Page 1 of My Rock Star Neighbor
Chapter one
Nick
Ourfansarestillclapping as we, the four members of our pop band Orchard Folly, exit from our second encore.
“Nick!Nick Devlin!”Fans are screaming.
We absolutely killed it.I gulp down the water from the bottle that Amira, our band manager, hands me.I towel off.The lights are hot, and we were jamming out there.
This is it.This is the year.
We hurry single file down the darkened hallway to the small dressing room at the back.Inside, I grab another bottle of water.The musical strains of “New York, New York” fill the bar—the perfect song to end this first day of January.
“Nick!The way you sang that last note…” Amira high-fives me, her gold bangles cold against my arm.“You almost made me cry.Way to go!The MusEn guy was definitely jibing along to the music.”She’s practically jumping up and down in her brightly colored tunic top, and then she hugs Kyla, our bass player, as if she can’t keep it inside.
My feeling of joy mirrors the expressions on my bandmates’ faces.We were in the zone.I hug José, our drummer, and as we separate, he pats me on the back.I look over at Sayo, our keyboard player, and she grins back at me.
The stage crew is breaking down the set and bringing our gear to the green room.
Amira suggests a photo of us together against the wall.José, Kyla, and I stand in the back, arms around each other as the taller members of the band (José and I are both 6’2”, while Kyla is 5’9”), while Amira and Sayo stand in front of us in the center.The photo could be a jeans ad, if it were selling worn, ripped jeans that are as comfortable as possible.The light flashes.The mirrors on the other side reflect our glowing faces.My ride-or-dies.It’s taken me a few years, but this group—the sound we have, the way we play off each other… This is it.
This is my family for life.If I can bring it home for us.So much is on me as the lead singer and songwriter.
We’re running out of time.Our latest single is climbing the charts on Spotify and YouTube—it’s so close after all these years, I can taste success.But José said earlier he has to take on another job for income.Sayo had nodded.But giving up our ambition to be musicians full-time will destroy a part of all of us—the part that believes that hard work, persistence, and talent can make dreams come true.And for me, I’m determined to prove to my mom that I can make a living as a musician and don’t need to be in a white-walled cubicle tied to the clock, watching my soul wither away like the sand in an hourglass.Sure, I got my accounting degree, along with my music degree, to appease my mom and I still do accounting side work for money as we wait to hit it big, but it isnotmy passion.
Our security guy enters and whispers to Amira.
“It’s mobbed outside, but that’s good since the MusEn guy is here,” Amira says to us and then asks Mr.Muscle if he has any friends in the neighborhood.“I don’t think you can handle this crowd alone.”
Our fans started calling him Mr.Muscle, and now we do too.He’s 6’5” and built like a bulldozer but with the softest heart.
“I called my friend, but he’s working at a bar tonight,” Mr.Muscle says.
“It’s okay,” I say.Many fans are familiar faces at this point.It’s not like we’re that big, and their loyalty is everything.“Make sure you cover Sayo.”She’s tiny, and I worry they can knock her down.Mr.Muscle and I exchange a look, and he nods.
Sayo huffs.“I’m not the one they’re mobbing.”
We pack up the rest of our things and pull on our coats.
We exit through the back door of the club, but it doesn’t make a difference.A crowd awaits, bigger than ever before.The screams that erupt are deafening, and women surround me.
I stop to sign autographs.A fan hands me a hand-drawn illustration of me.I thank her, even as I tell her it’s way too flattering of an image, with wavy brown hair, chiseled cheekbones, deep-green eyes, and a perfect smile.I actually have a slight chip in my front tooth from when I stupidly used my teeth to open a package of guitar picks in a crunch.I hand out more signed postcards of our latest single.
But as the packed throng presses forward, Mr.Muscle steps in.“We have to move on.Thank you.Thank you.”He shields me from the hordes as we squeeze through.
They’re pushing too close.
“Get Sayo,” I say to Mr.Muscle.
Mr.Muscle moves to protect her.
Lights flash.I’m blinded.Where’s the van?
Someone grabs me and hugs me tight.“Babe.You were fabulous.”The heavy perfume scent is overwhelming.
I stare into the eyes of a woman I’ve never seen before—who has locked me in a crazy vise grip.I freeze.Way too close!My instinct is to break free—Imustresist the urge to push her away.
“I’m sorry, but you need to release me,” I say firmly.
