Everyone has a song that captures who they are. No one but Leila Gonzalez can hear them.
Melodies and tunes fill her head everywhere she goes, and all she wants is to replicate them in her songwriting. There's just one problem: she sucks at songwrit...
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A HOLLOWNESS SETTLED IN Leila's stomach as she made it to Townsquare with her parents. She clutched her guitar case closer to her body as if it were a shield from the large crowds that filtered into the plaza and onto the grass grounds.
Her brain switched from song to song, interweaving and connecting with an array of genres. She was lucky she had taken a migraine pill beforehand, because she would not have been able to withstand the pure noise that attacked her essence from the outside.
But none of that compared to how she felt like caving in on herself when she saw where she would be performing.
The stage loomed over the plaza. Metal bars and cables lined the sides. When she was a child, she thought of climbing it whenever she went to the Hillbourne Music Fest. Now the idea didn't seem so bad either, so long as she fell from the top face first to avoid singing in front of hundreds of people.
Along with the obvious concert, kiosks and food trucks lined the place. The smell of carnitas hit her nose, and she got both nauseated and hungry. If she weren't performing, she would've been following the smell all the way to its origin. But the thought of food in her stomach made her sick.
Ismael and Elisa walked beside her, acting like they were her bodyguards. They trudged forward in their brave facade that they belonged in a place crawling with teenagers and young adults—all of which were either waiting to go for a ride to the sky or had already taken an early commute buzz. Suddenly, having her parents there with her didn't sound like such a good idea. But she needed all the comfort she could get after what she was meant to do.
Everything in her screamed to go back to her room, locked away from the judgement of people. But every step forward betrayed her instincts. The sun warmed her cheeks until they burned. She casted her gaze to the pale red cobblestones as they walked closer to the stage.
"You're gonna do great!" Her father grasped onto both of her shoulders, squeezing tight. His enthusiasm only accelerated her heart rate. "We're so excited to see you up there."
She managed a chuckle, but it lacked sincerity.
"Where's your partner in crime?" Her mother asked. At the mention of Neil, she fished out her phone, but it was useless as he ran to her with his arms open wide.
"Leila!" He jogged up to them—hair a mess on his head, shades over his eyes, and a full rocker look over his body. A black muscle-tee clothed his upper body. He wore ripped jeans paired with shiny black boots. Over his wrists, he had chains for bracelets. He was the epitome of a young rockstar in the making. "You made it."
He contrasted with her own look—a white button-up cropped shirt, shiny black wide-leg shorts, and her trusty white sneakers.
Neil looked past her at her parents, and she faltered as she stepped aside.
"Uh, Neil, these are my parents," she introduced him. "And my demon siblings."
"What!" Elisa squeaked. She pointed a chubby finger at Leila's chest. "I can have my dragon burn you."
"Ay, Leila, no diga eso," her mother chastised, but her smile betrayed her. "Tú tampoco, Elisa." She turned towards the toddler.
"It's nice to meet you." Her father stretched his hand over to Neil. Leila stood on the side, not knowing what to say or do as they made acquaintances.
"It was lovely to finally meet you guys," Neil said. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal the star of the show from you all." Everyone's eyes turned to Leila. She flushed, but she thanked the beating sun and her deeper complexion for hiding the true intensity of her embarrassment.
"We can't wait to see you, honey," her mother said. "Go have fun."
Leila let Neil lead her back to the stage, taking her guitar case from her without a word. Her hands free, she wriggled her fingers together to find something to do as they escaped the ever-growing crowd. Her palms began to sweat.
"It's nice that your family speaks Spanish," Neil said. She blinked as if she had heard incorrectly. "My family kinda forgot about where we came from."
"Keep it moving!" Someone yelled into their headset from the side of the stage, successfully distracting her from what she was going to say. Quick movement dominated the backstage as musicians came in and out of the stage, ready to perform or done with their part. Leila gulped.
Neil walked confidently to the lady taking her job too seriously. "Hi, we're performing today. I already came by to start setting up," Neil told her. The woman was gracious enough to stop screaming into her headset and turn to look at them.
"Yes, you can go back there." She pointed to the area where people in bizarre costumes or holding their instruments like a security blanket pooled. "You'll be called when it's your turn." She walked off without giving them another glance.
"Come on," Neil said. Leila had no choice but to follow. The hallway darkened under the black tarps overhead. Her heart hammered harder than the bass currently played onstage. And she sucked in a breath to keep herself from freaking out like she really wanted to.
A paper bag didn't sound too shabby at that moment.
Neil led her to the side of the backstage and found his own guitar case by a corner. It remained untouched, and he grasped onto it with his free hand, holding both their instruments like they weighed nothing. Leila shivered and turned around to take it all in.
Behind the scenes, everything moved like fast currents. If you weren't ready, they tossed you to the side until you drowned. But if you knew how to swim in it, then you'd live to see another day.
Leila wondered if she could hold her head above water throughout the entire performance.
The crowd's cheers echoed into her ears combined with the loud reverberation of multiple songs trying to dominate. She wished to lean against a wall, but there wasn't one. She opted for kneeling on the ground.
"Hey," Neil whispered as he squatted beside her. "You're gonna be alright. I'll be right beside you the entire time." He let go of both of their guitar cases and took off his shades. Leila shook her head as others filtered around them, buzzing and talking about the show.
"This is so bad," Leila mumbled.
"No," he argued. "Everything will be just fine. Trust me, okay?"
Leila met his eyes for the first time since she got there. The nausea she had alleviated for a second as he squeezed her shoulder. She sniffled as a band of teenagers filed into the stage, emptying their area tenfold.
"I think I'm gonna hurl," she whispered.
"Listen to me." Neil turned her body towards his. "We're going to get on that stage and we're going to give these people the performance of a lifetime. You're gonna blow them away. We got this. We're together. Screw everything else, right, firecracker?"
"Neil and Leila?" A heavy-built man called from the stairs that led to her ultimate demise. Leila gulped up at Neil.
"We're here!" He waved at the man. Then he turned back to her. "Just follow my lead and just sing it all out."
She didn't have time to respond as he opened both of their guitar cases and handed her beat-up pawn shop guitar to her. Her fingers shook as she held onto its neck.
"I don't think I can do this." Her voice faltered and struggled to come out.
Neil shook his head. "Our song is great, Leila. You made this possible." He came back up from the ground with his electric guitar—a solid black beauty that molded into his body like it was meant to be there. "All of this happened because of you. Now, let's go show the rest of Hillbourne who exactly Leila Gonzalez is."
