Amplified

by Tara Kelly

  “There’s a difference between being poor and having no fashion sense. Your refusal of the sundress points to the latter.”

  “I don’t wear dresses. Ever.”

  “Me neither,” Zoe said without taking her eyes off the page. “But I don’t have boobs yet. What’s your excuse?”

  Veta covered her mouth, laughing.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Boobs are overrated.”

  “Okay, I gotta go meet the boys.” Veta slipped her velvet purse over her shoulder. “Wish yourself luck.”

  Forty-five minutes later, I was sitting in Raul’s Café, staring at my laptop and making a small dent in my bean-and-cheese burrito. Veta said the café next door had the best burritos in town. And maybe they did. I’d have to try one when my stomach wasn’t in my throat.

  There were two new listings for rooms in my price range. One down the street—the worst part of town. Then again, I’d spent last night in my car.

  I called the other place, another room in some family’s house. Taken.

  “Please tell me a nasty stomach virus is preventing you from eating that.” Veta stood over me, her thin eyebrows raised.

  “Oh, hi.” I pressed my laptop shut. “It’s great. I got distracted.”

  She slid in across from me and tore off the back end of my burrito.

  “Didn’t you just eat?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but these things are like crack.”

  “So what’s the verdict?”

  “Can I have another bite?”

  I glared.

  A wide, feline smile took over her face. “Well, there’s good news and bad news.” She drummed her fingertips against the plastic table. “I bet you’re the type who wants the bad news first.”

  I exhaled, stuffing my hands in my lap. “Just tell me.”

  “The bad news is, Bryn thinks you’ve got talent, but he’s not sold on your confidence and stage presence. And Sean…” She shook her head. “What the hell happened between you two?”

  “Nothing! I mean, his first words to me were, ‘Your car is in front of an auto shop, genius.’ He treats me like I’m the biggest ditz on the planet.” Not that it was entirely undeserved.

  “He thinks you’re full of shit.”

  He must’ve told them about finding me in my car. “I was getting my toothbrush. It wasn’t what he thought.”

  Veta wrinkled her nose. “Huh?”

  “This morning in my car…” I trailed off when her confused expression didn’t change.

  “I’m dying to hear the rest of this.” She tore off another chunk of my burrito and relaxed back in the chair.

  I gave her the same story I told Sean. “Then he started interrogating me. Like he didn’t buy it.”

  “Usually hotels have those little—”

  “I know, but mine’s electric. I’m attached.”

  Veta’s smile faded, her eyes narrowing at me. She knew. I squeezed my hands into fists and prepared for her to call me out.

  “Sean’s always been a skeptic,” she said. “Or a judgmental prick, depending on who you ask.”

  I let a smile slip despite myself.

  “But this thing with his ex and Teddy…” She paused as if wondering how much to tell me. “Teddy was his best friend. And Amy was one of mine. We grew up together.” She looked out the window, still drumming her fingers against the table. “First loves can fuck you up.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “There’s a shocker.”

  I tried not to read too much into her words, but they still stung. Like the time Dad told me being average looking was a blessing. It would be easier to succeed without boys chasing me.

  “Sean knows he has to get over it,” Veta continued. “He hasn’t liked anyone who’s tried out. And we need a new guitarist, like, yesterday. But it’s a small scene and a lot of people are pissed at us right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She scrunched her nose. “Let’s just say Teddy is a well-liked guy around here. He always gives a lively performance—crowd surfing in a raft, wearing nothing but a Speedo and tiara. You name it, he’s probably done it.” She laughed. “Don’t look so freaked, babe. We don’t expect you to do that stuff. But I won’t lie—you’d have some big shoes to fill.”

  “Okay…”

  “Anyway, certain people—mostly Teddy’s friends—don’t think it’s fair that he got booted over some chick. But Sean couldn’t work with him and, quite frankly, neither could I.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Which brings me to this,” she said. “Bryn brought up the fact that you’re a higher risk for dramarama.”

  “Why—because I’m a girl? Give me a break.”

  Veta leaned forward, the hint of a smirk on her lips. “Jailbait girl living with three guys. Two of them over eighteen. Get the picture, Goldilocks?”

  A blush crept up my neck. “Well, it’s not like I would, I mean, Sean’s cute, but—”

  “You think my brother’s cute?” Her playful tone made me cringe. Why did Sean’s name have to come flying out of my mouth?

  “Um, sure.” I folded my napkin into minuscule squares. “But he’s not my type at all. That’s what I was trying to say…”

  “Good—as long as the attraction stays superficial.”

  “There’s no attraction!” I exhaled a laugh. “God.”

  Her eyes did that squinty thing again. I crumpled the napkin in my palm.

  “You aren’t his type either. Or anyone’s in the band. I pointed that out to them.”

  A sinking feeling settled inside, which annoyed me. I didn’t want to be one of those girls who needed validation to feel worthy.

  “Get that look off your face. That’s good news.”

  “I don’t have a look.”

  “I know this is awkward,” she said. “But we gotta deal with any potential elephants in the room now. We don’t have time to make the wrong decision.”

  People exaggerated on their résumés all the time. This wasn’t any different. I had the skills and, most certainly, the motivation. They’d never have to know.

  Unless I lost it onstage.

  “Okay, here’s the good news,” she continued. “We’ve narrowed it down to you and Dave. Hope you don’t have any plans tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you two are going to battle it out after work. Winner gets to move in tonight.”

  My throat tightened. “Battle…how?”

  “We’re giving you guys boxing gloves and locking you in the studio.”

  “Uh…”

  “A guitar face-off, doofus. We’re going to have Zoe tape it and everything. I can’t wait.”

  “T-tape it?”

  She grabbed the last fourth of my burrito. “Uh-hmm. So we can review it and see who brought it the most. It’s hard to watch you while we’re playing.”

  My palms went clammy. “Great. Who’s going to play Tyra?”

  “Probably Felix. He watches that show religiously.” She licked her fingers, her eyes widening. “You guys should do a catwalk with your guitars.”

  “Whose idea was this?”

  “Mine. And you’re welcome.” She stood up, pulling her purse over her shoulder. “Time to get back to work.”

  I gaped at her, but she turned around and walked out the door, the sun igniting her hair like a red bulb.

  Cameras hated me, especially video cameras. But that was the least of my problems. What if I looked at the strings too much? Or didn’t move around enough? I hope they didn’t expect me to dance. Jason told me I danced like a cat with Scotch tape on its paws.

  Chapter 7

  The band told Dave and me to wait outside while they set up. They either wanted to make us sweat or kill each other. Probably both.

  Dave sported glitter around black-lined eyes and meticulously spiked hair. Chiseled abs and biceps showed through his mesh shirt and he kept his chin high, telling the world he was an alpha male, sparkles and all.
r />   I folded my arms and avoided eye contact. My official buzz-off pose.

  “Nervous?” he asked.

  “Do you care?”

  “If you choke up like you did yesterday, I’ve got this.”

  “And if you—” The door squeaked open, interrupting my comeback.

  Bryn poked his head out, his dreads hanging in his face. “We’re ready.”

  I waved Dave past me. “Ladies first.”

  He paused, scanning my body. “I’d probably look better in a skirt.”

  “Too bad your legs won’t get you the gig.”

  Dave grabbed his gear and walked inside. I took a deep breath as I followed. If his plan was to psych me out, he certainly knew the right place to start. There was a reason Jason and I hid out in his garage. At least there we could focus on what really mattered: the music.

  “Dave, you can set up over there by Sean,” Veta said. “You’re on my side, Jasmine.”

  I let out a soft sigh of relief. The farther away I was from Dave and Sean, the better.

  The band had already taken their positions, each member fiddling with his or her instrument. Zoe circled the room, sticking a mini DV camera in their faces. She wasn’t having much luck with Sean.

  “Quit it!” she yelled at him. “Your skeevy palm is going to ruin the lens.”

  “That’s the point.”

  At least we agreed on something.

  I plugged my guitar into their combo amp, gazing enviously at Dave. He had his own equipment here, which gave him a huge advantage.

  “Smile!” Zoe thrust her camera at me.

  I waved. “Don’t shove that thing in my face while I’m playing, okay?”

  “You can film me.” Dave grinned at her. “I won’t yell at you.”

  Oh, please. Could this guy get any more phony? Zoe didn’t seem particularly interested in him, though. She moved on to capture Felix muttering profanities at his laptop. He looked especially cute today with his blue hair in pigtails.

  “Everyone ready? I got a friend coming over at nine,” Bryn said.

  “Which friend?” Sean asked, pushing his hair out of his face. “The blonde who crashed Daddy’s Mercedes or the one who thought Hemingway was a designer?”

  Bryn’s lips spread into a wide smile. “The one whose friend wants your number.”

  Sean rolled his eyes, like he wasn’t even flattered. “Give her Teddy’s.”

  I bet a lot of girls wanted his number. Until he opened his mouth.

  “I’ve seen a couple of your shows,” Dave said, nodding at Bryn. “The chicks love you.”

  “Is that why you’re here, Dave?” Veta asked. “Hoping to get a little action?”

  Dave tuned his pointy guitar, narrowing his eyes at her. “I have a girlfriend.”

  “Okay, enough dicking around. Here’s the deal,” Bryn said, using his drumstick as a gavel. “We’re going to play the song three times. You’ll just listen the first time. Then we’ll give you each a go at it. Whoever kills it more gets to stay. Clear enough?” When we both nodded, he continued, keeping his gaze on me. “And don’t just stand there. Pretend you’re onstage doing a show with us.”

  I scanned the room, hugging my guitar closer to my body. Don’t just stand there. Great. Any movement more than a couple of feet in any direction and I’d be bumping into someone or something. What did they expect me to do—twirl in place? Do a headstand?

  Dave announced that he’d go first, which was fine with me. More time to prepare.

  The song began with a kick drum loop. Felix added in a bouncy synth after a couple of measures, but the intro needed more punch. I could hear a fast, almost James Bond–like riff cutting in, or maybe even starting from the beginning.

  The loop Felix was playing stuttered, and Veta busted in with a steely combo of power chords. Sean backed her up with a simple but effective bass line. They made me want to mosh, and I hated mosh pits.

  The song was solid; it reminded me of Rob Zombie—only with sultry female vocals instead of his growl. This wasn’t a bad thing—I dug Zombie. But C-Side’s music needed that extra nudge, something to really set them apart.

  The band went right from the end of the song to the beginning again. Dave simply bobbed his head to the intro, missing a huge opportunity. Once the song gained momentum, he dove in with a fast and dirty lick, relying on pinch harmonics to dress it up. Making a guitar squeal for added emphasis sounded cool, but some guitarists didn’t understand the concept of moderation. Still, it was a difficult technique to master. And Dave kicked my ass in the shredding department. He’d probably spent as much time practicing scales as he had jacking off.

  Zoe followed Dave’s movements with the camera. He jutted his hips out and tapped the heel of his boot like some rock star in a bad ’80s flick. Hooded eyes, pursed lips. He looked proud of himself.

  Veta switched from the sultry vocals of the verse to the balls-out chorus. “Back-seat love affair. Give me that leather stare. Hardened ecstasy. You’ll never come down.” Even with hair in her face and tank top straps falling down her shoulders, the girl defined stage presence. She kept her eyes forward, glaring at some invisible force, while keeping a tight and unbreakable rhythm.

  I spread my feet farther apart, mimicking her stance, and moved my shoulders to Bryn’s beat. Maybe I’d capture a little of the magic. Then I caught Sean’s eye, and that plan went to hell. He’d been watching me observe his sister, a smile playing at his lips.

  I quickly focused on Felix. A grin lit up his face as the sound of his chirping pad filled the room. What must it be like to feel that at ease?

  Bryn was a machine of sweat and muscle, every motion controlled as he drove the rest of the band forward. He seemed incapable of error.

  But he was only human. All of them were—I needed to remember that.

  Dave saved his slickest moves for last. He’d come close to stealing the song while Veta was singing, but he really let loose during the vocal break. His fingers flew up and down the guitar’s neck as he rocked back and forth. Bryn intensified the beat, nodding his head in approval. Was he deaf?

  Dave hit every note, but he had nothing to say. No passion. A solo without a story was like a singer with perfect pitch but a dead voice. Technique got a musician only so far.

  I peeked over at Sean, but he appeared to be in another universe. Eyes shut, fingers steady, and not much else. That gave me hope.

  The song came to a steamy end, and Dave gobbled up the last drops of time with a blast of feedback. He flashed me a shit-eating grin.

  To my surprise, Bryn kept the beat going and called out, “You ready, Jasmine?”

  Hell no. “Uh…” I shifted my guitar strap higher on my shoulder and fumbled my hands into position. “I guess.”

  “If you aren’t, don’t waste our time,” Sean said.

  The doubt in his eyes made me burn inside. He’d love to be right about me. Someone needed to give him the memo about not judging a book by its cover.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  A string of thoughts clashed in my head, most of them highlighting the many ways I could mess this up again. Dad always said if I really wanted something, giving myself permission to screw up wasn’t an option. Neither was falling down and crying. According to him, if my grandmother had emigrated from Hungary with that attitude, she would’ve starved to death.

  I closed my eyes, replaying the song in my head and using Bryn’s beat as momentum. That James Bond–like riff came back to me, and I let my fingers do the talking. Felix’s synth joined in, matching my rhythm perfectly. It gave a taste of what was ahead, a massive explosion of sound.

  When Veta’s riff kicked in, my focus shifted to her vocal melody. Songs always put images in my head, kind of like watching a music video. Something to care about and be inspired by—if only for a few moments.

  The chorus made me feel reckless, like I was kissing some guy I barely knew. Back of his car. 2 a.m. Cold leather seat against my skin. The kind of scene tha
t called for a glass slide. Although a beer bottle would’ve been cooler.

  I put the slide over my pinkie and went from one note to the next, keeping the lick sparse and mindful of Veta’s vocals. It added a nice bluesy edge and gave the song more personality.

  Then I remembered that I was supposed to be moving around. Crap. I swayed gently to the beat and opened my eyes, meeting the lens of Zoe’s camera. She watched me through the mini screen, looking bored out of her mind. That couldn’t be good.

  Veta leaned closer to her mic and delivered the next verse in a harsh whisper. I backed her up with a dreamy arpeggio, coloring in a flange effect. The notes sounded like they were drowning in a mythical ocean, the kind with mermaids and cerulean waves. It fit Veta, her softer side at least.

  I’d done a great job of avoiding Dave until the end of the second chorus, just before the bridge. Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Huge mistake.

  Dave rocked from side to side and pretended to play along, his entire body stiff. He shut his eyes and furrowed his brow for added effect. God, he looked like he was doing the potty dance. He wished that was an accurate imitation.

  I turned away, my fingers digging into the strings. My hands began to sweat and an itch probed the back of my neck. Just get through this bridge. It’s almost over.

  I let the first note of my solo ring out after Veta finished her last vocal line. At least, I thought she’d finished. She shot me a confused look and kept singing. My face felt like an oven.

  Veta backed away from the mic, giving me an encouraging smile.

  Last chance, Jasmine. Keep going.

  My fingers swept the fret board, leaving my mind in the dust. Bryn’s beat pushed me forward and Veta’s riff encouraged me to be relentless, unforgiving. I bent the hell out of certain notes, letting them really sing, and barely let others breathe. A pause here, a little vibrato there. Growing in complexity by the second. The melody told them the story I couldn’t. My story—in all its raw and unrehearsed glory.

  I just hoped they bought it.

  Dave and I were relegated to the living room of the main house. He got comfy in a black leather recliner and channel-surfed their plasma TV. I paced back and forth, hands clenched at my sides.