AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She opens her mouth. But closes it. Her nostrils flare.
“Some of those vocal tics you do? Knock that shit off. That’s not you, and you know it. You’re copying the artists you admire. Being a Laila knockoff. Strip that bullshit off your vocals and tell the truth, whatever it is—good, bad, or ugly. If you get real, you’ll get confident, Alessandra. The two things go hand in hand. And then maybe you’ll smoke the proverbial joint of life when it’s offered to you. Or you’ll turn it down, if that’s truly what you want to do. But when you turn down the joint of life, don’t do it because you’re nineteen, and the legal age is twenty-one. For fuck’s sake, turn it down because you don’t want the fucking joint! Which is a perfectly valid thing, by the way, as long as it’s the truth.”
She’s clearly holding back tears.
“I’m talking about the joint as a metaphor, Alessandra. I’m not the bad guy in an after-school special.” I smile, but she’s not even close to being able to return the gesture. “Look, I’m trying to do you a favor here. You get that, right? You’re hiding behind your music, rather than revealing yourself through it. Fix that, and I think you could have a shot. But, as it is, until you get real, and get the confidence boost that will come from that, I can’t imagine you’d be able to command a coffee house full of people as an artist, let alone an entire stadium.”
She swallows hard, fighting to keep her emotions from seeping out her eyes. And I momentarily feel bad to see my words make her want to cry. But I’ve come too far to stop now. I’m helping this girl. Giving her the keys to the kingdom, actually. And I’m not going to stop now, without saying everything that needs to be said. The truth hurts. But it also sets you free. And this girl, most definitely needs to be set free.
“If I’m full of shit, then prove me wrong.” I point toward the house. “Go in there, grab one of the acoustic guitars onstage, and sing the shit out of one of your songs the way I’m telling you to do it. Be you, not a Laila knockoff. Show me you can reveal yourself through your music, rather than hide behind it, and maybe today will turn out to be your lucky day.”
“I couldn’t possibly do that,” she whispers.
“I get that it’s an intimidating room. But so what? They’re just people. They were in your shoes once. Grab this opportunity I’m giving you. Get up there and knock me out. This is the chance of a lifetime. Grab it.”
She looks down at her hands and shakes her head.
“If you’re too nervous to play solo, then pull Fish onstage with you. He plays acoustic guitar and sings. You two could sing anything together. ‘Hey, Jude’ or ‘Stand by Me,’ for all I care. All that matters to me is you have the balls to get up there and grab this shot I’m giving you. Show me you’ve got what it takes, Alessandra. Prove me wrong.”
I get up from the bench, praying she’ll follow suit—hoping she’ll rise, literally and figuratively, and square her slender shoulders and march her shy little ass straight inside and onto that stage and knock it out of the park with a performance she didn’t even know she had inside her.
But, no.
She’s crumbling before my eyes.
Her chin trembling and her eyes pricking with tears, she stammers, “Thank you for taking the time to explain all this to me.” Before lurching off the bench and sprinting away into the night.
“Alessandra,” I call out after her. But only half-heartedly. Shouting at her isn’t going to make her stop running away. And I’m certainly not going to physically chase her. If she’s intimidated by me, then hunting her down is the last thing I should do. Plus, fuck it. I’m not here to hand out participation trophies. I tried to help her, but some people can’t be helped. Yes, I was honest with her. But if she can’t handle honesty, then she can’t handle the music industry. And that’s a fucking fact. My heart pounding, I sit back down on the bench, grab my empty glass, and take an ice cube into my mouth. Fuck.
“Where’s Alessandra?” Fish says, appearing before me with two water bottles. He looks around. “Did she go inside?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I reply. “I’m not sure.”
“She didn’t say where she was going?”
“No. But I can tell you where she hopes I’m going. To hell.”
Fish’s face falls. “What happened? What does that mean?”
“It means I said something that upset her, apparently. She ran off, on the verge of tears.”
Anger flashes across Fish’s usually congenial face. “What’d you say to her?”
