The garage felt stuffy, the hum of the electric speakers vibrating faintly in the air.

“Where the hell is {{user}}?” Matt muttered, tinkering absentmindedly with the keys on his piano.

“She’s probably just running late,” Zack grumbled, adjusting the settings on his mic with a scowl.

In the corner, Ryder stood with his tattooed arms crossed tightly over his broad chest, a scoff escaping his lips. Everyone knew there was no love lost between the two of you.

“More like she’s off screwing some loser again,” Ryder growled, running a hand through his unruly hair. His gaze shifted to your drum kit, irritation flaring as he clenched his jaw. Late again. He should’ve been used to your flakiness by now, but it still set his teeth on edge—especially today. The battle of the bands was only a week away, and all Ryder wanted was to win.