Ask Me Anything

Chapter 4 - Practice

Practice is soon. Since receiving Ray's voicemail, I've spent the majority of the day wandering around the apartment trying to figure out what to do. I straightened my hair. I had some cereal. I played Battlefront on the Xbox for a while, but couldn't concentrate enough to do the game any justice. I'm certain all of the highly dedicated and skilled 13-year-old boys on my team were cursing my shooting ability. I'm running out of viable ways to procrastinate.

I find myself sitting on the couch again staring at what I am fairly certain is her phone number. If I text her now, I'll be distracted the entire time I'm at practice. If I don't, I'll still be composing dozens of messages in my head the entire time, trying to figure out exactly what to say. Yes, I am sitting here try to get a strategy in place so I can text someone. I'm fairly certain that this is the actual definition of 'overthinking'. I'm like Cameron Frye deciding if he wants to skip school with Ferris or not.

I glance at the time again. Shit.

I shove my phone in my pocket and pack my electric guitar in its case, reluctantly leaving the scrap of paper with her phone number on the table. I zip down the stairs and carefully lay the guitar case flat across the back seat of my car. We are still having our practices at Greg's parents' house. It isn't ideal, but it is free and keeps us from having to rent studio space. The best part, however, is that it is only 10 minutes away. I put my seatbelt on, back out of the parking spot and speed down the parkway.

The practices and shows are basically the only meaningful social contact I have with the world. When we first started, it was all pretty much unbearable. The easy banter between the four of them was an unknown skill for me. It was perplexing how they could just find words and go back and forth about so many things without struggling. When I joined in conversations, I was basically drowning in air. Over time, they learned what overwhelmed me and what didn't. They didn't try to ask me questions or force me to participate, they just stepped back and let me engage how I wanted. I wondered for a while why they even tolerated me and my extreme awkwardness. There were plenty of people out there who would have loved to be in a band. But what I quickly figured out, was that they had an odd sort of respect for me. When I did talk, it was only ever about the music and they took everything I said very seriously. My suggestions and changes were rarely questioned. All of the words, thoughts, and emotions they had were wasted on random socialization, whereas I funneled it all into the music and lyrics.

I pull into the driveway about 15 minutes late, but I know there is no danger that they've already started. Guitar slung over my shoulder, I let myself in the front door and head to the finished basement. I give everyone a half wave and they acknowledged me with nods. I'm half listening to their conversation as I get my guitar out of my case.

"You didn't have to be such a jackass to her," Greg scolds.

I know who he is talking to without even looking. It's the same conversation they have every week, just about a different girl. At least it sounds like it's wrapping up. I can hear them shuffling and getting ready behind me.

"What? She knew what she was getting herself into. She shouldn't have presumed that it was anything more than a fling," Heath shrugs. "I never made any promises."

Guys in rock bands basically come in two different flavors. The first are the guys who absorb all of the female attention. They crave it and their egos depend on it. Any chink in their armor of self-confidence could quickly be remedied by any nameless, faceless, pretty girl who was willing. I, on the other hand, am the other flavor. The less fun and gawky flavor. I was the awkward guy who was dropped into the middle of a moderately successful band as the lead singer and guitar player against his best judgement. Since day one they were dumbfounded about my reluctance to reap in the benefits of being in a somewhat successful band.

"How do you do it, James?"

I turn around at the sound of my name. It's pretty rare that they ask me my opinion about anything other than music. From the look on my face, he must have realized that I hadn't been paying attention.

"How do you do it?" Heath asks again, his voice and face seeming more curious than callous. "How are you not affected by any of the girls?"

"Oh...um....I wouldn't say that exactly..." I say, unsure of what to say.

All four of them stop and look at me.

"You mean you're interested in someone?" Greg says with wide eyes. "Who is it?"

"She's...um..."

"Wait!" Jack interrupts loudly. "You're being serious about being into someone?"

"Fuck," Heath says, giving his amp a kick. "The minute you turn into a lady's man, I'm screwed."

"Why?" I ask, surprised by my own curiosity.

"Because you're the one they all want!" he looks at me incredulously. "I'm the one they settle for once they realize it's not going to happen with you. They won't shut up about how great you are. Do you know how creative I have to be to seduce someone when they're only sleeping with me because of my proximity to you on stage?"

I gape open mouthed at them as they all nod in agreement. I can feel a burning blush start to crawl up my neck.

"When we're on stage on Saturday night, truly look at the crowd this time," Griffin says kindly. "You'll see it. Is she going to be there?"

Still speechless, I nod.

"Ok. Well, gentlemen, I guess we need to up our game this weekend to help James out with his girl," Jack says with a grin, as he picks up his bass, ready to play.