FINN
Zander is owning the stage yet again.
He is on fire, and the crowd is basking under the heat. Even Shae and I are pumped. We have reverted our songs to their original rhythm from when Dylan was the lead singer. I strum my guitar harder than usual until it feels like the strings will snap. Or my fingers.
A smile dawns on my face as Zander runs his fingers through his hair. As if he knows I am watching, he turns his head and smiles at me. We exchange glances throughout the show, passing smiles to one another like secret notes. My heart is beating louder than the drum.
“That was sick,” Shae exclaims for the third time as she downed another glass of beer. Her boyfriend tells her to slow down, but she shoots him down with one icy look. “You were awesome, Z.”
Zander smiles proudly, hol
