Amplified

by Tara Kelly

  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 pleasa
nt 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.

  The pick fell between my fingers and evaporated into the floor. I tilted my head back, sucking in my breath, wishing I could disappear with it.

  Veta glanced at me over her shoulder, her full lips turned down at the corners.

  And I knew. I’d just blown my last chance.

  Bryn took apart his drum kit like it was on fire. He’d managed to locate another pair of jeans and a black Mindless Self Indulgence T-shirt.

  I packed up my gear, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Felix helped Veta haul her amp back to the van, both of them whispering as they went.

  “Damaged” by Assemblage 23 blasted out of the speakers, which turned voices into an indistinguishable hum. But I could feel a chill between my shoulders, imagining the cruel remarks being flung at me.

  My mouth felt like cotton, my lower back ached, and weakness preyed on my limbs. Failing wasn’t something I did. Ever. Unless I counted that talent show in second grade. Maybe I should’ve taken the hint then. But I always thought one day I’d be good enough. One day I’d get up on a stage and finally be seen and heard and respected. All the years in Jason’s hot garage, the infected blisters, the days when playing guitar was the only thing keeping me sane, the moments I’d master a new technique or find a melody that gave me chills—it was all supposed to lead me to a night like tonight.

  I’d imagined a mind-blowing high. The pulse of the audience would run through my body, daring me to play better and harder than ever before. My melodies would heal and inspire, make people feel as if I were speaking directly to them.

  This was supposed to be the night I could call myself a real musician.

  “You want help with your amp?” Sean asked behind me.

  “Sean,” Bryn said, his voice thick and charged. “Get over here.”

  Sean jogged over to help Bryn haul the drums offstage, leaving me alone with the buzz of conversations below. I scrambled to wind up my cords.

  “Hey!” a guy called, slapping his hand against the stage. He sounded like the idiot who’d harassed Amy. I kept my back to him. “Hey, chicky—I wanna ask you something.”

  Chicky? What a tool.

  “Why’d they pick you?” His laugh cut above the music. “Do you give really good head or what?”

  Every muscle in my back tensed. I imagined myself whirling around and smashing the toe of my boot into his face, but I just grabbed my guitar and ran. Through the sweltering backstage area. Out the door. Into the cool night breeze.

  The rest of C-Side stood in a tight circle outside the van. Bryn made wide gestures with his hands, his lips moving fast. Veta’s arms were folded and Sean’s head was down. Felix saw me and put a finger to his lips. He broke away and ran back into the club, like he knew something big was about to go down. Something he didn’t want to stick around for.

  Sean turned and headed toward me, leaving Bryn and Veta staring after him. “Go ahead to my car,” he said. “I’ll get your amp.”

  “I can help—just let me put my guitar away.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and turned back to me, exhaling. “You don’t want to walk into that right now. Trust me.”

  “We’re going to the same place. I’ve got to walk into it at some point.”

  “Bryn’s having a party tonight. He’ll be distracted.”

  And I’d rather get this over with. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shook his head and moved past me toward the club.

  My hand tightened around my guitar case handle, and I held my breath. The edge was close enough to taste, bitter and acidic in my throat. It wouldn’t take much to push me over now.

  Bryn jabbed an accusing finger at me as I approached. “You’re out. I want you gone by the end of the month.”

  His words slapped me in the face, making me freeze.

  Veta held her hands up at him. “Bryn, not now, okay? We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  Bryn tilted his chin up, rolling his eyes. “I’m gettin’ real tired of the Jasmine defense campaign.”

  “I’m not defending her.” Veta kept her gaze down, away from me. Not that I blamed her. If I were her, I’d hate me too.

  The midnight air probed at my skin, sending goose bumps up my bare arms. “I—I know I screwed up, but—”

  “You lied and you took us down with you,” Bryn said. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is.”

  I let my guitar case slip to the pavement and wrapped my arms around myself, holding tight. Every part of me wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I had to hold it in, keep my cool. “I’m sorry—I really am. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  “What did you expect, Jasmine?” Veta said. “Lying creates bad karma.”

  I looked down at a flattened cigarette. It had a red lipstick stain around the filter, just like the ones Mom used to leave on the patio. “Karma had nothing to do with tonight. I wanted to be ready, but I wasn’t. I don’t have an excuse.”

  Sean walked by with my amp, his cheeks flushed. He glanced at Veta and me before loading it in the van.

  “So much for your hippie-dippy psychic intuition, huh, Veta?” Bryn let out a bitter chuckle. “Me and Sean called this on day one, and you said no, no, she can do it. Give her time to warm up to us.”

  Sean hopped out of the van. “Bryn, come on.”

  “I give people the benefit of the doubt,” Veta said. “So what?”

  Bryn folded his arms. “Get your head out of your ass, Veta.”

  “Stop talking to her like that,” I said.

  Felix walked by with a bunch of cables, his eyes widening at me.

  “Would you prefer I lie to her?” Bryn asked. “Is that what real friends do?”

  “You’re crapping all over her for something I did.”

  He waved me off. “I got nothing more to say to you, Jasmine. Go back to band camp or wherever you came from.”

  I moved toward him. What did I have to lose anymore? “Having a rich uncle doesn’t make you God, Bryn. It just makes you a spoiled brat with a nice house and a cushy job you didn’t earn.”

  “Oh my God,” Felix blurted out, covering his mouth.

  Bryn’s eyes narrowed. “Are you seriously—”

  “I’m not done,” I continued, the pressure in my chest ready to burst. “It doesn’t give you the right to talk to people the way you do or bark orders at the band like they’re your fucking employees.”

  Bryn slammed his fist into the rear door of the van, making Felix jump back. “Do you ever shut up? Do you?”

  Sean grabbed Bryn’s shoulder. “Chill, all right?”

  Bryn shook him off. “You do not get to talk about me or my family, you got that?” He moved forward, staring me down. “You know dick about us!”

  I wanted to push him down. I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. I wanted to take it all back. Everything was sitting inside my throat, waiting to escape. “All I know is what I see.”

  “And you know what I see?” He jabbed his finger at me again. “I see a—”

  I knocked his hand away. “Get your finger out of my face.”

  Veta stepped between us, her back to me. “Whoa, okay.” She nudged Bryn backward. “I think we’re done for tonight. Let’s just get out of here.”

  Bryn moved around her. “I see an insecure l
ittle girl who’d rather pretend to have the chops than do what it takes to get them.”

  The ache in my throat became unbearable. I felt like I was drowning, losing complete control of myself. I needed to get out of there. Now.

  I snatched up my guitar case and jogged in the opposite direction, wincing at the stabbing pain in my feet.

  Newton’s Whore and a few other people stood near the back entrance, watching. “Uh-oh—that doesn’t look good,” one of them said. Others laughed.

  “Those boots weren’t made for running, sweetheart!” Amy said.

  “Jesus—just leave the poor chick alone already,” a guy with long black hair said. Teddy. I didn’t need his pity.

  “Jasmine!” Veta called. “Where are you going?”

  I ducked behind a brick building, hoping she wouldn’t come after me this time. She didn’t.

  A half moon illuminated only slivers of the alley ahead, and the air reeked of urine and sour meat. I walked faster, closing my eyes. My boot hit something glass. It shattered against a building, ringing through my ears.

  My chest heaved, like I was going to vomit. I dropped my guitar case and sat down on it, running my fingers through my hair. A thudding drumbeat from the club and the hiss of cars were the only sounds filling the space around me.

  I tried to scream, but my throat muscles tensed, letting out just a rush of air. It felt wrong to let go. Anyone could be lurking in the shadows. Anyone could hear me.

  “Get it together,” I muttered to myself. “You have to get it together.”

  I wanted to call Jason but my stuff, including my phone, was in Sean’s car. Because I had to wear this stupid dress. This stupid dress that was meant for someone else. And for what? To fit some ridiculous image Bryn had in his head? An image I’d never live up to.

  Footsteps echoed down the alley. I jerked my head up and saw a lean figure walking toward me.

  “Jasmine?” Sean called, the moonlight outlining his hat. He squinted at me as he approached. “What are you doing?”

  I shielded my face with my hands, staring down at shards of glass and a Coke can. “I have no idea—isn’t that obvious?”