Bad Storm (10 page)

“Ready?” I said
with my phone pressed to my ear as I pulled a sock over my foot, somehow
managing to balance in mid-air. I was almost yelling because Sierra had the
hair-dryer on full blast in the bathroom, which was only a few feet away from
my bedroom.

“Yeah, we’ll come
to pick Sierra up in five, you worry about Brandon and everything should be
fine,” Nick said on the other side of the line. “What’s all that noise?”

“Vanity,” I
sighed.

“What?”

“Nothing. Where’s
Trent by the way? He hasn’t been answering my calls,” I said, even though I had
distinctly felt him before I fell asleep. He was somewhere between desperation
and anger, and I kept seeing flashes of boggy marshes and tall palmetto grass.

“He’s…don’t worry.
He’ll be there,” Nick promised. But I could feel a creeping fear begin to take
hold of me.

“Okay but—”

“Ow!” Sierra
yelled.

“I’ll see you
later, Sierra troubles.” I ended the call before I could hear Nick’s response.
I rushed over to the bathroom.

“Are you okay?”
Sierra turned to me, her face scrunched up in misery as she nursed a finger in
her other hand.

“I burned my finger
on the blow dryer,” she whined, her eyes as wide as a puppy’s.

“Oh, it’ll be
okay.” I fought back the urge to laugh. I bandage up her burn after putting
Neosporin on it, and blow-dried her hair quickly for her.

“Okay, the rest
will have to air dry,” I clucked at her. “The guys will be here at any minute
to pick you up and I have to go get Brandon.”

“Oh, alright,” she
complained. I shook my head, knowing as soon as I’d leave she’d turn the blow
dryer back on.

“I’ll see you
there,” I said, leaving the bathroom to pick up my messenger bag from my room.

“All right, see
you later!” She called as I passed by the bathroom to the living room.
“Behave!” I called back over my shoulder.

The weather was
dismal again, foreshadowing the tropical storm that was supposed to visit us in
the middle of the night. I sighed, trying to push the storm out of my mind as I
winded down the tight little streets, the pavement sometimes a little too old
or too cobbled. I showed up at Brandon’s new place of work, a place called,
“Hot Dog!” which served a large range of specialty hotdogs (Chicago style,
alligator, rabbit) and beer.

I saw him standing
outside, waiting for me with a wide smile.

“Hey birthday boy!
Hope on my gnarly motorcycle!” I joked, and he laughed.

“Oh you.” I could
see a look of gleeful suspicion on his face as he took off his paper hat and
tucked it into the front sleeve of his apron. “Where are we going again?”

“It’s a secret,” I
said as he straddled the moped behind me and rummaged in the small trunk
attachment for a helmet.

“Uh huh,” he said,
as if he didn’t believe me. I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride knowing
that no matter what he suspected, he couldn’t guess what I had in store for
him.

By the time we got
to The Nightshift small droplets were falling from the sky. I pulled out my
umbrella from the back, shaking my head in disappointment.

“This doesn’t look
like a surprise party,” Brandon said, genuinely puzzled.

“Yeah, sorry.
Dan’s brother works here, I promised him I drop something off since he has to
work all day today,” I said, looking behind him as the painfully rehearsed
lines left my lips.

“Right,” Brandon
rolled his eyes and I knew the gig was up.

“Just…Just come
inside with me,” I huffed, my cheeks slightly red with embarrassment and
excitement. He followed me to the backdoor, where I whispered our names into
the bouncer’s name. He looked perplexed by my odd behavior, but let us in all
the same. I didn’t even look back at Brandon, sure I’d give everything away.

 
I just marched on forward towards the
green room, where Nick, Martin and Trent were sitting on an old sofa chatting
casually with Sierra, who I was surprised to see got their before us.

“Brandon!” Martin
cheered, and I wondered for a minute if he was kind of drunk.

“What’s going on?”
Brandon said, and I turned around to see his priceless, confused expression.

“Happy Birthday!”
Trent cheered, and Nick beamed. Sierra shot up from her spot on the floor to
pull Brandon in a big hug.

“Guys…” he said,
looking at each of their faces, and then to the back wall where a drummer from
another band was banging on a table with his drumsticks, mindlessly. “Will
someone please tell me what’s going on?”

The excited panic
in his voice let me know that this was all too good to be true for him. “Bad
Moon is playing here tonight! You have a gig!” I gushed, joining Sierra for the
hug.

I felt several
bodies move in behind us, and I knew we were in another awesome, Bad Moon
sandwich.

“Oh my God!”
Brandon laughed. “I’m not prepared! I haven’t practiced!”

“You’ll be great,”
Martin grinned, and as we pulled away, I could see that he was almost beaming
at Brandon. Brandon’s smile was huge and goofy, and almost bashful.

“Besides, you practice
all the time. You can’t lie to us about that,” Trent pointed out, giving
Brandon a playful punch on the arm. Brandon scowled and then laughed.

The guys messed
around before sound check, and then got all of their equipment ready as Sierra
and I sorted through the merch. We decided it was the most fun to watch the
show from the back, so we decided to set up the merch table earlier.

But the strangest
thing happened once the house opened. People wouldn’t stop coming over to our
table.

“Oh my God,
Bad Moon
?” one girl said like she
couldn’t believe it. “I thought Riot was playing tonight!”

“Sorry to
disappoint,” I said, “they backed out last minute.”

“I’m not
disappointed, this is awesome! I want the album, and their E.P. and the shirt.
I’m going to change my status about this,” she rambled quickly and excitedly. I
chalked up her enthusiasm to her young age, but it kept happing. All kinds of
people kept coming up and buying everything they could get their hands on,
until I realized I’d have to go back to the van before they even started
playing for more stuff.

“Where did you
here about Bad Moon from?” I asked one guy as Sierra counted out his change.

“Fun Aim name
dropped them on their blog. Several big name music review blogs have written
articles about you guys after that, saying really awesome things. Surprised you
didn’t know,” he said, cocking his pierced brow at me.

“Sorry, I guess
we’re a little out of the loop,” I chuckled, trying to sound casual. But as
soon as he turned away I pulled out my phone, searching for Fun Aim’s blog.

“Oh my God,
Sierra, look at this,” I said, showing her the blog post.

“Woah,” she said.
“He’s linked the reviews, click on those.” But just as those pages were
loading, a hoard of teenage girls came up to the table, giggling excitedly.

“I’m going to have
to get more merch,” I told them, smiling politely as I walked off towards the
parking lot. My mind was reeling with questions and anxiety. Was this Aamir’s
way of reminding me he was out there, waiting for me?

‘Stop being so self-absorbed,’
I reminded myself, shaking away the terrible thought. ‘People can be nice,
that’s a thing.’

But I couldn’t
help but feel, as I carried back a box of t-shirts through the slight drizzle,
like this wasn’t a good thing. For one thing, the guys would not be comfortable
with this. For another, I couldn’t afford to have Aamir back in my life.

Because I was
happy. I finally had the man of my dreams in my life.

‘
Do you? Do you really?
’

I dropped the box
and screamed.

“Are you okay?” a
guy in all black asked me, tossing out his cigarette to pick up the box for me.

“Oh, I’m sorry,
thanks,” I said, opening my shaking arms to take it back from him. But the
cold, mocking words still filled my mind, and cut through my bones.

“Are you sure you
got
 
this?” he asked, hesitant to
give me the box.

“Yeah, totally,” I
said, trying to give him a genuine smile as I pulled the box away from him.
“Thanks so much,” I said quickly before taking off towards the merch table.

“Um, you look like
you’ve seen a ghost.” Sierra folded her arms over her chest. “What is going
on?”

“Not now,” I
murmured, smiling at the girls who were waiting eagerly for their t-shirts.
Sierra reluctantly finished the transactions as I handed them their t-shirts,
but I could feel her eyes on me the whole time.

Thankfully the
house lights came down and I was given a few moments before the band started
playing to recuperate myself. I knew Trent could feel my anxiety and fear, it
was too intense for him not to. I just wanted the show to go well without any
weird supernatural distractions, and when the boys came out, cheering and
holding the hands up in the air, I felt the small budding hope inside of me
that it was possible.

“Hello Deston
Beach!” Trent said into the mike, flashing his charismatic smile. People went
wild, throwing their fists up in ways I could hardly believe were real. Still,
I could feel Trent’s eyes flicker to me, concern masked behind his happy gaze.

“Are you ready to
rock?” he asked the crowd, tossing the guitar strap over his shoulder. They
roared again, and I could see that they boys were trying to hide their surprise
at the reaction. Trent hit a bright chord, the guitar hanging low, and I swear
I thought the place would explode with screaming girls and boisterous dudes.

They started their
set and it was like the crowd became a part of the music, swaying and thrusting
and jumping, pumping their fists in the air and hollering at the top of their
lungs. Sierra and I shared an amazed look. Everything, from their music to the
insane reaction of the crowd,
 
rendered us speechless.

Well, and there
was small issue of it being so loud it would have been impossible to talk
anyway.

But I sang along
to their music, more than happy to be distracted from the strange, cruel voice
that had filled my head.

Sierra and I stood
up to dance and sing along, knowing every word to every song by heart. Hearing
them live again reminded me what I wanted to do with my life, why settling for
anything but working for a band would be terrible—I lived for these
moments, when I could become a part of the music.

The set was
winding down, and I could feel the crowd, anxious to keep hearing Bad Moon’s
driving rhythms. It was, to say the least, completely awesome.

“You guys have
been terrific,” Trent said, “Have an awesome night!” he pumped up his fist, the
neck of his guitar in hand, and the crowd went wild, their cheers coursing with
electric energy. The light onstage turned off for a dramatic effect, and I
could see their figures trudging off the stage.

But even after they
disappeared, the crowd continued to cheer and applaud. It was so incredible
that I couldn’t help but scream along with the rest of them. No crowd had
reacted like this before, and the enthusiasm wasn’t just intoxicating, it was
infectious.

Then it started.

“Encore, encore,
encore…”

I bit my lip,
knowing full well it was unlikely they’d be allowed to come back on for an
encore. Opening bands rarely did because it could mess up the schedule. But the
crowd persisted, growing louder and louder until their pleas were almost
deafening.

Sierra started
cheering for an encore beside me, pumping a closed fist forward with each call
of “encore.” She smirked at me and then winked, encouraging me to join the
raucous racket. I picked up my hand and made a small fist, joining in the loud
roar of, “Encore, encore, encore…”

And then, much to
my astonishment, the blue lights of the stage came on. The chant erupted into
joyous cheers, and the guys came back. Trent in the forefront, a deliriously
happy grin on his sexy face.

“Thank you!” he
said, throwing his guitar strap back over his shoulder. He waited until the
cheers died down enough that he could talk, still beaming, a grin stretching
from ear to ear.

“This last song
will be accompanied by a very talented, beautiful lady, who made this night
possible. If you could all kindly help that girl at the merch table with the
red shirt on to the stage.”

My jaw dropped in
shock as the crowd turned to me, and Sierra came up from behind me, pushing me
towards some strange dude with a mohawk and an outstretched hand.

I couldn’t even
process what was happening as he and some other guy lifted me up into the
crowd, sending my body towards a sea of outstretched hands, the heat of pressed
up bodies beneath me as I sailed towards the stage.

Because this
wasn’t me. This wasn’t my life.