“Wait, you want what now?” Ophelia asked incredulously, staring at Andrew. “Again? This has got to be at least the fifth time. You really should monitor her drinking when she’s in the Oakdale area.”

“Do you expect me to babysit her?” Andrew shot back. “It’s not like we all live together, despite what some of our fans may assume. She’s a grown woman, she can buy alcohol. She just shouldn’t do it when we have a show to do. She could do that kind of thing, you know, between shows.”

“Well, you know as well as I do that she lacks self-control,” Ophelia sighed. “And once again, you want me to put a Band-Aid over what is clearly a gaping wound.”

“Look, we can argue about Tacita’s maturity or lack thereof, but you’re needed. Your public needs you; we need you. Think of how many fans love you.”

“Think of how many fans will be ticked that I’m standing in for Tacita,” Ophelia retorted. “You know how much the fans debate about… well… everything. Including who makes the better lead singer. I’ve seen the polls on the fan sites. It’s crazy. There’s going to be a riot.”


“Think of the publicity. No, not even that. Think of how grateful we’ll be. Think of how grateful Graham will be. Your mentor, your teacher, your… I dunno… your childhood crush--”

“--That’s pushing it just a bit, Andrew,” Ophelia replied, allowing herself a brief smile. “Graham was well into high school when I first met him.”

“What, you limited yourself to only people around your age? Boring!” Andrew teased. Ophelia laughed, and seeing that she had let her guard down, Andrew added, “So, now that you’re in a better mood, will you do it? Come on, Ophelia. Don’t you love us anymore? Are we too ugly and smelly and weird for you? We’ll let you pretty us up.”

Ophelia sighed and, albeit a bit reluctantly, nodded. “Fine,” she relented. “But if there’s any chaos or damage or bad stuff, I’m blaming you.”

“Fine with me. No difference between you and Tacita in that respect.”

“I hope that’s one of the very few similarities between us.”


Ophelia peered into the small room, where Tacita was curled up on a makeshift bed, half-asleep, a wastebasket nearby. Shaking her head, she shut the door, then turned to the other band members.

“So, what started it this time?” she asked, frowning.

“I told you, we’re not her babysitters,” Andrew replied, leaning against the wall. “I don’t care if she drinks until her liver explodes… as long as she doesn’t do it when we have a performance.”

“Yeah, and how many times are you going to say that? She almost always does this when she’s in the Oakdale area. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?” Ophelia asked.

“How many times are you going to say that?” Andrew shot back.

“Lia, Tacita’s just… well, she’s not a normal person,” Kevin replied. “I think by now, we don’t expect her to act the same way the rest of us do.”

“Look, she has a problem, and you guys may be making it worse. I’ve been asked to stand in for her time and time again, but none of you are doing anything to help. There’s got to be something one of you can do. Andrew? Kevin? Tom? Graham? Am I the only one of you who cares in the slightest that she is wrecking her life, and we’re not doing anything about it except watching? I’ll stand in for her, but after this, I expect some changes. There’s a rehab program I know about… it’s a local program; it encourages friends and family members to be a part of the recovery process. I suggest you guys look into it.” She pulled a business card out of her wallet and tossed it onto a nearby table.

“So, do you always carry around business cards for recovery and addiction programs, or only when it’s relevant to the situation at hand?” Tom spoke up.

Ophelia shot him a withering look. “Tom, you’re pretty, but you’re stupid sometimes. Let’s get ready for the show.”