The lights onstage blazed with intensity, casting the band Fleetwood Mac in a striking, almost surreal glow as they rocked the crowd with their hit song "Go Your Own Way." The music surged with raw energy, each beat pulsing through the speakers, reverberating across the packed venue. The audience swayed, clapped, and sang along in unison, fully immersed in the spectacle unfolding before them.
Stevie stood front and center, her blonde hair shimmering in the lights, bouncing with each fluid movement of her body as she commanded the stage. But amidst the electrifying performance, something was beginning to gnaw at her—a sharp, maddening itch just below her shoulder blades, at the very center of her back. The sensation was sudden, intense, and completely unwelcome, making her skin tingle and burn with discomfort.
She tried to ignore it, hoping it would pass, but instead, it only grew worse. Every movement she made seemed to amplify the feeling. Her back felt like it was on fire, the itch relentlessly gnawing at her nerves. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hoping the music, the adrenaline, the rhythm of the song would carry her through the pain.
But it didn't.
The itch was relentless. It became more and more unbearable, crawling its way deeper into her skin as her movements grew stiffer, her motions jerky. Desperately trying to hold her composure, Stevie danced, her body flowing with the rhythm of the song, but inside, she was losing the battle against the overwhelming irritation.
Her eyes darted to Lori, her longtime friend and backup singer, who stood in perfect harmony with the music, her fiery red hair cascading down her shoulders like a burning flame. Lori's energy was flawless, her presence commanding as ever, but Stevie's focus was now split—her mind consumed by the itch that refused to let go.
A split-second decision formed in Stevie's mind, and without wasting another moment, she moved toward Lori. Her steps were quick, her movements slightly out of sync as she fought the growing discomfort. Every second felt like an eternity, but the crowd, lost in the magic of the music, continued to cheer, oblivious to the battle Stevie was waging onstage.
Stevie leaned in toward Lori, her voice barely rising above the roar of the crowd. "Lori, I need you. I've got an itch on my back. Can you help me out?"
Lori's eyebrow arched, but she understood immediately. Without missing a beat, she subtly placed a hand on Stevie's back, her fingers quickly finding the spot that was driving Stevie mad. They synchronized effortlessly, as though it was a part of the act, blending seamlessly into the performance. Lori harmonized with Stevie, their voices merging as one in perfect unison, the crowd none the wiser to the behind-the-scenes struggle.
Stevie felt a wave of relief wash over her as Lori scratched at the spot. The discomfort started to fade, but the feeling lingered. She smiled to herself, grateful for Lori's quick thinking and unspoken understanding. The song reached its peak, and as it began to wind down, Stevie's confidence returned. She waved triumphantly to the audience as they erupted into applause, masking any signs of discomfort.
The last note rang out, and the band filed offstage, still riding the high of the performance. But as soon as the adrenaline started to fade, the mood backstage shifted. The tension was palpable as Lindsey, the band's fiery lead guitarist, wiped sweat from his brow and turned toward Stevie, his voice sharp and laced with frustration.
"So, uh, Stevie," he began, his tone cutting through the air, "what was that back there? You and Lori looked like you were doing a duet in the middle of the solo. Was that a stunt?"
Stevie, her breath still heavy from the performance, looked at him with a mix of exhaustion and annoyance. "I had an itch. It was driving me crazy. Lori helped me out. That's all."
Lindsey's face hardened. He scowled, a sneer crossing his lips. "An itch? Seriously? You couldn't wait until after the song to deal with it? It looked like you were completely off your game. We're supposed to be professionals, Stevie."
Stevie's patience thinned. "I'm not saying it was ideal, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn't ignore it. It was ruining my performance."
Lindsey threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over. "Why didn't you just power through like the rest of us? No one else stopped mid-song for something like that."
The atmosphere backstage became charged with tension as Sharon, the calm and collected backup singer who had been with the band from the beginning, stepped forward. "I don't think it's as big a deal as you're making it out to be, Lindsey," she said, her voice firm but not harsh. "Stevie was still giving her all, and Lori's a part of the act too. It was a team effort to make sure the show went smoothly."
Christine, the thoughtful pianist, chimed in, her voice steady and supportive. "Exactly. We're all human. Things happen. Stevie didn't lose the audience's attention, did she? The song still went great."
Lindsey snorted, clearly unconvinced, and crossed his arms, his face hardening further. "That's not the point. It just looked... unprofessional."
Mick, the ever-observant drummer, who had remained silent up to that point, finally spoke up, his voice low but thoughtful. "You know, I get where Lindsey's coming from. But... I've been there. Sometimes you're in the middle of a song, and you just can't ignore that itch. I've used my drumsticks to scratch spots on my arms before, just so I wouldn't lose focus."
Lindsey shot him a sharp look. "Are you serious, Mick? You're backing her up on this?"
Mick shrugged, his expression casual. "Yeah, I am. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to get through a performance. We're all on stage together, and it's about supporting each other. Stevie made it work."
Lindsey stared at Mick, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You're all insane. This should've never happened."
Lori, who had been standing off to the side, her arms crossed, finally spoke, her tone cool but firm. "Lindsey, I get it. I've been on stage too long to think that everything's always going to go perfectly. Stevie was uncomfortable, and I helped her out. It was quick, and no one even noticed. Why make a big deal out of it?"
Lindsey shot her a cold glare, but Lori didn't flinch. "It wasn't a distraction. If anything, it made the performance feel more real. Like we're not some untouchable rock stars, but people who deal with the same things the audience does. An itch is an itch, no matter where you are."
Lindsey glared at her for a moment longer before his gaze shifted to the floor. He crossed his arms and let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he muttered, his tone heavy with resignation. "But I still don't think it should've happened in the first place."
Mick clapped Lindsey on the back. "Sometimes, man, you just have to roll with it."
Lindsey shook his head, clearly still seething. "Whatever. I'm out. You all can argue about it all you want. I'm done."
As Lindsey stormed off to find a quiet corner, the tension in the room began to dissipate. Sharon broke the silence with a soft chuckle. "Well, at least we know we can always count on Lori and Stevie for keeping it real."
The rest of the band chuckled, relieved the argument was over, though Lindsey still fumed from the other side of the room. Stevie rubbed her neck, still feeling the remnants of the awkward moment but grateful for the unwavering support of her bandmates.
"I just didn't want that itch to mess up the performance," Stevie admitted, shaking her head with a smile. "But next time, I'll try to power through it."
Sharon grinned. "Hey, as long as the show's a hit, that's all that matters."
Lori, winking playfully, added, "And don't worry, next time I'll keep my hands ready, just in case."
Despite the tension that had flared up, the bond between the band members remained unbroken. After all, they'd weathered worse together—and this little hiccup would fade into the chaos of life on the road.
