One True Thing Read Online Free PDF Page A

it’s the only space on campus where we can thrash out our music without anyone complaining.
    Kessie is still all innocence but there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth.
    â€˜Tyler?’ I swing around to our drummer, whose cherubic cheeks and spiky red hair are just visible over her Billy Hyde drum kit. Short and stocky and dressed head to toe in black, she has a series of piercings in her ears, eyebrow and lip that could overload a metal detector from twenty paces. She looks like a poster child for 1970s punk rock. Despite her appearance, she’s arguably one of the calmest, coolest people I know. I can’t remember ever seeing her angry. Never heard her raise her voice. But she was born to play drums and can pound those skins like Dave freaking Grohl.
    â€˜Don’t drag me into it,’ she says. ‘This is all you.’
    â€˜What’s the big deal?’ Kessie smirks infuriatingly.
    â€˜Don’t play dumb, Kess,’ I say, resting my elbow on my guitar.
    Van dips his head, his shiny black fringe almost completely obscuring half of his face. He pushes his hair back, revealing smudged eyeliner and a blank gaze.
    I swing around to confront Kessie, who’s smiling again, thoroughly entertained.
    â€˜Did I miss the memo? Suddenly you guys are rewriting my songs too?’
    Kessie offers a loud ‘here we go again’ kind of sigh and shakes her head.
    â€˜Since when did “Love Song” become a protest song?’ I’ve forgotten about Van and Tyler now, even though they must have been in on it, because they extended the midsection long enough for Kessie’s little diatribe.
    But there’s no point attacking them. Van barely speaks – he lets his bass do all the talking. I mean, literally. When he was auditioning, I asked him a question about commitment or passion – I can’t remember exactly – but instead of pleading his case, he played the opening riff of ‘Alive’, as if that were all the answer I needed. (It was. We asked him to join that day.) And Tyler would rather swallow broken glass than get in a battle about anything . She says she got enough of that at home before she and her mum escaped her real dad.
    â€˜I have no idea what you mean,’ Kessie says.
    â€˜ It’s time. It’s time to fix it. Time to … What did you say? Heal it? I don’t even know what that means.’
    â€˜ Seal it,’ she says. ‘Obviously.’
    â€˜ Old white men …’ I continue, trying to remember. ‘Get out of town.’
    â€˜Close. Faceless old men. There’s a new chick in town .’ She hesitates. ‘But I like the passion of “get out of town”. That could work.’
    â€˜No, that won’t work!’ I say, hearing the ugly lift of my voice as I get a little crazy. What is wrong with metoday? I deliberately lower my voice. ‘They’re not the lyrics.’
    â€˜So? I changed it up a little.’
    â€˜Changed it up? It’s my song!’
    Kessie frowns. ‘But it’s our band.’
    â€˜Technically, it’s my band.’
    Kessie blinks and Van steps back as though to get out of the way.
    â€˜Guys, come on,’ Tyler says from behind her drums.
    I feel a brief pang of regret; it’s kind of a thing between Kessie and me – whose band it is. Kessie’s all for democracy and equality. Me, not so much. I started the band. Found the members. I write most of the songs, and if I don’t organise rehearsal it doesn’t happen … Except none of my music works without them. ‘Seriously, Kess? We’ve talked about this.’
    â€˜Hey – if you don’t like my interpretation you can always sing it yourself.’
    What can I say? I don’t sing. Not on stage. That’s why I worked so hard to convince Kessie to join. We needed a voice and it wouldn’t be mine, and she knew that when she signed up. I change tack.