Page 3 of Step By Step

At all times, I have a Walkman at my hip, headphones on my head, and I am dancing or singing to whatever I am playing. If I am not listening to music, I am watching copious amounts of MTV. Or I am writing my own lyrics and melodies, giving them to my best friend Donna for her band.

Since I was little, all I wanted to do was dance and sing. I am not that good at either, sadly. I still love to rock out or tear up a dance floor, even if I make a fool of myself. Writing music, though, it became magic to me once I gave it a shot.

Donna’s band, Purple Hearts, might never make it out of Pine Grove, but like, who cares? They’re doing what they love, people at their shows love them, and it’s always a good time. I tried sneaking on stage at their last show, shaking a tambourine, but they caught me, and it was a riot.

“Earth to Jenna,” Donna snaps her fingers in my face as she raises her voice at me. “What the heck, dude? We were talking about the show at the mall. Where did you go, girl?”

“Oh, oh right,” I mumble, shaking my head as if to clear it.

The show she is talking about is happening in a week. Our pop station is hosting a back-to-school concert at the mall. Donna has decided her band can open for the group they just announced on the radio as the headliner.

“To reality, I think. I mean, there is like no way you can land that gig. Not because you guys don’t rock,” I rush to say, putting my hands up. “These sorts of things get planned months in advance. They won’t just take an opening band on a week before a show.”

Donna rolls her eyes at me, her glittering pink eye shadow sparkling in the sunlight. Truth be told, Donnalookslike a rock star, if you ask me. With her long golden locks, wild make-up, and that voice of hers, she belongs on a stage. There is just something about her that screams star.

Next to her, I could be nothing more than a fan waiting in the stands. Sure, I write their music, but I am no star. I definitely do not look the part. As we head inside the Pine Grove Galleria, I glimpse myself in the enormous glass windows. Nope, not a rock star at all.

In my figure-hugging body suit that I paired with the wide leg pants cinched at my wide waist, I am no fashion plate. I pulled my dark hair back, the thick waves too much to deal with in this heat. The curls frame my make-up free face, and my glasses often get tangled in them.

“No vision, girlfriend. Go big or go home. They will be here this week, setting up the stage. I am going to talk to that hot DJ, Jordan Bowers. I am going to sell myself and the band. If he just wants me, well then....” she trails off with a waggle of her arched brows.

Sighing, I follow her past the food court and towards center court. Usually, it’s a hangout spot for kids to sit and talk, five tiers of stairs where they sit with their friends, their purchases, or even food from the food court. For the show next week, they will set the stage up there.

As we head for the court, I pause at Tape Deck when I see a “Now Hiring” sign hanging in the window. Working at the coolest record shop in town would be epic. I tell Donna I will catch up with her as I hang back.

“You do not need a job,” Donna objects as she turns to glare at the store.

Someone with her talent could never understand. We both just finished college, me for music composition and her for performing arts. Her dream is on the horizon, and she is actively chasing it. My dream... well, I haven’t yet figured out what my dream is, really.

Writing for a band I love fulfills me a little, sure. What it does not do is pay the bills. If we were not roommates at the house, her sister rents out to us for an affordable rent, I might be on the streets. Once the band hits it big, if they ever do, I won’t have a source of income.

“My bills and my belly say otherwise, dude,” I argue with a bitter laugh.

Tilting her head at me, she frowns. “You have a job, though. You write our music. That’s your job, and you are so good at it. Do you think once we get a record deal, that will change?”

“We don’t know what will happen next,” I say with a sigh. “It’s just a part-time gig, dude. I could use the money. Go find that DJ you dig, I will come to find you in a few minutes. Please?”

Smiling at me, she softens. We have been best friends since grade school, so we know each other backwards and forwards. She is the reason I got a chance to write for the band. The reason I pursued music in college.

When she went on a road trip after we finished high school, she talked my parents into letting me go with her. We spent four months on the road, well past the six weeks we had promised to be gone. It was out on the road when I started to write. I found myself when I found music.

Her sister offered us the house we shared because she believed I could keep Donna under control. I am the careful one. I make sure we have food in the fridge, the water bill gets paid, and we check in with our parents twice a month. They trust us living on our own because of me. A job will help my parents trust me to stay on my own if the band gets signed.

“Hey, I am here about the job,” I tell the cute redhead girl behind the counter, thumbing a hand at the sign.

“Oh! Hi! That’s totally cool! Let me get you an application.”

“Thanks! This place is amazing,” I breathe as I gaze at the walls of records and the rows of compact discs.

“Here you go,” the bubbly redhead catches my attention as she slides a sheet of paper across the counter at me. Just as I go to grab it, she pulls it back. I frown, wondering if she is playing with me. “Holy smokes! I saw you at the Purple Hearts show last weekend!”

“Yeah, I was there,” I answer with a sheepish smile. “The one they walked off stage with my tambourine. My best friend is the singer...” I trail off as her entire face changes. I think she just shut down on me.

“No.Freaking. Way! Ilovethat band! We all do, look,” she says enthusiastically, nodding her head at a display next to the front counter.

Not sure how I missed the enormous display of their record. It took us months to record it at the guitar player’s uncle’s studio. I wrote all but two songs on the album and we hand it out at shows or ask local stores to find a place for it. Seeing it on a display this way makes my chest ache.

“Oh... oh wow. Donna should see this.”

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