Chapter 8
After meeting Marcus in his dorm room, appropriately praising his playing, and saying goodbye to Jamie because Marcus was giving her a ride home, I survived Chloe’s ministrations for over two hours. Luckily, Marcus’s roommate went home for the weekend because Chloe had me try on over four different outfits and we argued the entire time. When Marcus returned, his eyebrows about reached his hairline as he stared at me in my outfit of a dark red tight top with thin straps that compliments the tattoos on my arms, a black flared skirt (I put shorts underneath), and knee high combat boots. Chloe lined my eyes heavily and split my hair, leaving the long underneath blonde almost white down and the brown in a high ratted out ponytail. Marcus’s long whistle had Chloe somehow smiling and frowning at the same time.
Now I’m standing behind the stage in a small cement floored room without Marcus and Chloe while fighting a strong urge to vomit. The U-Palooza is held in a park with an outdoor amphitheater along the river downtown annually after the first week of school. The nine fraternities and sororities of our university put it on together and split the proceeds after giving a percent to charity. Everyone is invited and tickets are cheap. Five dollars or something. Local bands always play and for the last two years, Luminescent Juliet has been the major draw and the last band to play.
Though I heard about the concert before, I’ve never been to it. But the students’ talk working the concert has my stomach rolling. Last count, over one thousand tickets had been sold. Over one thousand people, including Aaron and other kids from high school, will be watching me. The music from the current band rumbles around me. Nervousness has me past the point of really hearing it.
From nowhere it seems, Justin comes and puts a tattooed arm around my shoulders. “Riley, you’re looking a little pale.”
I stare at him and sway in his grasp.
His mouth turns into a thin line. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
My eyes widen. I can’t answer because I’m freakin’ terrified.
His fingers tighten around my shoulder. “You’re an awesome drummer. You’ll be fine. Just do your thing.”
Do my thing? What does that even mean?
Leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, Romeo watches us with a scowl puckering his lips. His constricted gaze only makes my stomach churn more. I’ve never had stomach problems until my father left. Right now, it feels like my gut is going to clench until it caves in on itself.
“You can do this,” Justin says. When I don’t respond, he adds, “Riley, you’ve got less than twenty minutes to pull yourself together.”
I flinch. Twenty minutes is not long enough. I’m going to puke. The absence of music—which means the other band is done—along with the crowd’s shouts and whistles cause dread to crawl down my spine.
“Riley…” Justin says while he studies me with wide eyes. I’ve probably gone from pale to green.
The other band files into the room. I barely notice them. A student tells us the stage will be ready in fifteen.
I weave, even with Justin’s support.
After several long minutes of watching me sway under Justin’s arm, Romeo shoves away from the wall. His eyes burn into me, but he says to Justin, “Hate to tell you, but I told you so.” His expressions burns with condescension.
I flinch again. This time from anger at his arrogant look. The last thing I need right now is Romeo being a dick.
“You’re not helping,” Justin says from clenched teeth.
Romeo shrugs. “Not sure she can be helped. Told you she was a bad idea.”
I wiggle out from Justin’s arm and lurch toward Romeo. “You’re such an asshole.” I spit the words up at him.
His grin is cutting. “You shouldn’t have joined the big boys if you can’t handle the heat.”
I grab my sticks stuck in the waistband at my back and poke his chest where the metal swirl of a symbol on a leather band always rests on his chest. “Screw you.”
Sam walks in. “Ready?” He pauses reaching for his bass case leaning against the wall. “What’s going on?” he asks, eyeing the sticks at Romeo’s chest.
Romeo’s brow arches as he looks down at me. “I’m not sure. On both counts. Why don’t you tell him if we’re ready, Riley?” His tone challenges me.
My eyes narrow as my sticks lower. “I’m ready.”
Romeo smiles. Though the smile doesn’t hold the brilliance from earlier, authentically for once. “Good. Let’s go.”
Justin gives me a surprised look, but I whirl around and stomp toward the stage entrance.
I step into the dying light of the coming night and the lights at the front of the stage flick on. The crowd goes wild. With the other three at my back and Romeo’s words ringing in my ears, I march to my seat. The yells, claps, and whistles grow louder. Replaced with anger my nerves are gone.
You shouldn’t have joined the big boys.
Justin goes to the microphone in the center of the stage but faces me. Sam hangs in the back. Romeo walks to the edge of the stage, raises his guitar, and breaks into a riff. Six seconds later, Justin whips around while Sam and I break into Check Yes Juliet by We The Kings. The song’s a little overly pop compared to most of our stuff, but Justin talked the other two into the song because of the play on words with our band name. Bizarrely, he thinks it’s beyond cool. For all his swanky clothes and tattoos, Justin can sure be a dork sometimes.
My anger fades as I play. I go into the zone. Music and drums fill my head and drive me into a satisfied thumping machine. Dickheads and over a thousand people watching barely edge my consciousness. I need this. Marcus was right. I can’t be happy unless playing is part of my life. And here on stage is even better than practice. An odd dichotomy of energy blended with excitement and serenity merged with pleasure flows through me. With each strike and rotation around the kit, all my anxieties flow into night air. I become mindless energy while playing. I’m hot and sweaty by the second song and feeling on top of the world.
For almost forty minutes, we’re four people in tune with each other. Romeo’s grueling pace in practice pays off. Communication, even in the form of nods or glances isn’t needed. We roll through ten songs like a professional skate boarder on the half pipe. Six covers and four originals. From classic rock to punk to alternative to bluesy folk—whoever writes our original stuff has a thing for this mix.
I’m in my own drum bubble in the back, but Justin, Romeo, and Sam move around, share microphones, and interact with the crowd at the front. They actually rehearse that crap in practice. Luckily, being a girl they dismissed me as a backup singer. Though I can carry a tune, my voice isn’t too great.
The beat of my heart, the rush in my veins, and the natural high of playing for a crowd decreases when I step away from the drums, but the crowd, wild and vociferous, keeps the pump of my heart accelerated as Sam, Justin, and I step to the side edge of the stage.
A student brings out a stool and lowers the microphone while Romeo switches guitars. Because we haven’t had enough time to practice, he’s finishing our set with two acoustic songs. I’ve never heard him play either. In fact, I don’t even know what he’s going to play.
The lights on the floor dim. The crowd quiets to a low murmur. Sam slings an arm around my shoulders and leans on me. Justin gives him a look, but I ignore them both as Romeo’s fingers strum the first notes. When he starts singing, “Oh, dear mother, I love you…” I recognize, Remember Everything by Five Finger Death Punch. Of course, he plays beautifully, his long fingers move over the instrument in a graceful dance, but his voice has me clenching my jaw so my mouth doesn’t fall open in astonishment. Deep with a resonation of gravel, his singing has me shocked. Obviously, he doesn’t have the range Justin does, but the emotion interweaved into the vocals brings the song to a different level.
Of course, he’s magnetic, sitting in a small circle of light on the dark stage. His profile is shadowed carved lines as he leans toward the microphone. His body a tight coil, from his bare forearm over the guitar to the glimpse of his hard curved chest between the open folds of his shirt. He’s dark and sexy but his music even overpowers his allure.
His voice glides into the night, over the audience, and pulls us with him and into the song. The crowd’s transfixed by him. I’m transfixed. This song obviously means something to him and it’s impossible not to be touched by the emotion pouring from him, even though he sits almost still with eyes hooded and foot slightly tapping. As he sings about regret and guilt, raw pain pours from him and I can’t look away. It’s like we’re getting a glimpse into his soul. The beauty of it has me clenching my sticks within my crossed arms and restraining my body in a tight line. When he holds the last note and strums the last time, I let out the breath I’d been holding in and my shoulders sag. His performance leaves me feeling exhausted.
A stunned then slowly thunderous building applause ricochets around the amphitheater.
Sam gives my shoulder a squeeze as another student hands him an acoustic guitar. He goes and stands next to Romeo, who taps his foot four times and they break into a fast bluesy song that tries to wipe the raw emotion of the last, but nothing ever will. At least from my mind.
“What is this?” I ask still baffled by Romeo’s performance.
Justin leans close to me. “Gold on the Ceiling by the Black Keys,” he says in my ear with his lips brushing a lobe before turning back to the stage.
Wow. I feel stupid. Though it sounds a bit different acoustic, the song is on my iPod. The tune is so catchy and rhythmic, I get why Romeo picked it, but still exhausted from the emotion of his prior performance I couldn’t recall the song.
They finish the song and the crowd goes wild again. Justin yanks me out on the stage and we all bow in a line several times. My musical high had died into awe while watching Romeo, but shouts, claps, and whistles, though somewhat embarrassing, pump a tittering elation through my veins. I’m in such a fog of exhilaration Justin has to yank me off the stage.
Back in the cement floored room, I breathe heavily as Sam gives me a fist pump. “You kicked ass, Riley.”
Justin gives me a hug. Once again, his lips brush my earlobe as he says, “I knew you could do it.”
A new elation hits me at their congratulations. Reality. I just performed in front of a thousand people. On a stage. With a rock band. Me.
Setting his acoustic guitar in a case, Romeo grins. I recall him pissing me off before we went on. His smirk has me wondering if he did it on purpose, but I don’t have time for reflection as Marcus and Chloe rush through the door. Of course, the students standing guard wouldn’t be able to stop them from coming in.
Chloe envelopes me in a hug. “You were the shizit!” She steps back to let Marcus in while her eyes roam over Justin.
“You were effing awesome!” Marcus suffocates me before lifting me and twirling me in a circle. When he sets me down, I’m stunned at the narrowed gazes of all three of my band members. Each dressed in ripped jeans and different types of black shirts, they look rocking tough and angry with scowls on their faces.
Chloe breaks the silence. “So who’s ready to party?”