Accidental Rock Star

By
Emily Evans

Accidental Rock Star

Copyright December 2014
by Emily Evans

Smashwords Edition

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are either the product of the author's imagination or are used
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[1. Fiction. 2.
Romance. 3. Young Adult.]

“Ditch the shirt on
Sax.” The video director checked the view from behind the main
camera. “Leave his jacket.”

The stylist chick ran
over and pulled at Sax’s sleeves. “I’ll help you strip, Rock
Star.”

I have a name.
She probably did, too. Sax let her help him out of the jacket but
pulled off his own shirt. When the fabric cleared his head, the
stylist gasped, a feminine appreciative sound. Yeah, chicks always
dug the view.

The background models
assessed his abs under the bright video-set lights as he shrugged
the jacket back on. The blonde bit her full bottom lip. The redhead
blushed. The brunette, Gina, eyed him like he was the fall shipment
of designer clothes on Rodeo Drive. She’d have to look elsewhere,
because he’d dated Gina until her crazy had gotten stronger than
her perfume. And he wasn’t going there again.

The cymbals crashed
behind him, even though the director had called ‘cut’ five minutes
ago. Jerry, his drummer, continued to bang away with a speed that
showed how coked-up he was. Sweat poured off the dude’s red face as
he swiveled on the stool and worked out a beat.

“We’re taking five.”
Hugh, his bass player, tossed a pack of cigarettes to Ian on lead
and they headed for their fifth smoke break.

Good thing musicians
were replaceable. The director may as well have the background
models hold the instruments and pretend to play. The tracks got
layered in at the studio anyway, and three fashion models couldn’t
do any worse than these tools.

Gina blew him a kiss
while the other two models threw back shots. She broke away from
the others and headed his way. Tall. Gorgeous.
Crazy.
She
carried a tray filled with more shot glasses. Nothing better than a
chick in heels catering to you.

Tequila and caffeine.
He winked at Gina, took what was offered, and tossed one back. Gina
looked hot in her micro-short cheer skirt and crop top. But he
wasn’t riding into crazy-town with her again. Not that he was
forsaking all models.

The other two might
make for a fun night. They also wore micro costumes. The blonde
dressed like a drill-team member and the redhead a drum major. Red
lipstick. Loads of skin. No real high school hallway had ever
looked as slutty as this set. This video was gonna hit.

Maybe he’d have a go at
them later.

“Filter check,” the
director said.

Sax got into position
behind the mic. A studio recording of his voice would make the
final cut, but he had to sing aloud so the lip-syncing appeared
authentic. He filled his lungs and blew out, ready to give it his
all. He gave every take his all, unlike these half-assed
musicians.

Ignoring the fact that
they were about to shoot, Gina bounced between the models and then
over to the crew with the tray.

The director frowned as
she suckered them all into drinking shots. “Move it, Gina.”

Gina lowered the tray
to right below her boobs and leaned toward the director. “Best for
last.” She wove her fingers into the director’s goat beard and he
caved, taking the drink, and slurping it down.

The director pointed
with the end of the empty shot glass. “Places. Camera Two, go low
for take twelve.”

The stylist stumbled
over for a final touch-up. She got in Sax’s face and twitched
strands of his signature over-long black hair in front of his eyes.
A strand caught in his eyebrow piercing. Fucking piercing. The
stylist held up cherry lip balm. Her hand wavered.

Enough with the makeup.
Sax shook her off.

Fog crawled across the
set, heating the room. Sweat broke across his skin. He tightened
his grip on the cold metal of the mic stand and turned his head
toward the drummer, whose beat had taken on a crappy, uneven
rhythm. “Dude. Give it a rest until he cues you in.”

Jerry stopped and
slumped over his toms. Fucking drama queen.

The models leaned
against the back wall. Their energy always sagged at this point in
a shoot. They’d come awake soon enough. As soon as they heard him
sing. Everyone did.

Ian and Hugh hung back,
waiting for who knows what.

Let’s finish this. He’d
play the guitar himself if he had to. Not that he could. But he
could hold it for the shoot. Enough. Enough with the musician
drama. The lyrics mattered. The singer mattered. Sax leaned into
the pole. He didn’t even need a damned band. He’d do this
a
cappella
.

The bright lights
intensified. Their heat burned into him like the lights of a major
stadium instead of a video shoot. His skin grew clammy and his
vision fuzzy. He tightened his sweaty grip on the stand and
straightened. His rings bit into the metal.

A cymbal crashed as
Jerry slid from his stool to the floor.

Drummers.
Screw-ups.

Had the director
signaled? Sax couldn’t see through the fog, couldn’t think. He
opened his mouth to sing the first line. Nothing came out. His body
swayed. His arms grew heavy, and he released the stand. The lack of
support took him to his knees.

Blackness edged his
vision. He blinked, planning to kneel there a second and get it
together.

Flashes.

Gina sank down beside
him, leaning into him. Her weight, normally nothing, felt like the
sand bag at the gym.

Flash.

Gina shot a selfie of
them together.

Fucking Gina. Always
with the camera. Sax scrunched his eyes closed against the light
and the smoke.
No cameras on set.
His mouth wouldn’t form
the words. His contacts felt dry, like they were sticking to the
backs of his eyelids. He shoved his eyelids open anyway.

His bro Garrett was
here. He had his arm draped around his hot girlfriend Marissa. She
was a fan. Who wasn’t? Sax tried to smile, but couldn’t make his
mouth curve up. They looked really tall from this angle. But they
weren’t taller than him. He fell on his ass, his mind spinning.

His bro Max was behind
Garrett. Solo. Loser. Where was his girl Hannah?

Wait. Why were they
here at all? He was meeting them at the club later. No. Here. He
couldn’t remember. His thoughts tangled.

His three friends
seemed to be moving in slow motion. The fog obscured them. They
disappeared. They reappeared.

Gina took his left
hand. She pried off his ring, dropping the platinum music note into
her cleavage. She shoved a shiny gold band onto his ring finger.
She wore a matching ring.

Flash.

What the hell?

Gina’s hazel eyes
gleamed. “Come with me.” She tugged on his arm and mouthed words he
couldn’t understand. She pointed to the back wall, pulling harder.
“You have to leave with me. Hurry.”

No way, crazy.
He slipped back to the floor.

Gina got behind him and
slid her arms underneath his. Grunting at the effort to shift him,
she slid him along the polished concrete. He had no resistance.

She dragged him closer
to the door.

Crazy had hold and
wasn’t letting go. He felt the urge to laugh. What had she put in
that drink?

Max and Garrett ran
toward them.

Great. His bros had
just caught him being suckered into a shitload of crazy. He’d be
mocked about this in three kinds of accent. His head fell forward
to his chest.

Max yelled.

Gina let go of him. Her
heels clicked fast on the concrete, and she ran away like a chick
in a horror movie.

Darkness.

No. No. No.

Half the band was
headed to the wrong end zone.

Aria waved at them,
concern filling her. “Other way.”

They’d started on the
visitors’ side last week in an attempt to quiet the halftime
friction between the band and football team. It had worked, but it
had rubbed Aria the wrong way to take the field from the visitors’
side like they were guests at their own school. So she’d told
everyone to go back to their usual spots. Half had listened. Aria
scooped her arms toward Li-War. “Home side. By Li-War.”

Most of her bandmates
turned. Not Ethan. He was using his drumsticks like Jedi swords,
complete with sound effects, backing Baylee across the field.

Sometimes being the
drum major sucked, but she had to get everyone lined up or they
couldn’t play. “Ethan. Baylee. By Li-War.” Li-War was a
twenty-foot-tall inflatable lizard. His body formed a tunnel and
the football team ran along the grass between his legs to enter or
exit the field.

Baylee and Ethan
simultaneously flipped off Li-War. Aria’s fingers twitched to do it
too, but she didn’t. She got between the band and the lizard, while
Ethan and Baylee came back and took their places.

Li-War, the green
behemoth, bobbed like a freshman on the dance floor. His pink
tongue whipped high, curled in, and straightened back out. In and
out.
Whoosh.
Like the way Hunter had kissed last night. Aria
forced her gaze away, sorry she’d made the connection. She’d get a
better kiss one day. She hoped. There were six thousand fans in the
crowd—half the town—surely some guy worth kissing was out
there.

The last row to fall in
was the drum line.

Ethan jabbed at Dylan
with his drumstick. Dylan dodged him, and Ethan stumbled closer to
Li-War with the pointy end out. Li-War had cost more than the
band’s annual budget. No one was touching the lizard on her
watch.

Aria got directly
between Ethan and Li-War. “Come on, Ethan, you’re killing me.”

Ethan made a peace sign
with his drumsticks. “Sorry. It was the wind.”

The September breeze
gusted, carrying down the noise from the crowd. The fans called for
nachos, yelled the names of their favorite players, and chanted the
mascot’s name. “Li-War, Li-War, Li-War.”

Like all bad things,
the chants came in threes. The volume made a mockery of the quiet
that always settled over the stands when the Mighty Lizard Marching
Band took to the field. The crowd never yelled for the marching
band.

Problems had plagued
the band lately. Instrument glitches. Wardrobe malfunctions.
Mid-show quitters. But tonight they were ready. Tonight the crowd
would scream for them.

Maybe.

Aria beat down the
defeatist thoughts and dug for eagerness. The band would march on.
They’d be great.

A gust buffeted her
closer to Li-War, but she held her ground.

Last summer, she’d
gotten the band to protest the football team getting a bigger
budget. The band lost, and the football team bought Li-War. They
didn’t even share him. The lizard’s legs and body formed a tunnel
that belonged solely to them and the band wasn’t allowed to touch
him.

The players grunted and
rubbed his green canvas underbelly for luck as they ran toward the
field house for a restorative halftime pep talk.

The band had to watch
the game through to the end, but the players didn’t have to watch
the band. There was something wrong with that.

Hunter, the football
team’s captain and last night’s unfortunate date, broke free from
the pack, coming her way.