by Holly Hood
It probably was just plain stupid to be going out anywhere with a stranger. I didn’t know anything about him. And my first impression wasn’t the best. I sighed. But he had saved me. He helped me get home. If it wasn’t for Slade I probably would have been trampled by the crowd.
I shrugged, realizing sometimes I just needed to shut off my paranoia and just go with it. I was seventeen and doing a rather poor job at socializing. Most girls my age already had plenty of boyfriends. Plenty of kisses. And plenty of sex, even. I was starting to feel a little freakish. And then I wanted to smack myself for even entertaining these ideas in my mind. Slade had promised me music, nothing more.
I passed the time rather quickly. I made my bed, logged onto the internet, updated my Facebook, and then I brushed my hair. After debating on blush or eyeliner, I slipped on a new pair of flip-flops and spritzed myself with Love Spell.
Finally done, I turned in the mirror, looking myself over, noticing how my white legs stood out against my jean shorts. I really needed some sun. And I finally figured out why I stayed away from black. I was too busy dancing to get any sun, and black only made me look even more ghostly.
I pulled the shirt over my head, fixing my hair. Staring around the room at all my clothes draped over my desk and on my bed, I settled on a purple camisole. I bit my lip, adding a silver necklace, and then I was finally satisfied.
Elliot bumped shoulders with me in the hallway. “Where you going?”
I hurried to the kitchen, checking for Dad, trying to dodge his questioning. It was almost ten. I wanted to be outside before Slade made it up to the door.
“Just taking a walk down the beach.” I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Elliot’s door open and close quickly. Crawford nudged my hip wanting to come with me.
“No, you have to stay here,” I told him sternly, pulling him by the collar to my bedroom.
I gave him a sympathetic smile as he plopped down by my bed, his legs strewn across the floor. I shut my door and opened up Dad’s door. He was passed out, one arm across his face, a bottle of Jack in his free hand. I quickly stole the bottle away, taking it with me to the kitchen.
There was a soft tapping on the kitchen door. I looked toward the hallway hoping no one had heard. Putting up a single finger to signal Slade to hold on, I shoved the bottle in the cupboard and finally opened the door.
Slade stood before me, his hands in his pockets. He was wearing another black cutoff and shorts with aviators that rested on the top of his head holding his slicked back hair into place. He flicked his lip ring with his teeth.
“Purple is a bit closer to black,” he said, looking me over.
I smirked, not sure what to say that didn’t sound offensive or rude. It seemed he was always giving me a hard time.
“Maybe once I get some sun I’ll venture into that realm,” I told him, walking down the steps.
“Don’t do anything that you can’t handle.” He smirked, slowly walking alongside me.
We were nearing the giant boulders and this was slowly making me very tense.
“You never said how old you were,” Slade pointed out to me. He sounded a bit bothered.
“Seventeen. Is there an age requirement?” I asked sarcastically. He yanked the fence, letting me in first.
“You look seventeen,” he said, his eyes fixed on what was up ahead, which was the thick crowd of people.
Henry Park was already jam packed and I was already super nervous. I squeezed through the crowds of people hurrying to keep up with Slade. He seared through the crowd, no problem, leaving me trailing in the dust.
I started to become a bit irritated. Why invite someone with you to leave them to fend for themselves still? I kept my eyes pinned to his black t-shirt, trying my hardest to keep up. It finally proved useless once a large man stepped in my way, blocking my path. I tried squeezing past him, but each side held a human wall. The aroma of sweat mixed with ocean water filled my nose, the warmth of the night starting to make my head pound.
“What’s a girl like you doing at a Kings concert?” the scruffy man asked me. He crossed his big arms, staring down at me. I clenched my fist.
Slade suddenly broke through, pushing the man out of my way. “She’s with me Paul, leave her alone,” he told the man. Paul eased up just the slightest, giving me a hard glare now. These people weren’t the friendliest, I thought to myself.
This time Slade grabbed me by the wrist. He tugged me through the crowd, rushing past everyone and everything until he hit a clearing in the grass. Black wires trailed up to the stage and disappeared underneath.
“Isn’t this far enough?” I asked him as he passed the stage. He jumped over a pile of cables and I quickly did the same, following his lead.
“I told you I would show you some real music,” he said, winding around the back of the stage to a giant tour bus.
Finally, he stopped. I surveyed my surroundings. A red and black tour bus parked in the grass with the band’s name in tattered black letters and a giant skull tattoo emblazoned across its side.
“Won’t the band be mad?” I stammered. I felt like I was in the belly of the beast.
Slade went to the front of the tour bus. He planted a foot on the bumper. “Not if you’re with me.” He climbed quickly to the roof. I watched in amazement at how agile he was.
“So what’s so special about you that it wouldn’t matter?” I asked. I craned my head back to set my eyes on him. He dropped to his stomach, dropping a hand down. I reluctantly reached out, then stopped.
“I don’t know if I should be doing this,” I said with a sigh. This was beginning to feel bizarre. A concert in a park, sure. But a secluded rooftop at the back of the stage was just silly.
“Just do it. What’s it going to hurt?” he asked, looking at me like I was pathetic.
I took his hand worried he wouldn’t be able to pull me up. In one quick yank he had me on the top of the bus. I carefully took a seat, letting my legs dangle over the edge as the music started up.
Slade leaned back, his palms pressing into the rooftop.
“How long have you been into this band?” I asked him.
He quietly listened to the music, the guitars picking up speed. I wished I could see the band, but all I saw was the lights and pyrotechnics. I stared at the crowd below. They were wild and so dedicated to the music. Maybe it was passion, I thought to myself.
“This band is my family. I’ll always be into this band,” Slade remarked, not taking his eyes off the crowd.
I scratched at my arm. “From what I hear they sound alright.”
Slade scoffed. “Alright.”
I groaned. “Are you always this moody?”
He took his gaze away from the crowd finally. As he looked into my eyes, I realized it was for the first time.
“Your eyes are blue,” I told him as if he didn’t know. Blue eyes and black hair was quite the combination.
He gave me an almost dirty look, not amused. “Your eyes are brown,” he shot back. “And, no, I’m not always moody.”
I nodded, looking away. “Seems that way,” I mumbled.
“Where is it exactly you’re from? Seems to me you’re not used to California ways.” He laughed, only making me angry.
“I’m from Georgia. And I really think you shouldn’t try to come off as anything extraordinary. It’s a state with people like any other.” I crossed my arms.
“Not all people are the same.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
That they weren’t, I thought.
Slade’s body jerked along to the music. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. It seemed he was rather passionate. About music, that is. I wasn’t sure about his other passions in life. I wasn’t sure about anything because he left me in a dull silence with only the music to feed the awkwardness between us.
The band took a break allowing a soft chime of instruments to settle the park. For once I could hear.
“Tell me you’re not impressed,” he said in mo
re of an order then a statement. He turned to face me, his body language not showing the same emotion that his words were. He was cold and distant at all times. His blue eyes held nothing but blankness. And it was a shame because I was sure they would have been great.
“You’re right, they are great,” I said. I crossed my legs Indian style, looking out into the crowd.
Even if I wasn’t sure if the music fit my bill, I wasn’t about to tell him that. I got this feeling that he would be sorely offended if I didn’t rave about Evil Kings of Ink like everyone else did.
“Told ya,” he said, still staring me down for disapproval. I pushed my hair behind my ear. “Your dad, he’s a drinker.” He leaned back against his palms again.
I turned my head to look at him, the wind’s soft breeze tousling my hair. I held it away from my face with one hand. “Yeah, pretty obvious.”
Slade poked at his lip ring with his tongue. “Does he ever hit you?”
I dropped my jaw. Who was he to even question such a thing?
“Absolutely not. He’s not that kind of drinker. He just drinks and passes out most nights,” I said, my face slowly growing hot. I didn’t like to talk about my dad and his drinking. I loved him and I wished he would stop, but I also knew he wouldn’t. But that didn’t make me love him any less.
“Every drinker is that kind of drinker,” Slade informed me, sitting up.
I shook my head. “Not my dad. Anyway, what do you know about anyone? You don’t have the brightest personality yourself.”
Slade rubbed his hands together as if he was ready to pick me apart now. Suddenly, I was sure I’d gone down the wrong road with this guy.
“I can take a couple guesses at you for starters.” He raised one slender finger inches away from my face. “One, you moved here with your father, which means you’re a daddy’s girl. No girl leaves their mother unless they are.”
I swallowed. He brought another finger up. “Two, you’re mad that you moved here. It’s written all over your face.”
I rolled my eyes. That anyone would notice.
He shot up his ring finger. “And three, you are musically inclined.”
I made a weird face. “How would you even know that?”
He rested his elbows on his knees. “You’re very careful where you place your hands, most times you walk you’re on your tiptoe, and from what I hear of your voice, you sing like an angel.”
I looked away trying to hide my embarrassment. I wasn’t used to guys making me blush, and I wasn’t sure why he even was making me blush.
“Am I right?” he asked.
“Maybe you are. Now let me take a guess about you.” I sat up straighter, taking him in.
I wasn’t sure how old he was but most guys my age didn’t have a body like his. His arms housed muscles I only saw the celebrities in movies sport. His tattoos that crept across his muscles so perfectly made me guess he was super hardcore, as Karsen would put it. But something told me there was more of a story there than anyone would guess. The piercing that he liked to play with so much, I believed he added for extra dramatic effect. I cleared my throat, willing to make the attempt.
“You’re maybe eighteen. Your mother didn’t love you enough so you decided to pierce your lip and brand your body to piss her off. You hang around this band because they make you feel like you belong. And most days you wish you were in a band of your own, but you know that probably will never happen.” I met his eyes, waiting.
“I’m twenty. My mother has an assload of tattoos herself, she thinks its art. I have a lip ring because it turns girls on when I do this.” He licked his lip, lingering on the metal for a couple intense seconds. My eyes fluttered with nervousness. “I hang around this band because they are family to me.”
“What about the band part?” I asked.
He grinned, standing up, walking to the edge of the bus, his feet hanging inches off the rooftop. I sucked in a scared breath as he jumped down. I jumped to my feet looking down at the ground for a broken Slade, but he was only running on stage. I sighed, taking a seat, trying to figure out what he was doing.
And then the music kicked on.
A series of guitars softly strummed, the music went from hardcore to mellow and calm. And that’s when this voice started. I was sure it was his, and it took my breath. My heart tensed up, letting out continuous chaotic beats. He was amazing, his voice powerful and a bit raspy. So melodic it had me melting. I wished I knew the song so I could sing along.
The crowd cheered as he went up a few octaves. I carefully climbed down the back of the bus. I had to see for myself that he had this special talent. Pushing through the crowds of women, I made it to the center.
He clutched the microphone inches away from his lips, walking across the stage. He kneeled down, singing into the audience. A couple girls let out passionate screams. And I didn’t blame them. He gave a crooked grin, his eyes full of life now. Finally, he jumped back up, resting the microphone back on the stand. He hugged his hands around the microphone, pulling his aviators down, shielding his eyes from the crowd, making himself look that much more rock star-like.
He rested one foot on the speaker, bellowing out the lyrics. At the end of the song, he simply jumped down, dropping the microphone on the stage. Girls and more girls patted his back and cheered. I couldn’t stop smiling, it was contagious. Slade slowly managed to make it through the crowd of fans.
“Does that answer your question?” he asked, taking me by the wrist again. I could only nod my head as we headed back to the bus. I was sure I was getting the most evil looks from everyone around me right now.
Again he grabbed my hands and easily lifted me to the rooftop. It was as if we were in our own world, no one around, the crowd off in the distance waiting for more music.
“You’re amazing. How long have you been singing like that?” I asked, wanting to know everything and anything he wanted to share with me.
He brought his knees up, resting his arm. “Fifteen. My parents were always traveling around playing music all across the country. When we finally settled here that’s when I started taking it seriously.”
I imagined his life was fantastic, a life only I could dream about. One filled with music that was the life I wanted. Music and dancing, they went hand in hand.
“Do your parents still sing?” I asked him.
“No,” was all he said. He started moving to the music again, turning away from me and the conversation.
I turned, facing the stage again, taking it all in. It was a drastic difference between his voice and the hard rock down below now. The crowd bumped and gyrated to the music, hair swaying back and forth like a slowmo music video. It was astonishing.
I had a million thoughts running through my head. I wanted to say more to him but I wasn’t sure what to even say. He wasn’t the most talkative. I almost felt he didn’t want to converse at all with me.
I dropped my head, picking at my nail polish, at a loss. I wasn’t the girl who knew how to do any of this stuff. But I knew when I found someone interesting. And Slade was interesting.
“You could be a really famous singer someday. Well, I actually can’t believe you’re not already.” I admitted, looking away. I was sure I looked like some silly fan.
“I’m happy right here,” he said, his body moving quicker to the music as it picked up.
“I thought someone like you would love tours and girls going crazy for you.”
“I’m happy right here. I get to sing and do what I love,” he said again. I sighed, going back to the music below us.
“Do you do what you love?” he asked, turning to look at me now, his lip ring flashing in the moonlight.
“I try,” I answered, trying to give a short explanation, one as short as his. If he wasn’t willing to divulge any more information I wasn’t going to either.
“Well, let’s hear,” he said, turning to face me now.
I touched my face, feeling bashful. After hearing him sing I really didn’t
feel too confident.
“I wouldn’t even know what to sing about,” I told him, my face on fire.
“Whatever you want. It can be what you sing in the shower. I just want to hear your voice.” He waited again, his hands gripping his knees.
I stared at him. He seemed serious, but maybe too serious. Finally, after a long silence, he jumped up. “Give me two seconds.”
I swallowed, watching him hop back off of the roof. I waited patiently, wondering what it was he was doing now. He had already impressed me with his voice. What more could he do?
“Hope!” Slade called out from below. Seconds later the head of a guitar popped up. “Grab that.”
I did as he asked, bringing the guitar on the rooftop. Slade did a quick shimmy coming up. He took the guitar from me, taking a seat, his legs crossed Indian style. I sat down in front of him, my stomach in knots. He slowly plucked at each string, looking at me now. “Fast or slow?”
I bit at my lip. “Slow,” I told him, clearing my voice. I took a giant breath, praying I didn’t mess it up. I didn’t want to look like a fool in front of him.
“In all the skies that touch her eyes, in all the seven seas, in all that planets that aligned, she was meant for me. And if the moment passed to soon, she will always be, my little girl, my whole world, she was meant for me.”
I stopped singing. My heart pounded a mile a minute, hitting in my chest so hard I could feel it in my ears.
Slade set the guitar next to him. He gave a big grin, showing his beautiful teeth, ones that I hadn’t even laid eyes on until just now.
“Where did that come from?” he asked.
I shook my head, feeling a bit silly now. “It was a made up song my dad always sang to me when I was younger. I still remember it.” I rubbed at my arm nervously. He still hadn’t said what he thought.
“You’re amazing.” He stared at me.
“Thank you,” I said sheepishly, my smile escaping.
