Delivering His Heir

by Jesse Jordan

  But tomorrow night is the last performance of The Shattered Dreams and my last chance to put together a demo video for sending out. I've been working with Cora, and the YouTube work is helping, but I need to show that I'm not just a guy who can sing along with a karaoke track on a video.

  “Come on Tim, Rocky's getting all introspective and shit,” Chris says, taking off his jacket. “Besides, we still have to go pick out our corsages. You know, for our dates?”

  “Aww-yeah...” Tim growls, and I gotta laugh. He acts like a total horn dog, but inside he's a total teddy bear, and he's been practically out of his mind with happiness since he somehow, scored a date with Hillary Kendall for the prom. Yep, that Hillary Kendall, all six feet of half-Chinese, half-Norwegian model looks and a body that has earned her a little bit of local celebrity for the way she fills out her volleyball uniform. Tim has been head over heels for her since freshman year, and finally, she's paying attention to him. I'm glad for him really, and I hope that he's able to show her that his insides are worth overlooking his less than surfer-ripped outside.

  “Tim, you know that you gotta play a little hard to get, right?” I ask him as we get our tuxes bagged up and ready to take to the trunk of Chris' car. “Seriously, you pick up Hillary tomorrow with that sign on your forehead, and you're going to get nowhere.”

  “What sign?” Tim asks as we leave the store. “I don't have a sign.”

  “Yeah, you do. The one that says I'm yours, Hillary that everyone but you can see,” Chris jokes. Chris unlocks the trunk and we put our rented tuxes inside, slamming the back closed just as Chris goes on. “Speaking of people with signs... Rocky, you going to make a move on Cora?”

  The three of us pile into Chris' old Ford and he cranks it up, Queen greeting us this time. Not bad at all. But what Chris said just before we got in bothers me. “What the hell are you talking about, Chris? That's Cora, not some girl.”

  “Not some girl?” Tim asks. “Uh, Rock, you do realize that Cora's one of the cutest girls in school, right? Strawberry blond hair, those blue eyes. Let's face it, she's got a tight little body. And she's one of the coolest chicks I've ever met.”

  “Drop it, Tim,” I warn him. “Seriously, Cora and I have been friends for like, six years, ever since she moved to Simi from Westlake. She's like my sister, man. Why are you talking about her like that?”

  “Because it's pretty damn clear to me and to everyone else that Cora's not looking at you like you're her brother, dude,” Tim says. “I'm just sayin'...”

  “Well, don't. Just don't,” I say with a shake of my head, staring out the window as Chris gets on the 118 heading back towards Simi Valley. I don't need this crap right now. It's the whole reason that I asked Cora to the prom. She and I have been tight for a long time, even before The Shattered Dreams started performing together. And we're just friends, that's it.

  The fact is, Cora is just about the coolest girl that I've ever known. When I told her in eighth grade that I wanted to be a singer in a rock band, she didn't laugh or didn't call my dream stupid. She didn't say that I needed to give up on singing and instead focus on getting better grades. Instead, she just said that it was a cool dream, and then we talked for two hours, going over some good music.

  But most of all, she's stuck by me, and she's been honest. When my singing's sucked, or I reached too far, she's told me. She's recorded and remixed at least two dozen YouTube videos for me, she's been the sound person and videographer on everything The Shattered Dreams have done. Hell, she even drove me and Tim all the way to Anaheim for an open mic night, supposedly someone from Sony Records was to be there. She gives me feedback and been my biggest supporter. There's a reason she's my Muse. No matter what, people can see what they want to see, but there's never been anything between us.

  There’s a thousand and one reasons she's my friend. That's all she is, right?

  The gym's been redone in that uber-cheesy style that's made up high school proms forever, but that's okay as I escort Cora inside. She's looking good in an ice blue party dress that highlights her eyes, and even though she's my friend... she's a very pretty friend. “Wow, they outdid themselves.”

  “They did,” Cora says, taking my arm. She looks around, and I'm glad I invited her. Sure, it's cheese central, but I guess for Cora, the idea of our senior prom does have a little bit of magic to it, and she's feeling it. I'm glad that I'm here to share it with her. “So, where do you want to sit?”

  “Who cares?” I ask with a laugh. “I already see Tim out there with Hillary, there's no way I'm gonna be able to pry him away from her until gig time, and even then, I might need a crowbar. We might as well find where the band’s sitting and get some drinks.”

  Cora looks a little disappointed, maybe she doesn't like Tim as much I thought, or maybe she and Hillary have some sort of girl-beef going on. I don't think Hillary and Cora run in the same circles, Hillary's a pop-jock while Cora's into the whole indie-rock-music crew, but who knows, maybe they ran into each other in the library sometime and the claws came out over something. “Uh... Rocky, do you mind if we have at least one dance? You know... for form's sake?”

  I look at her and smile, nodding. That's all it is, I got it. Duh. I was just thinking that Cora's kinda caught up in the magic of prom, and here I go forgetting that. She just wants a little bit of that magic too before I get to make magic on stage. “You know it. I one hundred percent promise you, Cora, that after the set, you and I will close out the night dancing together. And if you want, we can find something beforehand too. Just... man, I'm so twitching for this! You see that stage up there? That's going to be ours tonight, babe, ours!”

  “You mean yours,” Cora says softly, so soft I can barely hear her over the music that's already playing. “You go out on stage Rocky, and it's always your stage.”

  I turn and take Cora's hands, confused. “Cora, you know that I wouldn't be able to do what I've done without your help. You're the reason I'm going to be up there. You're the reason that tonight's going to rock, and I want you to be able to enjoy it. So, no, that's going to be our stage tonight. If you wanted, I'd find a way for you to be up there with us, singing backup vocals or whatever. But I respect your choice to stay out in the crowd.”

  Cora bites her lip, and nods. “Okay. So... a drink, then maybe a dance?”

  We only have a half hour before it's time for the Dreams to get ready, but I do my best during that time to make it a fun party for Cora. She's a little more mainstream than I am in terms of liking the prom, I just wanted to jam. But Cora's still a girl, and she enjoys dancing with me as we break it down some to Drake, and DJ Khaled, even if it was the radio edited version. Soon enough though, my phone buzzes in my tux pocket, and it's time to go change.

  “Hey, you stay here,” I tell her, knocking back the last of the horrible punch. “I want you to be able to enjoy the show audience-side one last time.”

  “Okay,” Cora says, and at least she's smiling when I get up, tugging Tim out of his seat where he's been trying his best not to fawn over Hillary, but she seems to be fine with it. Chris is already waiting for us in the boys’ locker room next to the gym, where we ditch our tuxes for our performing clothes.

  “You guys took long enough,” Chris says, shaking his head. He's already in his standard jam gear, black jeans and a checkered shirt, grunge inspired but cleaned up to fit Southern Cali tastes. “What happened?”

  “She kissed me,” Tim whispers, and we both stop, looking over at him, no wonder he's looking starry eyed. “During that little break after Work From Home. She said... well, she wished me luck.”

  “Damn dude,” I tease, and Chris laughs. “But seriously, good deal. Now, let's get our heads right, and see if maybe we can put on a set that'll get you an upgrade from just a kiss. You got a clear head?”

  Tim takes off his tux jacket and adjusts his pants, grinning in embarrassment. “I don't think I've got any blood in my head.”

  “Well, maybe not the one on your neck,�
� Chris jokes, turning around to give Tim some privacy while he pulls his pants off to put on his own jeans. I'm going for the classic rocker look, black pants, white shirt, and a denim jacket but slightly upgraded in terms of look so I don't piss off Mr. Gabineau too much.

  A quick run of a brush through my hair which I pull back into a ponytail, kinda loose. Checking myself in the mirror, I feel good. “You guys ready?”

  “Yeah,” Tim says, while Chris fusses with his shoelaces. Tim and I can play in just about anything, in fact, my shoes aren't even tied right now, but Chris needs decent fit on his footwear for some of the drumming he does. “Hey, Rock?”

  “Wassup?” I ask, popping a breath mint and grinning. “Just in case.”

  “Whatever,” Tim laughs, rolling his eyes. I've been popping breath mints before going on stage since we first started getting together, it's kind of my lucky charm. “I just wanted to say... well, it's been fun. And to remember us when you're famous. I want tickets.”

  “Fuck it, man, you and Hillary get married, I'll be the wedding singer,” I joke. “Now you just gotta find a way to convince her to marry your wannabe Bill Gates ass. Come on, let's rock.”

  The crowd is buzzing as we set up, the DJ spinning some techno-dance to give everyone a break from what's to come.

  Mr. Gabineau is at the mic in his suit, giving us a once over as we get our instruments on, but he can't complain too much. “All right Sequoia High, let’s welcome to the stage now, The Shattered Dreams!”

  There's a decent amount of applause, we've done enough that the kids who like rock tend to appreciate us, and those who don't can at least say we play well enough that they don't hate us. I'll take that. You can't please everyone.

  “Thanks, Mr. G!” I thank him, giving him my smirky-smile that I like to use on stage, it's wiseass enough that people think I'm getting away with something by calling Mr. Gabineau just 'G.' “All right Sequoia, here's a new one for you guys!”

  Tim starts Get Up with his bass, and I'm soon behind working the notes that he can't mimic with his bass before switching to general chording while singing the lyrics.

  It takes about half the song, but by the end, we've got folks rocking with us, and when the last distorted riff fades away, we get a good amount of applause, and I raise my hand, thanking them.

  “Hey, guys, awesome reception. Okay, this next one goes out to Mrs... well, you know,” I joke, giving another grin and a wink that has lots of people laughing. “Thanks for all that extra... tutoring.”

  Hot for Teacher might be nothing but a big pile of cheese, it might be thirty years old, but it's the only Van Halen song that I can play the guitar solo for, and it's upbeat enough that everyone is able to laugh and have a good time, dancing their asses off while the three of us sing about a schoolboy's crush on his teacher. There's a few of the faculty who are giving me dagger looks, especially Mr. Gabineau but come on, it's the fucking senior prom!

  When Chris smashes his drum one last time, he's grinning, and he's able to chill for a few minutes at least. I'm a bit nervous though, run-throughs in practice have been hard on this one, and some of the note changes I must do with my voice are hard. The lights on stage dim, and I look out, seeing Cora though, and I smile. Okay, just like in the garage, when it was just the two of us, singing for her...

  I'm just about to start my picking on the guitar when I see Duane Phillips walk up to Cora. I've seen him around at school and he's in a bunch of the same classes as Cora, all college prep there. He obviously asks Cora to dance, and when she looks up at me I see something in her eyes and on her face. Oh, I see. A little bit more of that prom magic. Okay then, Cora, this one's for you.

  “We're going to slow it down for this last one, for all you out there who had a rough Valentine's Day,” I say before starting on the opening notes for My Immortal. I see couples start to form on the dance floor, it's a little bit of a downer song but it's romantic as hell, exactly the sort of song that I want to end The Shattered Dreams on.

  I get through most of the first verse pretty easy, it's relatively flat in the vocal range, but when we rise towards the first bridge, I feel it in my throat. I rocked it out too hard with the screams in Get Up, and I got too caught up in Hot for Teacher. I don't have it left in me to take it up into that super high tenor that we practiced. But Cora's out there, dancing her dance, with a guy she likes maybe. So for Cora, I find the notes. I have to close my eyes, I can see Cora dancing by herself, her strawberry blond hair with the blue dress she's wearing tonight, just graceful and lovely. My Muse, and I sing for her.

  Chris is caught a bit off guard when I hold my hand up to stop us from going into the hard-middle bridge, but as a backup, we'd practiced the 'all slow' version quite a few times, so he's not totally flailing. He adjusts well, Tim going with it to create something we'd never done before. Instead of being slow the whole time, or having the hard rock section, we kind of go with something almost soulful, and I find myself swept away in probably the best performance we've ever given. When the last note is picked on my guitar and it fades, I open my eyes, and I see Cora still looking up at me. She's smiling, and Duane's got his arm on her shoulder.

  Maybe I do feel an instant of jealousy. I mean, she is my date, right? Sure, we're just friends, but she is my date. But... well, we had our dance. It was a good one, but we had a dance. So, I'll let her dance who she wants to dance with. I gave her my best, and that's what I've always wanted to give to my Muse.

  Cora

  Another great day in Southern California, and for that, I am grateful. Then again, May in Southern California is almost always perfect weather. The summer heat hasn't quite dropped in yet, and it's late enough in the year that we aren't getting the winter and early spring rain that sometimes comes in. We get enough that we're kinda green in May.

  Graduation took place not in the football stadium that we share that with Simi Valley High, but instead in a nearby arena. Afterward, a bunch of people jumped in their cars, heading either to the beach near Malibu or to Disneyland. Me personally, I just want to kinda chill and reflect.

  Thankfully, Mom and Dad understand, and after bringing me home, they let me change and just go off on my own. Which of course means I find myself here, at Rocky's house. Mrs. Blake was even expecting me and has a little gift for me when I showed up.

  “Cora, congratulations,” she says, handing me a wrapped box. I'm slightly surprised, it feels heavier than I thought it would be for a graduation gift. “You know, it's been great having you come by so much over the past few years.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Blake,” I tell her, accepting her hug. “And thank you for being so cool about me bumming around with Rocky all this time.”

  “Robert's been blessed to have you in his life,” Mrs. Blake says. She's pretty active in the local church, so I hear a lot from her that's sort of church-tinged, but at the same time, she's laid back enough that she lets Rocky be Rocky. Even if she does insist on calling him Robert, the only person I know who does so.

  Mrs. Blake's probably known how I felt about Rocky since about the time I was a freshman, and she just smiles, nodding. “I know. I always thought you two were good together. I was hoping after prom... well, anyway, Robert's out in the garage.”

  I thank Mrs. Blake and carry my little present out to the garage, where Rocky's sitting and watching the YouTube video I posted of The Shattered Dreams doing their thing at the prom. I was glad that I could get one of the prom committee to set up a couple of HD cameras around the gym, it's probably the best video I ever made for them. “Hey, Rocky.”

  Rocky turns around and grins, getting out of his chair and coming over, hugging me. My heart flares, but when he sets me down, I can see it in his eyes that the hug didn't mean what I was hoping it would mean. Again.

  “It's amazing, Cora. Seriously, it's blowing up, we've already gotten over a hundred thousand hits!” he says, tugging me over. I look at the read count, and Rocky's right, the video of the prom performance has been o
ut just over a week but is now standing at over one hundred fifty-two thousand views. Scrolling through, there's a ton of positive comments too.

  This is what rock should be! - 8 likes

  I wanna ride the lead singer like a pony! - 27 likes

  “Hmmm, that one wasn't really about the music,” I note, seeing Rocky blush. He doesn't realize it, but his self-consciousness over his good looks just makes him even more good looking, at least to me it does. “Hey, don't knock it, Rock. You know that the days of ugly rock stars are over. Video killed the radio star and all. You got the looks that make girls go weak in the knees. Come on though, let's take a walk, what do you say?”

  “Sure, why not? You wanna go down through the canyon?”

  “Got a flashlight?” I ask, knowing he does. It's a strong one too, one of those twelve LED jobs in case we need it. “Then let's go.”

  The walk down the trail that starts about a quarter mile from his house is peaceful, the traffic blurring to near silence as soon as we start to drop lower, into the brush that makes up a lot of the canyon. The shadows stretch out, but the full moon's up, and between that and the flashlight we're fine. They say that there are mountain lions and coyotes up here in the canyon, but the worst that Rocky and I have ever found is a king snake one time that scared the hell out of me until we realized it wasn't a rattler.

  “So... we've graduated,” Rocky says once we pass the big rock about halfway down that we've always kind of used as the gateway to allowing us to talk privately. “You feel any different?”

  “I don't know,” I reply, wanting to reach over and take his hand, but too afraid to. “What about you? I mean, we're never going to go to SHS again, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. It's weird that way,” Rocky admits. “I mean, I guess it won't be quite as big a difference for you though, you're heading to college once summer vacation's over. You're still not done with school, you know what I mean?”