Page 7 of Pretty Little Rocker

“If we’re taking votes, I’m all for The Greatest Showman,” I said, sticking my hand in the air, then doing the same with Natasha’s, causing her to giggle. “We want to hear Keala sing, don’t we, Natasha?”

“Fine,” Arella agreed, picking up the universal remote that controlled every basic feature in the entire room, if not the house. Less than a minute later, the opening for the movie was playing, and I was dancing around with the toddlers and Natasha while Jordan went to let the tech team in.

Reluctantly, I set the baby in her gated area and took the seat I was instructed to sit in. By the time the stylist started working on my hair, I was rethinking my decision to ask for Arella’s help.

“Oh, stop your whining,” my cousin griped, holding an open alcohol swab packet under her nose. She said it helped with her nausea, but it hadn’t worked earlier when she’d opened it and then proceeded to puke into her bucket yet again. “I had to sit in a chair and have my hair braided before being pinned down to fit under a wig for years when I got my first role at seventeen.”

“Yeah, but you have silky, straight hair. I have a jungle of ringlets that this chick is ripping out with that brush she’s using.” When the stylist did it again, I reacted without thinking. Grabbing the offending object from her, I threw it across the room. It wasn’t that she was hurting me physically. But the woman was destroying my hair. “Did no one ever tell you not to brush dry curls? You’re just going to make it frizzy, which isn’t going to make the job of braiding it any easier.”

One of the Aussiedoodles must have thought I was playing fetch, because she brought the brush back to us, wagging her tail. I took it from her, scratching the top of her head. “Good puppy,” I praised before glaring up at the stylist. “Bad, bad stylist. No more brushes for you.”

Rolling her eyes at me, the stylist pulled a wide-toothed comb from her bag of torture devices, along with an already hot flat iron. I was thankful I’d come early, because straightening my hair took hours. Something the woman realized when, two hours later, she was only a third of the way through getting my locks somewhat under control.

“I need to pee,” I complained.

“You went to the bathroom twenty minutes ago,” Arella dismissed, hitting replay on the movie when her toddlers made the request.

“Your husband keeps shoving bottles of water and cups of tea at me every time he offers you something. My bladder is only so big. Maybe he could ‘force’ a sandwich into my hands next time. I’m starving.” Pouting, I slouched in my chair—which, of course, made the hairstylist unhappy.

She grabbed the section of hair she needed to work on and yanked, pulling my head back. “Yeah, baby,” I purred, lifting my gaze to meet hers and licking my lips. “Harder, Mommy.”

Arella burst out laughing, along with the costume designer, who was already stitching together a few things for my outfit. Candace, the hair stylist, just stared down at me like a deer caught in the headlights. “Ah, relax,” I groused. “Life is hard enough without having a sense of humor. Try laughing a little every now and then. Release a few endorphins and some dopamine.”

Another three hours later and my hair was straight, then braided into twin French braids on either side of my head. The ends went all the way down my back and ended well past my hips. My outfit wasn’t much different from what I would normally wear. I lived in sweatpants since that made it so much easier to move while playing drums than if I were in jeans. I had a sponsorship with a new workout gear brand, and I wore their sweats in every Havoc video.

I had black ones for today, but a size bigger so it looked like I was bulkier than I actually was. The same went for the white hoodie I wore, which was two sizes larger than normal. This one, I didn’t attack with scissors to make it a crop top and show off the sports bra I had on beneath. When I looked in the mirror, it appeared as if I’d gained fifty pounds. With the hood pulled up over my head, I looked like a large guy.

Black around my eyes was the only makeup I needed, along with a pair of contacts that turned my irises red. The balaclava mask the designer gave me was black and had only eyeholes, with intricate patterns across the forehead, cheeks, nose, and mouth, which made it look like my lips were sewn shut. She’d used the red, yellow, orange and brown I had requested, hoping that including Autumn’s Slumber’s trademark color scheme would win me points.

When Draven saw my costume, he shrieked and ran off screaming, “stranger danger,” but Penelope clapped her hands. “You wook so cool, Hi-Hi!”

It did look pretty cool, but the true test was if I could move as effortlessly in this gear—and with the mask on—while still playing drums like normal. At least no one would be able to guess it was me underneath all the extra layers.

Thanking my cousin and her crew, I had to hurry to make it to First Bass on time for the audition since it had taken so long to get ready. Blasting my AC because I felt like I was literally melting in the mask and the thick hoodie, I made it to the employee parking lot just in time for Nate to let me in through the back.

Someone was already up onstage playing. I couldn’t see who it was, because a curtain had been erected to make each audition blind. The rest of the band and whoever else was judging the candidates would have to go off talent alone.

Before I slipped backstage, I noticed a group of people at the bar. All three Autumn’s Slumber guys were already in their stage gear. My dad was with them, along with Aubree, the drummer from the Blonde Bombshells, and Kale, Tainted Knights’s drummer. The six of them were all listening intently, nodding every now and then, making notes.

Nate nudged me toward the group of people standing off to the side, waiting for their turn. I counted eight others, all of them guys. I moved to the back of the pack, leaning against the wall. With the drummer onstage doing his thing, none of us could talk, but I saw a few of them smirking like they thought they were so much better than the current auditionee.

“Be good,” Nate grumbled close to my ear. “I have to get back out to the others.”

Nodding, I watched him disappear down the little hall and through the curtain.

One guy after another auditioned, each of them showing some decent talent. But they were all way too cocky for my tastes. After each candidate performed, they went to the green room to relax until we were all finished. Finally, it was just me and some other guy standing off to the side, waiting for our turn.

Nate called my name. “Hellion!”

I nearly laughed at his alias for me, but I stepped forward, giving the other guy a chin lift before I moved behind the curtain to take my place. I had to adjust the throne height and reposition a few things before I popped my neck, rolled my shoulders, and then plugged in my earbuds to hear the playlist for my audition.

Chapter Five

Hayat

“You ready back there, Hellion?” someone called out to me. Apparently I was taking too long to readjust after the last auditionee. He’d made more mistakes than any of the others, and no wonder, with how sloppy everything was. I doubted he’d even taken time to make sure his throne was at the right angle for his height, let alone fix his pedals, which had caused him a delay with his bass.

With a deep, steadying inhale, I pressed play and then just let the music consume me. For eight minutes and fourteen seconds, I was under the spell of the beat, the lyrics, the magic of the vibrations that hummed through my body.

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