Page 38 of Flipping the Script

That show had been one of the best on the tour. The crowd was amazing, and we spent over two hours doing unplugged versions of our songs and taking requests from the audience to do covers of some of their favorites. It hadn’t felt like a show, not really, more like a jam session we’d opened up to our fans.

“How does a metal band do an acoustic show?”

“By not using our amps.” I smirked at him.

“I got that much, genius.” I could hear the eye roll in his voice. “I just meant it doesn’t seem like your type of music would work without all the noise and screaming.”

I chuckled. “Tell me you haven’t listened to any of my songs without telling me you don’t listen to my songs.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Little bit.” I kicked at one of the tree roots where it stuck up out of the ground. “You think metal is just screaming and noise?”

“Isn’t it? I mean, I know Ez and Ben listen to other types that don’t make my ears bleed, but that’s the shit you were doing in high school.”

“High school was a long time ago. Different band, different sound.” I didn’t bother explaining how heavy metal was a blanket term and had dozens of subgenres. It wasn’t just what people pictured when they heard the term heavy metal.

“So why are you out here and not regaling the crowd with your stories?” he asked.

“Because they want to hear stories about things I’d rather not talk about.”

“You’re saying you don’t like the attention and having everyone fawn over you?” he asked incredulously.

“Nope.” I popped the P and flicked my gaze to him to see his reaction.

Predictably, he scoffed. “Liar.”

“You think?” I asked tiredly.

“I know. You were always an attention whore.”

“Or was I really good at faking it?”

His silence said he wasn’t expecting that answer.

“You faked it?” he asked quietly.

“Mmmmhmmm.” I scuffed the toe of my sneaker against a patch of dirt next to the root I’d been poking at. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an extrovert. I don’t really like being the center of attention, not when I’m not performing.”

“You’re not an introvert, no fucking way.”

“Never said I was. I’m an ambivert. That’s why I’m here, in the woods, instead of out there being a royal, or whatever you said. People are exhausting. I can fake it, but only for so long.”

Even in the dark, I could see that he was studying me.

“Why are you out here?” I asked. “You’re definitely an extrovert. Get mad that everyone was ignoring you and paying attention to me?”

“You wish.” He huffed out a laugh. “I thought…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” I repeated. “What did you think?”

“That maybe you were…”

“That I was what?” I snapped, his evasiveness dampening the neutral mood I’d fallen into. “Shooting up? Doing a line?”

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