“I love that.” I turned onto my back and looked at our masterpiece. Remembering the rest of the chairs, I gave her a sidelong glance. “We don’t have to hang the rest today, do we?”
“We can conquer those another day,” she said, her voice faint and sleepy.
I lay there for a while, thinking about our unfinished song and all the songs I’d yet to write. They formed in the shadows of my mind, waiting to be brought to light. And my mom made me think that was possible. The sky was the limit.
When I checked on her again, she was fast asleep, breathing slowly and softly. I was glad she was finally able to get the rest she’d been searching for all day. I grabbed the throw blanket off the couch, moving carefully so that I wouldn’t make any noise. I draped it over her body, and she pulled it close before falling deeper into her long-awaited nap.
The van careened around the corner and sped down Hollywood Boulevard. It was crowded with tourists, as usual, but Bobby expertly wove through the traffic, past the weird street performers in front of the Hollywood Theater. This part of town was famous for its street buskers—out of work actors and musicians trying to make a buck by entertaining sidewalk spectators. Bobby pressed on the gas pedal, speeding past blocks of souvenir shops, street vendors, and even blowing through a yellow light to get us to the shop on time.
He pulled the minivan so close to the curb, the cement scratched the wheels. He winced at the sound as the van jolted to a stop. Alex quickly unbuckled his seat belt and knelt over the back seat to check to see if his drums were okay.
“My poor baby,” he whimpered as he assessed the damage. He let out a sigh of relief, then slapped the back of the driver’s seat. “You could have killed us, or worse—smashed our instruments.”
“Come on, guys!” I jumped out of the car, waving for them to follow me, then sprinted down the block to find our shirt shop, Status Tees—the cheapest T-shirts around. It wasn’t exactly convenient to drive to the most congested part of town to pick up our merchandise, but we had no choice. We couldn’t afford anything else.
A wall of air-conditioning hit me when I opened the door. The store was crammed with racks of shirts and rows of fitted baseball caps—basically anything you wanted to print something on, this was the place to be.
Reggie and Alex rushed in shortly after, their hungry eyes scanning all the possibilities in the shop. But I was not as easily distracted. I looked at the clock above the shopping clerk’s head. It was already half past four, and we needed to be at the Orpheum Theater, set up for sound check, at six. We’d be cutting it close.
Too close.
“Hi, my name is Luke Patterson,” I said to the sales associate, wiping my sweaty forehead with the back of my arm. “I’m here to pick up a box of shirts for Sunset Curve.”
“You guys got here just in time. We close at five today.” He pushed his tinted glasses up the bridge of his nose, then gathered his long blond hair into a ponytail. “Lemme go grab that from the back,” he said before disappearing into the storeroom behind the counter.
I slumped against the glass display case, catching my breath as relief washed over me. I watched Reggie peruse a rack of fitted caps. He plucked a yellow Lakers hat from the top shelf and put it on, checking himself out in the mirror.
“What do you think? Can I pull it off?” He turned his head from side to side, modeling it for me.
“No, but I think I might be a fedora guy.” Alex popped out of one of the aisles in a tan straw hat. He framed his face with his hands. “Pretty great, huh?”
“We’ll have to have a band meeting about hats.” I chuckled against the counter.
When I heard footsteps from the storeroom, I heaved myself into a standing position. Toting a large cardboard box in his arms, the salesman emerged behind the counter and placed it on the glass top.
“All right, that’ll be a hundred bucks,” he said, checking the invoice taped to the top of the box.
“A hundred dollars?” I felt my face flush as I spun around to face Alex. “I thought you said these were cheap.”
“They are cheap—like forty percent less than all the other places I checked.” Alex jutted his chin out, defending his calculations. “We talked about this.”
I racked my brain for the conversation and vaguely remembered discussing the pros and cons of buying merch. We’d all agreed to chip in, but that was before we blew most of our money on Foo Fighters tickets and gas for Bobby’s van. A knot of fear twisted in my chest as I slowly realized we might not have enough to cover the shirts.
“Can I borrow that pen?” I asked. The surly dude nodded in permission. I tore off a sticky note and hovered the pen over the page. I looked to Reggie first. “How much do you have?”
“I’ve got fifteen dollars and …” He paused as he fished for change in his back pocket. He set a fistful of coins on the counter and sifted through, counting under his breath. “And twenty-eight cents.”
I grumbled.
“What? I bought a lot of pens. And those aren’t cheap, you know.” Reggie popped a grape into his mouth.
Wait. Where did he get more food?
I sighed. We were totally screwed if we kept producing such low numbers.
“Here’s forty dollars and nineteen cents from me.” Alex piled his money on top of Reggie’s crumpled bills. He dug into another pocket and produced another wad of cash. “And here’s thirty-two bucks from Bobby. He’s waiting by the car.”
“And I’ve got eight dollars.” I scribbled down my contribution, a tad embarrassed by how small it was, then added up the amounts.
Geez, I wish I paid more attention in math class instead of writing songs during it.
“Oh, wow. We’re close. We’re at ninety-five dollars and forty-seven cents.” I double-checked my math, just to make sure we were within striking distance of the price tag. Sure enough, it added up. I bobbed my head, seriously proud of us. “That’s basically the full cost.”
“Basically?” The salesclerk raised his eyebrows.
“Is there any way you could take out a couple shirts and only charge us for the ones left in the box?” I asked, clasping my hands together.
“That’s a no-go, bro.” He waved his arms and scoffed. “What am I gonna do with a bunch of Sunset Swerve shirts?”
“Sunset Curve,” I said, unsurprised to hear Reggie and Alex correct the clerk at the same time. We’d worked hard to find the perfect band name, and we wanted everyone to know who we were.
The sales guy pursed his lips, looking completely uninterested in the name of our band. Alex held his hands up, a deep red blush creeping across his face. “Okay, sorry. I get it. No discount on the shirts.”
“No can do.” He shook his head slowly. “No money, no shirts.”
“Wait.” I looked at the clock and then back at the street where Bobby was waiting. We couldn’t go to the theater empty-handed, especially since we were so close to getting everything we wanted. “We’ll figure something out. I just need time to think.”
“Whatever, man.” The sales associate sat on a stool and pulled out a comic book from underneath the counter. He held a fist up in solidarity. “Power to you. Just know, we close in twenty minutes.”
Adrenaline spiked my veins as I digested that information. How were we going to get five dollars before the store closed? We couldn’t ask our families for help. They lived on the other side of town and we were short on time. And there was no way the diner would give me another advance on my paycheck.
This can’t be happening.
Shoving off the counter, I joined Alex and Reggie near the front display window to regroup. I paced the small space, hoping an angel would drop the money right in my lap. In the anxious quiet, the bustle of the street filled the void while we searched for a way to come up with the deficit.
“I’m not above begging for it.” Reggie gripped the lapels of his leather jacket and took a deep breath, eyeing each passerby—probably trying to muster the courage to ask them for money.
The music from one of the street performers caught my ear—a man playing his guitar on the sidewalk, his gravelly voice traveling down Hollywood Boulevard. A woman threw a few coins in his upturned hat as she passed by.
An idea slowly started to form.
“That’s it.” I grabbed Reggie by the collar as adrenaline surged through my veins. “We’re going to work for that money. Doing what we do best—singing. For tips. Just like we’ve done at the pier a million times.”
“But we’ve already practiced.” Alex looked worried as he brought his hand up to his neck. He rubbed his throat, right where his vocal cords were. “Don’t you want to keep your voice fresh for tonight?”
“Does anyone have a better idea?” I raised my eyebrows, searching both of their faces. “Look, all we need is four bucks and some change.”
“In less than twenty minutes.” Alex sighed.
“So, let’s put on a show these people won’t soon forget.” I clapped my hands, feeling pumped. We could make that money in no time. Today was our day, and I believed in my boys.
Alex gulped, looking wary, but Reggie wrapped his arm around Alex’s shoulders.
“Come on, live a little.” He shook him, rattling his rigid stance. “Let’s live like there’s no tomorrow.”
I waited in the car to make sure it didn’t get towed while the guys were in the store. Technically, I was in a no-parking zone, so a cop could give me a ticket at any moment. But that had never stopped me before. When you drove around LA in a bulky minivan, sometimes you had to get creative with where you parked.
Leaning against the steering wheel, I watched a musician perform on the sidewalk. He played his guitar with masterful ease, changing chords at the drop of a dime. His scratchy voice reminded me of Tom Waits, and it mixed well with his staticky amp. He was pretty good, and that fact was evident in the decent-size crowd that grew by the minute. I almost lost myself in the show, but then I remembered we had our own to do.
What’s taking the guys so long?
They’d been in the shop for a while, so I knew something was up. It shouldn’t have taken longer than a few minutes to pick up a box of shirts, right? I was on borrowed time in this parking spot. My hands started to sweat as I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Luke burst through the shop doors with Alex and Reggie at his heels. Their eyes were bright, and they all had this determined look on their faces like they were ready for something big. The only thing they didn’t have was that box of shirts.
What are they up to now?
I wish I knew what it was. Sometimes I felt like I was on the edge of the group, kept at arm’s length. I was part of the group but still apart.
“Small snag in our plans. We’re a little short on cash, so we couldn’t buy the shirts—yet.” Luke threw open the side door and grabbed his guitar out of the back seat. “We have twenty minutes to make five bucks.”
“We’re taking our beats to the streets,” Reggie beamed, holding his hand out for a high five. I leaned over the van’s center console and tapped his hand. “That’s the spirit.”
“Alex, you cannot take your drums out of the car,” I said out of the driver’s side window, tapping the clock on the dashboard to remind him of the time. It had taken us forever to squeeze them into the back. “We’re already cutting it close as it is.”
“He’s got a point.” Alex looked at Luke, his eyebrows upturned.
“Don’t stress. I got it covered. Grab your sticks.” Luke smirked, waving away Alex’s worries with a stroke of his hand. He poked his head back in the van, grabbing the handle of my guitar case. “You can leave the car to play one song.”
I turned the car off and joined them on the sidewalk. Luke handed me my guitar.
“All right, guys, we got this.” Luke put his hand on my and Reggie’s shoulders, drawing the group into a huddle for one of his pep talks—like a coach might have with his team before a big game. “Just think of this as another practice. It can only make us stronger.”
Ah, Luke. The eternal optimist when it came to Sunset Curve.
Reggie bobbed up and down on his heels, ready to get started. If Luke was our coach, then Reggie was our mascot, and Alex—the ever-reasonable planner—was the team manager.
Sorry to bring up another sports analogy, but I can’t help it.
Outside of band stuff, I was surrounded on all sides by sports. My older brothers hit the trifecta of school sports, covering all the bases—basketball, football, and baseball. And who was I on Sunset Curve’s all-star team?
I was second-string.
Sure, I added dimension to our sound by playing the harmony to Luke’s melody, but technically they didn’t need another guitarist. Reggie had the bass covered, and Alex was masterful behind his drum set. I wasn’t even great with lyrics—that was Luke all the way. But I had a van that could take us places, and hey—my harmony and transportation capabilities (plus years of friendship) were enough to keep me around.
We broke from our huddle, and Luke headed straight for the trash bin next to the bus stop. He knotted the top of the bag, then lifted it out of the container. Turning it upside down, he slapped the top.
“Drums!” He smiled at Alex. “Okay, boys. ‘Now or Never.’ ”
We hadn’t played a single note before the other street performer interrupted us. He rushed into the middle of our circle, his eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing? This is my corner!”
“We only need five bucks in the next fifteen minutes.” I stepped forward. I felt like I knew the guy better than the others, since I’d been watching him play while the guys were in the T-shirt shop. He was a masterful performer. “I have a proposition for you. Can we share your corner?”
“What’s the split?” he asked, followed by a raspy sigh. “How much do I get out of it, kid?”
“Anything beyond what we need,” Luke said.
“And I’ll throw in a T-shirt.” Reggie smiled, pointing to the shop behind us. “Fresh off the presses.”
“It’s a deal.” The older musician stepped to the side, ceding the sidewalk to us.
“Here we go.” Luke kicked open his guitar case and positioned it in the middle of the sidewalk so that people could give us tips.
“One, two, three!” Alex counted off, spurring us into action.
Luke raised his voice to sing. Without the help of a microphone to boom his voice over the street noise, he belted louder than I’d ever heard him.
He swung his head back, flicking his hair—and the sweat along with it! That earned a gasp from the crowd. A few coins fell into the hat on the sidewalk.
I jumped into the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of a passing gaggle of girls—seriously cute girls with butterfly clips in their hair. I winked, trying to keep them interested in our public display of rock and roll.
Luke hopped onto the bus stop bench, teetering on the tips of his toes as he commanded the crowd’s attention. He played with gusto on a good day because he believed that every show had the ability to propel our band into the stratosphere. Whether we were playing in a small venue or in our garage studio, he belted out our beats with fierce conviction—even if it meant that the owners of the studio had to ask us to lower the volume—and our sidewalk concert was no different.
This was why I’d wanted to join the band. The way he looked up to Dave Grohl was the way I looked up to Luke. I always had—even when we were kids. He just seemed to operate on a higher frequency, and I wanted to be on that level, too.
I’d be lying if I said I was anywhere near as good as he was, and that sorta bugged me, because we’d picked up the guitar around the same time. But it was just a fact, and everyone knew it. Anyone who saw Luke perform knew he was going places.
Sunset Curve was going places.
And as long as they let me be in the band, I’d ride their coattails to the top.
My hand plunged into the guitar case and scooped up the wrinkled wad of cash. I sorted t
hrough it quickly, making stacks of coins on the concrete as I tallied the dollars.
“We made almost twice as much as we need.” I folded the five dollars we needed and handed it to Luke, who threw his head back with a howl.
“What did I tell you, boys? This is our day.” He cackled, his eyes lit up with excitement. “The universe is clearly on our side. We’re unstoppable.”
He bolted toward the T-shirt shop door. I checked my Casio watch, breathing a sigh of relief. We’d made all the money we needed with one minute to spare.
“I’ll get this stuff back in the car.” Alex placed Luke’s guitar back in its case and snapped it shut. He held his hand out to take mine, too.
“Thanks, man.” I pulled the strap over my head, and he zipped it up in the cloth case. He and Reggie headed to the van, and I stayed behind to settle up with the street performer.
“A deal’s a deal,” I said, placing the rest of the money in his outstretched hat. He nodded in thanks and turned to leave, but I stopped him. “I was listening to you play earlier. You’re amazing on the strings.”
“Been playing most of my life. I was like you kids once—doing whatever I could to play a show.” He shook his head as if that time was long gone. “Where was it you said you were playing tonight?”
“The Orpheum.”
“Ahh, named after Orpheus, the guy who went to Hades to save his girl.” He chuckled when I scrunched up my face. “It’s from Greek mythology.”
“Never heard of him.” I shrugged.
“One of the great tragedies. Orpheus never returned, got stuck in the underworld.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Stay in school, kid. Learn something.”
“Hey,” I yelled after him. “What’s your name?”
I figured it was about time I asked. It was the least I could do after he’d done us a solid and let us play on his corner.
Whatever Happens Page 8
