Was I wrong to jump right to the idea of what to do with the songs? Or was that a completely normal thing to think about? I know this must be hard for him; even the idea that he has a dad is a new one. But if we actually found those songs, how could we not release them to the world? Isn’t hiding them away just as selfish as profiting from them? There’s no doubt that people would want to hear them.

And . . . with the lost songs by Allegiance to North, you could write your own ticket. Any band would kill for that kind of break. You wouldn’t need some heartless record label like Candy Shell to come along and sweet-talk you.

But maybe that’s more about me than about Caleb.

Hello, complicated.

We eventually settle into trivial stories about relationship drama involving a few bands at school. When we say good night, he kisses me: same lips, same tongues, but somehow now there is distance. I refuse Caleb’s offer of a ride and as he leaves me at the bus stop, I hate this new feeling that I have. Now that these songs exist, I worry that nothing in our relationship can be just us anymore.

8

MoonflowerAM @catherinefornevr 7m


This just in! Dangerheart may have found a bass player! I guess Hot Chocolate was right! #ibelieveinmiracles #nottheyousexythingpart

I am halfway to practice when Caleb’s text arrives.

I think we have our bassist.

I reply: No way! Who?

But then nothing.

I didn’t even realize that we had any bass tryouts today. Someone must have been referred to the band directly. At this point, with only four days until the Trial, we’d come to terms with the fact that Dangerheart would be playing its first gig bass-less, with Jon using an octave pedal to fill in the sonic hole. We did try out one person on Saturday, but he turned out to be a forty-year-old guy named Rod who wore leather pants and claimed he could still “rock it on to the break of dawn.” Next.

The band has been sounding good, regardless. And Caleb and I are past the awkwardness of the other night. Sunday evening, we met up at Sacred Cow, an Indian place in the center of town and read through On the Tip of Your Tongue, looking for any clues about those strange references in Eli’s letter. We found nothing, but we did find two amazing quotes:

I guess that’s why you should never eat sushi on a trapeze.


—PARKER, ON HURLING ONSTAGE AFTER A VIDEO SHOOT FOR THE SINGLE “SUBSURFACE REFLECTIONS”

And:

That album caught on so fast. It was like ear lube.


—ELI, ON THE RELEASE OF THE BREAKS

“Ear lube” made us laugh. A lot.

We also read a lot of darker stuff about Eli’s stints in and out of rehab, and a time he got arrested for disorderly conduct on Sunset Boulevard. This was less funny. He ran out of a bar bathroom and down a street convinced he was being chased by the ghost of Jerry Lee Lewis, and he was screaming the lyrics to “Great Balls of Fire” at the top of his lungs. And his pants were apparently still in the bathroom.

The book made Caleb quiet. And the strange stories and lack of clues made the idea of hidden songs seem barely possible. But I can’t get the possibility of them out of my mind, and I think Caleb feels the same way.

I hurry from the bus to the Hive, through the gauntlet of smoke and postures, up to the door, where I pause because the band is in mid-song. I can already tell by the humming of the walls that there’s bass in the room. Its deep presence obscures everything. I can’t even tell what song this is, yet.

Caleb starts to sing—

But wait. That’s not Caleb.

It sounds like a girl. Yes, it’s definitely either a girl, or maybe that’s what Jon sounds like when he sings? But he never sings—

A shrieking whine of feedback suddenly grinds the band to a halt.

“Aww, man!” I hear Matt groan.

“Sorry,” says Jon.

I knock. The door opens. It’s Caleb. The usual dank smell of guy wafts out, only now it’s tinged with something sweet. Strawberry gum?

“Hi.” I lead with a smile, trying to hide my confusion.

“Hey, Summer!” Matt calls eagerly from across the room.

Caleb makes eye contact. There’s Fret Face, but a slightly different variation. Eyes wider. “Hey.” His eyes flash over his shoulder. “So . . .”

But I’m already there.

She’s over by the drums, in front of a mic, a burgundy P-bass, slung low. It seems nearly as tall as she is. Bleached blonde hair, with dark eye shadow, or really dark circles, it’s hard to tell. A simple green T-shirt that says “Product of Capitalism,” black jeans and yellow sneakers, and yellow-white-and-red sweatbands on her wrists.

She levels a flat gaze at me, her mouth working on the source of the strawberry smell. I’m immediately on my guard and I want to ask, Who’s this?, but instead some polite gene kicks in and I just say, “Hi.”

The girl eyes me. “Who’s this?”

Caleb’s hand falls on my shoulder. “This is Val,” he says to me. “Val, this is Summer, our manager.”

“Val rocks,” adds Jon.

“You’re Moonflower Productions?” Val asks. She doesn’t sound impressed. “So, you, what, mastertweet about the band, hang posters, fetch sodas?”

I meet her gaze. Really? This is how we’re going to start? I feel a surge of adrenaline as I search for the right response, but all I come up with is, “It’s more than that.” Then, to Caleb: “I don’t remember any replies to our ads from a Val.”

“I didn’t,” she says.

“She was just here,” adds Matt.

“What, you just magically appeared?” I head for the couch. “I’ve never seen you at Mount Hope.”

“I go to Mission Viejo,” she says. “I saw Caleb with Android Necktie back in June, at the Irvine Street Fair. It was right after I moved out here. Been keeping tabs on him ever since.”

So, you’re basically a groupie? I think to ask, but instead the professional instinct wins again and I settle for, “Do you have band experience?”

Val scowls. “Of course. I fronted my own band back when I lived in New York. Kitty Klaws. You can YouTube us.”

“We watched some,” says Jon. “They were great.”

I look at Caleb. “Was she singing?”

“Yeah . . .” Caleb’s eyes shift. “We watched the videos and, I don’t know, I just thought it might be cool if we tried the duo thing. Some of Val’s songs, some of mine. But it’s not a definite.”

“Is she your mom?” Val asks.

Caleb nervous-laughs, and what bothers me right now is how this Val girl is making him flustered. Does that mean he thinks she’s cooler, more intimidating than me? You’re being silly. But I wonder if I am. Val is cute. Val can sing. She’s a girl with a bass. Songs have been sung about such girls. And none, as far as I’m aware, about band managers.

Except, when I’m not feeling jealous—and I’m totally feeling jealous—I have to admit that Caleb has done something kind of brilliant. Having a second singing, songwriting member is a real strength. Granted, bands like the Beatles eventually blow apart fantastically—and maybe in Val’s case I wouldn’t mind that, eventually—but still, this really increases the intrigue and cool of the band, if she’s any good.

I also realize that acting skeptical/territorial/jealous is the stereotypical move right now, so even though that’s exactly what I’m feeling, the least I can do is hide it. “Cool,” I say, “can I hear your tune?”

Val looks down at her strings as she replies, revealing a hint of nerves. “Sure. Same one?”

“Yeah,” says Caleb.

“Okay.” Val leans up to the mic. “This is—” She pauses to cough. It sounds like she smokes. “This is ‘Catch Me.’”

The band blasts into a high-speed tune with a rapid-fire beat and eighth notes on the bass.

Val starts to sing the first verse. I’ve seen Caleb sing a few times now. He balances a sense of vulnerability with emotional power, alternating between glancing at the crowd and closing his eyes, in and out of himself like he and the audience are searching for the story of the song together.

Val is totally different. Darker. Harder, but also more fragile. Her eyes are open and glaring. Daggers made of glass. She locks on things, occasionally even me, and it’s an angry, accusatory gaze, the purse to her lips. It’s like there’s a bulletproof panel between you and her, and yet, you feel like that glass is there for a reason, like behind it there is a deep well of sadness. Even in spite of our rough beginning, this sense of her stirs a feeling of empathy in me.

The music switches, and Val nods to Caleb, who quick nods back, musician-speak, and when Val hits the high long notes of her chorus:

I dare . . . you . . . to . . .


Catch me . . .

Caleb layers his voice right on top and it’s . . . well, I have to be honest: it’s fantastic.

I get out my notebook and write down the word “romantic.” I don’t mean cheesy, and I don’t mean like romantic between the two of them. It’s what a listener will feel (and then they’ll assume the romance). I wonder what it must feel like to sing in harmony—I mean, that’s got to be intimate, right? Damn, I want to know. And I feel the jealous tremor crawl deeper, thinking that I’m so right for Caleb, in so many ways, and yet Val has waltzed in here and shared that connection with him in just a few minutes. How can I compete with that?

Keep it together! I shout at myself. Gotta stay professional. And professional me knows that these two sound amazing together and the future of this band just changed radically for the better.

So I get my phone and post:

MoonflowerAM @catherinefornevr 3s


WHOA. Caleb and Val: Mount Hope’s Lennon and McCartney? #dangerheart #swoonalert #canthearoverthescreamingfans

* * *

They transition into what seems to be a bridge, but a wicked scream of feedback explodes from Jon’s amp. Everything crashes to a halt.

“Shit, sorry.” Jon bends over his pedal board. “I just gotta rearrange the chain.”

Val shakes her head. “You don’t need pedals to rock,” she says.

Jon looks up and replies in a surly, Liam Neeson–style Irish accent: “I’ll not have yer insolence, Miss Valerie.”

Val smiles at this, sort of. I begrudgingly take note of this, too. Val is going to be an ally in keeping Jon’s sci-fi-sound tendencies in check.

“How was that harmony?” Caleb asks Val. He sounds uncertain, like he wants to be sure she liked it.

“Pretty close,” she says. “Maybe a little too parallel in spots.”

“Ah,” says Caleb, apparently understanding what she means. “So a little more counter movement.”

“I think so? Tone was good, though.”

“The sort of distant thing?”

“Exactly. I’m the soft. You bring the edge.”

“Cool. Got it.”

I listen to this, an instant shorthand between them, and it makes me burn.

“So, what did you think?” I find Caleb looking at me. I frown, trying to say to him, that’s a question for private, and the fact that he’s asked in public means there’s only one answer he wants from me.

I could be mad about this, I could tuck it away to talk about with him later, but, really, I know that what’s happening here is serendipitous and perfect. “It’s totally going to work.”

Val picks up the tunes fast and adds another of hers to the mix, and practice is pretty great. I sit on the couch soaking it in, and whenever I need to take my mind off Val I attend to band business: posting candids to Pinboard, updating the BandSpace forum which right now only has three fans but should grow, sending the band’s updated set list to my blogger friend Bronyfriendkillkill who’s making photo collages inspired by the song titles. I also email Blaire Nolan, a talented filmmaker in the junior class about shooting a video, which reminds me that we need to talk about that as a band.

At the next song break, I bring it up. “Caleb, did you guys think any more about a single for the video?”

“Oh,” he says, “yeah, well”—he glances at Val even though I feel like she shouldn’t get a say, but then I remind myself that if she’s going to be in this, she should—“we were thinking that ‘Knew You Before’ would be good.”

Val thinks. Nods. “That’s a good one.”

“Did you show them the other one?” I ask Caleb.

“Oh, er, no.” Of course he knows what song I mean.

“What other one?” asks Matt.