Chapter 5

The bar wasn't exactly quiet—nothing like practicing alone in my apartment.

Oddly enough, the low hum of the room actually calmed my nerves.

After I stepped off, a girl walked up to the edge of the stage.

"What was that second song called?" she asked. "Where can I stream it?"

"*Last Spin Cycle*. I haven't recorded a studio version yet."

"Can you let me know when you drop it?"

I gave her my music handle, suddenly remembering the page was almost entirely backstage shots of the band—not a single track she could actually hit play on right now.

She followed me anyway.

Offstage, Ben handed me a water.

"Second song was great."

"What about the first one?"

"I've heard the first one for three years," he said. "Second verse was different tonight. I liked what you just did way better."

I held the bottle, not twisting the cap off for a long moment.

Ben looked toward the stage, waiting until the next act went up before speaking again. "There's something else you should know. On the festival application, the songwriting credit for *Across the River* was listed as *All Band Members*."

"Noah filled it out?"

"He submitted it. I only saw it yesterday. I told him he needed to make it clear who wrote the music and lyrics."

"What did he say?"

"Said we all reworked it a ton together, so it's shared credit."

"I called bullshit and we got into it. Ivy, what's yours shouldn't be taken away from you."

Ben didn't try to make excuses for Noah after that.

I’d been trying to figure out how to bring it up, and he’d already said it for me.

Maya walked over and asked why I still hadn't uploaded the second song.

The girl who’d asked for my handle was sitting back at her friends' table, looking down at her phone.

I told Maya I’d never thought about releasing anything on my own before.

"And you're still gonna sit on it?"

I gripped my guitar strap, a little sheepish. "I'll post it when I get home."

"More like it."

As we were leaving the bar, Noah texted me.

*Danny sent me the clip of you singing.*

*If you wanted to sing that badly, why didn't you just tell me sooner?*

I stood by the curb for a long time.

Hearing *why didn't you tell me sooner* six years into knowing him hurt worse than the poster.

Maybe what he said in that garage was just a teenager talking big—but what about all the years after?

Once, I literally put the sheet music right in front of him. He said we needed to lock in the new track that week and we'd try mine the week after.

Another text popped up:

*Let's meet up and talk tomorrow. We need to sort things out with the festival too.*

I texted back: *Okay.*

Up ahead, Maya called out that our train was coming.

I caught up to her and pulled up the video from tonight on the ride home.

That botched opening chord still sounded harsh on the recording.

What caught me off guard, though, was the line right after it.

I watched and heard myself recover seamlessly, carrying the melody through as smooth and clear as water.

Noah picked the cafe where we’d played our very first real gig.

By the time I got there, he’d already ordered two coffees.

Mine—with oat milk—was sitting across from him.

"You sounded really good last night," he said.

"Thanks."

"I watched it three times. You changed the second verse back to the original lyrics."

"Yeah. That's the version I sent in for the solo stage, too."

His hand froze around his mug.

"So you actually applied?"

"I did."

"Why didn't you talk to me before taking *Across the River* and signing up for a gig outside the band?"

"You used it to apply for the band's slot and gave the vocals to Lila without talking to me first."

Noah leaned back in his chair. "We've always played that song. Submitting it for the band was just following the usual plan."

"And I signed up solo to sing a song I wrote."

"The issue isn't whether you're allowed to sing it. Now there are two applications with the exact same track. What happens when the organizers start asking questions?"

"They already did. I gave them the facts."

Noah looked up. "What did you tell them?"

"That I wrote the music and lyrics, and the band worked on the live arrangement together later."

"Ben told you about the form?"

"He did."

Noah stared down at his coffee. "Putting *All Members* was just me rushing through the form. Every single one of us knows you wrote that song."

"The festival staff only sees the paperwork you hand in."

"I can change it."

"Then you should've changed it back then."

A waiter came by to ask if we wanted any food.

Noah said not right now.

Whenever we came here before, we always split a slice of cake.

Today, both coffees were going cold, and neither of us had touched the dessert menu.

"Do we really have to be like this?" he asked. "It feels like we're fighting, and I hate it."