Dichotomy.

I park my car in defeat, taking my time in yanking out my keys out of the ignition and getting out of it.

I drag my feet to the building’s door, along with my guitar case that feels heavier than usual.

I try to convince myself that this is necessary to my career.

My savings will run out within the year, and I need this if I’m to avoid the run-of-the mill life I’ve been avoiding for years.

If I want to avoid normalcy.

Third door on the left.

I’m about to knock, then realizing how ridiculous that would be here, just push the door open instead.

The two of them are sitting on a nearby couch while I enter, shutting the door behind me.

“Tina, right? I’m Spencer,” one greets me, reaching out his hand after standing up and walking over to me.

The one who originally got in touch with me.

“Brendon,” the second one says, pleasantly enough. Or at least as pleasant as I would expect someone to be to some musician he’s never met who’s come to take the place of his friends at the insistence of his remaining bandmate.

I shake both of their hands warily, trying to reserve judgment until I know more.

I catch the dark eyes of the second one- Brendon- again, noticing him studying me carefully. His full lips purse indecisively.

I feel defensiveness rise heavily in my chest, but can’t pinpoint why for the life of me.

I just want him to stop looking at me like that.

To stop looking at me at all.

And as much as I’m trying not to be judgmental, I already know I don’t like him.

I turn my attention back to Spencer instead, who I’m more familiar with.

Well…who I’ve spoken to on the phone, at any rate.

I digress.

“We went to your band’s show the other week,” he says. I wince inwardly.

“Oh. Um, yeah?” I manage to stammer. “Uh…what did you think?”

“You’re an amazing guitarist,” Spencer is quick to say. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

I’d think he was buttering me up if his tone wasn’t so earnest and trustworthy.

Then it clicks.

Friendly.

Spencer Smith is friendly; I’m just not used to it, is the problem.

Rewind to before my band broke up and took all my friends with them - except Tom, of course.

“I…really? Thanks,” I fumble for words, a faint pink tint heating up my cheeks.

“What else do you play?” he asks curiously, drawing me away from my pointless thoughts.

“Guitar, drums, bass, piano, cello, violin-” I began to tick them off my fingers.

“I can play the accordion,” Brendon interrupts.

His voice holds the indication of a challenge, barely disguised.

Spencer turns to throw him a strange glance, which he ignores.

Brendon’s still staring at me.

Studying me.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to learn,” I shoot back defensively, although I don’t know why I’m bothering to play this game with him.

Neither of us will win in the end.

“Okay, um…both of you are talented?” Spencer offers, still confused by our exchange. “What else did you do in the band?” he asks, turning his attention back to me.

“Mostly composition. I’m better at arranging instruments than words,” I admit, quickly, so Brendon won’t have a chance to interrupt. “I’m not much of a lyricist. I did backups vocals, and I was lead guitar.”

“Perfect,” he smiles. Brendon says nothing. “So…what do you think?” he asks hopefully. “If you’re not sure, it would be great if you could come on the tour and then we can just take it from there and decide if you’d be a good fit. Who knows? Maybe you could be permanent, if you’re interested.”

I’m not.

Not truly.

I think of what Tom would say if I screwed this up.

I’m only here because of Tom’s pressuring to take Spencer up on his offer, after all.

“That sounds great,” I try to smile. Brendon’s eyebrows gather closer over his furrowed brow, as if he knows what I’m thinking. “But…I mean, don’t you want me to audition, or-” I begin, motioning to my guitar case.

“Well, we’ve already heard you play, so I think we’re set,” Spencer replies happily. “You’re in.”

I’m in, and Brendon’s pissed.

He hides it well as I check for his expression, but I can read him like a billboard.

I know he hates me, and the feeling is mutual.