“But to get there,” Shay continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “we have to find someone who has a bleeding clue about the music industry. I’m not sure going to London just for the sake of it will help us much.”
Sophie had heard them talk before about going to London as a way to make a name for themselves and it always made her heart skip a beat. “When would you go?” she asked, eyeing Gavin.
“Dunno, darlin’.”
“There’s not much to stick around here for,” Conor said.
“Well …” Gavin gave Sophie a reassuring smile.
“What, you’re going to let a girl stop you, Gav?” Conor shot back. “You—the most ambitious of us all?”
“There’s no rush at this very moment, Con. We haven’t even played a single gig yet. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Yeah, and Sophie’s not going to be here forever, either,” Martin reminded them.
“Just the school year,” Sophie agreed, unable to keep the sadness from her voice.
“Look, Sophie, you can work it out,” Martin suggested. “You’re a smart girl—get yourself a rogue scholarship and come back for university.”
Sophie met Gavin’s eyes and after a moment they both laughed.
“What?” Martin asked, his face coloring.
“I’m sorry,” Gavin said with a grin, “what kind of scholarship?”
“Rogue.” Martin said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world and weren’t they idiots for not knowing what he was saying.
But his response was met with laughter from all of them this time. Conor went to his bookshelf and pulled out a thick, antiquated dictionary. He let it drop with a thud in Martin’s lap.
“Do us a favor, then. Look up rogue and tell us what it means.”
“Just tell me what I did wrong,” Martin said mournfully.
“Now, now—you’ll never learn ’til you look for yourself,” Gavin chimed in, grinning.
“Thanks very much, mother,” Martin replied as he opened the fat text.
They all waited in anticipation as he flipped through the pages.
“Ha ha. So I was a wee bit off. ‘Rogue: somebody who is unscrupulous or dishonest, especially somebody who is nevertheless likable,’” he read with a flat voice. “‘A fun-loving, mischievous person; an individual varying markedly from the standard.’ There, happy?”
“Good word,” Sophie said.
“Wrong one though, I get it,” Martin said and smiled with a shake of his head. “Rhodes Scholarship, is what I was thinking. For Oxford or some such uni, yeah?”
“Let me see that,” Gavin said, taking the book from him. He scanned the other definitions and found one marked “dated” and read it aloud to the others. “‘A rogue is also a person who jokes and behaves in a way which you do not approve of but whom you do not want to criticize because you like them too much.’”
“All right, leave it alone already,” Martin moaned.
“No, Marty, I’m not messing with you,” Gavin said. “Rogue, it’s a good word. Seems to me … it’s a good name for our band.”
There was silence as they all contemplated the idea. Finally, Conor tilted his head in approval, before silently picking up his guitar and plucking at the strings. Gavin looked at Martin and was met with a proud grin—he had inadvertently come up with it after all. Shay appeared unsure as he squinted and contemplated for a moment. At last, he nodded in agreement.
“Then it’s settled,” Gavin said. “Rogue.”
Other than Conor’s guitar, a reverent silence settled over the room. It felt significant, this decision. Now that they had a name, they could shape their sound and their image around it.
“You guys should think about what you want the design of the band logo to be,” Sophie said. “It’s got to be distinctive but not too much, you know? People still need to look at it and know it’s a band.”
