Page 100 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“You want more of Black Diamond?” the emcee asked.

The crowd screamed like crazy. I did too.

“Here they are for an encore. Black Diamond!”

The emcee handed the mic back to Dale and they were off to the races, doing another cover, this one by Journey. I watched Dale move across the stage, beautiful and strangely graceful, striding back and forth like he owned it. And he did. He didn’t just know it, everyone knew it—even Rick, the envious lead guitarist, who came over to Dale while he was singing, both of them playing guitar together, making the crowd cheer.

No other band that night had been asked to do an encore. I knew then, if I hadn’t already known, Black Diamond was going to make it.

The emcee took the microphone when the song was done, trying to calm the crowd as Dale and the band broke down their equipment with the help of the stage crew. There were other bands that had to follow them. I felt sorry for them.

We made our way back and found the table we’d been sitting at with our drinks still waiting. Carrie and Wendy stayed out on the dance floor because INXS was now playing over the speakers, the lights pulsing to the beat of the music. Matt, Aimee and I looked at each other, all of us still a little high from the performance.

“He’s going to be a fucking rock star.” Matt shook his head in disbelief, taking a swig of his beer.

“I know.” I did know. I just wasn’t so sure how I felt about it.

“What’d you think?” Dale grabbed a chair and sat astride it next to me, surprising me out of nowhere. “Were we okay?”

“Are you kidding me?” Aimee put her arms around his neck, kissing him on the cheek. “You were fantastic! If I wasn’t engaged, I’d ask you to marry me!”

Dale stared at her, eyes widening. Then he looked at Matt, grinned, and held up his hand for a high five. Matt came across and gave him one, both of them laughing.

“Congratulations!” Dale said.

“You’re really good.” Matt shook his head again like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d seen. There were girls already gathering in groups, giggling and squealing and pointing at Dale. I knew once they gathered the courage they would be approaching him for autographs and whatever else they could think of to entice him.

“Thanks.” Dale turned to me, leaning closer so he could say it in my ear. “What did you think?”

“You were amazing.” I felt his hand slide into mine. “But you’re always amazing.”

“I wrote that song for you.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear. “They’re all for you.”

“What do you think all those girls would say if you told them that?” I pointed into the crowd where there were groups of girls gathering like storm clouds.

“I don’t care.” He took my chin in his hand, turning it to face him. “You’re all I care about. Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.”

linked at me. “As long as you’ve been dating Dale.”

“Well yeah… but I’m not marrying him.”

“Yet.” She grinned.

“Come on, I think he’s next.” I grabbed her hand as we hurried back out into the club, where it was so dark, smoky and loud no one could hear themselves think—which was probably the point.

“I thought you’d drowned.” Matt winked at me as we slid back into our seats at the table. The lead singer of the band on stage was a Flock of Seagulls wannabe and his mohawk was just a flash of white over the crowd.

“He’s up next!” Wendy had to practically yell to be heard. Carrie was on the other side of her.

“Is he any good?” Matt draped his arm casually across Aimee’s shoulders. I’d forgotten he hadn’t seen Black Diamond performing in the mall the day we’d met up with them, before the movies, and he’d missed the first auditions, the qualifying round for today—the semi-finals.

“He’s amazing.” Aimee pointed toward the stage where Black Diamond was setting up their equipment.

“He’s going to win,” I said, but I don’t think anyone heard me.

Dale was up there, looking like a god in his jeans and t-shirt and combat boots, head bent as he tuned his guitar and plugged it into his new amp. The band was setting up too, his bass player, Terry, leaning over to say something to him. Terry didn’t like me. None of them did. They thought I was too much of a distraction, and they were probably right.

I felt a little sorry for the other guys in the band. They could play—the music sounded good, mostly because Dale was a harsh taskmaster, forcing them to practice every single day—but no one ever noticed them. It was terrible, but I couldn’t even remember the drummer’s name. He was a big bear of a guy, full beard, wore a headband and only a tank-top when they played, and I just thought of him as “Bear.” Their lead guitarist, Rick, was a Dale wannabe, but nowhere near as enigmatic. I think he was the only one who really resented the way Dale stood out and the rest of them faded into the background simply because he was on stage.

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