Louder than Words

Chapter One

A storm of music surrounds us, neon lights flashing like lightning above the darkened auditorium. I can't help but feel anxious, as if I'm about to be swept up into the tornado of writhing bodies. I can't even hear the lead singer. Her voice is drowned out both by the crowd and the guitarist.

The guitarist. She would be the thunder to this storm. Everything about her demands to be noticed: bubblegum hair, punky clothes, and a guitar that shakes the auditorium with each strum. The lead singer pales in comparison, even as she stands in the focus of the stage lights.

Yet the crowd screams on, not caring at all about the song, just happy to have a beat to dance to.

I'm starting to feel suffocated.

The song ends with a final strum from the guitar. I don't have it in me to join the crowd's wild cheering. I've heard enough.

As the next band enters the stage, I fight my way through the crowd. Try as I might to go in one direction, the waves of people push me somewhere else. But luckily a beacon of light, the exit sign, leads me forward.

When I reach the exit I burst through it, a drowned man desperate for air. Cool wind hits me with a blast of relief. I lean against the wall and close my eyes, thankful for the peace and quiet.

That is, until something starts jangling in front of me.

My eyes snap open to meet electric blue eyes.

A woman peers at me, her hands on her hips. I'm still trying to work out what to say when her pink hair catches my eye. It's the guitarist.

"Um, hi. You're the guitarist, right?"

She nods. I wait for her to say something. Surely she has something to say, judging from how intensely she's watching me. But she doesn't.

Feeling desperate to fill the silence, I add, "Your performance was amazing."

I'm not lying. Her skill with the guitar is undeniable. I just . . . I wish the lyrics had been heard.

She jabs her finger at me, then starts making weird gestures with her hands, her many bracelets clinking together furiously.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry, I don't know what you're trying to say."

She rolls her eyes, her hand darting forth to grab my arm. She drags me away from the wall. She takes a few more steps before I yank my arm free. "Wait, what are you doing?"

She throws her hands in the air and gives me a look that seems to say, Hurry up already! "Can I help you?" I offer, though the last thing I want to do is stick around.

She gestures for me to follow her.

"What exactly do you need help with?"

She rolls her eyes angrily to the sky.

I'm still trying to work out how I can make my exit when—

"Sorry about that. I got caught by a couple of fans." The masculine voice definitely does not belong to the guitarist. Pulsing music seeps through the exit doors as a man props them open. The street lights illuminate the colorful array of tattoos inked across his arms. His very muscular arms.

I start to back away. First this weird girl who looks like she's ready for a bar fight, and now this guy. My social skills are not prepared for this. "Sorry, I was just leaving."

"Wait wait wait, hang on! You're the guy who wrote our song, right?"

Against better judgement my legs stop. Our song? As I look closely, from the man's bald head to his scraggly beard, I realize he looks familiar. Then it hits me—I had seen him on the stage, the guy who wasn't in the spotlights but made enough movement to be noticed. The drummer.