WE HAD ONE LAST practice before the show. "It's OK," Relly said, "that's the way it usually goes."
We'd sounded awful. Out of tune, out of sync, weak and unsure. "It's OK. If you sound too good before a show, that's always bad luck."
But I had some serious doubts. If I couldn't remember the changes to the tunes, we'd wander all over the place. If Jerod couldn't keep the words straight, we'd look like wanks, stupid amateurs. And we'd be standing there in front of a couple hundred kids. Even Butt, who was usually solid as a cement block, had seemed to lose it.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe we should forget this. You really think we're ready?"
This was the first time I'd seen Relly mad. "What are you talking about? We don't have any choice here. We're playing tomorrow and it's got to be perfect." When things got bad, Relly's voice got quieter, not louder.
"OK, OK," I said. He didn't exactly scare me. I mean, it wasn't like when my dad got all furious and went around the house breaking things. But I couldn't look Relly in the eye. I couldn't stand being there with him right then.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, grabbing the set list and my case and heading for the door.