by Tara Kelly
After everyone got set up—Bryn behind the drums, Felix armed with the keyboard and laptop, and Veta behind the mic—Bryn said they’d play the song once through first. Felix would play a prerecorded bass line so I wouldn’t miss anything.
Bryn counted off and slammed the kick drum, Veta backed him up with grinding power chords, and Felix ran a melodic arpeggio over everything. They sounded kind of like the band Garbage on steroids—Bryn wasn’t shy about the tempo and Veta’s distortion was pretty raunchy. Her vocals surprised me the most; they were sugary and fluid—not rough like her speaking voice.
It was the kind of song that I’d dance like a fool to in my bedroom. It hypnotized me, sent tingles up my spine, and took me somewhere completely different.
These guys were really good. Maybe too good. But I had no time for doubts, because they were starting again.
My fingers were slick against the strings, and I couldn’t tell the difference between Bryn’s chaotic beat and my heart. Air escaped my lips, reminding me to breathe. This was it. A chance to be part of a band that completely rocked. And I couldn’t even move.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel the music for a few seconds, pretending it was just me and Jason in his stuffy garage. I yearned for the cinnamon incense he always burned to cover the stench of rusty tools and old engine oil. It made me feel safe. Hidden from the world, from my dad. The one place I could be myself.
The band around me became just another track Jason and I would jam to. We used to imagine ourselves as the guitarists, playing for thousands of people. And I always told myself—one day it would be real.
I heard a gentle delay texture bouncing over the top of the verse—just subtle enough to complement Veta’s riff but not disrupt her vocals. I played a mere three notes and let the delay effect fill in the gaps. My concern was making the song better, not how fast I could shred.
A break in the song featuring Felix’s atmospheric synths and an electronic drum loop gave me a perfect opportunity. I let the overall mood interpret the strings—which turned into almost a bluesy escapade with the wah pedal. When the live drums and Veta’s rhythm started up, I ran the EBow over the strings, taking advantage of the lack of vocals. Each humming note took its time to build until the passionate scream of my guitar filled the room.
When they launched into another verse, I backed off, but Veta didn’t return to the vocals. I opened my eyes, and she leaned into me, chugging another chord progression on her blue guitar. This time I let my fingers fly, following every change with a visceral melody. When I hit on something, she backed me up, almost harmonizing. Neither of us had to guess where the other was going—we just knew.
A flicker of light caught my eye, and I turned in time to see two guys walking through the studio door. The taller guy scanned the room, pausing on me. Every blazing nerve on my skin wilted when I met Clover’s gaze.
My hands fell away from the guitar, causing the strap to detach, and my purple beauty crashed to the floor. The sound of wood hitting thinly carpeted concrete seemed to echo forever.
“Ever hear of strap locks?” Clover asked.
The blond guy who came in with him snickered and whispered something in Clover’s ear.
Veta rushed over and stroked my guitar like it was a wounded animal. “Oh my God. Your baby.”
“It’s cool. She knows how to take a beating.” I held my breath as I picked her up. There was another knick at the bottom, but the damage appeared to be minimal.
“What are you doing here?” Clover asked. He still had his blue mechanic’s shirt on and oil stains on his hands.
“Stalking you, apparently.” I glared at him, hugging the guitar to my chest.
Veta glanced from me to him. “Did I miss something?”
“We met earlier. My car broke down,” I told her.
“Thanks for dropping by to stalk me. But chicks need not apply.”
“Since when, dear brother?” Veta asked, mouth agape in mock surprise.
Clover rolled his eyes when the rest of the band laughed. “To live here.”
Dear brother. Just my luck. I busied myself with opening the guitar case. Time to pack up and get out of here.
“Where you running off to, Goldilocks?” Veta asked. “Don’t let Sean scare you off.”
“You mean Clover?”
Veta let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. “You’re such a dork, Sean.”
“Maybe I should’ve gone with something more creative. Like Jasmine Kiss.”
“It’s my real name. Get over it.”
“Awesome!” Bryn said.
“Are you trying to break into the porn business?” the guy who came in with Sean/Clover asked. With raccoon eyes, fishnet sleeves, and possibly his little sister’s jeans, he looked like every other goth/emo/whatever boy who frequented the mall.
“Like I haven’t heard that before.” With burning cheeks and panicking to find a comeback, I felt like I was back in seventh grade and getting cornered in the cafeteria.
“Now, now, children.” Veta shook her head. “You need to hear her play, Sean. She nailed the first song.”
Felix, who had until now busied himself with his laptop, grinned at me. “Definitely.”
“You’re pretty good.” Bryn flipped a drumstick in the air and caught it. “Don’t know about the wah pedal tangent in the middle, though. We’re not an Eric Clapton tribute band.”
“Don’t mind Bryn,” Veta said. “He just doesn’t want us to stand out from every other band with synthesizers and guitars.”
“It didn’t go with our sound at all,” he continued. “It was totally random. No offense.”
There wasn’t much I could say. I went with what I thought the song called for, not necessarily something that fit neatly into a genre.
“Are you Dave?” Bryn nodded at the guy with raccoon eyes.
“Yep.”
“Sorry, man.” Bryn motioned to me. “We’re doing one more song and then you’re up.”
Dave shrugged. “No rush.”
My stomach twisted at Bryn’s words. Obviously I hadn’t convinced him yet.
“What happened to your rule, Bryn?” Sean asked. He unbuttoned his work shirt, revealing the black Skinny Puppy tee I first saw him in.
Bryn held up his hand. “We’ll talk about it later, man.”
“Whatever.” Sean grabbed a green bass off the wall rack. A Warwick bass no less—thick sound, gorgeous body, no frills. At least he had good taste in instruments.
The band debated which song to play next, “Encryption” or “Acceleration.”
Dave walked closer to me, his dark eyes combing my every move. “Do you always hold your guitar like that?”
I dropped my pick. “Do you always shop at Hot Topic?”
The chatter of the band stopped.
Dave bent down, snatched my pick, and handed it to me. “Good luck.” He grinned and backed away.
I made the mistake of looking over at Sean. He shook his head at me as if he’d been listening to every word. “Try not to drop anything this time,” he mumbled.
I pressed my fingers into the strings again, my throat raw, my legs weak.
C-Side launched into the next song with a pulsating bass line from Sean. Felix cranked up a swirling pad, his head bobbing to the kick-heavy beat. Veta rolled her hips into her guitar, every part of her lithe body shedding a confidence I couldn’t even fathom.
She grabbed the mic when Bryn’s beat softened. “Lost in pictures. Writhing with conviction. You walk among the phantoms you breed.”
The contrasting melodies in the song blurred into nothing but noise in my head. I killed the delay effect and plucked a couple of notes. Somehow my fingers landed on the eleventh fret instead of the twelfth. I muted the strings before the sound could carry too much.
Dave leaned against the back wall. He made a get-on-with-it gesture with his hand.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but Jason’s garage didn’t greet me this time. Instea
d, Veta’s strawberry-scented perfume took up each breath, and I pictured Dave snickering. I could even imagine Sean’s thoughts. This girl isn’t just a clumsy idiot. She’s a clumsy idiot who can’t play guitar. Or read auto shop signs.
The lump in my throat might as well have been Texas.
Something brushed my shoulder and warm breath hit my ear. “Don’t let that jackass psych you out.” Veta nodded toward Dave before twirling back around and grabbing the mic. “You rise above it all. Press my back against the wall. And I can’t hear a thing but your sweet encryption.”
Dave cupped one hand behind his ear now, straining to hear my nonexistent notes. Screw it. I’d rather be another crappy guitar player than the one who chickened out.
I started slow, letting a couple of high notes ring out as an added texture. But the sound felt too crisp for the bottom-heavy song. It needed to get a little muddy. Something an added chorus effect could provide. It certainly worked for the Cure, and they’d been around for the last hundred years.
I played a bit faster, picking up a rhythm. The notes were right, but my playing was sloppy. My fingers felt stiff and numb. Still, I carried on, hoping nobody noticed that my hands were the only part of my body that moved.
Veta howled “encryption” into the microphone, and the song ended, just like a light switch. Flick, and it was over. My chance. My dignity.
All eyes fell on me as if they were waiting for something. Probably an end to the feedback screeching out of my amp. I fumbled with the volume knob until the only sound left was a low hum. Nobody said a word, not even Dave.
I glanced around the room. “So, uh, yeah.”
Brilliant last words.
Chapter 3
Waiting outside C-Side’s studio was senseless, pathetic even. Especially when I had nowhere to sleep that night. But Veta had told me to hang out until Dave finished his set. Who knew why. The guys’d had nothing to say—not even Bryn.
Dave’s guitar was black and pointy, like the invisible horns on his head. His melodies squealed through the walls at predictable times. Fast, technically perfect, and a total KMFDM rip-off. Their later stuff too, which just didn’t compare. He’d yet to change up the sound or try anything that wasn’t completely safe.
The music stopped, and a couple of hoots echoed inside. Who was I kidding? Dave didn’t screw up once. He had it in the bag.
I grabbed my guitars and walked toward the long driveway. The ocean whispered across the street and glittering waves melted into the horizon.
The door crashed open behind me, revealing a chorus of voices and laughter. I picked up the pace, my shoulders inching toward my ears.
“Hey, Goldilocks!” Veta called.
What now? Turn around and wave, maybe. Tell her I really needed to pee.
Footsteps approached me from behind, and I spun around to face Veta. She had a notebook in one hand and a lit cigarette dangling from the other. Bryn led Dave toward the main house, going on about his tight guitar playing. Sean, aka Clover, watched us for a second before following the rest of the guys inside.
“Where’re you sneaking off to?” Veta blew a trail of smoke over her shoulder.
“Just needed some air.”
“Right.”
“So why’d you ask me to stay?”
“Why not?”
I squeezed the handles of my guitar cases. “I don’t know.”
“I need a better reason than that to persuade Bryn to break his rule.”
“Why didn’t the ad just say guys only?”
“Bryn thought it would sound sexist.”
“Um, it is.”
She gave me a half smile. “Nobody expected a doe-eyed girl from Kansas to show up.”
“That’s Dorothy, not Goldilocks.”
“Same difference.” She flicked her cigarette to the ground. “Are you still interested in the gig? Because that second performance isn’t gonna help your cause.”
“I’m interested.” Was I insane? Her brother hated me. “But I don’t think your brother is. In me. I mean, the band—with me.”
“Don’t worry. Sean doesn’t discriminate. He hates everyone equally.”
“And Bryn is antigirl, apparently.”
She laughed this time. “Oh, quite the contrary. Can you hang out awhile?”
“Well, I—”
“Got somewhere better to be?”
“Look, I don’t have a…” I paused, hearing the advice my dad told me over and over. Nobody respects a person who dumps their problems on everyone else. You’re inviting people to take advantage of you. “I need to g—”
“Okay, that Dave guy? Sounds like a replica of Teddy—our old guitarist. And Bryn is the only person who wants another Teddy. The rest of us want more ingenuity, less show pony.”
“What happened to Teddy?”
Veta glanced back at the house. “He hooked up with my brother’s girlfriend. Sean’s been aggro since the breakup. Don’t take it personally.”
I felt a pang of what could’ve been sympathy for Sean. But his attitude toward me sure seemed personal. “I’m still in the running, then?”
She nodded. “You’ve got tricks I haven’t heard yet. And you knew when to scale back and let me shine. That gets you everywhere with me. You’re a little sloppy, which Bryn hates.”
“I’m not sloppy. It’s just—”
“The defensive thing isn’t going to help you either.”
“I’m not—”
“Exactly.” She grinned. “I’m heading inside. You’re welcome to join me. Or not.” With that, she turned around.
I had every reason to take off, but all I could think about was how well the two of us connected musically, like we’d jammed together for years. C-Side wasn’t some lame garage band. They were going places. Places I had no business going without experience.
I followed her anyway.
The scent of dirty socks and grease hit my nostrils as soon as we entered the house. I followed Veta into the kitchen, which wasn’t nearly as kept up as the rest of the house. Pans, grocery bags, and overripe fruit decorated the marble countertops, and a tower of dishes sat in the sink.
Felix was cooking something on the stove, and Bryn leaned against the cabinets, watching him.
“Want more bread with that butter?” Bryn asked, wrinkling his nose at Felix’s frying pan.
Veta laughed and hoisted herself up on the island. I glanced at the contents of the pan, a half inch of butter surrounding a grilled-cheese sandwich.
“He actually butters the bread before he puts it in, too,” Bryn said.
“I hope you don’t eat like that in twenty years,” I said, feeling queasy.
“Hey.” Felix turned and pointed a black spatula at us. “I’m six foot five. I need more than you munchkins.”
Bryn patted the bit of belly peeking over Felix’s skirt. “You were saying?”
“Oh, screw you.” Felix waved him away. “Just because I don’t spend nine hours a day banging barbells around…”
“But that’s how he scores all the hot surfer chicks,” Veta said.
“No, that’s because I rock the board,” Bryn said.
Sean walked into the kitchen. Without Dave, thankfully. “Sorry, man. Felix owns you out there.” His smile faded when his eyes landed on me.
Felix thrust his spatula into the air and made a mock cheering sound.
Veta jumped down and wrapped her arms around Felix’s torso. She nestled her head against his wide back. “You still need to teach me to surf.”
“And I can’t do it on the sand.” Felix glanced over his shoulder at me. “She’s scared of the water.”
“I am not. I just don’t like swimming in it—it stings my eyes and stuff.”
“She’s afraid that the boogie mermaid is going to get her,” Bryn said.
When Felix laughed, she pulled away from him. “I never said anything about a mermaid. But she is real.”
“No,” Sean said, leaning against the refrigerator. “
It’s your over-active imagination that’s real.”
Felix cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered to me, “She sees dead people.”
Great, I thought.
He got an elbow in the side from Veta. “Sometimes I see things,” she said, ignoring Felix’s laughter. “And sometimes it’s just a feeling. But a couple of years ago, I was swimming at Pleasure Point with Sean, Bryn, and some other people, and—”
“We’d just dropped some acid,” Bryn interrupted.
Veta decked Bryn in the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “We were sober,” she continued, moving closer to me. “I felt this force pulling me under. Like a compulsion. And I saw this woman’s face. Her eyes were so…” She wrapped her arms around herself. “They were like black holes.”
“Wow.” That’s all I could say. I didn’t want to give her crap like the guys. But I’d never been one to believe in ghosts—my guess was, she’d lost consciousness and hallucinated without being aware of it.
“Veta,” Sean’s soft voice broke in. “You were knocked under by a wave.”
“It doesn’t change what I felt and what I saw.”
He held up his hands in surrender while Felix kept his eyes glued to the frying pan and Bryn picked at a scab on his arm. The hiss of bubbling butter seemed deafening.
Sean walked over to the sink and opened the dishwasher. His shoulders sagged.
“I was going to empty it tonight,” Felix said.
“Find a new line, Felix. You’re like a broken record.” Sean shook his head and grabbed a handful of silverware.
“Sean’s our housewife,” Bryn said, exchanging a grin with Felix.
Sean flipped him off and shoved a couple of glasses into the cabinet. He and his sister shared the quick-middle-finger gene, it seemed.
“How long have you guys known each other?” I asked.
Felix plopped his sandwich onto a plate and tore a corner off. “I transferred to UCSC last year, and I’d see Bryn around at different surfing spots.” He licked greasy crumbs off his thumb. “But they’ve known each other longer.”
“I met the Ramirez twins”—Bryn motioned to Veta and Sean—“my first day at Santa Cruz High.”
