Wesley
O ur senior year, it seemed like all the long nights coming home from practice, only to stay up studying until midnight were finally paying off.
We were in talks to open for Wit’s End, an indie-folk band that we met because they played the coveted Saturday night spot at Dave’s.
After playing for the same crowd every night for a year it was finally something new, and all we could seem to talk about.
“Why do I need to learn about derivatives? We’re going on tour,” Luca groaned. It was nearly midnight, and we were the only group left shrouded in the warm glow of the library lights.
“Because you need something to fall back on,” Garrett ever the pragmatist reminded us. He was the only one who had done his work and was helping Jared edit a paper on Hamlet, which by that point had more red ink than black.
“Let’s be real. If Luca is going to get a real job, it sure as hell won’t have anything to do with math,” I added. We had stars in our eyes. Besides Garrett who was planning on college, the rest of us were excited to graduate and have time to take music seriously.
“You can’t go on tour if you have to retake calculus,” Jared reminded him.
“I hate when he makes sense,” Luca said, throwing himself back, causing the chair to slip out from under him and send him onto the thinly carpeted floor. He sat disoriented as delirious laughter tore from the rest of us until the librarian had to come hush us.
The next week, Garrett, Jared, and I were sitting in the hall outside of Luca’s class waiting for him to get the results from the test that would determine whether or not he passed calculus.
While the minutes stretched by, I got a call from the lead singer of Wit’s End.
At first, I hoped it was the final confirmation for the tour.
Luca would come out of his test and I’d have the news.
But I had no such luck.
“What do you mean you’re underage?” He had this California stoner vocal fry that painfully prolonged the question. “You said you’d been playing there for a year.”
“The tour isn’t for another three months. We’ll all be legal by then. It won’t be something to worry about,” I said, attempting to control the tremor in my voice, so I didn’t sound as hopeless as I felt.
Music had been my anchor over the last four years. But it wasn’t just about me anymore. I didn’t want to let the guys down. I dragged them into this band—sure they weren’t exactly forced, Garrett excluded—but it meant I felt responsible for our success.
“Nah, can’t do it. You broke trust not being upfront in the first place.” He sighed, as if it were a true inconvenience. As if we couldn’t just talk and figure something out. “Have a good life, though.” He hung up.
I wanted to yell, to throw my phone, but that would lead to having a teacher come out and reprimand the behavior, reminding us further that we were only kids. Kids.
Helpless. Stupid. Kids.
Bleary eyed students spilled from the classroom, sending a flurry of clacking footsteps across the linoleum. Amongst them was Luca wearing an unrestrained smile, shoving his test in our faces.
“Look at this B! Derivatives can kiss…” he started, but corrected himself when a teacher cleared their throat behind him.
“Kiss me very sweetly and respectfully.” It was then he registered the strain on the rest of our faces.
“Sorry, I didn’t get an A, but you can at least try to be excited for me. ”
“We lost the tour gig.” Each word was a knife plunging deeper into my chest. I failed them.
“It’s whatever. There will be more opportunities,” Luca said, struggling to hold onto a scrap of optimism. “Either way, we still get to play tonight at Dave’s. And I’m not letting you guys get out of celebrating this.” He punctuated the sentiment by shaking the test.
Normally, going to Dave’s meant seeing Avery and being around her was exactly what I needed.
She’d tell me to knock it off and keep going.
But that night she was going to Caper High’s winter formal with Jasper Willis.
She’d mentioned it casually a month prior, and when she asked me what I thought, of course, I told her to go to the dance.
She’d spent so much time with us that she rarely did anything with her classmates.
Honestly, I was generous giving this guy a shot.
If I was Avery’s date I’d get one of those wrist things with the flowers to match her dress, despite her insisting she thought it was silly, ’cause she’d secretly love it.
Hell, I would have rented a suit even if she didn’t ask.
We’d dance and she’d complain about the DJ, saying she should have been in charge of the music, and she’d be right. Not that I thought about it much.
She called me just as we were about to go on at Dave’s. After some grumbling, Dave let me into his office for some privacy. I leaned a hip against the ancient desk, doing my best not to disturb the stack of papers under one leg that stopped it from tilting.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the dance floor with a football player?” I could hear the faint traces of upbeat pop music coming through her phone. Take that, Jasper, she might be there with you but she’s on the phone with me. “Where are you anyway?”
“The girls’ bathroom. It’s the only quiet place where people aren’t dry humping,” Avery said and made a gagging sound. “Have you talked to Luca about the tempo on the bridge of ‘In Case of Emergency’ and remember, Jared came in early—”
“Ave, we’ve got it,” I soothed. She was always taking care of us.
“I know you do. You’ve got a fancy tour lined up after all.”
“Yeah, we’re a hot commodity.” I couldn’t tell her we’d lost the gig, not when she sounded so proud.
She wasn’t surprised when we were offered it, saying, “They’d be stupid not to want you.
” She had more confidence in me than I ever did, like she saw something I couldn’t.
I wanted to be worthy of how she looked at me.
A pound sounded, rattling the office door.
“I’ve got to go, but I’ll call tomorrow. Try to have fun.”
We said our goodbyes, and I headed back to the bar room. Jared looked out of his depth flirting with a brunette perched on a barstool. I grabbed the collar of his shirt to drag him away, and when he righted himself, he fell into step beside me.
“Hey! I was talking to her,” Jared whined.
“She was taking pity on you,” Garrett said, not bothering to look up from where he was tuning his bass.
Jared flashed a bashful smile. “She said I was cute.”
“And you thought cute was a good thing?” I asked.
“What about you, how was your chat with your girlfriend? Oh wait, I forgot. ‘It’s not like that,’” Jared taunted.
“She’s on a date with someone else tonight,” I reminded them through gritted teeth.
“And how’s that working out for you?” Luca asked.
“I’m playing the long game.”
“And how long are you planning to wait?” Jared asked.
It was their favorite topic. Avery and me. Or, more specifically, how I was too much of a coward to do anything about how I felt about her. They’d caught me looking at her and waiting for her to call one too many times, mimicking me with overexaggerated dreamy gazes.
Garrett saved me from further interrogation by saying, “Can we just get this going? It’s almost eight.”
Over the last year, we’d put in the work to clean up our sound, landing on pop with some classic rock inspiration. We didn’t put a high level of analysis into it. We just wanted to make fun music, especially with everything else that was going on then.
I’d heard Mom and Hudson bickering about money a few times.
She was eight months’ cancer free, but the long-term effects of the hospital bills and treatments were hitting hard.
Hudson offered to pay. It was the first time I realized how much money he must have had to essentially pack up his life and buy a new house to help Mom out.
I was climbing on stage when Dave came up to me.
A few paces behind him was this guy in a leather aviator jacket.
He looked familiar, but in a way I couldn’t place.
I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling as I was hit with a wave of anxiety.
Was he a classmate’s parent who recognized us?
Did he tell Dave that we were minors and needed to leave?
“We have someone else stepping in for your set tonight. You know Martin Hall, he’s big with the regulars and offered to play,” Dave explained. Of course, I knew the name Martin Hall even if I didn’t recognize the man at first. A good old-fashioned rock star. Avery must have had all of his albums.
“You’re cutting us?” I sputtered in disbelief.
“It’s one night. He’s big time and I can’t pass this up.”
“What’s happening?” Garrett asked as he came up to stand at the edge of the stage, looming over us.
“We’re not playing tonight,” I said.
“You’re kidding.” This time it was Jared who spoke.
“Come on, don’t be difficult. We all know I’m doing you kids a favor letting you play here,” Dave said, his voice hardened in warning. He gave us this opportunity and could take it away just as easily.
“One song. We’ve tuned everything and are ready to go. Let us do one song,” I begged.
We needed this. I needed this, just a few minutes where I felt in control again.
“Fine, but after, you’re letting Martin Hall borrow your guitar.”
We played that one song like it was the last time we’d ever perform. Desperation lit us up like gasoline on a campfire. A need to prove everyone wrong.
Wit’s End for dropping us. Dave for replacing us. Martin Hall for thinking he deserved to be up here more than we did. To prove to ourselves that we weren’t going to be stuck here forever.
Once we finished, as promised, I handed off my guitar to Martin Hall. I held on an extra second, and Martin’s storm gray eyes clashed with mine. Acknowledge me, I demanded. He did with the slightest nod of his stubble rough chin.
I watched from the shadows, wanting to stomp away but he started singing and I couldn’t move.
Watching Martin Hall was like observing someone perform an autopsy on themself, guts spilling out. Raw, tragic, and impossible to turn away from. Here I am, all of me and the ugly truth of it. His voice was a low gravel heavy with regret.
When the music ended, it was like time stood still. The only thing I could hear was the hum of neon lights and my own heartbeat. I swear no one was even breathing. No one applauded because no one wanted it to be over.
“Thank you, have a good night,” he said into the microphone before dismounting the stage. He seemed to shrink, turning into any old guy at the bar. “Here, kid.” He handed me back the guitar, and I took it with reverence, amazed that my instrument could sound the way it did in Martin’s hands.
Nothing I’d done had ever come close and I wanted, no needed, to know how to reach that level.
“I—” I tried to speak, but his hunched form was already halfway to the back entrance. I rushed to catch up, only pausing for a moment to rest my guitar on a stand.
“Wait. How are you going to walk away after that?” I burst through the door and shouted down the shadowed alleyway.
“I paid my tab, so there’s no reason for me to stick around.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
He sighed, stopping to fish a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pockets. “What do you want? For me to tell you the song you played was good?”
“I don’t want to be good.” A new hunger clawed at my stomach. I was tired of being pushed aside. “I want to be unforgettable.”
“Then stop playing like it’s the nineties. Make something new. People won’t remember a knock-off version of the Pixies, they want to listen to the one they already own.” He flicked the lighter to life, a warm glow catching on the end of the cigarette. “Say something new.”
“Help us. You’re supposed to be a big deal in the music industry, make us the best new thing,” I goaded him. I didn’t know if I’d ever have another chance like this and I needed to make up for losing the tour.
“Not my thing.”
“That’s fine, I bet I can find some other broke washed-up rock star reliving his glory days to help out.”
He paused, rolling his head back and forth. I held my breath until my lungs burned, certain he would walk away. “You’re a bit of an asshole.”
“Call it determined.”
“I like it.”
“Learned it from my best friend. If that’s a yes, I should probably call her and tell her the news.” Finally, something good.
He blew smoke into the air on a heavy exhale. “Fine. I’ve been wanting to find a new act to manage and produce anyway. But don’t pull shit like this again. And for the record, I’m not broke.”
“Sure you’re not.”
I held it together long enough to give Martin my information. Back inside, a grin tore across my face.
“Where the hell did you go?” Garrett demanded as he crouched to secure the clasps on his bass case. “You skipped out on clean up.”
“Don’t be such a grump. Martin Hall is going to produce our music.”