Desperate Chances by A. Meredith Walters

telling her to leave it alone but she ignored him, finally leaving it on a pop station.
    “Are they still trying to make you move home? They’re relentless,” Vivian piped up from the front seat.
    “You betcha. It’s still a regular discussion. Well it’s more of an attempt at dictatorship than a legitimate conversation.”
    “They must have gone to the same school of parenting as mine did,” Maysie commiserated.
    “I know you guys all have your lives figured out. Riley is going to be the next Christine Amanpour. Vivian is organizing high-end events and Maysie is on her way to becoming the next great thing in band marketing. As for me, I’m cool just not having my mother pick out my clothes every morning,” I shrugged.
    “The next Christine Amanpour, huh? I like the sound of that. Though if I can be Christine, you totally can be Barbara Walters,” Riley mused and grinned.
    “Totally. Though pre-The View. Just so we’re clear,” I added.
    “Absolutely. The View can suck a fat one!” Riley exclaimed.
    “Hey, I like The View!” Vivian said from the front seat. Riley and I both rolled our eyes.
    “Of course you do, Viv,” Riley patronized, leaning forward to pat her on the shoulder.
    “We’re here!” Vivian announced from the front seat. Maysie leaned forward and paid the cab driver as the rest of us filed out.
    “They’re playing here?” Riley asked, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight.
    “It’s not so bad,” I remarked, grimacing.
    “Uh, yeah it is,” Vivian exclaimed, her hands covering her mouth. “It’s a dive! Why are they playing in a place like this?”
    Okay, they may be overreacting. A little. Because sure Dicky’s Roadside Bar looked like it belonged on Skid Row but it was well known in the indie rock scene for showcasing some of the best bands out there. It was smaller than their gigs had been in the past year, but it was still a big deal to play there.
    “This is Dicky’s, guys. It looks scary, but its history in the rock scene is amazing,” Maysie reminded them.
    “There’s the bus around the back,” Riley said, pointing to the tour bus parked underneath some trees.
    We headed around the side of the bar and found Cole and Garrett walking into the building.
    “Baby!” Vivian squealed, running towards them. Cole’s mouth stretched into a beaming smile and picked her up just as she reached him. Vivian’s legs wrapped around his waist and Cole’s hands buried into her thick hair.
    “I missed you,” he murmured just before kissing her.
    “Here we go,” Riley muttered chuckling. I had to look away from the overt display of affection. I tried to pretend the lump in my throat didn’t exist.
    “Hey, you,” Garrett said, pulling on Riley’s belt loops. His eyes were bright as he too wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and kissed her like she was the air he breathed.
    Maysie threaded her arm through mine and tugged me towards the back door. “Come on. Let’s leave ’em to it,” she suggested, taking pity on me.
    “It’s a lot bigger than it looks outside,” I commented once we were inside. I looked around the dimly lit room and tried not to cringe. It was dingy and on the seedy side. It looked like something you’d find on a road somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
    I remembered the shows I went to last year when Generation Rejects played to sold out venues with almost a thousand people in the audience.
    I could see Jordan up on the small stage unrolling cords and connecting them to the amps. I tried not to search for him . I attempted to keep my eyes focused on Jordan but it didn’t work. It never worked.
    Almost as if by compulsion my eyes zeroed in on Mitch Abrams. He stood off to the side, pulling a string from his well-worn bass. He’d had the instrument since he was a kid and first realized he loved to play. He had told me that his dad, who had once been a musician himself, had picked it out specifically for his son.
    My stomach knotted up and I felt