Let's Try This Again by Woodtke Jordyn;

Author:Woodtke, Jordyn;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 3 Dreams Creative Enterprises, LLC
Published: 2016-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Moving Right Along

A few weeks later, Carter sprang the news on me that he had booked us a small gig at a local bar to showcase the music we’d been fine-tuning for a couple months now. I kept saying we weren’t ready when, really, I just wasn’t ready. I’d never sung for a crowd other than chorus concerts where a dozen other voices sheltered mine. It was no big deal for him to think about a crowd of 50 or so people—for me it was basically playing fucking Madison Square Garden. AND he had called Trevor and Skylar to let them know about it. So, while I was perfectly happy to keep this “little” show our secret, I wasn’t even given a choice in the matter.

“I knew they would force you to do it,” Carter explained. “Me, you have no problem disappointing. You do it every day,” he joked.

“You’re an evil genius.” I gave him my best glare. “Trevor would kick me out if I took away an opportunity for him to see you sing. He’d probably rather live with the inevitable homophobic-but-actually-gay high school bully I bet he had than me, if I did that to him.”

Carter smiled in true evil genius fashion.

The night of the show came, and I was a fucking mess. Not even a hot one. When we got to the venue, there weren’t fifty people there. Nope. Not fifty. There was, like, at least a hundred people there. The crowd was a mix of locals, who probably had just wanted to get a casual beer and hadn’t realized that they were walking into a Jonas Brothers concert, and screaming girls.

Very diverse.

“Whoa. Whoa. No, I can’t do this, Carter. How did all these people even know about this?”

“I don’t know. Must just be a busy night for the bar.” He lied. I knew him better than that by now.

“All these chicks did not just show up at this shady dive bar for a random girls’ night out,” I hissed. “What did you do?”

“Okay, I may have put something up on Facebook.”

“CARTER! I can’t do this!” I hyperventilated.

“You can, you will, you have to. It’s your job. Sorry,” Carter said sternly with a look in his eyes that was anything but. He was almost amused.

Thirty minutes and three shots later, I sat on stage behind a mic. It took a few rounds of Carter strumming for me to actually start singing, and when I did sing my voice sounded thin and small. Carter asked for a minute, his voice sounding blanket-y through the microphone as the girls squealed.

“Hey. You’re alright,” he said just to me, his back to the rest of the world. He put his hand on my arm, squeezing a little. “It’s just us, playing in my living room, having a beer, singing some songs. It’s just me and you. Forget the rest.”

He sat back down to a chorus of screams and once the horn dogs settled, Carter started again. I looked at him, trying to forget what was going on in front of me, beyond the hazy lights and I sang.

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