“Guess what?” He whispers like it’s a secret, whatever he’s about to tell me is exciting because he looks like a kid standing at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning. Waiting for the go ahead to go check out what Santa brought them.
“What?” I ask, a slow smile pulling at my cheeks. He pinches his lips between his teeth to hide the grin I know he’s trying to conceal.
“We’re playing the Watering Hole tonight.” He says, and the grin he tried to hide breaks free. He could have told me he made waffles, and I’d be just as excited with the grin he’s giving me. His face beams with pure happiness, and I fall into his happiness like Alice down the hole to Wonderland.
“You’re shitting me?” I ask, grinning wildly.
“Nope. Barney just called while you were sleeping and said the other band canceled. They’re out, and we’re in.” He almost squeals. His excitement is contagious, and I sit up excitedly, realizing quickly I don’t have a shirt on. I cross my arms in front of me to cover up my breasts. His eyes fall to where I’m covered, and he clears his throat, looking away quickly. Andrew and I have fooled around a few times, this isn’t the first time he’s seen me topless, but it is the first time we weren’t in the heat of the moment. Using one arm, I cover my breasts and grab my t-shirt that was discarded to the floor the night before. At seventeen, I’ve filled out nicely. I have thicker hips, and I’ve grown at least a full cup size over the last year. My arms are toned as hell from the constant practice we attend, and my long blonde hair flows down my back. Andrew quickly averts his eyes as I right myself, we’ve been playing this cat and mouse game for over a year. He peeks, I peek, we make out and dry hump, but it never goes further than that. I wish he’d shit or get off the pot at this point.
“Get dressed.” He winks as he stands from the bed and exits my bedroom.
***
I twirl my sticks in my hand anxiously as Andrew, Alex, and Boston check their instruments. We’re sitting in the back room of the Watering Hole, waiting for the first band of the night to finish their set. We aren’t legally old enough to be here, but no one cares. This place isn’t on the up and up with the law and allows minors in all the time.
“This could be it.” Andrew says excitedly from his seat across the room.
“Could be.” Alex nods, taking the shot he got from some waitress who passed by the room. He tosses the liquor back and sighs dramatically. His head tilts back to the ceiling, and I watch as he visibly loosens his muscles. I don’t really mess with alcohol often, once in a while at a party or after practice I’ll partake, but I prefer to be sober. You don’t have to blame your antics on alcohol if you stay sober, less to apologize for.
A clear shot glass lands on the coffee table in front of me, the shot full to the brim with an amber liquid.
“Drink up, Bristol. We’re cheersing.” Andrew says as he pours a shot of his own. This is a celebration after all. We’ve played at school functions and a couple of birthday parties but never for a crowd this big.. A lead weight sinks against my chest at the thought of fucking up my drum solo in the second song of our set list. Andrew gave it to me specifically because it’s a knock off of my idol. I set my sticks down on the table and reach for the shot glass. Three sets of eyes meet mine as they hold up the tiny glasses.
“Cheers to making our mother fucking dreams come true.” Andrew says. Holding his glass higher than the others.
“Cheers!” We all say in unison. I press the glass to my lips and take a deep breath. The liquid burns down my throat and settles warmly in my stomach. It’s not until I exhale that I taste the putrid taste of whiskey. I set the shot glass down on the table and wiggle a little bit, trying to get the taste out of my mouth and nose.
“You’ll get used to it, babe.” Alex says with a wink. He grabs his guitar from the stand and pushes his arm through the shoulder strap. His dark hair covers his face as he looks down at the guitar, checking strings. He must feel my eyes on him because in the next second he looks up and shoots me a smirk. I smile at him, in a way I hope is friendly not come fuck me. I love Alex, he’s a great guy. But he’s not Andrew. Never will be.
Drumming is like punctuating life with a rhythm. A song can soar or drop dead with the drums; it’s a heavy burden, and one I don’t take lightly as my feet rest on the pedals for my drum kit. My palms sweat from the nerves overtaking me, and I have to fight the urge to set my sticks down and run my palms across my pleated black skirt. A lump rises in my throat as the bright lights shine directly in my face. I can’t do this, I think to myself.
Just as I’m planning my escape route, Andrew turns around and smiles at me. His smile is warm and encouraging. He throws in a cheeky wink, reminding me that I can do this. He believes in me; these boys believe in me. I swallow the dam in my throat and force a smile, praying to whoever’s listening that it doesn’t relay how terrified I am. Andrew nods to me, his signal that he’s ready for me to count him in. With shaky hands, I raise the sticks above my head and clack them together three times. At the last click, I hear the whining of Boston’s bass, and all nervousness leaves me as I watch Andrew step up to the mic to deliver the opening lines of a song that we co-wrote. His shoulders visibly descend from his neck as he gets comfortable.
Andrew has the voice of an angel. I knew the first time I heard him sing that the world wouldn’t know what hit them after they heard his deep gravelly voice on their radios. I knew he was going places. He was headed straight to the top, and I’m forever thankful he chose this gang of misfits to join him in his rise to stardom.
My arms move quickly across the plastic drumheads, and I close my eyes and let the tempo pull me into the abyss. I know these songs like the back of my hand, we’ve practiced them daily for almost a year. As the final song of our set approaches, my solo looms heavily like a dark cloud above me. I know it. The guys know I know it, but as my arms move quickly, I can fight the nagging feeling that I’m going to miss a beat and fuck the whole thing up. Boston’s guitar wanes, pulling me from the internal panic attack. I take the cue and drop into a synchronized rhythm pattern that would have John Bonham himself tipping his hat at me. My arms move at record speed, nailing every single beat with the precision of a seasoned vet. My blonde hair whips around in front of me as sweat coats my arms. I've never felt more alive than I do at this moment.
When the sticks finally stop pounding against the drum set, I lift my head tentatively to gauge the crowd. I push the hair out of my face to find all three boys staring, instruments abandoned as they gawk at me. The audience is silent, their eyes wide as well, either my performance was so terrible they are stunned silent, or it was so amazing they can’t even cheer. I’d give my left tit for it to be the latter. I’ve never been so into a session in my life; I felt like I was hovering above myself. Like it wasn’t even my arms working the sticks, but like I was a bystander, an audience member watching from the sidelines.
The guys regain their composure quickly. Andrew grabs the mic, holding it to his lips as his eyes hold mine. His back is tilted away from the audience as he starts the last chorus. His eyes hold mine as he sings, and I feel electric, not just from my solo but the way he’s looking at me. Adoration is the only way to describe the look in his eyes. He turns his lithe body back towards the crowd in front of us. The moment between us passes, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Thank you, Seaside, we’re The Plight!” Andrew yells into the microphone, his voice carrying through the small room out onto the boardwalk. The crowd cheers for us as we all stand to walk off the stage.
The boys hoot and holler as we make our way down the staggered hallway leading to the back room we left our stuff in.
“You were fucking incredible.” Alex says as we turn the corner into the room. Heat rises to my cheeks as I accept his praise. He leans forward and plants a sweaty kiss to my cheek, shooting me a wink as he pulls away. I fight the urge to cup my cheek where his lips just left my face. I smile bashfully at him as he backs away. As soon as my eyes leave his, they find a set of green eyes from across the room. Andrew stands rigid as more people fill the cramped space. He quirks an eyebrow at me, his eyes shooting from me to Alex in question. I shrug a single shoulder and move to the threadbare couch sitting in the middle of the room.
A shot appears in front of me, and I grip the tiny glass like my life depends on it. I feel more loose than I have in years, riding the high of the performance and the crowd’s reaction to our music.
“Cheers, Pistol” Andrew says, flopping down into the seat next to me, his shoulder knocks mine as he invades my space. The motion causes the liquid in the glass to cover my hand. Wait, what did he call me?
“Pistol?” I ask, a smile playing on my lips. “Where’d that come from?”
“It rhymes with your name and your speed on the drums.” Andrew shrugs, embarrassment creeping into his features..
“I like it.” I smile and tap my chin dramatically, looking lost in thought.
“You’re like a quick draw in the old west.” He says, pulling an imaginary pistol out of his pocket and firing. We both laugh at the imagery and settle into a strange silence.