Luke

Chapter 9

I met up with the band members at the party around 7:30pm on Wednesday. Ryan and Zach were pulling everything out of their car.

“Finally, there you are. We have to be on in 15 minutes,” Zach told me, shoving a bag into my hands. “Bring these inside.”

“Hi to you, too,” I replied under my breath, grabbing a couple bags and bringing them up the thin stairwell heading upstairs. The place was already packed with students, the smell of alcohol and sweat condensing in the room. It made me feel sick. 

“Can you set up the wires and crap?” Zach asked, putting down his bag of some drum shit.

“Fine,” I responded, pushing the amps into place with struggle, untangling the wires once I pulled them out of the black instrument bags. Zach and Ryan continued their trips dropping stuff off for me to set up. I plugged in the amps and guitar and bass pedals, checking to see if they worked. After I was done, I went outside for a quick smoke, trying to avoid all the other smokers and stoners bundled outside. Mostly, I was just trying to avoid the girls.

Some girl came outside and called my name. I peeked around the corner to see who it was; It was Gina. I sighed and put out my half-finished cigarette, putting it back into the box and coming out of hiding. 

"What do you want, Gina?" I questioned. 

"You're late! I expected that from Zach and Ryan, but you too?"

"I was having a smoke, quit bitching at me."

"I've been planning this party for weeks, Luke. Get up there and play! What am I paying you for?"

"I'm going, I'm going! Chill out!" I went around the building and ran up the stairs, my breath quickening. Stairs would be the death of me.

"C'mon, mate. You're late for sound check. We already tuned up."

"I already tuned up, too." I replied, shrugging off my jacket and slinging the bass strap over my shoulder. 

"Alright then. So can we bloody start now?"

"I'm not stopping you," I answered, plucking at my bass to warm up my fingers. Herds of people started crowding around the stage once they heard the sound of sound check and British coming from the band room. Dozens of girls were staring at me strumming my bass, all of them looking away when I looked up to look at them. Ryan told me apparently I’m the “chick-magnet” of the band. His words, not mine. I didn’t want to even be involved with the girls in school. All of them keep trying to hook up with me and talk to me, but I leave the gigs as soon as I get a chance. Zach and Ryan are the ones who hook up with the drunk ones after we’ve played.

“How’s it going tonight?” Ryan asked into the microphone once we were ready to play. I flicked on my amp, a muted D humming from the string. The crowd started to cheer and raise their cups, just as they usually do. Ryan did the whole introduction, said a lame joke, as he usually does, and we started. We played the stupid covers we practiced: 30 Seconds to Mars, Nirvana, Nine Inch Nails and shit like that. Everyone enjoyed it, but I just played for the money. That's a lie; I play for the music as well, I guess. Ryan and Zach played for the money and the girls. Never the music.

I barely did anything on stage when we played; I was an average bassist and the most interesting thing I did was sing backup and did the screams, if there were any. I didn’t even dance or give a decent stage presence. But, even still, the girls were cheering me on and freaking out over me. I had no fucking idea why. I still don't. It's like I have a fucking fandom or something. 

Ryan played guitar and lead vocals. He had more stage presence than both me and Zach combined, which is a pretty decent amount. Being English definitely attracted more girls, I suppose.  Zach was British, too. He was on drums, and he was always just a little drunk at all times. They were decent guys. They got on my nerves about 95% of the time and were really fucking annoying, but they were good guys.