the hating game ; lrh

forty-nine

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, I find myself reluctantly following Luke and Calum to band practice at Michael's house for lack of anything better to do — besides, I need to take my mind off of the horrible interview with the Dean that somehow keeps resurfacing in my mind.

"So battle of the bands is coming up," Michael begins as the rest of the boys set up their instruments, plugging cords in all throughout the basement. "Any performance suggestions?"

"Battle of the bands?" I question, glancing around the room in confusion only to see that nobody else quite seems to share my state of confusion.

"Next week," Michael clarifies, as if it might help jog my memory, but when I continue looking confused he elaborates again. "The end of term talent show?"

I shrug again, shaking my head. "Since when was this happening?"

"Jesus, have you been living under a rock, Rory?" Luke scoffs from the other side of the room, shaking his head at me. I only stare at him, wide-eyed and continually confused about how I am the only person who didn't know about this. "We've only been rehearsing for it for weeks."

I look to Ashton, hoping he might be on my side, but he only shrugs and continues adjusting his drum kit. "Don't look at me," he mumbles, avoiding my eye.

I let out a sigh of defeat, shaking my head but collapsing back into Michael's extremely comfortable couch nonetheless. "Whatever," I let out a long breath, watching as the boys gather around to their usual positions, ready to commence practice. "Have you decided on songs yet?"

"I was thinking we could perform a couple of originals," Calum pipes up, glancing nervously around the room for reassurance.

Ashton nods at this, supporting his friend from behind his kit. "I agree," he glances at the other boys. "Anybody got any new material?"

Suddenly, I feel the weight of the notebook in my back pocket increase rapidly with the introduction of song writing. I have been working on a few rough copies of songs, but nothing that is even remotely near ready to be performed. I would never volunteer the drafts myself, but I am far too aware that Luke is the only other person who knows of their existence and is so desperate to know what they are himself that he wouldn't hesitate to volunteer me for the job.

"I've got nothing," Calum admits with a sigh, seeming slightly annoyed at himself. I feel my heart pull at his reaction — he hasn't really had the opportunity to write much as of late due to the trouble I've caused him with my injuries.

"Neither," Ashton agrees, and I almost feel the room breathe a sigh of relief at this — he isn't exactly the greatest songwriter of our generation.

Michael only shakes his head, confirming that he, too, is poor of new material. The room then turns to Luke, who has an eerily blank face. "I don't have anything, either," he admits. Luke glances at me briefly, but refuses to meet my eye, sending my heart racing through the ceiling. "Rory's been working on some stuff."

All of the attention in the room turns to me, but I don't make an effort to conceal the annoyance on my face as I send an icy-cold glare Luke's way. "Luke!" I condemn him, my voice slightly growling in annoyance. He simply shrugs, not seeing my reason for annoyance.

The other boys don't seem at all bothered by my annoyance either, clearly more interested in my potential songs. "What have you got?" Michael is the first to speak, almost tipping off his seat as he leans forward.

"It's really nothing," I explain, feeling redness creep up my cheeks in embarrassment. I'm not ready to expose myself to these boys, and I know that they will ask many questions about my writing.