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The Hush Society Presents...

Page 8

by Izzy Matias


  Cassie is in awe with her, like a proud mum. I take a good look at Amber and notice she’s thinner than Cassie, but not in a sort of unhealthy way. Sometimes we don’t notice the things that hold us back until someone calls us out. But even then, it’s a hard idea to digest that it’s something we do to ourselves that holds us back.

  Amber takes another sip from her cuppa. "I wanted to make it so bad that I knew I had to face my low self-esteem issues. I went to a healing centre and therapy. There’s this stigma about going to therapy. If you need help, you need to go out and ask for it."

  Wow. Loads of people shy away from the idea of going to therapy, but not her. It can’t have been easy, but she did it anyway. Hearing her confide in me makes me respect her even more.

  "A few weeks after I got back, one of my mates brought me to a Hush Society gig where I became mates with Cassie. She bugged me to debut at one of her gigs when she heard that I wanted to be a singer." She glares at Cassie at first, but lights up with a big grin before continuing. Cassie laughs. "It took me a while to let other people listen to my music again because I’d always compare myself to others. It was a hard habit to break since it was ingrained in me to compare my weight with others for a long time…I guess that habit spilled over to music, but I’m glad I’ve slowly stepped out of that trap."

  What a gal! She chose to overcome not just her anorexia, but that part of her that kept telling her she wasn’t good enough. She’s a warrior. A survivor.

  "I always told you you’re awesome!" Cassie teases, nudging Amber’s arm.

  "That’s what I struggled with the most," Amber says and puffs a ring of smoke. "A lot of people were saying that to me, but I never believed it. I’d grown up with this lie that I wasn’t good enough… I had to learn how to believe in myself first."

  Her last line hits home. Benji’s words to me that day we agreed to form a band echoes Amber’s revelation. You have to learn to believe in yourself again. Have I?

  "If you can’t," Cassie says, "that’s what we’re here for, so you have to trust that when we believe in you, it means something." She looks at Amber and then glances at me. "I wouldn’t lie to you about your potential."

  Even if she says this as a general statement, I can’t help but feel that she’s also directing it at me. She believes in me. Just as Benji and Eric does.

  "We have to face our demons sometime." Amber sighs. "It’s the only way to become stronger, more alive, true to ourselves."

  Cassie’s eyes shine with excitement. It must be gratifying to know that her passion for music has affected others in a positive light.

  We sit in silence and let the moment sink in. Chatter surrounds us, the noise of people walking and the cars passing. I inhale deep. My chest soars—motivation awakens after a long subdued rest. I want to be better.

  "I’ve got an idea," I blurt out. I don’t wait for Amber or Cassie to reply before I continue. "Are there any good busking areas round here?"

  Amber perks up and grabs her purse. "I know just the place. I wish I could go, but I’ve an appointment in half an hour. Cassie is more than familiar with it anyway…" She explains the location to Cassie, who nods with recognition.

  Amber’s spiel makes me think about my demons—how I’ve been comparing myself to other musicians. Now that I think about it…even at home. I compare myself to Tamara and Timmy. How they make our parents proud and I constantly disappoint.

  Benji’s told me about that nasty habit of mine time and time again. And now, to see living proof of someone who’s able to overcome that nagging voice in her head…it’s amazing. It makes me want to push myself to be better. I want to believe in me again.

  I’m hoping that busking can somehow ease my obnoxious fears, rid me of self-doubt, and hopefully not an encounter with those damn tomatoes.

  Even though my heart hammers against my bones, I know this is the right thing to do if I want to grow.

  I have to put myself in uncomfortable experiences to grow, to learn to become stronger. Even if it means baring myself in front of strangers.

  What can go wrong?

  …

  A lot, apparently.

  Cassie and I arrive at Market Street—a huge stretch of pavement cluttered with food and umbrella stalls selling knickknacks in contrast to the massive, well-known shops towering round. It’s late afternoon. Like all centres of shopping, it’s packed with tourists and locals walking along the street. There are buskers, artists, traders and activists loitering about. It’s an overwhelming sight.

  I grip my guitar strap hard, twisting and untwisting it as I keep an eye out for the spot to claim my own.

  Ed Sheeran was a busker himself. I’ve got to start somewhere. I’m no stranger to performing in public, but there’s a riot in the pit of my stomach. What if they think I’m horrible? What if someone pelts me with tomatoes?

  Commit or quit, I remind myself.

  "What about here?" Cassie says, standing near the exit of one of the shops. It looks like it’s the centre of the stretch.

  "Not at all visible, ey?" I say and set my guitar case on the ground.

  "Not an inch." She squeezes my shoulder and I freeze for a moment. "Play when you’re ready. You can do it."

  I look up at her, crouched on the ground, then take her hand and squeeze it back. "Thanks."

  I pull out my guitar, pass the white strap over my head, leave my guitar case leaning against the wall, and stand up. Most buskers prop their case open, have a box or hat for spare change, but money is not what I am here for.

  Cassie smiles at me a couple of meters away, giving me the space I need to get in the zone and leave my fears behind. I appreciate the way she’s showing her support.

  I can do this, I try to convince myself. No one knows you here. If they hate you, they’ll never have to see your face again.

  My hands shake as if they’re holding ice. My fingers brush against the wooden board, bumping against the dents and scratches.

  Judy and Nate would have used this opportunity being in a crowded street to do one of our outrageous dares. I think of what they must be doing back at the station, and how in only a few hours since leaving Beverley, it feels as if URadio and my Dad kicking me out of the house was ages ago.

  After warming up my fingers, I inhale deeply and start off with a simple cover of Mumford and Sons’ "Little Lion Man."

  I imagine the song with a full band in an arena. I close my eyes to tune out the images around me. There’s music everywhere—the way the people talk, cars honking, activists chanting and the other buskers. I zoom in on the metallic sound of my guitar. My voice quivers as I sing the chorus.

  The first thing I notice when I open my eyes are the three people standing in front of me, capturing the moment on their mobiles. Years ago, this would have made me stop and hitch, but I have learned to continue a performance amid shocks and distractions.

  Cassie moves closer. She’s beaming. She’s enjoying my performance! My stomach turns to mush. I grin at her as my vocals strengthen and soar through the bridge.

  "Hey! That’s my spot!" A thin lad in his mid-twenties with bleached hair flares his nostrils at me. I continue to the final chorus, ignoring him. He should let me finish my song, out of courtesy, but he pushes past the crowd, shoving one of them.

  I stop mid-chord.

  "What’s your problem, mate?" I ask him. My voice is a notch higher. "I was gonna finish my song and leave. No need to be so rude."

  He pins me against the wall and my face heats up. I smell rotting food and perspiration. What the—"Nobody steals my spot!" he yells into my ear.

  I flinch at the volume then smell brandy.

  "You sham!" he yells again.

  I curse at him and push him away.

  "Stop!" Cassie shouts beside me.

  I pick up my guitar case then swing my guitar towards my back in a swift movement. I take Cassie’s hand with more force than I intend and walk away. I don’t look back, but he’s still muttering insults at us
.

  "I should have warned you about those kind of buskers. They’re territorial," Cassie explains. "For some of them, it’s their only way of making a living."

  "He’s pissed. It’s lads like him that give buskers a bad rep," I say, walking towards the end of the stretch.

  I peek at our intertwined hands.

  We pick another spot where there are more people. This time, Cassie watches with the audience. Is it too much to assume that her proximity is her way of watching out for me when it’s me that feels this crazy protectiveness for her? I had to get us away from that insane bleach busker lad; he seems ready to pounce. All she did was to make me understand his point of view.

  I’m on my second song when the shakiness and adrenalin from the brawl wears off. The audience of ten is clumped around me. Some of them even leave spare change at my feet. I should feel proud, but there’s this need to let those passersby— those barely giving me the time of their day—stop and turn.

  I want to win them over.

  Be so good they can’t ignore me.

  I strum harder, sing louder, and pour all of me out to the strangers around me. The crowd dwindles down in minutes.

  I launch into the next song—Hudson Taylor’s "Chasing Rubies."

  My gaze fixates on Cassie. She jumps multiple times and she grins ear-to-ear. Mentally, I dedicate the song to her. It’s my ode to this moment; my way of telling her how I feel.

  Everything around me blurs except her. Her eyes close. With a smile on her face, she sings along.

  I leave my spot and move to her. She flashes her eyes open, hearing me approach her. With a pick in my hand, I clutch her wrist and pull her with me. Her face goes red, but I continue singing, motioning for her to join me. The audience around us whistles and claps, encouraging her. Flustered, she goes along with it and walks back to my spot—our spot.

  I can’t contain the grin plastered on my face. I sing to her and she stares back at me, still blushing. I want to hold her hand, but can’t, so I try to tell her with my eyes, my voice, this moment.

  It feels so good to perform for her.

  As I sing the last line, the crowd erupts in cheers. I’ve forgotten about them and when I refocus, they’ve multiplied.

  "Thanks for accompanying me up here," I tell Cassie.

  She blushes, but retaliates—"Don’t ever do something like that again!"—then slaps my arm before re-joining the crowd.

  I laugh. She looks cute even when she’s annoyed.

  Towards the end of my set, two teenagers shove each other in the crowd. Cassie spots them right away and tries to stop them from fighting. One of them almost hits her when he tries to punch the other kid. I’m about to stop my performance when more yelling interrupts my momentum.

  "There’s the sham!!" Bleach busker! No way! He points at me whilst talking to a man with dreadlocks who is carrying a multi-coloured ukulele. I can tell by their gestures and facial expressions that they’re angry.

  The fight between the teenagers worsens. I scramble to put my guitar back in her case and zoom in on Cassie. She’s still trying to stop the fighting teens.

  Bleach and Dreadlocks are ready to pounce on us. The audience is a confused mess, unable to locate the true source of the sudden shutdown of music: is it the fight? Is it the angry busking duo?

  I run to Cassie, excusing myself as I pass through a couple of people. "We have to go, now." There is urgency in my voice and I signal my head towards the direction of the angry mob. In an instant, Cassie picks it up. "Uh-oh," she says and this time, she’s the one who grabs my hand and we make a run for it.

  "Thas right! RUN!" Bleach yells at the top of his brandy-infused lungs before howling in what sounds like evil laughter. I think the worst is over, but when I glance back, Dreadlocks is still running after us, shouting that I stole his spot.

  My head explodes into a string of profanities.

  "Faster," I choke out in between breaths. My lungs are already tired from my set and being pushed to the limit as we scramble past throngs of people.

  I focus on Cassie’s red Vans as we run, run, run.

  She makes a sharp right turn, leading us into a narrow alley. I’m certain he’ll find us—we don’t exactly blend here—but Cassie pulls me further along and then makes another turn to a dead-end. She pushes me against the wall before risking a peep out into the alley.

  "Where—" I begin, but she presses her hand against mine and shushes me.

  We’re squished together in this dingy alley, hearts racing fast. It’s like I’m in a Stephen King novel, except instead of horror, we’re part of a thriller scene. I stare down at her worried expression. I move my face closer to hers, but she doesn’t notice—she’s still looking in the other direction, on the lookout for Dreadlocks.

  "I think we’re in the clear," I whisper.

  Her heads whips around to face me and for a couple of seconds, we stare at each other. I can’t tell if this is supposed to be some twisted romantic moment or the scene where we think we’re safe but then something ruins it. At a loss for what to do next, I sigh a heavy breath of relief at the crazy turn of events. So does she.

  Despite the challenges, I find myself laughing. Being called a sham, even out of spite, stings. It hurts, but so does my stomach from the contraction of my muscles.

  Cassie’s got tears of laughter as she mimics Dreadlocks with hand signals: him pointing at me, and punching the air. Cassie punches my chest with both her fists, mimicking the brawl. I pull her to me and hug her. We’re both still laughing.

  What a mad afternoon.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We arrive in Brighton at high noon to a rare sight: the sun shining in a cloudless sky.

  After we grab food, we take a short detour before heading to Lily’s. The weather is brilliant, so there’s no way we’re passing up a day out at the seaside. Lily, who I met the night I stumbled upon The Hush Society at Birmingham, is in charge of Brighton’s gigs. Now that we are staying at her house, I look forward to getting to know her. I still don’t know how she plans to make us all fit in her home— unless she lives in a massive house like Benji or Eric.

  Brighton is our first stop because it’s the furthest point from Manchester, and is celebrating its first ever The Hush Society gig tomorrow night. We drove hundreds of miles, following Amber Skye the entire way. No easy feat considering she drove like she was playing Mario Cart. We shouted at her for breaking the speed limit multiple times. I never took the gal with multi-coloured hair for an aggressive driver. "I’m taking over the wheel the rest of the tour, you mad woman!" Eric chastised her.

  "Welcome to Brighton’s famous pier," Lily says when we arrive. She opens her arms and smiles. She’s got a gap in her teeth, and carries herself with shy confidence. "It’s lovely to see you again!" she says to Cassie. She looks like she wants to hug her, but hesitates and backs away at the last moment.

  I’ve never been to Brighton before. In fact, I haven’t ever been too far from the comforts of Beverley except during festival season. There’s so much life waiting out here, I realise. So much adventure.

  "Thank you, Lily, for growing my baby here in Brighton. I still can’t believe we’ve expanded our reach this far." Cassie beams at Lily.

  "It’s an honourable cause," Benji chimes in, rolling his earphones in his hand. He takes a video and uploads it to this yellow ghost icon on his mobile called Snapchat.

  "You don’t have to share every little thing on the Internet," I say, rolling my eyes.

  "It’s called building an online presence. You need to start doing that, too, now you’re in a band," he says.

  "Highly unlikely," Eric says. "He’s stuck in the 1800s. Complete with the meek chivalry."

  "Bugger off," I say, but laugh.

  "See," Eric says. "How polite!"

  We tease each other as we lag behind Lily and Cassie, who are in deep conversation about The Hush Society hub in Brighton.

  There’s a crowd basking on the rocky seaside. They�
��ve got their brollies—you never know when the weather will turn on you—and sun chairs out.

  I roll up the sleeves of my checkered shirt and Benji adjusts the cap on his head.

  "Oi! Amber! Over here!" Eric waves to Amber.

  She shakes her head and heads towards the pier. She then runs full speed, rips off her shirt and shorts to reveal her bikini, and jumps off the pier.

  We stand there with our mouths agape—Lily gasps the loudest. Cassie tuts.

  "I got it on camera!" Benji smirks, hitting upload on Snapchat.

  "She’s fearless," I say, reminiscing our little chat in Manchester.

  "Right mad." Eric grins. He has a mischievous look on his face—the same one I’ve seen countless times, usually preceding something reckless.

  "She wasn’t always fearless, you know." Cassie’s voice goes soft and gives me this look—this we-have-a-shared-secret look—and I smile back.

  "I don’t believe it," Lily says, her cheeks rosy from shock and embarrassment.

  "It’s the effect of The Hush Society rubbing off on her, methinks." I nudge Cassie. She wrinkles her nose.

  "Was it safe for her to do that?" Benji looks worried, squinting at the sun as we approach the seaside. "I don’t see her anywhere."

  "I’ll be her hero," Eric shouts as he strips down to swimming trunks.

  They must have planned this. Amber and Eric just so happened to have their swimsuits under their clothes?

  We’re so used to Eric’s impulsiveness that neither Benji nor I react with much surprise. Lily shouts after Eric’s running figure. Too late. He cannonballs into the water.

  Her eyes go wild. "He’ll be all right, right?" Lily says with a hushed tone.

  "Don’t worry about it," Benji says in a bored tone, then mutters, "Show off."

  I laugh.

  The rest of us sit on the pebble-filled ground and wait for the adrenalin-chasers to come back. It’s not a pleasant feeling to the bum that I can tell you.

 

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