaf and Bonnie Tyler out of this stuff.”

  I re-read it and recognize it for what it is. It's what I've wanted to say to Rocky for years, and it's honest. Maybe someday I'll be able to actually say it to him. Nodding to myself, I close my notebook and put it in my backpack, and start up my car. There's still the summer, right? Maybe there's a chance I'll find the guts to let him read this.

  Chapter 4

  Rocky-Five Years Later

  “Wasn't that a great show, folks?” the guest host of The Tonight Show asks the audience, who are applauding wildly. “Of course, tonight, let's give it up to our guests Emma Watson, Christian McCaffery, and tonight's special musical guests, Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory, the Fragments! Rocky, would you and the Fragments play us out?”

  I give the host a nod and turn to the guys, giving Ian a thumb’s up. “Okay guys, just like we jammed,” I say, turning back to the camera as Ian starts the beat on his drums. Joey picks up the classic theme on his guitar, doing the hard notes while I get to just look cool playing essentially the backing riffs while vamping a bit for the camera. It's just the closing credits theme, we're having a bit of fun, and when the director gives us the cut signal I take us out with a bit of flare for the live audience as Ian drops a short solo on his drums. “Thank you, New York City!”

  The roughly two-hundred-person live studio audience applauds well, and while it isn't quite the normal crowd we play to, it was a good set. More importantly, it was our first national network television exposure, maybe pushing us out of the niche audiences that we've been playing for the past five years.

  “Great job guys,” the guest host, a former NFL player, says as he shakes hands with all of us, which is cool. The names Ian Ivory and Joey Rivera might not be as well-known with the fans as Rocky Blake, but we're a band, and I'm not Diana Ross or Beyoncé.

  “Thanks. And thanks for the little dance there during Slam the Floor,” I reply, laughing at the image of a formerly three-hundred-pound man doing the splits in an Armani suit while we jammed. “You sure you didn't pull anything?”

  “Yoga. Lots and lots of yoga since retirement,” the host jokes. “Thanks again guys, I hope you can make it out to New York again
.”

  He leaves, and the three of us go backstage, where Martha Mellors, our publicist and manager, is waiting. “Nice job guys,” she says, giving all three of us hugs. “Joey, I already got three production assistants who want your phone number.”

  Joey, who wears his near buzz-cut black hair slightly spiked up, is definitely the 'dark and mysterious' one of the group, but it's allowed me to be more myself too. I don't have to be anything other than myself, which I appreciate. It's not an act either, Joey's totally into his Puerto Rican goth look too, at least on stage. Off stage, he looks more like the sweet, nerdy kid you'd want to take home to introduce to Mom, honestly.

  Totally Joey though, instead of being like most of the musicians I've met since joining the Fragments, he blushes and shakes his head. “Come on Martha, you know I just want to get back to the hotel and chill. After last night at CBGBs and now the Tonight Show, I just want to get some sleep.”

  “All right, but two of those girls were certifiable nines,” Martha teases. She's in her normal professional gear, a fitted pantsuit that shows off her slender figure, her hair done in a bob, looking all dark, smoky, and intense around the eyes. She kinda looks like a prim Joan Jett in a business suit, and she's smart enough about the whole scene that she's been a godsend to the Fragments. Still, she likes to tease Joey, who is nowhere near the dangerous tatted up bad boy that he looks like. Of the three of us, I'm the one that went through the biggest 'bad boy' stage, until a year and a half ago.

  “Well... yeah, but I think I'm going to go hang out or something a little,” he says, disappearing down the hallway. Before turning the corner, he stops and calls back. “Hey, Rocky, you wanna join me? I was thinking of going up on the roof, getting some shots with my new camera.