Over the last few weeks, they met in Lon’s garage, as his parents didn’t care about all the noise.Occasionally, they’d come out and say, “Hey, y’all sound good tonight.”They’d been practicing the only song that Alex and Lon agreed on: “Face Down” by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.Ry memorized the lyrics.Alex dissected the chords as best he could.Brand worked with the keyboard on the tougher riffs and the melody.Lon learned the driving rhythm and how to work a drum kit.
Now, they were going to take the stage, performing for the whole high school in the yearly talent show.They moved as quietly as possible in the dim space behind the backstage curtain.Alex hooked his guitar to an amplifier.Brand connected the keyboard the school loaned him to another small amp.Ry helped Lon move and set up the borrowed drum kit, a cymbal shimmering faintly at Lon’s touch.Ms.Black watched and assisted them as needed, though her eyes wandered her domain.
Weak clapping signaled the end of the ventriloquist act.
“Our next number features a few of our favorite Eagles here!”Principal Kincaid announced.“Please give a warm welcome to Astro Calamitas!”
Minimal applause greeted them as the curtain rose.Ry stepped up to the mic that everyone had been using.Feedback screeched out.The lights blinded him to the audience of his peers.He closed his eyes and imagined the familiar garage instead.This was just another practice.
Lon began with a driving drumbeat, each thump setting an urgent pace.Ry’s heart matched the rhythm.Lon crashed the cymbals, the waves spilling out past Ry to the sea before him.Alex unleashed a torrent of guitar chords that sliced through the air with raw energy.
To add intensity, Brand added his flair on the keyboards, weaving a melody that danced between the music.He covered for Alex’s inexperience, adding depth to the sound.
Ry took a deep breath and opened his eyes, and sang.
The rapid tempo pulsed.Dark lyrics, describing abuse and the things adults thought high schoolers knew nothing about, flowed from him.He invited the audience in so they would not be alone in their pain.His voice held steady as he fell to one knee, hair falling into his face.
The words about being in the dirt, the raw hurt of him being bullied tied to the words, poured out of him and through the mic.The rise and fall of the song pushed him forward, squeezing every ounce of emotion from him.The wall of sound from Alex and Brand held him upright, and the beat Lon laid down kept him buoyed until the last line.
The crowd applauded, and they got a few cheers and whistles, probably from Alex’s friends.Ry felt drained and light, as if a strong wind might topple him.Ry bowed and set the mic back on the stand.
“Thank you, Astro Calamitas,” Principal Kincaid said.“Get ready for the cheer squad next!”
The band then headed off the stage, and Ry swayed into Alex’s arms once they were in the wings as the cheerleaders brushed past them.Ms.Black ushered them out from backstage into an empty hallway.
“That was amazing,” he said after a moment.“We kicked ass.”
Lon grinned.“We did.How many people entered?Do you think we are gonna win?”
“Let’s not worry about that,” Brand said, guiding the group to the entrance so they could return to their seats.
“It’s not a big deal if we win or lose,” Alex said, shrugging.He followed Brand.“We gave it all we had.That’s what matters.”
They caught the last of the cheerleader’s performance and then sat near the back of the auditorium.The next group saw a few of the popular girls do their impression of the Mean Girls Christmas dance.And someone Ry didn’t know attempted to copy Napoleon Dynamite.
The acts Ry witnessed made him squirm.The worst by far was a spoken word performed by Hayden Greenstone: a misogynistic poem he claimed echoed Bukowski's genius.
“Shit,” Lon whispered to him.“Couldn’t have been this bad?”
“I hope not,” he replied.“Your mom always said we sounded great, though.”
“Mom is an angel and wouldn’t have the heart to tell us if we sucked, which we don’t.”
After one of the better performers, Michelle Winters, a drama student who delivered a Shakespearean monologue, Principal Kincaid was back on the stage.
“Well, we had amazing performances today.Don’t you think?”
Half-hearted applause came from the audience.High school students were usually more excited about the prospect of a nap or a pizza party.
“We’ve got our judges coming up in a moment with their final verdicts for this year’s winners.”
The cool teachers—Mrs.G., Mr.Holland, and Ms.Valerie—judged the contest.They did every year.As a group, they headed to the stage, whispering to each other.Ry, instead of his usual resentment at such events, felt a sudden jolt of anticipation.He wanted to win.He found it difficult to breathe.Lon gazed up at the judges, looking entranced.Brand sat with his back straight, but otherwise appeared calm.Alex looked over at him and then to the stage.
Ms.Valerie stepped up to the mic.
“Well, we had very good contestants today,” she said.“I have to say, it gets harder to pick a winner every year.”
She passed the mic on to Mrs.G.
