Violetta (Violet) Jackson has big dreams. None of which happen to include sitting in detention for a week straight for a lab disaster that wasn't even her fault. That's all thanks to Will Hawthorne, his friends (one of whom she unfortunately used to...
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The next few days passed by in a whirlwind of band meetings and practice. As our deadline for doing the flashmob (which we were required to record and submit to the judges) was the coming Sunday, so we had less than a week to iron out a cover for Hey, Jude and get it to sound good and put-together enough to play live. At the end of each day, my fingers were sore from plucking the thick bass strings, and I spotted Olivia massaging her shoulder from holding her heavy electric guitar. Even Ryder seemed to expend his seemingly relentless energy by the end of a practice session, slumping in his chair, wiping off the sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. Danny always had his head down and worked like a machine when he needed to, but that didn't stop him from rubbing his eyes from exhaustion every once in a while. Despite that, none of them complained. Not a single protest or objection escaped their lips while we practiced, discussed the song, practiced again, adjusted a few things, and practiced once more.
Despite me technically breaking the agreement with Will by using his garage every day of the week, even after my shifts at La Promenade, he kept his side of the bargain and made himself scarce when we practiced away. I felt a weird simultaneous disappointment and immense relief — despite having sung in front of him last week, I wasn't ready for a full-on performance in front of him; then again, if I wasn't ready to play in front of him again, how on Earth was I expected to play in front of hundreds of strangers?
That was the question that plagued me the entire week up until Saturday, the day of reckoning. Will had insisted on driving us all the way out to Salem International Mall. It was a good two hours away and probably one of the biggest public places in all of Oregon, let alone Oak Point; though, as Danny pointed out, we probably wouldn't have much success limiting our playing field to Oak Point alone, a small town out in the middle of the Oregon wilderness. Of course, agreeing to trek out to a giant mall in the middle of a big city to perform only heightened my anxiety at the whole ordeal, and by the time I hopped into Will's truck as he swung by the apartment to pick me up, Olivia, Ryder, and Danny already in tow, I felt like heaving.
I sat in the passenger seat, with Olivia, Ryder, and Danny in the back, which this time was filled not with recording equipment but all of our instruments. Olivia's guitar and my bass are both in their cases, stacked side by side, and Ryder's drum kit, along with Danny's keyboard, take up most of the other available space. There's an empty seat between me and Will — Willow didn't come with us this time. Instead, she was working on a big school project at home, though she jumped at the chance. Only due to my and Evelyn's coaxes did we get her agreement to work on her project instead, and not without a fair amount of pouting on her side. Although Evelyn promised to help Willow with her project when she got home from work, I still felt a tad guilty for convincing Willow not to come, but at least that meant one less person to see me potentially make a big fool of myself today.
The ride to Salem is mostly silent between us all, and it's clear that I'm not the only one feeling the performance nerves. The tension in the air is palpable. Danny doesn't say a word, Olivia kept wringing her hands in the back, and even Ryder is noticeably silent, save for his fingers drumming restlessly on the window in the back. The only sounds filling the truck were the radio, which Will kept turned down relatively quiet, the rush of the cars passing by, and the growl of the engine as we sped down the interstate.
