Page 20 of Rocked: The Price of Dreams

We took to the stage just after six-thirty. With Hunter on keys, Kyle on bass, and me on lead electric, we opened our thirty-minute set with Avril Lavigne’s, “Complicated.” Singing the hit in perfect harmony turned heads in the crowd and even stopped some people walking by. Halfway through the song, my nerves evaporated. The music had taken over me, mind, body, and soul.

As the stage lights flashed around us, we churned outRob Thomas, Maroon 5 and P!NK, pumping effervescent energy into each note. We’d made the right choice in keeping to the hits. We scored cheers, claps, and whistles at the end of every song. Each one struck my chest. This is freaking amazing. The toddlers, dancing and spinning around in front of the stage with glow sticks around their necks, and the few teenage girls huddled together off to one side, singing and clapping along to our songs, were the biggest thrill. They loved our show.

After ending our performance with a cover of “Crazy in Love” by Beyonce, we rushed from the stage, leaving the clapping onlookers behind. The adrenaline coursed through my veins so fast my head spun. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. Sweat soaked our shirts, our hair, our skin. What a rush. What a high. Panting to catch my breath, I hugged the guys, and we jumped around in a circle. “We did it.”

“Can we do this every day for the rest of our lives?” hollered Hunter. “Please?”

“That was freaking insane.” Kyle leaned back, laughing. “Totally awesome.”

Mrs. McIntyre came over and joined our embrace. “Oh, I’m so proud of you. You were incredible. Well done.”

“Thank you.” I rested my head against her shoulder. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her lessons each week had improved my singing technique. Her teaching contacts had scored us the gig. Now we needed more shows, more events, more performances. I needed that hit of adrenaline again and again.

“Oh, I think you would’ve made it without me.” Claire’s sweet smile filled my chest with warmth. “You have the drive and the ambition. Talent and motivation. That’s the key.” She tilted her head toward the stage. “Come on. We’d better bump out your gear to make way for the next act.”

After we loaded our equipment into Mrs. McIntyre’s van, we headed home to Kyle’s place. The electric charge from performing still hovered between me and the guys. Kyle’s dad was at the hospital with Emily. He wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, giving us time to ride our high for a while longer.

As we sat around the dining table, reliving every second of our show, Claire placed huge bowls of chocolate ice cream in front of us. “To celebrate.”

I dug into my treat. Every time I closed my eyes, images flickered behind my eyelids—the stage lights flashing, the kids dancing, the parents sitting on picnic blankets or gathered in front of the food trucks, turning to watch us. The reverberations from the speakers and amps when we played that had rattled the stage still coursed through my legs. My fingertips still tingled from strumming my strings. I was an addict after one live show.

“We nailed today.” I licked off the chocolate on the back of my spoon. “Now we need to go next level. On top of finding more gigs, what do you guys think about submitting demos to some labels? We could mail them CDs, play at some open-mic nights, and post videos to YouTube. We gotta get our music out there.”

“Oh my God, yes!” Kyle slurped on a mouthful of ice cream. “Mom’s new laptop has a CD burner in it.”

“Yes, you’re more than welcome to use it.” Claire came over and stood behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “As long as you pay for the CDs and postage.”

“Hell yeah.” Kyle slapped his free palm against the table. “We can do that.”

“How can we get to open-mic nights?” Hunter shoveled ice cream into his mouth. “Most of them are held in bars and clubs closer to or in New York—not down here. And one huge hurdle...we’re underage.”

Yeah...that was an issue. But I wouldn’t let that stand in our way. “We’ll find venues that are open to all ages. Derek has offered to take us to gigs. We’re not gonna get anywhere playing in the garage. We need to find a booking agent. A manager. That buzz tonight we got on stage? I want that every night.”

“Whoa now. Slow down.” Claire combed her fingers through my ratty hair. I really needed a shower. “Don’t rush ahead of yourself. School is still a priority. I’m all for you sending off demos. But you need more practice playing live. For now, find out what local community events are coming up and make a list of the family-friendly venues around the region that will let you play. Book some gigs. But...” She held up a finger. “The latter, is only during vacation. You need more experience before you consider sourcing a professional manager or booking agent.”

My shoulders slumped. The guys deflated, sinking two inches in their chairs. Wisdom sucked. But Claire was right. We weren’t going to become stars after playing at one small town fair. Damn it.

“Fine.” Kyle flicked his long bangs off his brow. “Our next purchase is a handy-cam to record videos for posting online and a stack of CDs so we can send off demos.”

“After my guitar.” Hunter grabbed the tub of ice cream from the kitchen counter and refilled his bowl. “I gotta get this Fender Stratocaster I’ve been eyeing at the pawn shop next to Jenny’s doctor in New Brunswick. It has my name on it. I’ll be able to afford it after this month’s pay.”

I giggled at the fire flickering in Hunter’s eyes. He always wanted new gear. It would be a lifetime before I could afford another guitar. I had my acoustic and used one of Kyle’s electric most of the time. When we became stars, Fender would be begging us to use their guitars. Or Gibson. Or Yamaha. I wouldn’t care which company. But Hunter had earned his reward. He religiously saved every penny outside our pooled band money. Once every two weeks, he headed into New Brunswick with his mom to help take Jenny to her doctor. He always came home with bold ideas for new equipment we should purchase. He wanted everything—guitars, in-ear monitors, and digital keyboards. But at present, we could afford a big fat zilch.

I didn’t want to wait another month to start our videos and demos. “We can borrow Derek’s handy-cam for now. CDs don’t cost that much. This week, we can decide on the tracks we want to record and compile a list of the companies we want to submit to.”

“I’m in.” The broad smile that lit Kyle’s face was as catchy as a Christmas carol.

More dreams and hopes filled my head.

But there was one big problem with hopes and dreams that I’d encountered time and time again over the years.

They didn’t always go to plan.

Sometimes they were shattered.

Chapter 8

---