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hand on my head. “You hit your head really hard, Bean. Think.
    You’ve got Nick’s resume now, right? You can find him yourself. Start your own band. Who needs Adam, anyway?”
    I swallowed. “But we’ve always played together.”
    “So maybe it’s time not to. Sometimes bands split up; the players need to go different directions. There’s nothing wrong with that. It happens.” She grinned, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Get the guy’s resume, find out where he is, and go find him.” She grabbed the phone and held it out to me. “Call Adam. Right now.” I hesitated, then took the phone and dialed my parents’ house, where Adam had gone after dropping me off at the apartment. I hadn’t felt like eating or being around anyone.
    Misery does not love company, though I was glad for Sprout’s.
    A minute later, my world reeled around me and I hung up the phone. I folded over, burying my head in my pillows as another sob exploded through me.
    “Dammit, Brandon, what’s wrong? What did he say?”
    “He threw it away,” I said, my voice muffled.
    “What?” Her hands grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me up.
    “I’ve lost him again, Sprout. Adam tore up his resume and threw it away.” She grimaced. “Like I said, Adam is a jerk. We’ll find him, Brandon. I promise. Tell me everything you can remember. Everything he said.”

    * * * * *
A preschool teacher, and he worked at some record store. That was all I knew, other than that Adam had been right about one thing -- I was getting sick. By the next morning, I couldn’t get out of my bed except to throw up. It got so bad over the next couple of days that my mom fetched me back home, tucked me into my old bedroom, and hovered over me hour after hour.
    Then the real fun began, and the flu hit me coming and going. I lost six pounds in five days, and while I was busy being miserable, Ashwood’s new singer signed up.
    It wasn’t Nicholas.

    A Red-Tainted Silence
    21

    Adam and the others had decided on the ugly dude, not asking my opinion. Harvey.
    (What kind of name is that for a lead singer?). I should’ve been used to that kind of treatment, of course, as they never cared for my opinion before (little brothers don’t count), but this time it burned. It festered.
    But I didn’t say anything, because Jenny was right. I didn’t need Adam. With Nick’s voice, I could do it all -- keyboards, guitars, drums. It’d be insane, but as sick as I was, and as young and foolish and furious as I was, I didn’t think for a minute I couldn’t. I just had to find Nicholas.
    I was nearing the end of my misery, finally able to eat a few spoonfuls of soup and some crackers, when Jenny came bounding into my room, a folder in one hand.
    “Hey, Bean, you’re looking better,” she said, plopping onto my bed and stealing one of my crackers.
    “I feel a little better. At least I don’t feel like I’m about to take the dirt nap anytime soon. I’m still not a hundred percent.”
    She grinned. “This should help you out.”
    “What is it?”
    “Flyers.”
    I took the folder she handed me and opened it. Inside were several multicolored sheets of paper. I picked one up and set the folder down, then scanned the paper. Though my stomach muscles were still sore as all get-out, I felt like laughing for the first time in days.
    “Flyers?”
    She shrugged. “Yeah, why not? I made up a whole bunch of them. Missy, Tari, Karen, and I’ve started to put them up all over town, stick them in windshields, hand them out to strangers.”
    I licked my lips, cracked and dry from illness, and took a sip of water, trying to hide the sudden welling of tears in my eyes. “Sprout, you are nuts. But I love you.” Leaning over, she hugged me, then kissed me on the cheek. “Whatever it takes. We’re going to find Nicholas for you. I’m also going to call all the record stores in the phone book. I figured I’d have more luck doing that than calling preschools.” I looked at the