Just A Little Bit ✔️

1. Kinley

Kinley Price, In Real Life

My pre-show ritual begins with a rum and coke. I down it within five minutes of entering a pub for an open-mic. That way, the warmth of the alcohol floods my system and gives me the courage I need to get up on stage. Nerves are normal, but that doesn't mean I like them one bit. I've never been one to get inside my own head if I can help it.

    I mean, I'm a little girl from Long Island in New York City, attempting to make a name for myself. I'm pretty sure everything about that is a cliché waiting to be written about, but I don't care. I know people tend to get hopped up on the idea of fame, but I play because I have to. Not because I want to, or because I think it'll earn me a spot on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Music is the only thing that loosens the noose around my neck.

    On the weekdays, I'm working two jobs to pay rent, but after the end of my shifts, I put my face on and turn into someone else. It's like donning a costume, acting in my own life. I stop being Kinley Jolene Alessandria Price-Matthews and morph into Kinley Price. My moniker is catchier. If your name is too complicated, no one will remember you. Plain and simple.

    "Hey, Kinley!" Franco, the bartender and one of my favorite people, shouts out to me as soon as I walk in with my guitar case in one hand and my signature leather jacket in the other. I grin when our eyes meet and slip into the stool across from him.

    "Hey," I say, tilting my head. "Wanna get started on my usual?"

    "Already have it," he tells me, sliding a glass my way. "I beat you to it this time."

    "Definitely."

    He leans in close, and at first, the proximity startles me until I see where he's gesturing. "See the guy in the suit over there?"

    Sure enough, in the corner booth lies a businessman type drinking whiskey neat and thumbing through his phone. He's got headphones in, which means he probably doesn't want to be talked to. It's strange to see guys like him hiding out in Brooklyn. Usually, they drink in Manhattan, sticking to the clubs that basically require a membership to get in.

    "Who is he?" I ask.

    "He's a manager for Warner Music," Franco whispers. "He's come out to check for up and coming talent."

    "Shut up!" I exclaim. "For real?"

    "Yep," Franco confirms. "Crazy right?"

    "Insane."

    It's even crazier that he would be looking here, of all places. I'm so used to drunks and a few college students sneaking in underage that I don't know when an opportunity is about to arise. Needless to say, I better stop staring before I make a fool of myself.

    "You're singing tonight, right?" asks Franco.

    "I have to," I say, sneaking another glance at the record label guy. "I just don't know what to play."

    "Start with Think I Might and work from there," he suggests.

    "Are you sure?"

    "100%," he says.

    Just then, his boyfriend, Crawford, hops on stage and grabs the mic. He swings the stand to the side as his voice rings through the crowd. "How y'all doing tonight, Brooklyn?"

    A chorus of cheers erupt, and I cup my hands over my mouth as I hoot and holler along with them. Crawford basks in the energy, tipping his fedora at Franco and me with a goofy look on his face. I can't help but giggle at the sight of it, equally hopped up on my nerves.

    "We have a few people signed up for the night, and our first little artist is a good friend of mine. Give it up for Miss Kinley Price!"

    There are a few crucial moments in the time leading up to me getting in front of everyone. In the span of me taking those steps, I have to design a setlist, figuring out how to fill my ten minutes. I downed the last of my rum and coke before I waltzed up here, but it's doing little to help me now.

    I push a hand through my diligently curled auburn hair and beam as I plug my acoustic into the amp. It's just me up here, which means every song is stripped down to its bare bones. I have no back-up, and with the familiar press of my guitar against my sternum, I feel every movement like an extension of myself.

    My nail slides along the strings, testing them. The man from Warner Music is watching me, and I'm determined to keep the attention.

    "As Crawford said, my name is Kinley," I announce. "And this is Think I Might."

    I wrote the song in five minutes on an old receipt. I'd just hooked up with some NYU grad student after a night of clubbing. He was a self-righteous asshole, but he was hot and I was drunk and one thing led to another. Anyway, he kicked me out of his studio right after, and as I stumbled through the walk of shame, I started to hear the words in my mind.

    So, I sat down on the steps outside the building with my bar tab and a pen with ink running low and scribbled out the words.

Don't know if I will

But I think that I might    

Fall in love tonight

Fall in love tonight

Don't know if you will

But I think that you might

Fall in love tonight

Fall in love tonight

    For me, the chorus comes first. The hook of a song digs its claws in deep and takes hold of me. From there, I branch out, like building a tiny universe to cram in the span of a few minutes. When I sing, the words erupt, and soon I forget all about the important man watching me or the eyes on me. All I am is right here. I'm focused, ready to achieve.

    I finish strong, and while I'm confident in my performance, I feel myself deflate when I see the retreating back of a familiar suit. It takes everything in me to recover from the blow, but I put my game face on and pick a new track.

    "Alright, this one is a cover of one of my favorite songs. It's called Better Off Without You."

***

so that's not a happy ending, but it's okay. kinley shall survive

what do y'all think? there will be some traditional chapters like these. tbh i like them better, but i also have a lot of fun with the other digital elements haha

i need to get a life XD

signing off,

mads