Resonance – By Monica Ross #3
I donned my small crossbody bag, grabbed my McLaren cap, and went out to the sidewalk. I lived in a four-bedroom 1920s Spanish Colonial on a quiet, tree-lined street in Santa Monica. My brother’s house that he bought so I’d have a place to live while I went to school, because of course he did .
A silver sedan pulled to the curb. I checked the license plate to be sure it was my ride, then climbed into the backseat and confirmed the next stop with the driver. Then I texted Lo:
S/b at ur place in ~15 mins.
Lemme pay for the ride
Too late. Look for a silver Lexus w/ a nerdy girl trying to look cool.
I’ll be the guy looking sleep-deprived
That’s your fault.
He’d sent me a sound wave analysis of "Soar" at 2 a.m.
Guilty as charged
The drive from my place to his apartment near the VA took twenty minutes. When Lobo slid into the back seat beside me, his crooked smile made me weak.
"Hey, Math Doodles Girl."
"Hi, Sound Engineering Guy." I caught a whiff of the soap he used — something woodsy that made me want to climb into his lap and smash my face against his like a cat. I resisted because I am a paragon of self-doubt.
Lo tugged one of my pigtail braids. “Cute.”
“Thanks.” I shoved my glasses up my nose to hide how much he flustered me. "I, um, figure we have an hour and a half, minimum.” I held up my phone. “So I've prepared a playlist and your ‘Intro to the Formula One Halo’ lecture."
His laugh filled the car, and I relaxed. Until my phone buzzed with a text from Karst:
Venue’s already packed. Want me to send someone for you?
“Your brother?”
Over the past week, when we studied or grabbed coffee, Lobo had noticed my big bro’s overprotectiveness.
“Always.” I rolled my eyes but smiled as I texted back.
Too late. On the road. Later, bro.
I hadn’t decided if I’d take Lo backstage after the concert or not.
From experience, I knew everything would change between us once he knew my brother was Broken Wing’s drummer, Karsten Wilk.
I didn’t want that, so I kept putting off the inevitable.
Just like I’d avoided revealing my last name.
Wilk wasn’t exactly common. Fortunately, Lobo dug the band’s music but ignored their personal lives, otherwise he’d’ve put two and two together.
Karst had posted pics and videos of us hanging out, goofing off, even drumming together.
I pulled up my playlist. “RISE L.A. sampler.”
“Besides Wing, who you got?”
I read off the bands. “Blackened, Hush, Shady Grace, Ryan Wells and The Travelers, Shook, Muddy Boots, Black Velvet Machine, Country Blue, Untamed Coaster, and Sam’s Song.”
“BVM’s gonna be there, too?”
“As far as I know. I also heard Diverse Fuse and Devil’s Tea might play.”
He took my phone and scrolled through the selection. “Something for everyone here.”
“Exactly.” I snatched it back. "Now. Ready to learn about safety advancements?"
Lo grinned. "Only if you're ready to hear why 'Soar' has the most innovative bridge progression of any song from 2019." He settled back, bumping my knee with his. "The way they layer the harmonics..."
"With the counter-melody in the second verse?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He turned to me, eyebrows raised. "You picked up on that?"
"Uh, yeah. Mandatory Washington state curriculum, remember?" I quickly hit play on my phone, filling the car with a blistering guitar riff.
The streets around the Hollywood Bowl were gridlocked, but I didn’t mind. Lobo leaned close to see my screen as I explained the airflow effects of the F1 halo, and his hand occasionally brushed mine when he pointed at graphs and asked questions.
Finally, our driver approached our destination, slow-rolling along Highland. Lines of cars ooched into the Bowl’s parking lots and a sea of hipsters, rockers, and chicks in Daisy Dukes and cowboy hats moved toward the venue. Definitely a mixed crowd.
“You know what?” I leaned forward between the seats. “We’ll hop out here and walk the rest of the way.”
Our driver glanced in his rearview mirror. “You sure?”
Lobo nodded. “Hundred percent.”
I pulled up my rideshare app, closed out the ride, and gave the dude a massive tip. “You don’t need to waste gas sitting in this mess.” I waved at all the cars going nowhere slowly.
“Cool. Thanks.”
Lo opened his door. “No worries, man. Thanks for the lift.” We slipped out to the curb, and he grabbed my hand. “C’mon, Yaya.”
I followed, thrilled to be holding hands with him, but confused by his use of my nickname. Did he know I was Karst’s sister? Was he playing some kinda game? “Yaya?”
Lobo grinned down at me. “Yeah, like the song, ’cause you’re brilliant and hella fun.”
Blushing, I looked away, and my gaze landed on a group of spectacularly painted lowriders in a nearby parking lot.
A lanky dude with black hair centered the group, leaning against a black Dodge Viper and talking with a cute chick with hair as black as his and a dude wearing a skull mask over the lower half of his face.
The Viper had a red stripe down the middle and a wide body kit, but what really caught my eye was the massive wing on the back.
That was a thing of beauty and had me considering drag coefficients, wind displacement, and downforce.
“If ever there was a snapshot of L.A.’s populace, it would look exactly like this,” Lo said.
I glanced at him, and he was watching the lowriders too. He met my gaze and grinned. “I knew you’d be checking out those cars.”
I laughed. “Guilty as charged?”
He squeezed my fingers. “Yup.”
The energy of the crowd was electric — people talking about music, buying merch, donating food and clothes and money to various relief organizations stationed around the Bowl.
I tugged my cap down and hoped for invisibility as we passed a group wearing olive green "Karst's Army" shirts with my brother's drumming silhouette. One hundred percent of the proceeds from sales of that shirt went to help wildfire victims.
"Some serious fan commitment here." Lobo still held my hand as we got in line. "Did you see that guy with the tattoo of the ‘Wreckage’ album cover across his whole back?"
I chewed my lip. Maybe Karst is right, and I’m an idiot for doing this.
Lo leaned down. "Hey, you good? You got quiet."
"Big crowds are intimidating when you're only five-two." And have been the focal point of a fanatical mob.
He shifted closer, buffering me from the mass of people funneling into the Bowl. "Well, that's what six-foot-one sound engineers are for." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I've got you."
I gazed up at him. “I think you might be my hero, Lo.”
His answering smile lit me up inside. He blocked another surge of concertgoers, keeping me tucked against his side and sheltered from the worst of the crush. "Gonna get nuts today, I think. People really turned out to support L.A.’s recovery."
"That's love," I murmured, and maybe I wasn’t just talking about the generous crowd.
Inside, the pre-show buzz was electric. The Pool section in front of the stage was SRO, and people milled around in the aisles, talking and laughing and not quite ready to put butts in seats.
We picked our way through the tight crowd, Lobo taking the lead, until we reached the Garden seating.
Straight out from the stage, we finally found our seats in one of the low-sided boxed sections.
Lobo kept looking at the tickets, then the box, then the tickets.
“Seriously? How the hell did you get these, Soraya?”
I shrugged and bit my lip. “My brother sent them. They’re pretty good, right?”
Lo stared around. “They’re fucking fantastic.”
“I guess? I mean, they’re not close to the stage or anything.”
He waved that away. “Screw that. The view here is gonna be amazing.”
“Yeah?” I smiled. “Good. I’m glad you like them.”
Lobo shook his head and laughed at me, then he leaned close. "What's your poison? I’m buyin’."
I swallowed, overwhelmed by his nearness. "Um. Whatever IPA they have. But I can give you money."
"Not even. You got the ride and the tickets, I've got the beer." He hesitated. "Wait, you are twenty-one, right?"
I smacked his arm. "Dude, I'm twenty-four!"
"I dunno," he grinned, tugging one of my braids again. "You look like someone's kid sister with the cap and the braids."
I swatted his hand away, trying to ignore how my skin tingled where his fingers had brushed my neck. "Just for that, I want the most expensive beer they have."
"Fair ’nough." His eyes lingered on my face before he turned toward the concessions. "Beer right back."
I laughed and called, “Dork!” as he disappeared into the crowd. But my amusement faded fast.
“You look like someone's kid sister.”
Did he know who I was or was I reading way the hell too much into his teasing?
I pulled out my phone to find more texts from Karst.
Crowd's insane
Sure about the regular entrance?
Soraya? You here yet?
I quickly typed:
Yes. Seats are perfect. Stop worrying.
A while later, Lobo returned and handed me a cup. "Twenty-one bucks for domestic beer is criminal."
"At least it's cold." I settled back in my seat, letting the hoppy taste of beer and Lobo's warmth beside me ease my nerves. We had folding chairs, and when he moved his right next to mine, I didn’t object. At all.
The crew for the first act ran a sound check. I slurped my beer — some pretty good shit brewed in Thousand Oaks — then lowered the cup and remarked, "They should tweak the monitors. The bass’ll get lost in the Bowl’s upper section — there’s too much spill from the sides."
"Yeah?" Lobo cocked his head, curiosity all over his face. "How do you know about the sound issues here?"
My relaxed buzz vanished. "Oh, um, just... you pick things up, you know? Going to shows." I took a longer drink of beer. "Plus, you're into sound engineering, so I checked out the Bowl’s acoustics."
His expression softened. "You researched that for me?"
The genuine pleasure in his voice made my guilt spike, and I looked down, feeling like an asshole.