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CHAPTER NINETEEN
NOVEMBER 9, 2012
The Madder Hatter didn’t have much of a backstage area, but they made it comfortable by pushing a few couches and loveseats against the back wall, which was made up of old, exposed brick.
I refused to drink or smoke before going on stage because I wanted to be completely present for our first show, and I didn’t want to risk messing anything up. The buzzing inside of my head was becoming obnoxious, though, and I begged my nerves to calm down as we sat backstage. More than once, I thought I might puke.
Drew was nervous, too, but he was handling it better than me. Meanwhile, Sean and Brian were all smiles. I wished I could be like that. I sat on one of the couches with my head in my hands, tapping my right foot. I’d already sweat so much, it felt like I’d stepped into a sauna. My shirt was plastered to my back like someone had glued it on.
“How long?” I asked Drew.
He paused, presumably to check the time. “About fifteen minutes.”
I puffed out a giant breath and rubbed at my temples. Less than a year prior, I hadn’t even sung for anyone besides myself. Now, I was going to step on stage and sing in front of hundreds. The bitter taste of vomit rose in the back of my throat. I forced it down and groaned uncomfortably.
“Here,” Drew said as he placed a cold plastic bottle full of water in my hands.
“Thanks.”
I managed a small sip, then ran over our very small setlist of six songs in my head for the hundredth time. My very scuffed Converse stared back at me from where I looked down at the floor while silently rehearsing lyrics. Three of the songs were of our own creation. The other three were covers of well-known songs—a slower, acoustic version of My Chemical Romance’s “I’m Not Okay” was one of them, and I found myself identifying with the lyrics more than ever.
The other bands hung around on some of the other couches, or stood outside on the back patio to smoke before they went on. I’d never heard of the other two bands, and I looked forward to the part of the show where we would be done performing, and we could stick around and listen to them play.
“You gonna be okay?” Drew whispered close to my ear. He smelled like something spicy, which usually turned me on. Instead, it worsened my nausea.
I did my best to give him a convincing nod. Carefully, I lifted my head from where I’d hanged it between my knees and leaned back against the couch.
Drew discreetly bumped his knee against mine. The small gesture made my heart squeeze, and one look at him made my throat dry up. He wore a simple, black V-neck t-shirt, ash gray skinny jeans with rips and tears from the bottoms of his pockets all the way down to his ankles, black Docs, and a maroon beanie. To put it simply, he looked fine as hell. He’d even let his mom trim his hair up before we left; his waves were curlier than what I had grown used to, and they framed his sharp, masculine features in a way that very well could have brought me to my knees.
“Okay. Let’s come up with a game plan.”
“What?” I hissed, suddenly worried. Had I forgotten something?
His knee touched mine again, and the small bump sent heat curling down from my sternum, past my stomach, and down to my toes. “Yeah. A game plan,” Drew said. “Let’s come up with somethingnowthat will help you chill out whenever we go on stage.”
I almost asked how he knew I’d freak out but thought better of it. Drew had known me long enough by now—reallyknew me. We both knew there was no way to predict how I’d be once I took the stage. I might be cool as a fucking cucumber, or I could pass out, piss myself, and refuse to perform ever again.
Drew leaned back against the couch so that we were shoulder to shoulder. He took the water bottle from me and took a swig. “You need something neutral to look at. Not the crowd, or the lights. Something…calming.”
I doubted there would be anything neutral or calming enough on that stage to make his recommendation possible.
“You could look a few feet in front of where the mic will be,” he offered. “It’ll just be the floor, but that’s good, right? You stare at the floor all the time. Shit, you were looking down at your shoes a second ago. Easy,” Drew joked. “Neutral. Not exciting.”
The nagging feeling in my gut remained. “I can try that. But—what if that doesn’t work?”
He shrugged and his shoulder rubbed against mine. “You can always close your eyes for a bit. Not for too long, cuz that might be weird. But, if it gets bad, shut your eyes for a bit. Pretend you’re somewhere you feel safe.”
I scoffed. “Did you just turn into my therapist?” I laughed for the first time since we’d arrived. The tension in my shoulders eased away from my ears just a little. Then, Drew winked at me, and my stage fright was suddenly replaced with butterflies of a completely different nature.
He leaned over a bit, his lips mere centimeters from my ear, and whispered, “You’re going to be great, Ash. And afterward, we’ll go home and celebrate. Just us.”
Drew pulled away, and goosebumps emerged along the skin on my neck where his warm breath had been. No one else could see his features in the low light backstage, but the look he gave me was dripping with sin, and his wicked smile held a promise that he had plans for us later in the night that had nothing to do with music and everything to do with us being naked in his bed.
Every nerveinside of me sent my body into a fit of uncontrollable vibrations as I walked onto the stage. I told myself that I wouldn’t look at the faces in the crowd, but despite the blinding lights situated toward us, I was able to make out the outlines of those closest to the stage.
Everything moved fast and dreadfully slow all at once as we took our places. People clapped around us, but the noise was faint through the blood whooshing in my ears. I wrapped my hands tightly around the microphone and felt a little faint. My knuckles bleached with the strain of my grip.After repeating Drew’s advice in my mind, I closed my eyes, counted to three, and took a breath.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” I asked into the mic. A few shouts and claps sounded in the audience. My heart thudded restlessly, but as I talked, it became less distracting. “We’re so happy to be here tonight. A few of us met here for the first time a while ago.” My voice cracked in the mic, but I trudged on. “So, we wouldn’t really be here without the Madder Hatter.” I smiled and looked down at the spot on the floor a few feet in front of the mic stand. “We’re April Renegade.” Drew excitedly clicked his drumsticks together behind me as Brian strummed at the guitar. “And we hope you’re ready to rock.”
