Jason strums the first chord on his acoustic guitar, its sonorous tones breaking the empty silence. Cole’s fingers fly over the piano keys in long legato strokes, while Kate begins the steady heartbeat of the drums, binding the intricate melody together. I begin to sing, sweeping my thumb across the strings of my rosewood guitar. I serenade each supple note with warmth, creating a crescendo of pitches that gradually fade into silent bliss. Jason’s hazel eyes sparkle as he croons his part of the duet, his baritone voice rich with timbre and coated with velvet. Soon the chorus comes and the resonance of our voices blend into perfect harmony. I’m lost in the pulse of the drums, Jason’s voice entwining with mine, and the sweet taste of the euphony of our music. I feel high up in the clouds, untouchable, and for a single moment, everything is as it is meant to be.

Then my ear catches onto a small misstep. A wrong note from the piano. Not noticeable to most, but clear as day to me.

My heart drops to my stomach, not in fear, but in revulsion. When the song ends, I set my guitar on the ground with care, and run my fingers through my hair. Taking a deep breath, I make my way over to Cole, whose face is lit up by the blue glow of his phone.

“Aves, don’t,” Jason calls after me, and Kate, dropping her drumsticks, soon follows. Cole’s shoulders are hunched under his blue baseball jersey and he looks bored as he swipes idly at his phone, not even noticing me standing right in front of him.

“You screwed up. That b natural should have been a b flat. We’ve already gone through this many times. Why are you even using your phone during practice? ” I demand. Cole looks offended for a minute, then shrugs, sandy blond hair covering his eyes. Ever since Cole began dating Arianna, a chatty girl from our school, he has not been putting his full effort into our band practices. Kate nervously bites her nails, and before I can tell her how unhygienic that is, knowing all the dirty and germy places her hand has been, Jason pulls me outside of the garage. The air smells crisp and clean in comparison to Kate’s musty old garage, and part of me feels relieved for the sufficient oxygen now coming into my lungs.

“You can’t do that,” he tells me, eyes stormy with disapproval, wind whipping against his chestnut streaked hair. He doesn’t understand how Cole weighs us down. The mix of Cole’s infocus and lack of practice is making our band worse and going nowhere.

“Cole needs to be replaced,” I state simply, turning away from him, breathing in the scent of the fall night. I could never understand how Jason could just let these things go - friendship should never get in the way of the success of our band.

“Whoa there. Our band is BlackJACK. The “JACK” is for me, you, Cole and Kate. You cannot just kick poor loyal Cole out. Without him, we are just “JAK,” Jason explains.

I frown. He does have a point. Though Cole isn’t trying his best, he is still our friend. Removing Cole from the band would not only ruin the acronym we all had worked so hard to think of, but would also quite possibly devastate him.

“Look. It’s a new song, and we have weeks of practice before our performance in front of the school. Let’s just go home,” Jason smiled.

I sigh in defeat and take a deep breath before heading back into the garage to pack up. Cole doesn’t talk to me, and I don’t try to apologize. Thankfully, I live only two blocks from Kate’s house, and I get home and ready for bed without a hitch. Soon after, I drift to sleep.

Jason is dead.

The news came this morning on Channel 8 when I was pouring my Cocoa Puffs.

Jason was hit by a car when he was riding his bike home. He was instantly killed on impact and his bike had been smashed beyond recognition. The driver turned himself in and was found to be heavily intoxicated from partying that night.

Jason is dead.

The world is in monochrome and mute. My family tries to talk to me at home, my friends try not to talk about it at school.

Days later comes Jason’s funeral. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to believe that he is truly gone. I know if I go, it will become real. I don’t want it to be real.

I go anyway. My parents drive me to the cemetery, right near the mass of people in black. I step out onto the ground, passing tombstones of all shapes and sizes till I reach the dark cloud of people. Jason’s mother, Mrs. Ramirez is staring at the coffin with puffy red eyes, sniffling and whimpering quietly. Mr. Ramirez is standing next to her, his eyes empty and dull, not quite really there. He wraps an arm around his wife, and she sobs into his arms. Kate is rocking back and forth on her heels, biting the inside of her cheek, trying to stay still. Cole wraps his arms around his body and stares at the ground, his phone no where in sight. Jason’s funeral wasn’t good enough for him.

Jason deserved a concert. I close my eyes. Yes. He deserved a concert with his favorite band (The Rock Robins-a boy band obsessed with plaid attire) on a stage fit for fifty, with his coffin in the middle covered in white and red roses with his guitar on top. Colorful lights stringing down from the tall red velvet curtains, music blazing hard and fast out of giant speakers, the whole school screaming to celebrate him-

They lower his coffin into the cold hard ground, burying him with shovelfuls of dirt as if he didn’t matter. My fingers dig into my palm, and my jaw tenses. I resist the urge to rush to the coffin and save him from whatever lay beneath. I want to cry out that they should have buried him with his beloved guitar, but I don’t. I don’t cry, I don’t speak. I just leave when it finally ends.

When I go back to school, nothing feels real or important anymore. Cole has gone completely silent, and Kate has dyed her purple hair back to brown. Kate is in shock, biting her nails more than ever. I don’t even bother to criticize her. Cole broke up with Arianna after she skipped Jason’s funeral to go to a party with her friends, which should make me happy, but it doesn’t. The world seems to be out of tune. Every night when I close my eyes I still see him, laughing and singing, strumming his guitar. Every morning when I wake up, I forget for a moment about Jason. When I do finally remember, I am crushed by the utter sorrow and guilt of his death. I don’t sing. I can’t play music. I just scream, but no one can hear me.

Jason is dead.

All too soon, our weekly band practice comes around once more. Right when I step into Kate’s garage, I am flooded with memories. Of the four of us laughing, venting, crying, and playing music together. Always together. But not anymore.

Kate and Cole soon come, and we get our instruments ready. We all stare blankly at where Jason used to stand as if expecting him to appear.

He doesn’t.

Kate strikes hard on the drums, Cole presses heavily on the piano keys, and I sing the same song we had practiced together since the beginning. This time we play with sadness and somber tones, inevitably and unintentionally. My heart throbs as I hear Jason singing his part, and I allow myself to feel a tiny bit of joy that Kate had recorded last practice to play his part back. I sing the chorus with Jason’s singing recording, and the song ends with me with teary eyes.

“Thank you, Kate,” I tell her.

Cole and Kate both stare at me with perplexed expressions.

“For what?” Kate inquires, tilting her head. I don’t blame her. Jason’s death has taken a toll on everyone’s mental state.

“For recording Jason’s part and playing it back while we sang. What else could I be talking about?”

“Avery… There was no recording.”

“What?” I cry. That couldn’t be right. “Kate, I know Jason’s death has been really hard for everyone, you especially. I’m just saying I’m thankful for you recording his part so we could sing along to it.”

“Just because I’m sensitive doesn’t mean I’m crazy. There was no recording.”

“Kate, there was. Just-”

“There wasn’t! Are you seriously trying to make yourself feel better by claiming he is speaking to you from the afterlife?”

“Kate, I know you had a recording. Just stop lying. It’s not funny anymore, and it is super disrespectful to Jason!” I shout.

“No there wasn’t! You know, Jason would be alive if you hadn’t corrected Cole for one damn note? Jason is always so distracted by you, and this time, it caused him to get hit by a car. Jason’s death is your fault.”

Her words are knives piercing my brain, knives tainted with guilt and anger that no one would ever remove. How could Kate say something like that? Infuriated, I walk up to her and smash my heel into her drums. I meet her gaze as she surveys the large dent from the front of the drum set with shock. She bites her lip and averts her eyes to the floor.

“The band is over. Please leave,” Kate whispers softly, her eyes welling up, clenching the drum sticks in her hands so hard her knuckles turn pale.

“Fine!”

I break my gaze away from Kate’s. I’m confused and outraged. Why would Kate lie about the recording? How could she blame me for Jason’s death in her own personal grief?

I feel a lump stuck in my throat. Was I responsible for Jason’s death?

I pack up my guitar and leave to go back to my house. It’s pouring rain, and my tears run down my cheeks in sync with the droplets from the sky, tasting like the salt in the ocean. I’m soaked by the time I get home, and my black guitar case is damaged as well. I don’t even care anymore. I run up to my room and shut the door. I shouldn’t have been so critical of Cole. Why did I have to care so much about everything? Why couldn’t I have just let things be?

And the torrent of tears stream down freely. Jason is dead. And it’s my fault. So I do the only thing I can when I am upset. I take out my guitar and pour my heart out.

Hours later, I have composed a song. It had flowed out of me with surprising ease, and I felt a small amount of weight lift off my shoulders from all the emotions I had bottled up over the past week. I had created a part for the drums, piano, and even two guitars out of habit. It’s sad yet remembering, a song about a boy who has crossed to the other side, and his friends that desperately missed him. I check the time- it is only 8:45 pm, and it has stopped raining outside.

I rub the sheet music between my fingers, and stare up at the ceiling, indecisive.  I could stay at home and sulk, laying in bed, strumming guitar chords till midnight, letting music overtake my mind. I could forget about the BlackJACK. It would be easier. So much easier.

But I owed it to Jason. I had to do what was right. Lugging out my music and my guitar, I run to Kate’s house and open the garage door. Kate and Cole are sitting on the floor staring blankly at a wall.

“I composed a song for Jason,” I state, sitting down next to them. There is a long silence, and for a second I regret coming back.

“What’s it called?” Cole asks, not looking up.

I hesitate. I hadn’t planned for that question. I close my eyes and imagine all the times we all had played together in our band. “It’s called Harmony,” I decide.

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry. It was only the drunk driver’s,” Kate whispers. I’m silent. “You aren’t gonna yell at me or say anything?” Kate inquires, finally looking at me with forlorn blue eyes.

“No. There are more important things in this world to care about. I’m not going to ruin the only friendships I have left,” I exhale.

“Well, let’s take a look at what you made,” Kate exclaims jumping up, and we all get into position with the new sheet music. I leave Jason’s part on his old music stand, and no one mentions anything about it. We begin. Kate starts her slow beat, and Cole hits his minor chords. I hear a wrong note or two, but it doesn’t bother me. I sing with longing, striking each guitar chord slowly, thinking of a boy who had long since left this world.

Then I hear Jason sing the part I wrote for him, about being on the other side without his friends. He isn’t in the room, but I can feel and hear him. Kate and Cole look at me with wide eyes, and I know they can hear him too. We all keep going, playing our hearts out, in a beautiful symphony, filling our dead world with the music we create. Though Jason is no longer alive, he still comes back to the band to sing in harmony with us.