Page 37 of Hot in Witch City
"Nice." I shrugged. "That’s so cool that you play together."
Sebastian chuckled and ran his hand through his thick hair. "We haven’t in a long time."
"Why not?"
"Not sure. Our different schedules, I guess.” He arched a brow. “It was hard to find a time for us to even have dinner together."
I motioned at the instruments. "You're all together right now.”
Sebastian shook his head. "I can't play in front of you. Not when I'm so rusty."
I tapped his arm. "Oh, come on. I’d love to hear it.” Besides, it was better than aboredgame.
He glanced at me for a few seconds before agreeing. “I'll ask the guys."
Sebastian bounded up the stairs two at a time. A couple of minutes later they all came down.
Diego said, "Gianna, are you crazy? We suck."
Lucas added, "Speak for yourself, dead man walking. We do all right for a basement band."
Sebastian motioned to the microphone and flashed a devilish smile. "You ladies should sing."
Oh, yes. I loved to sing.
Nova spread her hands. "No, way. I can’t sing."
"Oh, come on, Nova. You've done karaoke. It would be just like that minus the drunk audience."
"Wait a minute," Diego interrupted. "Gianna, no offense, but do we need a heads up about what happens when you sing?”
“Yes, of course, my voice will lure you into the ocean where you will drown.” I kept a straight face for as long as I could as the three guys gaped at me. On seeing Nova’s lips twitch in amusement, I burst out with a laugh. “Kidding.”
“You got us good.” Diego picked up his drumsticks and raised them before sitting behind his set.
"Okay, what should we sing?" Lucas walked over to his bass.
Sebastian picked up one of his guitars and strummed it. "We can’t play many songs.” He listed some from The Cars, The Killers, The Clash.
"The Killers," I declared. "Mr. Brightside."
Nova and I stepped behind the mic while they started to play. It took plenty of rough starts before they were in synch. After a few more, they played decent enough together for us to join in and sing the lyrics.
We did so, giggling as we screwed up. After several attempts, the five of us were still crappy, but not so crappy for a thrown together basement band.
What fun. I hadn’t expected the night to go like this.
When they played Billy Idol’s “Hot in the City,” Nova and I sang a version we’d started when we were kids. Salem had the nickname of Witch City, and I’d mistakenly connected the song as “Hot in Witch City,” in my mind. It stuck. That was the one time she sang the wrong verse with me. Often, she giggled as I messed up lyrics.
As was what happened in the next song, “When Doves Cry.”
I glanced at her, eyebrows raised to ask “what?”
She shook her head and continued to sing, but then a minute later, snickered again. The guys appeared to struggle not to laugh, too, each sporting their own version of a polite smile.
When the song ended, I asked, “What? Did I screw up the lyrics again?”
She laughed. “Some of the things don’t make sense. They’re not even words.”
