“I don’t think this is a good idea, Ranko.” Yui pulled several appetizer plates from the dishwasher, stacking them on the counter. “This didn’t work out so well last time you went to some address somebody dropped off.”

Ranko sighed, hopping up onto one of the barstools, mindful of her white floral dress. “Yeah, but this is Crash. I trust him.”

Yui held up an admonishing finger. “Isn’t he the guy who made a move on you? You know, the one I told you was gonna make a move on you, and you told me I was crazy?”

The younger girl nodded. “Yes. But he’s also the guy who stopped the second I asked him to. I think it’s gonna be okay. And I promise, if I have to, I can take care of myself.”

Yui frowned in concern. “Are you sure? You’re not three days removed from almost blacking out at a bridal shower.”

Again, Ranko nodded. “I’m sure. I’ll be okay.”

Yui slipped her a piece of paper and a pen. “Copy down that address. If you aren’t back in four hours, I’m calling the police.” She knew she was being overbearing, but she’d seen Ranko hurt too many times lately and didn’t know how much more either of them could take.

Still, Ranko complied. As strange as it felt to have people treat her like she couldn’t protect herself, it did feel nice to know that there were people who cared at all whether or not she was okay, and she wasn’t about to show anything but gratitude for it. “Now, can I go, big sister?”

Yui hung the scrap of paper bearing the address by the phone with a red pushpin. “I suppose. But be careful.”

“I will!” Ranko pushed the door open, stepping out onto the sidewalk beyond. It was a nice day, with no clouds in the sky and a cool breeze, and the address was in a commercial part of town only a few blocks from the Phoenix, so she decided to just walk rather than looking for a bus. There were butterflies in her stomach, both from curiosity as to Crash’s surprise, an excitement to hang out with him, and a worry that his intentions might not be as honorable as he’d said. The last thing she needed was to have to explain another accident to Akane.

She stopped at a little cart for a bagel, nibbling as she walked until she came to what looked like an office building with a wooden door on one side and a roll-down metal door on the other, as if it also functioned as a garage or a warehouse. No sign outside indicated its purpose. She was a bit nervous as she approached, but the closer she got, the more confident she was that she heard music emanating from within.

She pulled the wooden door open, and was immediately greeted with the sound of guitars and drums. The majority of the large space was sparse and undecorated, with tools and car parts strewn about, and the whole place reeked of motor oil. On one side of the room, she found four young men she recognized, and they were playing a song she knew on their instruments. Crash raised his eyebrows and smiled in acknowledgement of her, not taking his hands off of his guitar.

Ranko was somewhat surprised that the group didn’t stop playing when she entered, but she was glad they didn’t. She had always liked listening to Crash’s band play at Takao’s place, before everything there had gone to shit. She swayed her hips with the infectious Caribbean beat, and she couldn’t help but sing along with their instruments.

“Everybody, gather ‘round now, let your body feel the heat. Don’t you worry if you can’t dance; let the music move your feet. It’s the rhythm of the island, and like sugar cane, so sweet. If you wanna do the conga, you’ve gotta listen to the beat…”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

When the song ended, Ranko approached the group, giggling. “Damn, that was fun!”

Crash stepped forward from the oil-stained red rug that passed for their stage, putting one of his arms around the teen’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you made it. You remember the boys?”

Ranko blushed, both at his touch and a bit of embarrassment. “We actually never formally met. I never wanted to interrupt them while they were playing.”

Crash laughed. “Well, shit, my bad!” He motioned to one of the young men, clad in a Metallica T-shirt and jeans. “That’s our drummer, Ken.” Crash then pointed to a bald guy at the back of the room, still seated on a little folding stool. “Our keyboardist, Kazuki.”

The man behind the keyboard waved. “Kaz, please.”

The fourth unknown man stepped forward, flashing her a winning smile. “Shinji. I play bass, horn, whatever. And I am very happy to meet you.” He reached for her hand, and Crash gave him a dirty look.

“Down, boy. This one’s spoken for.” A crass snicker rose from the group. “Not by me, you assholes.” Not for lack of trying. Crash shook his head. “Seriously, guys. Be cool.”

Ranko smiled, appreciating Crash’s dedication to keeping his word. “It’s wonderful to meet you all, finally. My name’s Ranko!” She gave a polite bow.

Ken grinned, spinning his drumsticks in his hands. “Oh, we know. We’ve been talking about you a lot lately.”

The young woman blushed, averting her eyes and fidgeting with her hair. What the hell is this about? “Oh?”

Crash nodded. “Yep. And that’s why you’re here now.”

Ranko looked up at him quizzically. “The surprise, you mean?”

Crash smiled warmly. “Kaz, you wanna ask her?”

The bald man smirked. “Nah. It’s your thing.”

“Ken?”

The drummer sighed. “For gods’ sake, Crash, just ask her!”

Ranko bounced on her heels nervously. “Well, somebody ask me, whatever it is?”

Crash smiled. “Well, see, we’ve been talking, and we think our band is getting pretty good, but we’re missing something kind of important that we think would make us way better.”

She looked around, confused. “A stage to practice on? I mean, it’s not up to me, but I could ask Hana…” She imagined the group wasn’t practicing at Takao’s now that Crash was persona non grata, and she felt responsible. It was his defense of her that had cost him, and probably all of them, their place.

The guitarist shook his head, smiling. Either she was way too humble, or way too naive. “A vocalist.”

Ranko’s breath caught in her throat. She thought her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. “...What?”

Crash grinned. “When we talked last time, you said you wished you could perform with a band, but you didn’t have one. It just so happens, I do. We’ve talked about it, and we’re all in agreement.” He reached over to an amplifier on which a haphazard pile of audio equipment was stacked, picking up a cheap dynamic microphone and tossing it to her. “Whaddya say, Ranko? Wanna sing with us?”

The songstress could not believe the irony. At a moment when she was singled out for her voice, she could not summon it. She could only nod, but she did so emphatically.

Crash put his arm around her shoulders again. “Then, welcome!” The other three band members clapped and cheered.

Kazuki grinned from his flimsy little stool. “Now, first order of business. What are your best songs? We’ve gotta make sure we learn them.”