2. NOAH
Chapter two
I’ve never felt so alive.
I throw back another swallow of smooth scotch, its warmth spreading throughout my body. Still riding the electric high of our set, I smack my palm against the bar and smile as everyone jumps on each other’s backs, all of us drunk on our success, and how far we’ve all come since we first started jamming together.
This is what I live for: the pulsing rush of a killer show, all eyes glued worshipfully to me. Hearing that sea of screaming voices sing with us. Feeling that supernova explosion of pure power the moment I grab the mic.
And to think it all started with a simple encounter in my high school bathroom.
A year ago, Ian approached me while I was taking a leak and made a proposition. He cornered me at the urinal and asked if I would be interested in joining his garage band as a singer, and the idea sparked when he caught me having a totally-normal-completely-casual jam session in the school bathroom the day before. One where I might have been rocking out a little too hard to a cassette tape of Van Halen’s '5150' on my Walkman.
I’m mid-stream when he pops the question, which is maybe not ideal timing, but that’s how Ian rolls. And the idea resonated more than it should have.
Music had always served as a way to drown out the noise when things got a little too loud in my mind—or at home.
It was without much hesitation, and an awkward zip-up, I decided: Fuck it?
Of course, Ian, and his crew, Jada and Cody, had other plans. At our first rehearsal they bombarded me, asking me to help advertise their shows so they could attract a larger audience. Score them bigger gigs at local bars, finer fans, inches in the school paper.
So they could attract more babes.
I wasn’t dense.
I could read between the lines.
Chicks are something I've always been good at, and I guess we all bring talents to the table. But singing in a band was something I’d never done before, or even thought of. I was more used to flirting with Mrs. Willis in Science.
The second I first took the stage at The Velvet Ostrich, my heart was kicking against my sternum. But when those stage lights kicked on, I gripped the microphone and, with a rush of adrenaline, I started to belt out the lyrics to Van Halen, with the crowd singing along at the top of their lungs.
The energy was so fucking intense. The stage lights burned hot, but I barely felt them. All I saw was the mass of faces at my feet, their eyes wanting my every move.
I sucked it in, letting it fill me up until I thought I might burst. Every shout, every scream was a drop of water to a man lost in the desert. I needed more—more eyes, more voices singing with me.
This , I thought. This is what I waited my whole life for.
It was a high that even the best weed couldn’t touch. We started winning competitions left and right, getting asked to play house parties and graduation bashes, moving through gigs like a bullet train while our crowds started snowballing.
We were goddamn unstoppable.
My gaze starts wandering back to where the dark haired mysterious girl left her stool, and I’m wishing she was still there. Wishing I had another taste of that smart mouth and those bright green eyes of hers staring right through me like I was bullshit.
I smile slightly as I sip more from my cup, remembering how shamelessly my eyes followed her ass on the way out. She had a fantastic ass.
I should’ve gotten her name. I could picture us arguing about whether Sonic Youth or Dinosaur Jr. was the superior noise rock band, or if Fugazi was too hardcore for her tastes. I bet she’s into some really obscure shit, the kind of albums you have to special order from that record store downtown.
Win some, lose some.
It doesn’t matter, it’s a small town and I’ll run into her one day, even if it’s to insult me some more. Tonight, I’m surrounded by my boys, liquid flying everywhere as we clink our glasses together. Life is good. Damn good.
A few more high-fives from strangers and I look out toward the crowd of people, smiling widely as I take in the view around the bar.
I get why rockstars have huge egos now. It’s hard not to get lost in that extra rush from the people who flock to me after each performance. It’s nice to be noticed, and as the frontman of the band, I get to enjoy another special perk: the attention of girls who become die-hard fans in no time.
It is too easy to casually lean against the bar and anticipate their arrival. I flash a smirk at a redhead who’s been eyeing me all night, watching her blush and giggle behind her hand.
Like I said, too easy.
But for some reason my smile feels emptier than usual.
Post show energy always fills me up physically—free-flowing booze warming my skin, girls pressing against me angling for afterparties. Mentally though, I feel… restless. Too wired from the performance still, I guess, because I should be over the fucking moon right now.
Except all I can think about is that girl who didn’t give two shits about my status. Or the attention of all these other beautiful, eager women. I’m already hooked on her, and I don’t even know her fucking name.
I slam back the rest of my drink, annoyed with myself because the face I’m trying to forget is killing my usual buzz. And at eighteen years old, I should be reveling in this attention.
I sigh wistfully to Big Bob, the bartender, as two girls wave at me. When he asks if I want another, I shake my head and opt for a water this time.
Yeah, I might be barely legal, so what? Big Bob never once questioned it. Perks of being tall with a babyface, I guess. Or earning him a lot of money when we play here.
I turn whenever Ian squeezes through the stools, sliding up to the left side of me. “Hey, man, we need to talk,” he says while nudging at my arm. I tilt my head to the side, watching his thick brows wrinkle in a little concerned frown. “Your singing style wasn’t really working with the band tonight.”
I nearly choke on my water. “My singing was great tonight. What are you talking about?” I raise my brow and look down at the frown denting his face. “You’re serious? I just knocked out two songs with the crowd dancing right along with me. Hell, I’ve got half the girls in the place drooling over us.”
As if summoned, a couple of girls walk in front of us, giving us both a wink and touching my arm as they pass by. I gesture toward them with a pointed look at Ian as if to say ‘see?’
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Noah. We need to be on the same page, and pulling out your own moves without talking to us throws us all off.”
I bristle, smile freezing. First mystery girl’s rejection, now Ian is ruining the post-gig rush?
“I thought we agreed we’d take this seriously?”
Right, that little chat.
Two months ago we had discussed my efforts inside Jada’s garage that always smelled like sweat. I was running late because my mom had gone on another three day wine spree while my stepdad was out of town on a business trip. I found her passed out on the couch when I came downstairs, with red wine spilled all over the carpet, and when the fear gripped me as I thought of Dennis finding her in this state, I stopped everything to help guide her off the couch so that he wouldn’t return home with a good reason to be pissed off.
When I had made it to practice, Jada’s garage was filled with musical instruments, and Ian with his blonde, long curly hair, impatiently tapping his drumsticks on his knee.
“Noah, come on man. We can’t afford to take it lightly,” he’d said. And I had felt like a cat cornered and tried to be as nonchalant as possible.
“I’m giving it my 100%. Besides, we’re just having fun, aren’t we?”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We’ve got talent, and we’ve got potential, but it won’t happen if you don’t start taking this seriously.”
Jada stepped in too. “Dude, we all love making music together, but if we want to make it big, we need to put in the work. That means showing up, nailing our parts, and tightening up our sound.”
I could’ve told them the truth. To dump all the ugly that poisons my life, begging for some understanding. For one space where I could just be fucking happy.
But small towns = fast rumors. And honestly, it’s no one’s fucking business.
I swallowed it all back, strapped on my smile, and kept playing the role of the guy that they wanted me to be while Ian stepped closer.
“Okay,” I shrugged, holding both palms out in the air. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
Ian nodded like he was relieved that I seemed to get the grand scheme of things. Then we sealed the pact with a handshake under everyone’s supervision.
I still didn’t really get it. I’m there to sing some covers and it’s not like we're out here trying to cut a Billboard #1 album or anything. Can’t we get some slack for fun?
Regardless, I hadn’t been late since. But that same feeling of being cornered again is racing up my back.
“I am taking it seriously,” I say. “Maybe you need to let loose a little, man. I’m only the lead singer of a cover band, not Led Zeppelin. No need to get anal about it.”
I knock back my water, willing myself to play nice. Ian doesn’t get it.
“That’s your problem, dude. This is my life. You just treat it like a game. Well, it’s not.” He places a hand on my shoulder in that fatherly way and pours every ounce of earnest he has as he says the most fatherly thing. “If you wanna get anywhere, you need to get your head in the game.”
I would like to remind you we are literally a cover band.
And didn’t we just win?
“But I’m not like you , man. Music helps me blow off steam, but it’s not my whole identity,” I reply bluntly. Maybe too bluntly from his curled fist.
Ian’s jaw clenches, his hand dropping from my shoulder. “Is that so? Well, if you want to treat my dreams like a damn joke, then maybe this band isn’t the right fit for you anymore.”
That catches me off guard. He can’t be serious… can he?
“What, you’re going to fire me?” I raise one eyebrow, and Ian nods, looking so deadly serious. “You’re shitting me. You’re not gonna find a better lead singer than me. No way in hell,” I counter, aiming for reasonable. Ian stares at me but stays silent. “No way you’re serious. I am the voice of this band. You need me.”
“The voice? How far up your own ass is your head, seriously. You’d be nothing without your guitarist and bassist.”
“Hello, what part of voice don’t you understand? My voice makes the songs come to life, it’s the thing that everyone’s coming to see! I’m the show, the main event!” I gesture wildly at myself, looking like a maniac as I do. “I bring the stage magic, the charm, the personality!”
“And me, Cody, and Jada bring the musical talent. What’s your point, Noah?” Ian snaps, and I feel my heart drop into my pants. “You can’t play music without us.”
I make a time-out gesture. “Okay, I’m not saying that you guys aren’t talented, I would never deny that. What I’m saying is that you can’t have a band without the magnetic lead singer.”
“And you can’t have a lead singer without the backing band,” he fires back. “They go hand in hand. We’ve never had an issue with ego before, Noah. What’s up with this new attitude?”
Now it’s my turn to get heated.
“Are you kidding me? All of you have egos. You literally wanted me to join because you knew I’d bring all those girls to our shows. You only wanted me for my stage presence, the ability to draw in a crowd.” Leaning my elbows against the bar, I recline and cast an exasperated gaze. “I’m tired of you always getting on my ass for something. Do I think I’m the star of the show?” I pound a fist over my heart. “Yeah, sure I do. The heart of any act is the frontman. But come on, Ian, you know that I have a bit of a sense of humor about it.”
I take another slug of my water and meet his stare head-on. “We’re in a cover band for Christ’s sake, it’s called having fun.”
“Fun? Having fun doesn’t mean jumping into the crowd and improvising new moves mid song,” he snaps again before inhaling a sharp breath. “I’m not getting on your ass for no reason. We rehearsed those songs for weeks, and you decided to change things up on stage without warning us? It throws off the entire performance.”
Jada steps in from behind Ian. “It’s cool to engage with the crowd, but when you start doing your own thing, it makes the rest of us look unprepared. Like we don’t know what we’re doing.”
I feel my defenses rising, but I try to play it cool. “The crowd loves it when I mix things up. It keeps the energy high, and it makes our shows memorable.”
Ian shakes his head. “It’s not only about the crowd. It’s about respecting the band. When you go off script like that, it’s like you’re putting yourself above the rest of us.”
Shit . What am I doing?
I need this band. This band is my sole means of not being inside my house. Practice and performances allow me to avoid being at home, away from Dennis and the sight of my mom silently enduring his outbursts while he stomps around, or sitting there in my room all alone. Compared to that soul death, Ian’s drill sergeant act is a vacation.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. “Okay, okay. Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to throw you off or make you look bad. I get caught up in the moment sometimes and I want to give them something special.”
Ian wavers, but remains stubbornly stone-faced.
I play my trump card.
“But let’s face it. I’m the frontman and if I leave, most if not all of the crowd will leave, and with them, the popularity and shows. Is that what you want? I sure as hell don’t.”
I know it’s a low blow, but desperate times...
“No,” Ian replies, looking conflicted. “I just want what’s best for the band.”
“Then why are you giving me such a hard time?”
“Because this is my life, my passion. Music is my everything, something you clearly don’t understand. You act like this is a game and our band is just another activity you do alongside hanging out with your other friends. It pisses me off, and the band deserves someone who lives and breathes this 24/7. Not someone doing their own thing, who makes it seem like you’re the star and we’re your backup band.”
Everything tunnels down to Ian’s next words, the bar’s noise fading away.
“I told you that I want what’s best for the band and… I’ve already talked to Jada and… I think we’ve decided that we’re cutting you loose.”
All sound abruptly cuts out. The crowd around me freezes to stone as I stare down at my water, my blood rushing in my ears. Ian’s words keep playing on a loop in my mind, leaving me speechless.
My eyes follow Ian’s hand as he reaches out again and puts it on my shoulder.
I shake my head, shrugging off his pitying contact and rolling my eyes at his dramatic words. I lean off the bar and take one last swig of my water, chugging it all down like the dramatic shit that I am.
“Okay, man. Whatever you say,” I rasp, popping my lips and laughing bitterly as I start toward the back exit.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
Don’t come crying when you’re back playing empty parking lots without me.
Anger heats up my neck, but I hold it in as I walk away, the entire world turning blood red. A twinge of sadness starts mixing with the disbelief, and worst of all... embarrassment. I’m fucking embarrassed.
I refuse to look back as I leave the venue, but I feel all three of their eyes on the back of my head. I should be understanding in some way, but I can't bring myself to be. And there was no way in hell I would.
It's dark outside, almost midnight, but the night air is still alive with the remnants of the evening’s performance as I step out, several people hiding out in the alleyway smoking cigarettes.
Fuck , a cigarette sounds good. I need eight of those right the fuck now, but I left my emergency pack at home.
It’s so dark that I immediately trip over a Coke can, stumbling to keep my balance. I kick it out of the way, taking a deep breath as I make my way to my dirt bike parked around the corner.
I put on my jacket and dig for my Walkman out of the pocket, adjusting the headphones over my ears when cold clammy hands that felt a lot like death cover my eyes.
I hope it’s death.
The ghostly fingers remove one by one and I blink, turning around to see Jessica.
Remember when I said girls tend to flock to me? Jessica is a usual. Normally her deep-brown hair and large warm brown eyes could ease a thunderstorm, or create one, and her pin-straight hair with her short bangs fluffed back made it look like she’d always just got back from running through a tornado.
The chaos her pouty peach lips could cause is another story. One I wasn’t in the mood for tonight, surprisingly.
“Were you gonna leave without saying hi to me?” she asks, batting those lashes and running her fingers along the collar of my jacket.
My mouth lifts into a smile at her attitude.
“Of course I was gonna stop by to say hi to you,” I reply, wrapping a strand of her hair around my finger, watching her waves make my ring disappear. “I’m not that heartless.”
Jessica’s no fool—she catches the bitter tones immediately.
“Something bothering you?”
With gentle hands, I intertwine my fingers with hers, slowly pulling them away.
“Nah, just some typical drama with the band.”
Sliding closer, she drapes herself over me like a human cloak, warm fruity breath tickling my ear, a soft smile on her peach lips.
“You sure I can’t cheer you up? Maybe... you know, just you and me tonight?”
Oh, Christ . I exhale hard, the offer sorely tempting for that blissful oblivion between her thighs. Most nights I’d already have let her drag me off. But I can’t, not when this 10-ton weight crushes my chest.
I can’t stomach pretending.
Gently removing her roaming hands, I take a slow step back, noticing the frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much fun tonight.” Swinging onto my bike, I start lowering the helmet over my headphones, the scratched up visor hiding my face from view. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you and see you again soon, alright?”
With a swift kick, I raise the stand up and see her nod in understanding as she flashes me a smile. Pressing play on my tape, 18 and Life starts blasting as I fire up the engine, revving it up as I pull out of the parking lot, and am soon riding down the street towards home.
The stars are bright tonight and the warm, sticky wind whips against my face, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass, pine needles, and the faint aroma of cow shit from the farms on the outskirts of town. Out here, flying down roads, a zen-like state settles on my shoulders that makes me feel like I’m gliding through the world.
At least on the bike, I feel as if nothing can touch me.
At least until my neighborhood comes into view.
That’s when the energy of the evening begins to fade and I feel the exhaustion of everything start to creep in. The rush from the scotch and stage has left my system entirely, and now I’m driving like a bat out of hell down Winterberry Loop.
Once in the driveway, I cut the engine and storm through the door.
Thankfully, Dennis and my mom already seem to be passed out for the night, because the anger from Ian’s words have faded to a sullen attitude as I take the stairs to my room two at a time and feel good about doing it.
The universe threw me a bone with that one.
I turn on the light, kick the door shut and throw my helmet on the ground. I rip my headphones off and set them on my dresser, followed closely by my jacket.
I’ve screwed the pooch on this one, no one has to tell me.
Bellpond, Illinois has always been a source of misery for me, and Ian’s words have only made it worse. Maybe there are some real facts to my commitment issues . But how can I give myself fully when surviving day-to-day takes all my energy?
It doesn’t matter that this town is tainted anyways, because this isn’t where I belong. My real home, the place that holds all my early memories, is 2,000 miles away in Seattle.
Life happened to take a shit turn when my old man split on us when I was six years old, after many nights of glass breaking while I held my pillow over my ears, hot tears staining my face.
My mom, bless her damn heart, believed that marrying Dennis Ward four years later, a man with financial stability, a mustache that never seemed to move, and a big house, would be the answer to all of our problems. Obviously, I had no say in the matter. I was a scared kid who missed his dad and didn’t understand why we had to leave.
Now, all I have left of Seattle are these fading memories that slip away as I get older. The only things that keep me connected to that place are the cassettes I brought with me.
The Stranger by Billy Joel is my ultimate favorite. It was one of the last tapes I snagged before we hit the road and I watched the Space Needle slowly disappear. I still vividly remember clinging to my mom's hand while I cranked up the volume and let that album blast on repeat for the entire grueling twenty-nine-hour drive to this place. It was my personal anthem, keeping me sane amidst the monotony of the road and the unknowns of our new destination.
At least back in Seattle, I never lacked attention between Mom’s doting and a rotating cast of “uncles.” Her pastor used to joke that my golden pipes were God’s compensation for an absent father. Here, I'm always working for something.
Except on stage. Under the lights with a mic in hand, all eyes on me as my voice transports them back to their favorite songs—maybe songs that made them feel the same way I did. The music was my free pass out of Dennis’ tirades and Mom’s bottomless wine glasses. And Ian ripped away my sole coping mechanism.
I sink onto my bed and look around at the posters of my favorite bands—Van Halen, Motley Crue, Warrant—which now feel like a mocking reminder that I have nothing to do but endure my senior year in boredom and anger.
What the hell else am I going to do? How am I going to bide my time?
My fists clench, that frustration rising within me again. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, trying to gain some sense of control.
I know I need to get out of Bellpond, and soon. Lucky me that school starts tomorrow and I’ll find some distraction in the hours of classes and homework. It’ll make the time pass by quicker.
I guess until then, I’ll have to live with knowing that I really did screw the fucking pooch this time.
After a few minutes of self pity, my bedroom phone starts to ring and I scramble up quickly, reaching over to pick it up before it has the chance to wake Dennis and I have to hear the beast storming across the hall.
As I answer it, Daniel’s cheerful voice filters through, instantly lifting my mood. “Hey, man. I heard the news. We still on to hit the skatepark tonight?”
I’m not sure if he meant us winning, or me being kicked out of the band. Either way, a real smile is on my face for what feels like the first time all night.
“Hell yeah, D-man. Don’t leave me hanging.” I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder as I rummage through my dresser for a clean shirt, the receiver cord stretching across the room.
“Of course, man. I’m your number one fan.”
I crack my neck side to side, already picturing myself gliding against moonlit concrete. “For that, I might even serenade you.”
“Sick nasty. I’ll bring the secret fuel too.” No doubt a fresh stash he lifted from his older brother. “Meet you in twenty?”
“You know it. See you then.”
I hang up the phone and turn to the mirror that hangs above my dresser. I force my lips to curl back up into that confident smirk I’m so well known for—the one that assures everyone I’m in total control—while readying for a night of grinding rails. Feeling that fire spark back inside a little bit.
For now, I’ve got a Best Trick title to defend.
At least I still have the skatepark.
At least I still have Daniel.