Bog wasn't sure that he would ever be completely comfortable playing rock n' roll in church – it just seemed wrong, somehow – but after playing through All My Only Dreams for what seemed like the thirty millionth time, he was adjusting. Roland insisted the song had to be just right, and only the collective insistence of everyone else in the room got him to move on the That Thing You Do. Bog understood that Only Dreams was Roland's baby or something, but it was the song for the B side of their record. He was pretty sure they should put most of their effort into the recording of their signature song.

He had to admit, the church had wicked acoustics. He'd never been in a recording studio, but they couldn't have a better set up than what Pastor Bob used. He seemed to know what he was doing, too, which was impressive for a pastor.

Marianne's dad both was and wasn't what Bog had expected. He was barely taller than Marianne, with a generous belly, twinkly green eyes, and a pointy beard. He looked like Santa Claus, except there was too much brown in his hair. When she first introduced him to the band, he'd beamed approvingly at Roland, smiled politely at Sunny, blinked in confusion at Thang, and gaped slightly at Bog. Bog couldn't blame him – everyone gaped slightly the first time they were confronted with Bog's ent-like height. (He often thought he should just cover himself in bark and go live in a hollow tree in the forest somewhere, drinking trippy glowing green water and reciting ridiculously long poems. It would be peaceful).

He hadn't smiled at Bob – Tina told him that his smile made things worse. Repeatedly. He did however try to hunch into a hopefully not-as-threatening height when he shook Bob's hand and thanked him for helping them out. Bob apparently decided he wasn't some kind of ax murderer and nodded back before getting to work on the equipment.

They finally ran through Thing, to get a feel of how the song felt in the space before actually laying down a track. Bog was feeling pretty good about it, and Sunny was obviously having fun. He could tell that Roland was still miffed about Only Dreams, but at least he could turn on the charm when they were actually performing. Even if he did go straight back to pouting as soon as the song was over. Bog looked to Marianne, who'd been watching them with a contemplative expression on her face, instead of bopping her head around like she usually did when they played.

'What d'ye think?' He'd come to respect her input when it came to music. Her observations were often off-the-wall, but always spot-on.

The corner of her mouth quirked up. 'I think Roland should stick in a scream.'

Well. That was definitely off the wall. 'Pardon?'

Her grin widened. 'A scream. You know, like this.' She threw her head back and let loose a screech that would give a banshee nightmares. He imagined the black riders sounded like that when they realized they committed mass murder on a bunch of bolsters, rather than four hobbits. Thang squeaked and tried to hide behind his guitar.

'Why?' He was impressed with her lungs, but he wasn't sure if she was serious or not. Sunny looked intrigued. Roland looked scandalized. Bog wasn't sure if it was because of his girlfriend screaming, or because she suggested he do the same. Probably both. Bob just looked resigned. Come to think of it, he was probably used to this kind of thing. Bog noted that he'd clapped his hands over his ears when Marianne inhaled, so he must have known what was coming. Thanks to his foresight, he was probably the only one of them whose ears weren't ringing.

She shrugged. 'For fun. To be different. To get the rock-n-roll spirit. 'Cause it's groovy. Take your pick.'

Sunny was bouncing in place. 'I like it. We could stick it in at the end of the bridge, right before the instrumental break.'

Marianne pointed at him. 'Now you're talking my language.'

Roland shifted his guitar to his back so that he could cross his arms. 'No.'

Bog rolled his eyes. Trust Roland to be a killjoy.

Marianne seemed to feel the same. 'Oh, c'mon, Roland. Lighten up. It'd be fun.'

'I don't scream.'

Marianne's smile turned evil. 'Well, there was that one time…'

'Marianne-'

'It was the cutest little rabbit.'

'It was a rat. A big one. And you swore never to mention it again.'

'Small and white, with big, floppy ears. It was adorable, and it made you scream like a little girl.' She turned to their audience. 'I almost passed out from laughing so hard.'

Bog put a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. Somehow, he didn't think laughing at Roland would help the situation. Although he could picture it. He could totally picture it. And it was hilarious.

Sunny, who usually ended up being the referee in these situations, raised his hand. 'Here's a suggestion: what if Marianne did the scream?'

Marianne blinked, then leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. 'Your speech interests me. Tell me more.'

He shrugged. 'Well, that's pretty much it. Roland sings the bridge, you scream, and then we go into the instrumental break.'

Thang chimed in. 'Roland doesn't want do it anyway.' He grinned and added, 'If he really screams like a girl, it's probably just as well he doesn't.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'So what do I scream like, then?' she asked dangerously. ''Cause, y'know,' she gestured to herself, 'last I checked, I'm a girl, and if you don't want a girly scream on your record, I'm curious to know how you think I sound.'

Thang paled slightly, and Bog couldn't blame him, considering the predatory way Marianne was looking at him. 'Well, I mean, I know you're a girl, and, um, you sound like a girl, except when you scream, not that there's anything wrong with sounding like a girl, or not sounding like a girl, especially when you are a girl, and-'

Bog took pity on Thang and leaned over the drum set to clap a hand over his mouth. 'Ye sound like a banshee, Marianne. It's very impressive, an' ye should be proud o' yerself.'

She gave him a toothy grin. 'A banshee, huh? I like it.'

'Well, I don't.' Roland twirled his hair around a finger and looked at Marianne with sad eyes. Bog concentrated on not gagging. 'It's not ladylike, sweetheart.'

'Roland, my sweet, when have you ever known me to be ladylike?'

Roland opened his mouth, thought for a minute, and closed it again.

She winked and blew him a kiss. 'Exactly.'

Roland mimed catching the kiss and pressing it to his cheek. Sunny turned around and copied him, then mimed retching. Bog and Thang looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Then Bog realized he still had his hand over Thang's mouth – more like covering almost his entire face, leaving just his eyes visible – and quickly let him go, dropping back heavily onto the drum stool. Thang immediately sucked in a deep breath, and Bog twitched guiltily at the realization that he'd been unintentionally smothering one of the only friends he had. Griselda would not be amused. In fact, she would probably yank him down by his arm so that she could smack the back of his head, all the while lecturing him on his sad lack of friends and how he couldn't afford to lose any of them, especially as a result of involuntary manslaughter. He could almost hear her, and the very idea was causing him to tense up. He hunched his shoulders and cracked his neck. Picking up his drumsticks, he extended his arms and twirled the sticks around his fingers. He caught Marianne's eye and smirked at her impressed look. Yeah, he was a man of many talents.

'Sooo,' he said, 'maybe we should let our banshee practice a couple o' times, yeah? Get the timin' right, b'fore we lay the track?'

Roland was grumbling under his breath, but Marianne ignored him and gave Bog a two-fingered salute. 'Groovy! I'm down.'

It took a couple tries to get it right – mostly because Roland wouldn't stop singing in time – but finally they had a smooth transition. Roland would sing I just can't take it anymore and Marianne would lean in and go Waaaaa! She hit it perfectly every time, and seemed to be enjoying screaming into a mic far more than the activity warranted. When they finished playing for the recording, they let the final notes hang in the air for a minute, until Bob took off his headphones and gave a thumbs up.

'That was swingin', man!'

Thang smiled cautiously. 'That's good, right? Swinging's good?'

Marianne shook her head and put a hand over her eyes. 'Dad, what have I told you about using slang?'

'That you think it's adorable?'

'Totally,' she deadpanned, but she was smiling. Bob started to pack up his equipment, and she went to help while Bog and the others started to put away their instruments.

Well, most of the others.

'Wait, that's it?' Roland looked shocked, as if they hadn't spent most of the day playing two songs over and over.

'Yeah, pretty much,' Bob remarked over his shoulder.

'But what about All My Only Dreams?'

Bog was getting really tired of that song. He sat back on his haunches and leveled a look at Roland. 'What about All Mah Only Dreams?'

'We only got the one take.' There was a whiney edge creeping into his voice.

Bog snorted and turned his attention back to clearing the stage. 'Aye, well, if ye'd nae insisted on practicin' it fer three hours, an' then been incapable o' getting' the timin' right on That Thing, maybe we'd've had time t'record it more than once,' he muttered. Thang, who was helping him move equipment, laughed, tried to turn it into a cough, and started choking. Bog thumped him helpfully on the back.

Roland hadn't moved. 'I'd really like to get another take on it. I don't think it was our best work on that song. And Sunny was a little flat on the harmonies.'

Sunny looked up from his guitar case. 'Hey!'

'I want another take. Can't we do one more take, Mr. Faye?' The whiney edge in Roland's voice had matured to full-grown querulous wail. Even Marianne looked shocked.

Pastor Bob blinked at him and smiled uncertainly. 'Sorry Roland, but I'm afraid that won't be possible. The Saturday night prayer group will be coming in soon, and we need all of this cleared away first. Some of our older members might faint if they see an electric guitar in the sanctuary.' He winked at Marianne. 'Right, Butterfly?'

She groaned. 'Dad! Don't call me butterfly!'

'You are my Butterfly. Just like Dawn's my Ladybug.'

Bog made a note to call her butterfly the next time they played darts. He finished with the equipment and walked over to Marianne and her dad. 'Thank ye, Mr. Faye,' he said, offering a hand.

Bob shook it. 'You're welcome, Bog. I enjoyed it. You guys have quite a catchy song.'

Sunny and Thang came over as well. 'When do you think the record will be ready?' Sunny asked as he shook hands as well.

Bob stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'Hebrews 6.15.'

'Huh?'

'And so, after he had patiently endured, Abraham obtained the promise,' Thang supplied helpfully.

'Abraham? Who's Abraham? What does he have to do with our record? When are we getting it?' Roland demanded petulantly.

Bog winced. That couldn't make a good impression on a pastor, especially if you were dating his daughter.

Bob seemed to agree, because he looked at Roland reprovingly. 'Wednesday.'

Marianne threw her arms around Bob's neck and kissed his cheek. 'Thanks, Dad! You're the best!'

'Anything for you, Butterfly.'

'Daaaaad!'

The following Friday, Marianne was ensconced in a corner booth at Brutus', holding court before an eager crowd of Wonders' fans. A sign over her head proclaimed That Thing You Do by the Wonders – Only $1!

People were practically fighting each other to give her their money, and she was making a killing. Her father had given her a box of two hundred records on Wednesday, as promised. She was pretty sure she would be sold out by the end of the night. She felt like a dragon, brooding over the cashbox. Actually, she kind of felt like a dragon most days, but that was beside the point.

'Is this the band playing tonight?' She looked up at the question. The man holding up one of their records was quite a bit older than the rest of her customers. He was heavyset and balding, with a friendly smile.

'Yes, that right. The Wonders – the hottest thing in Eerie!' she felt like it wasn't an exaggeration. After all, they had won the talent show.

'I'll take one.' He held out a dollar.

'Pleasure doing business with you.' She plucked the bill from his hand and added it to the wad of cash she was fondling. Vaguely, she registered him moving off, but the press of eager fans holding out money meant that she didn't have time to dwell.

Later, she proudly spread her take on the table. She took a proprietary interest in those records – after all, she was a featured performer. Thang and Sunny whistled and clapped, and Bog slapped her on the back. 'Nicely done,' he said. Leaning closer, he whispered, 'Butterfly.'

She punched his arm. 'Don't call me butterfly, you overgrown pine cone!'

'Ow! Ye'll break mah arm, ye daft wee fairy!'

'Oh, don't be such a wimp, King!' She wound up to hit him again, just on principal.

He caught her fist and smirked when she stuck her tongue out at him. 'Roland, tell yer girlfriend ta stop beatin' me up.'

Roland looked up from his notebook. 'What? Oh, yes. Good job, Marianne. Thanks for selling our records for us while we worked. Hey guys, I've got a new song I want us to work on at practice tomorrow.'

Bog frowned and glanced sideways at her, but she shrugged and smiled, tugging her fist out of his hand and folding her arms. She'd learned shortly after she started dating Roland that she couldn't expect a musical genius to pay attention to her when he was in the middle of being a musical genius. She didn't mind – she was proud of him and his work.

If her smile was strained, and she sighed internally, well, sometimes she just wished he'd be proud of her work in return.

Hey, look - an update!