Anyway here it is.
Logan DuPont scanned the growing crowd for his father, one more time. He should be getting into the Zone, like his band was behind him. Jake sat on the floor with his legs crossed and earphones on his head, drumming on the wooden floorboards with his drumsticks. Jo strummed his finger up and down on his base guitar, looking a thousand miles away. Lisa paced up and down the stage, humming and looking as green as the curtains.
Lisa stopped in front of him. “Any news.”
“Nope, not yet.”
Her shoulders sagged and she looked away. “The deadline is minutes away and we haven’t even been notified if they received our application form.”
“Two minutes,” West, the stage manager, said from somewhere behind them.
Adam was the first to stand up, and sit down in front of the drums. Lisa sat down in front of the keyboard and ran her fingers along the keys, light enough so that it didn’t play. Jo moved back from the curtains and shuffled towards his spot. Logan put his phone down, picked up his guitar, and slipped the strap over his head.
The curtains jerked a little, the bright green material swaying for a few seconds before shifting again. The chatting around the wooden tables and bar stopped. Girls pushed forward, trying to touch him, some screamed his name in high pitch tones.
This is what he lived for and what kept him coming back. They wanted to hear what he had to say, unlike his father. Still, were they here for him, or just because he was the famous rock star, Lex Wilde’s son.
Jo stepped over to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah. All good.”
Jo moved back. He took a deep breath. Show time.
“Hi there,” he said into the mic. “Tonight I want to dedicate these songs to all of you. Dream big my friends or otherwise what’s the point.”
“Yeah, what’s the point,” the crowd shouted back at him.
He strummed his fingers across his guitar. The room fell silent. He turned and faced the band. “One. Two. Three. Four.”
Adam hit his drumsticks down on the drums. One after another. Pound. Pound. Pound. Three beats in, Lisa pressed her slim fingers down on the keyboard, matching Adam beat for beat. Next was Jo, giving the sound a more heavy tone, that vibrated through every inch of his body. Logan strummed his guitar for a few seconds and began to sing to the crowd about loss, hurt and disappointment.
A girl with long blond hair and boobs busting out of her top, reached out to him, screaming his name. He looked away, staring out at the back of the room. He hated the needy ones. From there Logan lost himself in the heavy, dark sound of their band. He sang his heart out for three sets to his fans who sang and danced along with him. Everyone now he scanned the crowd for his father. But never finding him.
After the last notes for the last song dyed away, Logan slipped his guitar strap off his shoulder. “Thank you for tonight and thank you to my band.”
One by one, his band slipped off the stage until he was alone.
“Goodbye till next time,” he said, his voice cracking, but no one seemed to notice.
Behind the stage, he grabbed the last water bottle, unscrewed the top and drank deeply. The ice-cold water slid down his throat and cooled his aching vocal cords. Tonight he had given it everything he had. He had poured out his soul and more.
“Good set,” he said, looking at his band one by one. “We did great.”
His phone vibrated and everyone froze. Lisa crossed her fingers. Logan picked it up and pushed the flashing email button.
We’re sorry to inform you that your application has been rejected.
“Ahhh,” he yelled, biffing his phone at the far wall. The back flew off and the pieces scattered on the ground.
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