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said, ‘Snap it up, Mr. Dosser, I’ve got better things to do with my time.’”
    Cody paused. The wipers slapped the windshield clean. Then, beaming like he was that lame jock sinking a three-pointer, Cody grinned and clenched his fist. “I slammed that Chunky Meat Stew Special right in Skiffler’s chest. ‘Lick it up yourself,’ I told him.”
    Devin’s mouth dropped open.
    Cody laughed hysterically, but the crazed pleasure soon disappeared from his face. “Got a call after school. I’m supposed to be all thankful he’s not pressing assault charges.”
    For Devin, things clicked into place. The newguitar, the desire to get rid of Karston and get more serious with the band. Torn really was all Cody had.
    â€œWhat’d your folks say?” Devin asked.
    Cody shrugged. “Haven’t told them. I erased the machine, but I’ll hear about it tonight. They’re probably waiting for me, white-knuckling it in the living room.”
    A set of lights rode in the rainy gray behind them. At first Devin was afraid it was a second tail-gater, but the lights slowed at a respectful distance and kept pace.
    â€œSo this is it,” Cody explained. “You want to get all weepy over Karston, go right ahead, but I can’t screw around anymore. You either fire him before the recording session tomorrow, or I’ll quit.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œTry me,” Cody said, a little angry. “I’ll hitch into the city. I’m good enough to get session work. I’ll pull another band together.”
    Cody leaned sideways and punched Devin’s shoulder. “But I don’t want to do that, man. I want it to be Torn. I want it to be us. I just need it to be now . ‘Face’ is an okay song—that and my vocal got us the gig. You’ve got something there. But you’vealso got Daddy’s kick-ass SUV and his giant bank account sending you to any college you want. I need to know where you’re at with this and I need to know now.”
    So here it was.
    Cody’s life was on the brink, and he was all set, eager even, to take the plunge. Devin wished he felt the same, but if he put more time into the band, made it more than a hobby, how could he keep up his own schoolwork? Studying was the only thing that got him past half his classes. But he loved music, loved Torn. Wasn’t the whole point of dreams to make them real?
    The road narrowed. The trees grew taller. Moonlight poked from between the rain clouds, shone through the branches, reflected off the windshield, then vanished again. More time passed.
    â€œHow does that fence feel, shoved between your legs like that?” Cody asked. “You gonna answer? I’m not kidding. Karston goes and you tell him.”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know.”
    The road curved into a fork. Devin took it a little fast, so he had to slow down to follow the line of the deserted street. As he did, he heard tires screech behind him.
    What the hell?
    Engine gunning, the car in the rear roared into the left lane, passed him, went fifty yards ahead, and then spun, blocking the road.
    Devin’s shocked mind seized, but his body managed to hit the brakes. The heavy SUV came to a wavering halt. Devin’s body slammed forward from momentum, the hard edges of the seat and shoulder belt pressing into his skin.
    The next thing he saw was Cody, ripping off his own belt in a panic, then nearly throwing himself into the back, pulling things from his bag, screaming, “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!”
    Devin snapped forward, ready to rage at the stupid driver. Through the windshield he saw the doors of what looked like a dark sedan fly open. Into the headlights came the Slits he’d seen at Tunnel Vision, looking mean in leather jackets that glistened in the soft rain.
    â€œSo Cody,” Devin said, his voice shaking, “is this where you got the