Chapter 4 Past
Ry paced the stage's shadowed wings, his shoes faint on the wood.
He watched Samantha Kipper, bathed in bright stage lights, her voice sharp as she began her ventriloquist act.
His heart thumped, and his hands were slick with sweat.
The scent of dust filled his nose. Alex, Brand, and Lon stood close, the air tense with anticipation.
Ry stopped pacing as the curtains fell behind Samantha. Ms. Black waved them to be quick and quiet as they set up their gear. They were next.
“Oh god, we are doing this, aren’t we?” he said.
Lon answered, “Yup.”
The whole talent show was supposed to be a joke.
The big arts initiative his dad helped write and champion required schools to host multiple cultural events throughout the year, and what better way than a rock band performance by his son?
A month had passed since the teachers announced the event, and Ry was sure they hadn’t put in enough effort to be ready.
He had told the guys at lunch, when Nancy gave Brand a flyer, that it might be a cool idea.
Because he’d had voice lessons, Ry naturally took on the role of the lead singer.
Brand had taken piano before moving to the States.
Lon drummed everywhere, more of a stim thing than else.
Alex, the only one who had held a guitar or bass before, was left with both instruments.
Over the last few weeks, they met in Lon’s garage, as his parents didn’t care about all the noise.
Occasionally, they’d come out and say, “Hey, y’all sound good tonight.
” They’d been practicing the only song that Alex and Lon agreed on: “Face Down” by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.
Ry memorized the lyrics. Alex dissected the chords as best he could.
Brand worked with the keyboard on the tougher riffs and the melody.
Lon learned the driving rhythm and how to work a drum kit.
Now, they were going to take the stage, performing for the whole high school in the yearly talent show.
They moved as quietly as possible in the dim space behind the backstage curtain.
Alex hooked his guitar to an amplifier. Brand connected the keyboard the school loaned him to another small amp.
Ry helped Lon move and set up the borrowed drum kit, a cymbal shimmering faintly at Lon’s touch.
Ms. Black watched and assisted them as needed, though her eyes wandered her domain.
Weak clapping signaled the end of the ventriloquist act.
“Our next number features a few of our favorite Eagles here!” Principal Kincaid announced. “Please give a warm welcome to Astro Calamitas!”
Minimal applause greeted them as the curtain rose. Ry stepped up to the mic that everyone had been using. Feedback screeched out. The lights blinded him to the audience of his peers. He closed his eyes and imagined the familiar garage instead. This was just another practice.
Lon began with a driving drumbeat, each thump setting an urgent pace. Ry’s heart matched the rhythm. Lon crashed the cymbals, the waves spilling out past Ry to the sea before him. Alex unleashed a torrent of guitar chords that sliced through the air with raw energy.
To add intensity, Brand added his flair on the keyboards, weaving a melody that danced between the music. He covered for Alex’s inexperience, adding depth to the sound.
Ry took a deep breath and opened his eyes, and sang.
The rapid tempo pulsed. Dark lyrics, describing abuse and the things adults thought high schoolers knew nothing about, flowed from him. He invited the audience in so they would not be alone in their pain. His voice held steady as he fell to one knee, hair falling into his face.
The words about being in the dirt, the raw hurt of him being bullied tied to the words, poured out of him and through the mic.
The rise and fall of the song pushed him forward, squeezing every ounce of emotion from him.
The wall of sound from Alex and Brand held him upright, and the beat Lon laid down kept him buoyed until the last line.
The crowd applauded, and they got a few cheers and whistles, probably from Alex’s friends. Ry felt drained and light, as if a strong wind might topple him. Ry bowed and set the mic back on the stand.
“Thank you, Astro Calamitas,” Principal Kincaid said. “Get ready for the cheer squad next!”
The band then headed off the stage, and Ry swayed into Alex’s arms once they were in the wings as the cheerleaders brushed past them. Ms. Black ushered them out from backstage into an empty hallway.
“That was amazing,” he said after a moment. “We kicked ass.”
Lon grinned. “We did. How many people entered? Do you think we are gonna win?”
“Let’s not worry about that,” Brand said, guiding the group to the entrance so they could return to their seats.
“It’s not a big deal if we win or lose,” Alex said, shrugging. He followed Brand. “We gave it all we had. That’s what matters.”
They caught the last of the cheerleader’s performance and then sat near the back of the auditorium. The next group saw a few of the popular girls do their impression of the Mean Girls Christmas dance. And someone Ry didn’t know attempted to copy Napoleon Dynamite.
The acts Ry witnessed made him squirm. The worst by far was a spoken word performed by Hayden Greenstone: a misogynistic poem he claimed echoed Bukowski's genius.
“Shit,” Lon whispered to him. “Couldn’t have been this bad?”
“I hope not,” he replied. “Your mom always said we sounded great, though.”
“Mom is an angel and wouldn’t have the heart to tell us if we sucked, which we don’t.”
After one of the better performers, Michelle Winters, a drama student who delivered a Shakespearean monologue, Principal Kincaid was back on the stage.
“Well, we had amazing performances today. Don’t you think?”
Half-hearted applause came from the audience. High school students were usually more excited about the prospect of a nap or a pizza party.
“We’ve got our judges coming up in a moment with their final verdicts for this year’s winners.”
The cool teachers—Mrs. G., Mr. Holland, and Ms. Valerie—judged the contest. They did every year.
As a group, they headed to the stage, whispering to each other.
Ry, instead of his usual resentment at such events, felt a sudden jolt of anticipation.
He wanted to win. He found it difficult to breathe.
Lon gazed up at the judges, looking entranced.
Brand sat with his back straight, but otherwise appeared calm.
Alex looked over at him and then to the stage.
Ms. Valerie stepped up to the mic.
“Well, we had very good contestants today,” she said. “I have to say, it gets harder to pick a winner every year. ”
She passed the mic on to Mrs. G.
“Tell me about it!” Mrs. G said. Then she laughed. “I’ve never seen such a talented bunch of students. That said, we have decided on our winners. We’ve scored every performance for visual style, raw talent, originality, and, of course, stage presence.”
Mr. Holland took the mic after Mrs. G handed it to him. “I wanted to thank everyone for participating this year. Performing is difficult to do in front of an audience. I’d like a round of applause before we announce the winners.”
Mr. Holland’s call got a more vigorous response than the principal’s earlier plea. Even Ry was clapping. After all, Mr. Holland was hot and chill for a teacher.
He handed it back to Ms. Valerie. “And thank you to the generous sponsors of the grand prize this year: Palm Estates Realty, Downtown Hardware and Company, and the Brooks Endowment for the Arts.”
“Yes,” Mrs. G. said. “Please take the programs home to your parents and tell them about the show today.”
After announcing the winners for best dance, best spoken word, best scene/monologue, and best novelty act, they announced the winner for the music category: the jazz band.
Each winner walked up and received their award and stood for a few pictures.
A bitter taste filled Ry's mouth, a knot forming in his chest.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been patiently waiting for,” Mr. Holland said. “Hit it!” The principal gave a good drumroll. It was awful but funny at the same time. All three teachers drew together, Mr. Holland still holding the mic. Ry sat up, leaning toward the stage. Had they done so well?
“This year’s grand prize winner of the Eagle Talent Show, along with a scholarship of $1000, is—” another dramatic pause. Ry remembered being annoyed at the theatrics last year. But now he held his breath. In a way, the presentation hyped him up more.
“Astro Calamitas!” the three teachers said together. “Congratulations to our winners! Come on up.”
The words echoed in his head. He blinked against the lights, and the heat of the room was close and oppressive. Had he misheard? Yet, his body understood before his mind could catch up, pushing him to his feet. Then Brand and Alex rose, following Ry. Lon stood last and had to hurry.
The teachers and Principal Kincaid smiled at them as they approached. The principal held the trophy and handed it to Ry when he got up on stage.
“Again, congratulations on such a fine show, boys,” the principal said. “You performed fantastically today.”
A flood of heat pulsed through him. He shook hands with each of the judges, flushed.
After a moment, the principal positioned them for the pictures, the band’s excitement palpable as they continued to shift from side to side.
The photographer for the school newspaper and one for the Portland Mercury took a few pictures.
After the photos and a brief interview with both newspapers, Ry finally came back to himself after they moved off to the side of the auditorium.
“We won,” Ry said. “Yeah!”
“We did,” Lon said, his grin wide. “That scholarship money will help.”
“Indeed,” Brand said. “We rocked!”
“Fuck yeah,” Alex said, smirking. “Well, my job here is done. We are cool now.”
“Or you are super nerdy now,” Ry countered, half-punching Alex in the chest. “Nerd.”
Alex smiled and pulled Ry in for a kiss. “Well, we did it. Next stop, the world!”
“I think Portland might be an easier target,” Brand pointed out, grinning ear-to-ear.
Ry grabbed them in a hug. Did the win mean that they’d need to keep practicing and playing? If it meant having shows like today, Ry was all for it.
As if to answer his thoughts, Lon said, “So, we still wanna play, right?”
“Hell yeah,” Ry said, laughing. “We’ve gotta get a show at a proper venue next.”
“I concur,” Brand said, showing off his SAT vocabulary.
“I’m down,” Alex added. “As long as your mom keeps cooking for us, you know. Gotta eat.”
“You guys are the best.” Lon cheered. “I needed that with all that’s going on. Thank you.”
The rest of the school day went by in a blur, and Ry had never been so popular. Other students he’d barely talked to came up to him and congratulated him on the win. A few choir girls giggled and told him he had a wonderful voice. And the choral teacher said he’d sung well.
After that experience, he craved being on stage again.