Page 62 of Rocked: The Price of Dreams

“And we wrote a kickass song.” Taking a seat at the table, I bit into a slice of toast, hoping the dry bread would absorb the alcohol in my system. It was going to be a long day. Even longer night. I picked up my notebook off the chair beside me and re-read the lyrics I’d scribbled. With a gentle push, I slid the book across the table’s surface to Kyle. “That”—I pointed at the page—"is the best fucking song we’ve ever written.”

“What? No, it’s not,” he scoffed, buttering his toast.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “Because it’s fucking emotional. From the heart. It’s deep and full of pain.”

He puffed air through his nose. “Thanks. I don’t need the reminder.”

“I’m the most unemotional person on the planet.” Hunter spoke with his mouth half full. “But even I’ll admit it’s awesome. Girls will love that shit, thinking a guy is so broken-hearted over lost love.” He waved toward the lyrics. “That song is panty-dropping stuff.”

Skidding the notepad back toward me, Kyle furrowed his brow. “So you wanna write more songs about me being cheated on?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Just true feelings. Deep emotions. The good, the bad, or whatever it is that has fucked us up.”

“A lot has fucked us up.” Kyle huffed as he tore his slice of toast in two and popped one piece into his mouth.

“No shit.” I stabbed my finger against the notepad. Excitement rippled through my voice. “That’s why our songs are epic. That’s why we’re gonna win that contest. Everyone else just writes party songs and dance tracks. We go next level. We affect people. Our music gets into your heart. That’s what makes us unique.”

Intrigue and fear clouded his eyes. “You’re onto something, Gem. I just don’t want to be the center of all our songs.”

“You won’t be.” Well...that wasn’t entirely true. Just about every song I wrote was about him and Hunter. “Trust me.”

“I do. With my life. But after yesterday...and Vicki...I never want to set foot back in this town once we leave.”

Me either.

We just needed to graduate.

Seven weeks and counting.

Chapter 21

On April third, we uploaded our first videos and tracks to the Discovered-on-YouTube contest. I held my breath, hit submit, and said a silent prayer. Please let us make it through to the next round.

Each week of the contest, we’d be set a theme. The first one was “love.” We sent our original along with a cover of “Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith.

Like on most reality shows, the entrant with the lowest number of votes at the end of the tally period would be eliminated. Hunter set out on a mission to have everyone at school vote for us. He pinned notices on boards, handed out flyers, and posted on social media several times a day.

Two weeks later, we got the email from SureHaven.

Jumping to our feet, we shattered the cafeteria with our shrieks, hugs and hollers. “We made it through.” I cried. “We’re in the next round.” My heart had never raced so fast.

“Woohoo!” Hunter shouted.

“Fuck yeah!” Kyle roared.

The next theme was “dance.” We sent off our recordings of “Don’t Stop the Music” by Rihanna and the song we’d written after our first college party in Princeton.

Fourteen days later, in the middle of math, we received notification that we’d made it into the third round.

“Argh, we did it.” I leaped from my chair and jumped up and down in the center of the room with the guys, disrupting the entire class. We didn’t care. Fuck math. We scored a few claps and some praise from our classmates. Even Mrs. Fiat congratulated us but was quick to tell us to take our seats.

Nothing could contain my excitement. Every time I read the SureHaven emails and reviewed the scores online, my heart hit the stratosphere. Unless we lost, I wasn’t sure it would ever come back down.

The third submission was “rock.” We nailed P!NK’s “So What.” And our original song got the most votes that week.

We were successful again. Totally insane.

But...we were fifth in the overall tally. Only the top three made it to the finale. With three submissions left, our numbers spurred us on. We were gaining more followers in a tough competition. The all-girl band from Miami had incredible harmony. The Rackers, four guys from Wisconsin, had the perfect pitch for rock. Wyatt from Denver had a sweet boy-like tone. The chick from San Diego could win on looks alone. She’d sell records whether she could sing or not. But damn, she was talented too. Then there was us.

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