The Rockstar Within Me

©2011  

My body was shaking with adrenaline. This was it. Show time. The screams coming from the arena were deafening. They made the floor vibrate and it was impossible to hear anyone, even if they were screaming into your ear. Stage crew were running around, talking into walkie talkies, trying to get things ready for when the concert would begin.  

I adjusted my guitar strap for the tenth time in five minutes. My mind was swimming with information, noises and sounds. Out of the corners of my eyes I could see my other band members getting into their own zone, like we always did before a gig. Granted, we had never even dreamed playing for this sort of crowd.  

It felt like thousands of people had lined up for days for this concert. Just to hear us play. Just to make our dreams come true. Just to see us.  

Or should I say him.  

River Johnson. The River Johnson. MTV's favorite new artist, Billboard's youngest top selling artist, ITunes most downloaded etc etc. Yes, the one and only.  

He had millions of fans around around the world. From his mouthwatering good looks to his songs about love and being young; he was the perfect mixture of pop star. 

From his medium dark brown hair that always seemed to be perfectly styled to look messy, his naturally tan skin that made him looked kissed by the sun, his relatively lean and fit frame or his cystal clear emerald eyes....What girl wouldn't love him? 

Turns out his record company thought that kids would come out to concerts more often if they saw other kids performing. They held auditions and somehow, little old Shatter - our band- became River Johnsons' backup band.  

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the negative feelings that were bubbling up. Of course I was grateful we could do this, the whole band was. We got to tour, and make music like we always wanted.  

We were lucky.  

 I kept muttering that to myself, as I heard the video clip that started the concert, begin. The lights went off, only to be replaced with millions of different flashes from cameras coming from every possible angle.  

My hand was squeezed from beside me. One of my best friends, Jessica Silverston grinned at me as she jumped up and down, her usual before-a-gig ritual. Excitement totally took her body over. I noticed her short blonde hair was styled as usual in a bob. She wore a grey mini skirt, with black tights with large holes cut into them, paired with a ripped over sized nirvana T-shirt. She screamed rock star. 

Though we were dressed to look similar, I still looked different; like me. My dark brown normally straight hair was curled and extensions were attached to make me a mass of curls. I wore a mini dress that had long sleeves and was navy, with silver chains hanging off it randomly, paired with the highest back strappy heels I'd ever worn. Plus my signature feathers were dangling from different places in my hair, matching my hazel eyes.  

I admitted to myself that I looked the part of a rock star, just something was bugging me. Jess looked completely sure of herself, like she had done this a million times before, which was of course far from  the truth.  

I didn't consider playing in a garage or a party full of drunk and high teenagers an actual gig. Or at least not to this level. Indeed this was a change of scenery.  

I grabbed my guitar and jumped with her, nervousness subsiding for a moment. Her new fake nails dug into my arm as she screamed something I couldn't make out. Before I could ask her what she said we were pushed forward toward the stage by our tour manager.  

Jeffrey Smith was his name, but we called him Jeffy to piss him off. He was just pushing thirty, which to him was "too old to be babysitting teenagers". Not the nicest guy, but he had a great sense of humour.