by Emma Mills
Mr. Tucker’s eyes widened. “Hey, you’re—I know you. My little girl loves you. You’re Blondie!”
“Uh…” Lucas looked a little bewildered.
“No, I know that’s not right. But my wife, she’s got names for all of you!”
“I’m very interested in these names,” Lucas said.
“Well, lemme think, there’s Blondie, Sparkle Prince … Sexy Vampire … Champ, and, uh…” He snapped his fingers. “The Smolder.”
“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” Lucas said. “Is it weird that I know exactly who’s who?”
Mr. Tucker grinned and then looked over at us. “This is your mystery guest? I thought—”
“Yes,” Joydeep said. “This was our plan all along. We definitely did that. One hundred percent intentionally.”
60.
WE HAD TO BREAK IT to Lucas that Existential Dead wasn’t coming, but he took it well, on account of the baffling fact that he was also a fan of Mr. Paint. And he agreed—lo and behold—to go on, just as long as he was interviewed alongside Dan, so he could ask him questions too.
“I want to know everything about Mr. Paint,” he said. “How did he get started? How does he pick the themes? Does he have sponsors?”
Dan returned as Lucas was chatting with us. He sidled up next to me with a dingy looking brown guitar case in one hand.
“Forgot my tour souvenir,” he said with a smile, and then noticed Chris and Lucas. “Hello again.”
“Hi.” Lucas extended a hand and introduced himself once more. It was a disarming habit for a famous person to have. “I can’t believe I’m meeting Mr. Paint. And that you toured with Existential Dead! That’s wild!”
“I did. Just briefly.”
Mr. Tucker, who had ducked out, returned now. “I think everything’s set to go out there. You guys ready?”
“I want to hear all about it,” Lucas told Dan, and then to Mr. Tucker: “Let’s do it.”
“Okay. We need our intros first,” Mr. Tucker said. “You all good to go?”
Joydeep turned to Sasha. “Ready?”
Sasha looked past him, to the sliver of audience we could see from the wings, and then took a few steps away from the group and gestured me over.
“What’s up?”
“I can’t go out there,” she said in a low voice.
“What? Why not?”
“I just. I can’t. I’ll ruin it.”
“Are you serious? You’re great at this.”
“I’m great at this when it’s the four of us alone in a room and I’m not looking at the faces of the people I’m talking to. But this? It’s too much. It’s the spotlight thing all over again. I’ll mess it up.”
“Sasha—”
Joydeep and Jamie joined us now. Joydeep had his list of questions in one hand, a mic in the other. Jamie had a second mic, and he held it out to Sasha, who regarded it like he was offering her a king cobra.
“What’s going on?” Joydeep said.
“I can’t go out there,” Sasha replied. “I’m sorry. You have to do it.”
Joydeep looked confused. “But you’re my co-host.”
“I can’t.” A pause. “You can do this, though. You don’t need me.”
“False,” he said.
“How are we doing, guys?” Mr. Tucker called.
“Almost ready!” I called back.
“Someone’s gotta go out there,” Jamie said.
“You’ve got this, Joydeep,” Sasha said.
Joydeep took a breath to steel himself, and then nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” And with that, he headed out to do the introductions.
“My name is Joydeep Mitra from Sounds of the Nineties. I want to start by saying thanks to everyone for coming out. I’m excited to announce we have two very special guests here with us tonight.” There was a murmur through the auditorium, several excited squeals, a whoop from the back. “First up, is a local guy—a hometown hero, you might say—who is intimately acquainted with the insides of your mouths, owing to his job as a dentist.” A ripple of confusion went through the crowd. “But, he also has some inside knowledge of a little band called … Existential Dead.”
A cheer broke out from a portion of the audience, the kind that cheers for their favorite band name no matter the context.
“Please welcome Dan Hubler!”
The applause that followed was more … a smattering of perplexed clapping. Dan walked out onstage holding the guitar case. He nodded to Joydeep and then turned to acknowledge the crowd. Joydeep went on: “Dr. Hubler is going to tell us all about the time he spent touring with Existential Dead.”
Murmurs ran through the crowd again.
“Our second guest is from a band that you may be familiar with. They’re on the radio, much like myself.” Joydeep grinned in our direction, and then turned to the crowd. “Please welcome, from This Is Our Now, Lucas Kirk!”
There was a loud exclamation, one of mingled confusion and hope, but as soon as Lucas stepped onstage, earsplitting shrieks rent the auditorium.
I’d never heard anything like it. It was hard to tell if it was because the audience skewed that much more toward TION fans than Deadnoughts, or because their collective lung capacity was just that much more powerful.
Lucas crossed the stage to Joydeep, waved to the crowd, and then shook his hand and clapped him on the back like they were old friends. Then he, Joydeep, and Dan took a seat.
Dan set the guitar case down at his feet. The screaming had not paused for one moment.
Lucas just looked good-naturedly at the crowd and did that kind of calm down motion, which cut the noise by half or so. Then he raised his mic to his lips.
“Hi,” he said. The shrieks started again. “All right, all right.” He looked pleased. “Thank you. Thanks for that. And thanks for having me here.”
“We’re happy to, uh. Happy you’re here.” Joydeep blinked, looking down at his sheaf of questions. “We are happy … to see you both…”
My stomach seized. Joydeep had nailed the intro, but he and Sasha had prepared all their talking points for Dan.
“We, uh…” Joydeep shuffled through the papers again. He glanced toward the wings, toward Sasha and Jamie and me. “We are very excited…” His voice was transforming into that of the Radio Joydeep of old.
“Oh, god,” Sasha said quietly from next to me. “Okay.”
“What should we do?” Jamie whispered.
I imagined that facing Sasha across the net during a volleyball match, you’d see an expression similar to the one she wore now. Determined, decisive, something equal parts intimidating and thrilling. Like she was about to do that.
“Give me a mic,” she replied.
“Yes, ma’am.” Jamie handed the mic over to her.
She took a deep breath. And then she headed out onstage.
Relief played across Joydeep’s face at Sasha’s approach, and the smile he gave her was radiant. “Friends, audience members, guests, this is my Sounds of the Nineties co-host, Sasha Reynolds.”
Sasha paused next to the group. There was no fourth chair, since we weren’t anticipating an extra guest. Dan stood, gesturing to his, but Jamie ran out just then with an additional chair and set it next to Lucas’s.
Sasha sat down stiffly. “Hi.” The mic was too close to her lips, and feedback went off. She winced. “Sorry.” At a more normal volume: “Hi. Sorry I’m late. I was, uh. Parking my car.”
“Well, I speak for the whole Sounds of the Nineties team when I say … I’m really glad you found a parking space,” Joydeep said, and Sasha smiled.
“So.” Sasha looked to Dan and Lucas. “Let’s get into it.”
And with that, the interview began.
* * *
Sasha and Joydeep asked Lucas about his experiences going from being a normal high schooler, to auditioning on Pop Talent, to joining TION. Dan even chimed in with some questions of his own, about the music industry, and finding fame at such a young age. Lucas answered everything thou
ghtfully. He was funny and charming and self-deprecating. I would later find that my mom had texted me during the show: He seems like a very good boy!!! Manners for days!!! Alexis, on the other hand, simply texted me a long string of expletives, key smashes, and exclamation points.
“But what I really want to hear about is you, man,” Lucas said eventually, turning to Dan after telling Joydeep and Sasha about his favorite cities to tour in. “How did you get involved with Existential Dead?”
“Existential Dead,” Joydeep jumped in, turning to the audience, “if you’re not familiar, is a nineties grunge band that started in Indiana.”
“They’re vastly underappreciated,” Lucas added.
Dan explained the story of John, his job search, the offer to tour for the summer. Images flashed by on the screen behind them as he spoke. Jamie and I could see them at a steep angle from where we stood—a beat-up van parked at the side of the road, four guys with long hair and sunglasses standing in front of a gas station, posing with their arms folded. A drum set with a plush bear sitting on the bass drum.
“They were never particularly famous,” Dan said. “But the people who loved them, really loved them. And that music, when you heard it, standing in that room … well, it could move you, couldn’t it.”
He smiled a little. “I remember one night, Tyler was, uh … he had, you know, indulged in…” He glanced around the auditorium. “Recreational substances. Anyway, he couldn’t play. Said his hands were too numb, but he insisted the show would go on. I knew some guitar myself, had picked it up in high school, and had been playing around since we’d been on the road, practicing with their songs. So they brought me up onstage with them that night, and I played a gig. I played for Tyler. It was at this dingy little club in North Carolina. I’ll never forget it.”
He leaned down to the case by his chair, rested it on its side, and popped it open.
“Tyler ended up giving me that guitar, and I’ve still got it today, got it right here.”
He pulled an electric guitar out, white with a silver inlay.
Lucas leaned forward. “Holy shit.” His mic didn’t pick it up, but we could hear it from where we stood. He seemed to remember where he was after a moment, and brought his mic up to his face. “That’s his guitar.” He looked up at Dan in awe. “That’s his guitar. That’s the Eat Your Greens sticker. And the lightning bolt scratch, and Mitch Presley’s initials. This is Tyler Bright’s guitar from the Velvet Flycatcher album art!”
A ripple went through the Deadnoughts in the audience.
“It is,” Dan said. “And I’m very lucky to have it.”
“Could I … Could I play it?” Lucas asked.
“It may not be in the best shape … I restring it every now and then, but it’s been a while…”
“Please,” Lucas said.
There was a flurry of activity to find an amp for it—Mr. Tucker eventually located one in the band room—and in the meantime, Joydeep and Sasha asked Lucas about his experience with musical instruments.
“I’m not the best,” Lucas said. “In the band, we don’t really … We travel with musicians, you know, with our band, so there’s not really a focus on us playing or anything. But I’ve been learning guitar for the last couple of years.”
Mr. Tucker had emerged triumphant with the amp by that point, and they set it up onstage and hooked up the guitar.
“Give it a whirl,” Dan said, passing the guitar to Lucas.
Lucas stood, looping the strap over his head, and began plucking out a melody, slow but competent. Shrieks of recognition, or maybe just general shrieks of joy, rang through the crowd.
He fiddled around with it for a little while longer, and then handed it back to Dan amid cheers.
“Will you?” Lucas said. “Please?”
Dan looked ambivalent for a moment, but then conceded. He sat—didn’t even stand like Lucas had—and with the guitar on his knee, he began to play.
He began, more specifically, to shred that guitar like Tyler Bright himself. Like every heavy, intricate riff we had ever heard preceding an absolutely unintelligible Existential Dead chorus.
The surprise on Sasha’s and Joydeep’s faces was probably mirrored on my own.
“Holy shit,” Jamie said next to me, an echo of Lucas.
When Dan finished, the crowd let out an enormous burst of applause. He smiled and then unplugged the guitar and set it back in the case.
“Thank you,” he said, like it was nothing. A dip of his head, a smile, another “Thanks very much,” like it was nothing at all.
61.
I STOPPED RECORDING WHEN LUCAS and Dan left the stage. The sounds of Sasha and Joydeep wrapping up the show were absolutely lost in the noise from the crowd. The two of them joined us in the wings, and the crowd was still cheering when Lucas turned to Dan.
“Can I see it again?” he asked, nodding to the guitar case.
Dan set the case down and pulled out the guitar. Up close, we could see the details Lucas had described—a peeling sticker, a lightning bolt scratch, some initials. The guitar looked beat-up, well-worn.
Lucas held it reverently, and then looked up at Dan. “Twenty thousand.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I want to buy it.”
“Oh, wow,” Dan said. “I think—”
“Twenty-five,” Lucas said.
“You’d really pay that much, just for an old guitar?”
“This band means so much to me, you have no idea,” Lucas said. “And anyway, I’ve spent way more for way less before. You could set your price and I’d pay it.”
Dan smiled. “That’s not exactly how you go about bargaining, son.”
Lucas flushed. “Would you be interested in selling it, though? Could you part with it?”
Dan considered him for a moment. “Well…” He glanced at me. “Give us a second,” he said to Lucas, and moved to the side, away from the group. I followed.
“What do you think?” he asked, conspiratorially.
I blinked. “I mean … it’s yours. If it’s important to you, you should keep it.”
Dan shrugged. “It was a different part of my life. I’m happy to let it find new life with someone else.” His eyes narrowed, crinkling at the edges, looking keenly at me. “Unless of course it means something to you. Then I’m happy to pass it on to you.”
I shook my head. Existential Dead was meaningful to me in a completely different way than it was to Lucas, and a physical representation of it mattered less, I think.
“I’m okay. But thank you.”
Dan nodded. “It’s decided, then.” He moved back to Lucas. “What do you say—I’ll give it to you for five, with ten grand each donated to the school and the charity being supported here tonight.”
“It’s a deal.” Lucas clasped Dan’s hand and grinned, bright and devastating.
Mr. Tucker ducked in.
“Hey, I think maybe we need to go back out and, uh, reaffirm the end of the event,” he said. “I’m not sure people are accepting that it’s over.”
“You know”—Lucas turned to us with a wry smile—“TION always does an encore.”
The crowd roared when Lucas stepped back out with Tyler Bright’s guitar. He pumped one arm in the air, encouraging the applause.
I looked over at Dan. He was beaming.
“This was fun,” he said, looking back at me. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“Thanks for helping us,” I replied. “Thank you for…”
Being here. I couldn’t finish, but I think Dan knew.
62.
SEVERAL PEOPLE ASKED FOR REFUNDS, despite there being absolutely no claims or confirmation of Existential Dead—or any of its living members—performing. Fortunately, among the station and radio broadcasting class members present that night, Mr. Tucker had tapped Sammy to run last-minute ticket sales, and consequently, refunds. “If you really want to take money away from charity,” she said, fixing them with that dead-eyed stare. “If that�
�s what you’re saying. That you gave money to charity, and now you want to take it back.”
A couple of people pressed further. But not most.
Lucas posed for pictures with us, with Dan, with Mr. Tucker and Mr. Tucker’s wife, who he had frantically texted before the start of the show, and their seven-year-old daughter, who was too shy to hug Lucas, but gave the biggest smile when he crouched next to her for their picture. The photo ops ended there; Mr. Tucker had the foresight to lock the backstage area down early on during the event, to prevent people from the audience from swarming to meet Lucas afterward.
Regardless, news of Lucas’s visit to Meridian North had gotten out online as soon as the talk began, and a large crowd of fans had formed outside the school by the time it ended. Future Manager Chris had arranged for a private car for Lucas, and asked if they could leave “from the back,” which may have worked in a restaurant or nightclub, but was somewhat more complicated in a school.
Mr. Tucker plotted a route to the loading dock on the south side of the building that took us through a series of basement passages I didn’t even know existed. The loading dock was near the athletic fields, and if the car could make its way back there, it would be the most discreet exit.
Sure enough, when we wound our way through the school—the Sounds of the Nineties team, Dan, Mr. Tucker, Lucas, and Chris—and emerged at the dock, a sleek black car was already waiting outside.
“Thank you guys,” Lucas said to us, shaking our hands one last time. “So much. This was awesome.”
Chris gave Dan’s hand a brisk shake before crossing around to the other side of the car. “We’ve got all your info. We’ll follow up tomorrow, all right?”
Lucas paused, holding the guitar case to his chest. “You’re sure you’re okay with me taking this now?”
“It’s yours,” Dan said.
“You’re the best. I’m gonna call you next time I’m in town, okay? We can jam.”
“Looking forward to it,” Dan replied.
With one last wave to us all, one last devastating smile, Lucas from TION was gone.
