The band consumed all of Roger's free time, and he loved every minute of it. Declan had given Roger his extra amp to take home ad get some extra practice time in—and did he ever. It seemed as if he wasn't with Stella, or with the band, or at school, he was in his room practicing. Now that he had the Telecaster, he could mimic the sounds of the Who and the Grateful Dead and the Beatles; Fleetwood Mac, Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton. He bought newer records—Billy Idol, Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones—with the little pocket money that came from playing the few-and-far-between paying gigs. Both Travis and Declan had taught him about pickups, whammy boards, flanging and phasing, all the different effects for sound on an electric.

Back when his brothers were dropped off at his grandmother's eleven years ago, and once it became clear his mother wasn't coming back, Mary Jude had sent her oldest son, their uncle Owen, back to the East Village loft where Carrie and the boys had lived to collect their belongings—clothes, toys, and Carrie's record player with her vinyl collection. Roger had seized these last two items and kept them, listening to certain records over and over. Now that he was playing music of his own, he would listen them more carefully, picking out the guitar parts so that he could play along with them. He played Who's Next repeatedly, obsessed with the sounds of "Baba O'Riley" and "Won't Get Fooled Again".

Influenced by these songs, Roger began writing on his own—some he showed to the band, some he showed only to Stella. Some he kept under his mattress with the postcard from Sister Cecilia. No matter who heard his original music, he was showered with praise.

The only one who seemed to have a problem with Roger's newfound obsession was his grandmother. Mary Jude frowned on nearly every new aspect of his personality shift—from the "older crowd" he was running with to the Jewish girl he was supposedly dating.

"Roger," she admonished him as he was on his way to Charlie's for a rehearsal one afternoon. "This isn't what a boy your age should be doing."

"What isn't?" he asked, hoisting the Telecaster in its carrying case onto his shoulder.

"This!" she waved her hand in his general direction. He wore a leather jacket, a plain white t-shirt and ripped jeans. On his feet was a pair of black Converse sneakers. Oversized aviator-style sunglasses dangled from the neckline of his shirt. Stella always said he looked like James Dean in this particular getup. "You look…you look like a gang member. Like a hoodlum. It's disgraceful. This music thing was supposed to help you! Now you're right back to where you started!"

"Am I?" Roger narrowed his eyes. "Am I getting into fights and getting detentions and getting the crap kicked out of me at school?"

"You're on the wrong track," Mary Jude insisted. "Hanging out with those older boys and that Jew girl in those wicked places, playing that horrid music. You're acting like your mother! What's next, Roger? Drugs? If I find drugs on you at any time, I will throw you out so fast, I swear to Jesus. I've put up with a lot from you these passed eleven years but so help me God—"

"What're you gonna do to me, Gran?" Roger snapped at her. "Search my room? Give me piss tests?"

"Watch your tongue!"

"I'm doing what I love," Roger argued. "You have no right to stop me."

"I am trying to save your soul."

"It doesn't need to be saved!"

"You don't know that!"

"All I know is that if you don't let me play my music, you might as well just shoot me dead. I won't be happy unless I'm playing music. A life without music is a life I don't want to live!"

"Roger, that's blasphemy!" Mary Jude shook her head. "I don't understand you anymore."

"Nobody's understood me for a long time."

"You have such hostility in you!"

"Whatever, Gran. Look, I gotta get going. Stella's waiting for me. I'll be home around nine, okay?" He was out the door before she could say anything else.

"I mean, I feel like I'm obligated to love her, but she just pisses me off sometimes," Roger griped to Stella as he smoked a cigarette on their walk from the subway to Charlie's loft. He kept his packs of Marlboros in the lining of the Telecaster's case, where he was sure his grandmother wouldn't find them.

"I'm sure she's just worried about you," Stella replied.

"She thinks I'm bad like my mom," Roger said. "She thinks that the band is gonna lead to my demise…or something."

"How can she compare you to your mom? You're two completely different generations."

"I don't know. You know, back when my mom was my age, she was far worse than I was. At least I don't come home high on acid or try to run away to California. Back when she was my age, rebellion meant something."

"You don't think what we're doing means something?"

"No! I do! But it's different!"

"How?"

"I don't know! It just is!" he barked. He inhaled violently on his cigarette before speaking again. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I know you didn't," Stella said as she pressed the buzzer to be let up into Charlie's loft. She reached out to play with the curls on the back of Roger's neck. "You're just upset. I get it."

He gave her a weak smile. "Thanks." He sneaked a kiss before Charlie buzzed them up.

In a strange turn, Declan was late for practice. He was usually the first one there, besides Charlie. Not even Leo knew where he had gone off to.

"I saw him on campus for about two seconds," he related to everyone. "So I know he left the apartment this morning."

"I hope we're not on a time crunch tonight," Roger said.

"Nope," Charlie replied, his Mohawk orange. "Toshya gave us her blessing tonight."

"That was nice of her," Stella said.

"Behave. We're lucky she lets us practice here at all."

The loft door opened and closed. "Hey," called Declan. "You guys—I have the most incredible news!" He came into the room, his Les Paul slung over his shoulder. His long dark hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and wore a Queen t-shirt.

"More incredible than you being late?" Stella raised an eyebrow. "Because that's pretty fucking incredible."

"Shut up," Declan rolled his eyes. "Trust me, this is groundbreaking!"

"Well, stop being a douche bag about it and tell us!" Leo insisted.

"I got us an audition," Declan said, slipping off his guitar, "to play at CBGB's."

Silence. Complete and utter silence. This lasted for about five minutes before everyone erupted:

"Are you shittin' me?! Are you shittin' me?!"

"I can't believe that!"

"You cannot be serious!"

"Who's dick did you suck for that favor?"

"How the hell—?"

"What the fuck—?"

"When?!"

"Next week," Declan said. "They're having an open call for the bill."

"That's crazy!" Charlie exclaimed.

"It's revolutionary!" awed Stella. "People have been discovered there!"

"If it can happen to the Ramones and Blondie and the Talking Heads, it can happen to us," Roger said excitedly. "Think about what this could mean!"

"Oh my God!" Stella sighed. "I'm going to sing on the same stage as Joey Ramone!"

"I know, right?" Declan grinned. "I just know we're gonna blow them away!"

A/N: Another short chapter, but there's a good reason for this! This and chapter 12 were originally one chapter, but I had to split them before it was even finished, or else I'd end up with a 9-page chapter. I figured that it was better to have two short chapters than one obscenely long one!