Battle of the Bands Page 4

  “Um,” I mumble, “I guess I was just talking to myself.”

  She laughs, a high-pitched screech, and says, “We get a lot of that around here, don’t we?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Her laugh cuts out and she puts a hand on my arm. I catch a whiff of stale perfume and bad breath. She sticks out her tongue and runs it slowly along her red lips, showing off her piercing. “You sure you weren’t asking me about doing a little something?”

  Oh, man. A hooker. “No. I mean yes. I’m sure.”

  She pouts and tightens her grip. “I don’t understand. Are you saying you don’t want me?”

  I try shaking her off. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  She puts her face up to mine and hisses, “You think I’m not good enough?” She tosses back her hair and sneers. “Not so long ago I was a perfect little high school student living at home with Mom and Dad. Just like you, right?”

  I don’t know why, but I feel stung. It’s like she’s gloating about how much more she knows than me. I say, “So?”

  “So why don’t you try having some fun? Didn’t you say you wanted to get a life?”

  I pull my arm away. “Maybe that’s not my idea of fun, okay? Maybe you should get a life.”

  Her flat eyes stare at me and something awakens there. It looks like pain. She says, “I did have a life.”

  I want to ask her what happened, but I think I can guess. Instead I ask, “Can’t you go back?”

  She looks at me like I just grew a third arm, and her eyes are empty again. “As if.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, can’t you...”

  “Oh, shut up! What do you know, baby boy?” And she totters away. The sharp click of her spike heels sounds like teeth chattering.

  Baby boy.

  She’s right. What do I know? I’m a fake. This is retarded. It’s not going to turn me into a creative genius. I’m just a stupid regular guy from the stupid burbs, and hanging around here is not going to change that. Not. I bolt for the Skytrain. I swear I hear her laughter following me.

  I ride the train back with the full moon looking down at me, and the taste in my mouth is bitter. What now? Do I give up on The Lunar Ticks? I make a deal with myself. I’m not going to let down Kel and Cia, so tomorrow night we compete. If we win, then there’s no problem. If we lose...then maybe it’s time to put our little band on hold while I take the five bucks and go.

  An image of Rowan pops into my head. Indigo Daze could beat us for sure, but that’s not why I’m thinking about her. I’m thinking it’s time I did something about her too. No more baby boy.

  I stare out into the darkness and see my face reflected in the glass. I look like a ghost flying along out there, pale and spooky. Spying on the world.

  Chapter Eleven

  Five bands are playing in the battle and The Lunar Ticks have drawn the fourth play slot. Indigo Daze is fifth. All of the musicians are supposed to report to the show manager before the battle starts. My dad drives our van around the building to the back entrance so we can unload our instruments. As we drive past the crowd waiting out front, some of the kids yell out our names and cheer. This makes me feel a lot better, like maybe I am for real.

  But as we haul our gear into the back room, I can tell something is wrong. The other musicians waiting inside are too quiet.

  “Isn’t that him?” someone says.

  I look in the direction of the voice and recognize the drummer from Indigo Daze. He’s staring at me like he wants to rip my face off. I flick a glance around the room and everyone’s watching me.

  “Whassup?” Cia whispers.

  “I dunno,” I answer.

  “Scumbag.” It’s the drummer again.

  “What is your problem, man?” I ask.

  And then I see Rowan, hunched down on the floor behind him. She grabs his sleeve and says, “Stop it. We don’t know it was him.”

  The drummer ignores her, keeps his eyes pinned on me. “You’re my problem,” he sneers. “And you know why.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Kel says, backing me up. He opens his mouth to say more, but before he can, the drummer reaches down and grabs a guitar. It’s a Gibson Firebird and it’s all smashed up.

  “Jeez,” I say. I’m pretty sure it’s Rowan’s guitar. “What happened?”

  “You’re saying you don’t know?” He shakes the guitar at me.

  “What? How would I know?”

  “Because you know where Rowan lives. You were at her house the other day for no reason. And last night someone broke into her garage and did this. Maybe you just don’t want to lose tonight, eh?”

  The mood in the room is ugly. No one moves, but it feels like everyone there, including the other band members, has taken a step toward me. I feel boxed in and scan their faces for sympathy. Not everyone looks like they want to pound me, but most of them do.

  I glance at Kel and he’s gawking at me with his eyes bugging out. I can almost see what he’s thinking. I didn’t want to have band practice last night. And I asked him to cover for me again while I did my moon thing. I think I even said some stuff about how I was sure we could beat Indigo Daze. Could he really believe I trashed Rowan’s guitar? Cia looks angry. Her spiky hair is quivering and her nostrils are pinched like she just came across a bad smell.

  I look at them but speak loud enough for everyone to hear. “Just because I know where someone lives doesn’t mean anything. I wouldn’t do something that low.”

  Slowly, Kel nods. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s right. Jay would never wreck a guitar. Never.”

  Kel doesn’t stop there. He blurts, “Besides, Jay was with me last night.” Kel shouldn’t have kept talking. He’s a lousy liar.

  “Are you sure about that, dude?” the drummer asks. “Cuz you don’t look too sure.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Kel says angrily. But he turns away and drops his eyes to the floor. Cia shoots her dark eyes from him to me and back again. Then she bites down on her lip and crosses her arms.

  I ignore the drummer and focus on Rowan. “Did you call the cops? Maybe they know who did it.”

  “Oh yeah,” the drummer scoffs. “Rowan reported it.” This guy’s like a dog with a bone. No way he’s letting go. “But the cops didn’t even bother to come out. They just gave her a number and that was it.”

  A mutter goes around the room. I shake my head. I can feel sweat beading on my neck and resist the urge to run out into the cool evening. This whole scene feels surreal, like there’s no way this should be happening. But I can’t figure out what to say next. How do I convince them it wasn’t me?

  I get a reprieve from the show manager. He throws open the stage door and hustles into the room. Then we hear crowd noise building. They must have opened the outside doors, and the youth center is filling up fast. Some of the audience is already stamping and hooting, impatient for the show to start. The manager is focused on a clipboard. “I’ll get the rest of you checked in soon. Fat Roaches? You here?”

  A group steps forward and the manager nods. “Let’s go, then. You’re on.” The group shares a few high fives and follows him out to the stage. A minute later a warm-up riff comes howling out of an amp, and the focus of the room shifts away from me. Other groups start picking up their instruments and checking them out. Kel grabs my arm and yanks me aside. He puts his mouth to my ear and hisses, “Where were you last night, man?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t tell you. But I can tell you this. I sure as hell didn’t smash up anyone’s guitar.”

  He presses his lips tight together and nods sharply. “Okay. I guess I believe you, man.”

  “You guess?” I ask him.

  He gestures impatiently. “I do. But this doesn’t look good, you know?”

  What can I say? He’s right. Cia comes and stands next to us and we huddle together, keep our distance from the other players. I keep looking over at Rowan, but she never even glances in my direction.


  When the show manager hurries back into the room, he runs his finger over his clipboard and yells, “Lunar Ticks? Are you guys here?”

  I call out, “Yeah, we’re here.”

  “Okay, so the only ones I haven’t got checked in yet are Indigo Daze.”

  Indigo’s drummer waves him over. “That’s us. But we’re withdrawing from the battle.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  The drummer points to Rowan’s guitar. “Technical problem.”

  The manager gapes at the guitar and blurts, “No kidding.” Then everyone is looking my way again.

  “How about this?” I say. “She can use my guitar.”

  Finally Rowan lifts her head. I keep talking. “Mine’s a Gibson too. It shouldn’t feel too weird for you.”

  “Are you serious?” she asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  The drummer laughs. “Nice try, man. Guilty conscience bothering you?”

  “No! I just don’t think it’s fair if you guys don’t get your chance. That’s it. No big deal.”

  Rowan stands up and walks toward me. “You know,” she says softly, “if we get to play, we’re going to win.”

  Cia’s chin comes up and she says, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you.”

  Rowan looks at Cia and smiles. “You’re Lunar’s drummer, aren’t you? You’re good, real good.”

  The smile is friendly and Cia can’t help herself. She grins back. “Thanks.” And right there it’s like someone opened a window in a smoky room and the air starts clearing. Whoosh. I start breathing more easily.

  I reach out and touch Rowan’s shoulder. “It wasn’t me, okay?”

  Her eyes search mine and after a long moment she nods. “Okay.”

  I could keep looking into those eyes for a lot longer, but I don’t. Instead I turn, pick up my Gibson and offer it to her. “Here. Check it out.”

  Rowan takes the guitar, holds it flat to check the balance, slides her hands up and down the neck. “Hmm. It feels a bit different, but I think I can work with it.”

  “Good. But just so you know, The Lunar Ticks are going to win.”

  “No way,” she scoffs.

  “Way,” I say. This is more like it.

  Chapter Twelve

  When we get out there, we’re still kinda rattled. We’re halfway through the first number before it feels like we’re really in sync. But then it’s as if we channel all of our mixed-up feelings into the music and things get better. The music vibrates around us like an electrical storm and we keep going. The crowd gets into it and we feed off them, push ourselves hard.

  I see Amy out in front as usual, and she has her beady eyes fixed on Kel. I don’t think he looks her way once, even when she keeps yelling his name.

  The crowd pours on the applause after we’re done, so we stay out there, soaking it up. Then the manager’s voice is in my ear and he says, “We’re on a schedule here. Come on, the next group is already onstage.”

  Sure enough, Indigo Daze is walking on, but Rowan looks hesitant. I know what her problem is. A musician feels naked getting up in front of a crowd without an instrument. I sometimes figure my guitar is like a shield, a nice shiny piece of armor. I pull the strap over my head and hand my Gibson to her.

  “Jay! You jerk!” someone screams. “Stop!”

  I turn and get a full blast of smoking rage from Amy. “After what I did for Kel to win, and now you’re helping them!” Her eyes widen and she clamps a hand over her mouth. Her big mouth.

  I step toward her. “What did you do, Amy?”

  Amy’s gaze darts wildly, fixes on Kel. He’s finally looking at her but he doesn’t say a word. He just shakes his head in disgust, takes hold of Cia’s hand and walks offstage. I glance over at Rowan and I can tell she’s figured it out. Her face is grim, and Indigo’s drummer gets it too. He curls his lip and says, “She’s gonna pay.”

  When I look back for Amy, she’s gone.

  I retreat from the stage, and a minute later we’re listening to Indigo Daze.

  They’re fantastic. They’ve gone to a higher level, and when Rowan slides into their last number, a new song I’ve never heard, I know for sure that they’ve won. I tell myself that kind of talent deserves the win. I refuse to think about my kind of talent. The losing kind.

  Everyone backstage is clapping and whistling for them when they come back. Rowan walks up to me and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks,” she whispers.

  She goes to hand me my guitar but I say, “No. Keep it for now. The winner usually gets to play an encore.”

  She grins and says, “You think?”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “I think.” I take a deep breath and add, “But I’m thinking about something else too.”

  “What?”

  “That I’d like to get to know you better.”

  She tilts her head and the black hair slides and her blue eyes smile. “Sounds nice.”

  “How about tomorrow? We could go for a walk at the beach. Maybe get some coffee?”

  “Okay. Is noon a good time?”

  It is.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s a real good time. The tide is out and there’s plenty of open beach to travel. We talk and talk, and before I know it I’m spilling everything about my full-moon hunts for experience. Rowan stops and stares at me and I think she’s going to laugh. But she doesn’t. She takes hold of my hand and says, “What’s your hurry?”

  I shrug. “I know. It’s kind of lame, but life moves too slow sometimes. I’m planning to notch things up a bit. Get beyond just spying on the rest of the world.”

  “Spying on the world. That sounds like a title for a song.”

  I start to disagree, then stop. Maybe that is a title, but it’s not as if I’m going to be writing any more music for a while. I give her a lopsided grin. “How did you get so smart?”

  “Me? I’m not smart. I think I’m just wired this way. Almost everything feels like music to me. Sometimes I’d like to turn it off and just be normal, but I can’t.”

  This is unbelievable. “You want to be normal?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No. I already am and it sucks.”

  She laughs. “You’re not normal.”

  “I’m not?”

  “Not.” She ponders for a minute. “I don’t think anybody is. There’s no such thing as normal. But you—you’re less normal than most.”

  “Jeez,” I say. “That’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We walk a little farther, stop and look out at the blue water. “For me,” she says softly, “life sort of sped up. I had a sister who died a while ago. That was hard. Still is. You remind me of her.”

  A tingle runs down my spine and I almost drop her hand. I remind her of her dead sister? This can’t be good. I croak, “Why?”

  She keeps her gaze fixed on the horizon, and when she finally talks, her voice seems far away. “She was always looking for that next thrill, you know?”

  I don’t think she really wants an answer so I just wait.

  Rowan takes a breath and talks on. “She was so extreme—with everything. Like, she had hair down to her waist and went for a trim. Came back with it cut above her ears. She’d obsess over some movie star, be so into him. Then she’d see him interviewed on tv and decide he was the biggest turd on the planet.”

  “Really?” I don’t tell her this isn’t making any sense to me.

  “Yeah, really. No matter what she did, it was all or nothing. She just flew, never stopped to figure anything out.”

  “And you don’t think I bother to figure things out?”

  Rowan sighs. “That’s not it. I think you are figuring things out. I guess what I see in you is that hunger. That need to fill up on life. I used to envy Willow because she was always so busy. But then I saw that none of it ever satisfied her. She never got into anything, you know? Not anything that meant something to her or made her feel good ab
out herself.”

  “So what happened to her?”

  “Nothing special, Jay. She just went tripping on drugs and never came back.”

  “You mean she overdosed?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice cracks as she adds, “Big time.”

  My gut reacts to this. It sinks, hits bottom and I feel sick. I want to say something to ease Rowan’s pain. Only I can’t think of anything. I just stand there beside her and hold her hand and look at the water.

  “So you get it, right?” she asks.

  She’s staring at me and I know she wants me to understand something. There’s no way I can lie. “Get what?”

  She drops my hand, and for a second I think she might hit me. “You don’t get what I’m saying? God, I thought for sure you would. Just forget it.”

  “No. I want to understand. Please.” I make a grab to recapture her hand, but she backs away.

  “Jay, I don’t usually talk about Willow. I only told you because of...” she stops.

  “Because of what? Because of my full-moon nights?”

  She nods. “Yeah. Because of that. See, I figure if Willow had waited, just given life some time, she would have found something special. Something real. Or it would have found her.”

  Okay, this is starting to make sense. “Something special. Like music?”

  She smiles. “So you do get it!”

  “Let me put it this way, I’m trying.”

  “Yeah? Maybe it would help if I told you why I think you’re abnormal?”

  I’m not so sure about that, but I act cool and say, “Okay.”

  She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and considers. I’m expecting something really great and she says, “I think you’re different because of that time you sat down and looked at your shoes.”