Amplified (13 page)

Sean folded his arms, his jaw tensing.

“Nice guy,” I said.

“That’s Nate—one of Teddy’s friends,” he muttered.

As if on cue, several people up front started chanting for Teddy to get onstage. One would think he was the only person in that band.

I stood on my toes and brought my mouth to Sean’s ear. “This can’t be easy for you.”

He shrugged, but his eyes never left the stage. “I’ll live.”

Amy strutted out, carrying a blue Music Man bass. She’d paired a red and black tulle skirt with a tactical vest, and matching dread extensions protruded from her head like pigtails. I wasn’t sure if it was her first time playing live, but she looked like Xena up there—menacing and gorgeous.

A lanky guy gave us a wolfish grin before getting behind the drums. The infamous Teddy, with long, dyed-black hair and a dragon tattoo above his left pec. It was obvious originality was the last thing on his mind.

Dave was all prettied up in a torn fishnet shirt and those tall boots with a million buckles. He gripped his pointy black guitar, testing his pedals. Not that he used much variety.

The Felix of the band hid behind two keyboards and a laptop. I couldn’t tell if this person was male or female, but I envied them. At least nobody could see if there was fear in their eyes.

“What’s up?” Amy’s voice boomed out to us.

The crowd answered with hoots, whistles, and a remark about her tits. A comment like that probably would’ve sent me running off the stage, but Amy grinned wider.

“Thanks, they’re real,” she said.

“Can I check?” the annoying pervert asked.

Amy’s pierced eyebrows rose. “Only if you want my boot up your ass.” She’d have no problems overcoming the scrawny guy, either; her tattoo sleeves didn’t hide the sinewy muscles in her arms.

I glanced at Sean, but his expression hadn’t changed. He just stared straight ahead, like he was trying to see through her.

A dirty synth and a kick drum started up, vibrating the floor and every part of my body.

“We’re the newly birthed Newton’s Whore,” Amy’s husky voice echoed. “And this first song is ‘Contagious.’”

Teddy launched into a full beat, and Amy stomped her boot in rhythm, her fingers plucking the E and A strings. The bass line was fast and sporadic, almost punklike. Dave followed with quick but controlled power chords.

Amy’s staccato vocals fell somewhere between singing and spoken word. Her eyes flirted with the audience, and her upper body moved with the grace of a snake. “Strip down. Overload me with your sensory infection. Strip down. Filter yourself through me.”

Amy oozed sensuality, much like Veta. But she lacked sincerity. Her performance felt deliberate, a couple of notches away from being over-the-top.

Teddy resembled a rabid animal behind the drums. The audience ate it up. People were starting to thrust their arms in the air and push forward.

Dave practically did the splits, headbanging like some ’80s butt rocker. All I could see of the keyboardist was the top of his/her bobbing head.

Hell broke loose during the chorus. Amy’s vocals turned feral as she writhed back and forth with her bass. “All you are is a twisted disease. Contagious, methodic. You fuck me up. You knock me down. You spread yourself around, and then you do it again.”

Despite the pumping fists in front of me, I wasn’t fooled. Amy had a healthy dose of angst and a catchy bass line. She knew how to suck people in and fire them up. But she didn’t know how to sink her teeth into them. Not like Veta did.

Dave jumped around the stage now, chugging his guitar in any position he could muster. He came up behind Amy and she slumped against him, tilting her head toward the ceiling. A guttural roar escaped her throat.

Teddy’s black hair fell across his sweaty face, his arms stuck on fast-forward. Every movement was jerky and furious—as if he were inhaling Amy’s rage.

A warm body shoved me forward, sending my forehead into a girl’s back. She shot me an annoyed look and shouted something I couldn’t make out.

Arms encircled my waist, gripping me harder than necessary. “Sorry, baby!” a male voice hollered into my ear. “You all right?” His breath stank of vodka and smoke.

I turned my head to find a set of unfamiliar eyes. They belonged to a guy not much taller than me but at least twice as wide.

I ripped myself out of his grasp and moved away.

Sean wedged himself between us. People were jumping and slamming into him. A flailing arm knocked his fedora off, but he managed to catch it.

“There’s a pit forming.” Sean’s lips brushed my ear as he spoke. “Did you want to be in it?”

“No!”

Newton’s Whore finished “Contagious,” and the crowd roared around us.

“Didn’t think so.” He put his hat back on, grinning.

“Don’t start. It has nothing to do with being a princess.”

“So you admit to being one?” Even though his voice was low and gentle, it was all I could hear.

I turned back around, watching Amy tune up for the next song. “No, but I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You’ve got no idea what I’m thinking.”

The heat thickened around me, making my throat tense. I closed my eyes. “I want to enjoy the music, not give and receive black eyes.”

“Don’t worry. I got your back.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said. But I didn’t want him to move.

Amy let out a brutal scream, drowning out anything Sean might have said. She danced with her blue bass, dark strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. The rest of the band joined in at breakneck speed.

I could feel Sean taking blows from behind. He’d grab my shoulders to steady himself and then drop his hands. I kept wishing he’d hold on.

His mouth brushed against my ear again. “Move up and to the left a little.”

I did as he said, slipping into a tiny gap between bodies. Sean’s warmth bled through my clothes, and my head rested against his chest.

His fingers ran over the curve of my shoulder, tangling with one of my curls. “Sorry.” He brushed it aside and stroked my upper arm. “You okay here?”

I nodded, experiencing a rather embarrassing shiver. Being so close to him was like the buzz I got from a great song. Every inch of me felt alive.

Amy’s fingers stabbed at her bass strings. “You’re in my head. You’re in my bed. You fill me with dread. You wish I was dead.” She scanned the audience, pausing on Sean. The guitar and bass dropped out, leaving a soft beat and a pad that sounded like a busted piano. Amy’s voice fell into a whisper. “I want to forget…just let me forget.” She hunched closer to the mic. “The taste of your lips, your breath on my skin, how we’d drive for hours and laugh at the world…”

Sean’s chest stiffened. Amy’s dark eyes narrowed at us before she turned away and screeched out the chorus.

She was going to make my first show hell…I could feel it.

My arms shook as I attempted to lift my Diezel amp head. One slip and this beast would crush my toes. Bryn had helped me unload it, but he and Sean were hustling to get set up onstage. Felix kept running to the bathroom every five minutes with his nervous bladder, and Veta just wandered off with some tall brunette, leaving the three of us to do the bulk of the work.

Newton’s Whore took their sweet time packing up. Teddy kept stopping to talk to people in the audience, and Amy got involved in a ten-minute conversation with the sound guy. Bryn said they were doing it to screw us out of time.

Amy packed up her bass a few feet away. She flipped her hair back, revealing two Spanish words tattooed on the side of her neck. The thought of needles anywhere in that region gave me chills.

“It’s Jasmine, right?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I lowered my amp head back down, but I let go a little too fast. It thudded onto the cement floor.

She snorted a laugh, standing up. “Problems?”

I shrugged, hoping she’d keep walking. But she stopped in front of me and opened her mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry about what Veta did,” I cut her off. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Okaaay.”

“I just wanted you to know that.” If only I could find a hole to crawl in right about now.

Her burgundy lips quirked up. “How’d you score the Diezel?”

“I bought it.”

“No shit?” Her smirk grew. “I thought maybe you boosted it.”

“I had a savings—”

“That must’ve been one hell of a piggy bank.”

“It wasn’t a—” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

“Where’re you from?”

I tried to shove my hands into my pockets, only there were none. Stupid dresses. “Over the hill.”

She gave me a once-over. “Saratoga?”

Here we go again.
Saratoga was considered one of the richer areas of the South Bay. “Does it matter?”

She exhaled a laugh and shook her head. “Dave said you were an uptight bitch.”

“He—what?”

Sean came backstage, shooting us a weary look. Amy gave him a little finger wave before turning and making her way outside.

Sean grabbed a cable and draped it around his arm. “Ignore her. She’s just trying to get under your skin.”

“Why? I haven’t done anything to her.” I picked up my amp head again, hunching over with the weight.

Sean grabbed the other end, making my arms grateful. “Because you’re easy.”

“I am not.” We shuffled onto the stage, which overlooked at least a hundred faces. My heart thudded.

“You need a thicker skin or you’re going to find yourself pissed off a lot,” Sean said as we plopped my Diezel on top of a speaker cabinet.

“Nobody wastes time being polite around here, do they?” I gave him a significant look.

“Come on, Jasmine. Does this look like a debutante ball?”

I folded my arms. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to one.”

Bryn came up to us, his forehead moist with sweat. “Where the hell is Veta?”

“She went out back with some girl,” I said.

Bryn cussed and stormed off, more than likely in search of her. Felix hunched over his keyboard, biting his nails.

“Everything okay?” I asked Felix.

“It will be,” he said, his expression not mirroring his words.

Dave, Teddy, and the guy with the bleached Mohawk huddled together in front of the stage. Dave’s eyes flicked to me, and he said something that made the others laugh.

I turned and shuffled backstage, my breath quickening. The pizza churned in my stomach, just as it had the night we went on the roller coaster.
Get it together. You can handle this. You have to handle this.

A hand touched my shoulder. “Hey,” Sean said.

I spun around and made eye contact, but no words came out. He couldn’t see me like this. I needed to get to a bathroom, run outside—do something other than stand here like a trembling idiot.

His green eyes combed my face, and his half smile faded. “Sometimes I meditate before a show. It helps.”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

He looked at his feet, shrugging. “My mom got me into the habit. I prefer running, but that’s not always possible.”

“I thought the crowd would be small.”

“It is.”

Was he kidding? “You said thirty people.”

He took off his fedora, running his hands through his long bangs. “’Cause sometimes it seems that way. But the crowd is bigger than usual tonight. I know Bryn has been really milking the Luna’s Temptation thing online.”

“Oh.”

His brow crinkled. “More people is usually a good thing, Jasmine.”

Oh, yeah. More people to see me have a meltdown or pass out. “I need to finish setting up.”

Bryn sprinted past us, but he didn’t say anything. I hoped that meant he’d found Veta.

“Hang on a sec.” Sean cupped my face and slid his thumb along my cheekbone.

My body tensed. “What are—”

Veta came bursting through the back entrance, stopping me mid-sentence. She raised her eyebrows at us.

“Relax.” Sean dropped his hand. “Your eyeliner was running.” He put his fedora back on and walked off.

I rubbed my cheek with the back of my hand.

Veta ran up to me and put her hand on my arm. Her cheeks were flushed, but
her
makeup was perfect. “I just hooked up with the sexiest girl, oh my God.” Her head tilted back. “My legs are still shaking.”

I held my hand up. “Wait, you did this just now?”

She punched my arm and giggled. “All we did was make out, but her lips—holy crap. I think I’ll be high off them for hours.”

“Where’d you go?”

“The van—there’s a mirror in there, by the way. If you need it.” She must have seen something on my face, because she grinned wide. “But you don’t.”

Bryn jogged backstage, his eyes like blue flames. “We’ve got five minutes!”

Veta grabbed her Gibson and followed him. “Take some breaths, Bryn. You look like you’re going into labor.”

He flipped her off.

I lifted up my hair, fanning the back of my neck. Five more minutes. I had a million things left to check, but I couldn’t even think of where to start.

The guys hustled
onto the stage, but I froze. Tina’s boots ate into my baby toes and the balls of my feet.

Veta linked her arm with mine, leaning toward my ear. “You ready?”

I was supposed to go out there and know what I was doing. But I couldn’t even remember my opening guitar part for “Encryption.” Not to mention, the audience hated me by default. I wasn’t their precious Teddy.

Felix’s phased drum loop started up, followed by a rumbling bass synth.

Veta’s eyebrows pinched together. “Babe?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my throat locking up. “I—I can’t…”

“Come on, girl. We gotta get out there.” Veta yanked me forward, but I tore myself from her grasp.

“No—I’m…” My head felt airy, and the floor moved like a ship on rocky seas. “I can’t remember my part—my opening.”

“Jasmine, look at me.”

I focused on her wide hazel eyes. Felix’s loop kept repeating. It sounded like bubbles underwater, racing toward the surface.

“It will come back to you,” she said. “You just need to get out there and start playing. You’ll be fine.”

I shook my head—no, no, no. I couldn’t do this to them. I couldn’t do this to myself. But my knees felt like jelly.

“You’ve played live before and nailed it, right?” Veta continued. “This won’t be any different.”

“I lied.” The words poured from my mouth. I couldn’t keep them in anymore. “I’ve never done a show in my life.” There was this feeling of watching myself from the outside. I couldn’t actually be spilling my guts in a quavering voice, like some lost little girl. I’d never be that pathetic.

Veta’s mouth opened, and her eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Bryn and Sean appeared in front of us, both of them looking frantic. Felix’s loop cut off.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bryn’s cheeks were getting redder by the second.

“She’s freaking out,” Veta said, her voice tense. She moved back from me, folding her arms.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d be okay. I thought…” There was that whimpering voice again. This wasn’t me. I was stronger than this.

“She lied,” Veta said. “This is her first show. Ever.”

Bryn ran his hands through his dreads. His glare moved from me to her. “I told you we shouldn’t have—”

“Bryn,” Sean said. “Don’t make it worse, man.” He was the only one of the three who didn’t look angry. His face was almost emotionless, but I knew he expected this from the start.

“What’s the holdup?” a guy from the audience hollered.

Bryn moved toward me, his jaw clenching. “Get out there and suck it up, Jasmine. You owe us that much.”

“I know.”
Just give me five more minutes. A little more time, that’s all I need
.

Bryn shook his head at Veta and me, probably wishing he could slug us both. But Veta didn’t deserve his anger.

“It’s not her fault,” I told him.

He shot me another disgusted look before following Sean out.

“I could’ve helped. If you’d trusted me.” Veta backed toward the stage. “But now all I can tell you is—don’t stop. I don’t care how bad you screw up—just keep going.” With that, she disappeared around the corner.

I glanced at the exit. It would be so easy to walk out that door. Never have to face these people again. But where would I go? Back to Dad? Right. I knew him. He’d say “I told you so” and probably slam the door in my face out of pride. There was always the Greyhound station, a one-way ticket to another city. Another place full of strangers. Another place without a home.

No. That would be the coward’s way out. My mother’s way out.

“Sorry about that,” Veta’s voice echoed out to the crowd. “I met this really hot girl, and they had to pry me away from her. It wasn’t pretty.”

People answered with laughter and whistles. Felix started up his drum loop and synth again.

I sucked in my breath, putting one foot in front of the other. Every step pinched and throbbed. Shadowed faces fanned out toward the club entrance, some of them looking right at me. My hands went cold.

“What’s wrong, honey?” someone shouted. It sounded like Dave’s voice, kind of nasally.

I threw my guitar over my shoulder and stared at the ground.

“Here’s a little something you haven’t heard before,” Veta said.

Sean launched into his pulsating bass line, and Veta perched her guitar against her hips, swaying in time to Bryn’s kick-heavy beat. Felix ran his swirling pad in the background, his smile glowing under a blue light. Even Sean, who didn’t seem like the performing type, looked incredibly comfortable up here. His eyes fluttered shut as his long fingers slid up and down the neck of his bass.

I scanned the audience. Heads bobbed in time, arms pulsed, and bodies swayed. Then my gaze locked with Amy’s. The edge of her mouth curved up in a sly smile, and she nudged Dave, motioning to me. He laughed, and she batted her eyelashes, flicking her hair in an exaggerated way.

Veta curled over the mic and sang in a breathy voice. “Lost in pictures. Writhing with conviction…”

Shit. I’d missed my cue, leaving nothing but Felix’s dreamy pad to back her up. The flickering lights made me feel as if I were moving in slow motion. Nothing felt real.

I focused on Veta’s sexy lyrics, waiting for a good place to ease in my arpeggio. My stiff fingers found the twelfth fret and my right hand began picking the notes, clean with a little chorus effect. They sounded like melted butter behind her vocals. Perfect.

Veta lurched forward, chugging out the first chord of the chorus. I hit my pedal to switch to a more distorted sound. The notes came out, but they still sounded clean. I stomped on the pedal again. Nothing. This couldn’t be happening.
Please, please. Work
.

Veta looked over her shoulder at me, mouthing “go.” She thought I’d missed my cue again. Heat inched up the back of my neck. If I didn’t get this to work before my solo, we’d all be screwed. I pressed the pedal one more time, my mind racing. No luck.

It had to be the MIDI—I must’ve plugged it in wrong during the rush. I could either walk over to my amp and change the channel manually or squat down and fix the connection. Both options would make me look like a complete moron.

Screw it. I dove for my amp, nearly tripping over my guitar cord on the way over. There wasn’t a need to look at the crowd—I could feel their laughter burning into my skin. I changed the sound and got back into position. Felix glanced over at me and bit his lip. He looked horrified.

“You rise above it all. Press my back against the wall,” Veta belted. She jabbed her thumb toward the ceiling, which meant she couldn’t hear herself. The sound guy scrambled. At least I wasn’t the only one having problems.

I banged out the end of the chorus and then switched back to my clean channel. But the guitar cord ended up wrapped around my legs again. I twirled out of it, all the while stumbling to play the verse arpeggio in time.

Veta grabbed the mic off the stand and squatted on one foot, her other leg stretching out to the side. She reminded me of a slick panther, hunting for prey. “You think you’re the only one with whispers like chocolate. And I think I’m the only one…who knows you’re full of shit.” She blew a kiss at the crowd.

My hand slid up to the third fret, and I hammered out a fast melody. Veta moved in rhythm, every note jolting her body. She arched her back until the top of her head nearly reached the floor.

It was almost time for my solo. I switched channels again and grabbed my EBow for the lead-in. The violin-like squeal of my guitar took over the song, and I shut my eyes, begging myself to nail this. My fingers were slick and I hit a sour note, but I had to keep going. No matter what.

Veta danced around the stage, bumping hips with Felix. He put his arm in the air and swayed.

I ditched the EBow and charged into the solo. Either Bryn was playing faster or I came in too late—maybe both. I paused for a second and dove in again, but this threw Sean and Veta off, both of them speeding up. Felix’s pad hummed in the background, like some lonely baby bird. Any worst-case scenario I’d imagined couldn’t top this.

I changed up my lick to coincide with Bryn’s beat, tapping my foot to get into the groove. We jelled together again—just in time for the song to end.

“No, I can’t hear a thing. But your sweet…sweet…encryption!” Veta pulled back from the mic, her face serene.

Bryn finished by slamming his snare with more effort than necessary. I didn’t dare look at him.

“C-Side’s new guitarist, ladies and gentlemen!” a guy announced with a laugh. The voice came from the front, right where Amy and her band stood.

I could hear chuckles and see grins on various faces. Other people eyeballed me like I had the plague. Voices and clapping morphed into a distorted hum, making it hard to distinguish words. Probably a good thing.

“Hey, Blondie!” a girl called out. “Get some guitar lessons—and a brush.”

I squatted to fix the connection on my effects processor, wishing I could cover my ears.

“You wanna get up here and try it?” Veta asked, her voice lighthearted but firm. “Didn’t think so.”

Every inch of my face burned, and I had to stop myself from smoothing my hair. It always frizzed out in damp, hot places. Ducking behind my amp for the rest of our short set seemed like a great plan.

Sean’s boots appeared in front of me. “Remember,” he whispered, “thick skin.”

By the time I got the nerve to look up, he’d returned to his side of the stage. I appreciated his intent, but thick skin didn’t grow overnight.

“Some of you already know this one—a little ditty called ‘Puppet Girl,’” Veta said.

This got a few happy sounds from the crowd, much to my relief. I hadn’t killed the show yet. But that girl’s comment kept repeating in my head. Everyone in the club thought I was a fraud. How much worse could it get?

Felix’s melting bell synth filled the stage, and Sean’s flange-tinted bass line followed, creating a dreamy atmosphere. I closed my eyes and tried to be anywhere but here. The smell of hot equipment and sweat consumed every breath, and ice ran through my veins. Here it was for all to see, my insecurity under a spotlight.

My fingers pressed the right strings at the right time, every pluck numb and cautious. I sacrificed my edge—what made my playing mine—to avoid making another mistake.

Veta began strumming a power chord, adding dimension. “Seen, but not heard. You take your cues from shadows. Puppet Girl. It’s time to speak your mind.”

She broke away from the mic and danced around me during the bridge. I kept my eyes downcast, too afraid to move or to even blink. Respect for Veta and the band kept me on that stage, but every inch of me wanted to bolt.

I hit too many bad notes during the next couple songs. Each one felt like an electric shock down my spine, paralyzing me for a few seconds. Veta got a little pitchy near the end of “Acceleration,” but her performance didn’t miss a beat. She moved like a contortionist, using her guitar as a prop. Sometimes she’d teeter on the edge of the stage and draw in a knot of people. They’d reach for her with hungry eyes and parted lips. Other times she’d feed off Felix or Sean, making them graceful dancers in their own right.

But she couldn’t crack me tonight.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel like shaking things up,” Veta said before our last song.

A few “woo hoos” and “yeahs” followed. Someone commented on Bryn’s “hotness.”

“Oh, come on. That was weak!” Veta threw her hands up. “Do you guys want to stir shit up or not?”

The cheers got louder and several people shoved themselves to the front.

“Lose your pants, Bryn!” a girl yelled. Several voices, both male and female, howled their support of the idea.

“Not what I had in mind,” Veta said. “But why the hell not?”

An already-shirtless Bryn stepped out from behind the drums, a big grin on his face. He walked toward the edge of the stage and began doing some awkward stripper dance. Veta played a little riff and sang, “
Bow chica bow bow
.”

Oh God, he wasn’t actually doing this.

I hugged my guitar and peeked over at Felix and Sean. They both kept their eyes down but had little grins, like they’d been through this before.

Bryn pulled off his black jeans and twirled them over his head. Thankfully, he had boxers on underneath.

People, mostly girls, toppled one another to move toward Bryn. He threw his pants into the crowd, creating a tangle of outstretched arms and bobbing heads. Then he took a bow and flexed his guns—as if he were the only guy with biceps.

“Hey, Jasmine! Let’s see you dance.” Amy. I recognized her husky voice. She smiled, but her dark eyes challenged me.

I contemplated taking off Tina’s boots and throwing them at her head. At least my feet would stop hurting. But all I could do was stand there and clutch my guitar, my body shaking.

Bryn reached for my arm.

“Don’t!” I twisted away, ready to whack him with my headstock if necessary.

Bryn leaned his face toward mine, his eyes cold. “You’ve already made us a joke tonight. Might as well humor them.”

I gritted my teeth, my heart pounding. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Yeah? Well, your best sucks.” He stalked off toward the drums.

My entire body sagged, nausea creeping toward my throat. I always did better on tests than I’d expected. Every grade was a pleasant surprise, proof that I doubted myself too much. Not this time.

The band launched into “Back-Seat Love Affair,” Sean’s quick and dirty bass line driving the crowd into a frenzy. I joined in with my James Bond–like lick. It was fast and awkward—easy to screw up. I bit my tongue, my mind repeating
don’t mess up
like a mantra. My chest felt tight, every breath smothered. I was better than this, damn it. I had to give these people more than they expected from me.

Pressure grew behind my eyes. My fingers ground into the strings, playing harder, faster. But I kept fumbling, my brain wanting one thing, my hands doing another. The more I tried to keep it together, the worse the notes sounded. Sloppy, contrived…amateur.