by Jean Haus
“You’re nuts,” she says under her breath.
Ignoring her, I finish my concession stand lunch.
The first half ends and the players leave the field.
I hand Jamie a hot dog. “The band’s coming on.”
She looks up to Romeo. “You like watching the band?”
He grins at her. “I love watching the band. It’s the best part of the game.”
I stare at the slight crinkles in the corner of his eyes. Who is this alter Romeo around my sister? Chloe nudges me again. I refuse to look her way. I can imagine the expression—one that conveys I’m nuts again—on her face.
A whistle sounds then the beat of a drum. The announcer’s voice booms with the introduction of the band as they form a line on the other side of the field. My breath hitches at the sight of white and red uniforms edged with shiny brass. Another whistle blow and they begin marching across the field with the percussion line leading and pounding out a drum roll. The brass section follows in a V. One more whistle blow and the percussion line drills out a fast beat until the band stands in front of the home audience. Quiet for a few seconds, the band is colorful and bright standing in the afternoon sun while anticipation hangs in the bleachers.
Suddenly, the drums roar until the entire band breaks into blaring music and my chest tightens into a knot.
Chloe, Romeo, Jamie, and my nervousness about the performance tonight are forgotten as want and regret swirl inside of me. Marcus is in the second line of the drums. I used be in the line ahead of him. In the center. The leader. I crouch down with my hands sprayed at the sides of my face. I didn’t think watching him was going to be this hard. My eyes and ears stay riveted to the scene and the tune, but my body is frozen want as they play.
Music booms as they march and change formation into a visible H for the Hawks. Brightly colored flags fly behind them. Horns blast as they change formation again and the drumline comes back to the front.
I can’t help imagining being out there with them playing and marching. My fingers dig into the skin above my temples. They’re good. The marching band I should have been in would have been better. On another field, in another state, I should be playing and marching right now too.
Instead, I’m in the bleachers curled up like an insane person.
At the end of the performance, I finally notice my heavy breath, Chloe’s hand rubbing my back, Jamie curled next to me, and the audience cheering. After two whistle blows and another drumroll, the band marches back to their spot in the stands on the far left.
I slowly sit up.
“You alright?” Chloe asks gently.
I gulp in air and nod.
Jamie’s hand tightens around my arm. “Marcus was good, huh?”
Her eyes question me. Though she doesn’t understand my reaction, she knows something is off. “Marcus was great,” I say as warmly as possible. Above her head, Romeo stares at me. The striking lines of his face appear confused.
Chloe lets out a laugh and leans across me. “She’s not a freak. Just a band geek. She was supposed to go to Virginia. Scholarship and all.”
His dark gaze bores into mine. His mouth hangs slightly open before he asks, “Then why aren’t you there?”
“She has to watch—”
“I’m needed at home,” I say, cutting off Chloe. I never, ever want Jamie to feel responsible or guilty for my decision.
Romeo still looks confused, but my tone or his phone, which he digs out of his pocket, helps drop the subject.
I give Chloe a look while he reads a text.
“I’m an ass. Forgot. Sorry,” she says lowly then looks to Jamie, who’s watching us. “Want some Sweet Tarts?”
Chloe keeps handing Sweet Tarts over my lap as the second half begins. Romeo’s busy texting until he stands and waves to someone in the aisle. The girl from the hallway waves back. Within seconds, she shuffles her way toward him. Dressed in a white polo and a navy skort, she looks tennis preppy. She must be who he was texting I realize as he shoves the phone back in his pocket.
After she gives him a quick hug, he introduces us to April. Although he explains I’m the new drummer, he doesn’t give her a title, but she has to be his girlfriend. Though Romeo is beyond hot, I can’t understand why someone would date him. Girls follow him like the Pied Piper. And the constriction of April’s smile while she offers Chloe and I a quick hello conveys the jealously she must harbor all the freakin’ time.
The afternoon turns more uncomfortable. We watch the game for the most part. Chloe and I chat every now and then on our end. Romeo and April converse amongst themselves. Jamie, seated in the middle, is the only one who talks to both sides.
The Hawks end up losing by two points. Shuffling out, Romeo quizzes me on the time and place for our gig tonight like I’m a simpleton who can’t remember the simplest of directions. His girlfriend watches me with a hooded expression as I answer him in a tight tone. I resist rolling my eyes at her look.
Even if he found me attractive or if I were in the running for a boyfriend, he’s the last person I would hook up with. Even dripping with sexual allure, chauvinistic jerks don’t appeal to me.
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 suff
ocates 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?”
Chapter 9
After packing everything into Romeo’s ancient van—giggling at the vehicle, Chloe asked if Dewey Finn from School of Rock sold him the van and surprisingly Romeo laughed at her joke—we rushed back to Marcus’s dorm and I changed into jeans but kept the rest of Chloe’s crazy look together. The university is in a township outside the main city surrounded by fields of corn and newer homes. So from the dorms, we walked across a country road to the apartments off campus across the street to where Sam lives. Since Marcus’s roommate is gone for the weekend, Chloe and I already planned on spending the night in the dorm.
Still on a high from the adrenaline on stage, I let Marcus give me a piggyback ride through the apartment’s parking lot. Though we’re goofing around and having fun, I’m somewhat nervous about going to the party. Romeo better not be a dick. Handling his attitude during practice is one thing. I’m not willing to put up with his shit at a party. I’m also nervous about meeting people after being on stage and wondering if they’ll just like me because I’m the drummer or like me for me.
When we walk into the living room, some people offer fist pumps or raise their drink to me. Most of them are strangers. Yeah, being in a band has suddenly made me popular. I’m not sure if I like the hollow attention. I shouldn’t be surprised though, how else would Romeo, the super dick be so popular?
The small apartment is nearly full of bodies and even more people spill out of the sliding glass doors into the lawn outside in the back. Loud music from outside spills in. From the tiny kitchen, Justin spots me. He unwinds his arm from the girl next to him and calls me over. People part as much as possible while I make my way to the counter bar. Sam and Romeo stand inside the tiny u-shape of a kitchen along with as many girls who can fit. Some of the girls look at me with envy. But with girls wrapped around them, neither Sam nor Romeo notices me.