I really didn't wanna get slapped, so here's more.
It was a small hole in the wall on an unassuming street in Port Angeles, with a giant glossy wood bar taking up the majority of the space. The bar was nicked and chipped in enough places that I was sure if I went to order a coke I'd get a splinter and maybe tetanus. There was a smallish floor interspersed with tables and booths on the wall opposite the bar. And a stage.
A tiny one, really. Miniscule. I'd practically be on top of Tara and Ben while I played.
Rick himself was behind the bar, pouring drinks and arguing with the regulars. He glanced up when we entered from the back door, lugging equipment. "Hey, kids," he groused. "Go ahead and set up, but I'm not letting in the under-agers until seven."
Ben nodded, clearly used to his gruffness. "Thanks, Rick."
Rick flagrantly ignored him and went back to his vehement defense of the Seahawks defensive line to a guy who looked like he and the stool beneath him had fused into a single unit.
Tara coughed out a laugh. "Yeah," she droned, "he's definitely someone's mean uncle."
"But he lets us play," Ben called from the stage, where he was currently unloading his kick drum. "So he could literally slap me across the face and I'd say 'thank you'."
I couldn't help but agree. There was a humming in my veins that I hadn't felt in months. I was going to play music with my friends.
In the two weeks between my audition and this gig, we'd been practicing so much that we'd sort of become inseparable. We discussed the set list over lunch. I was so used to seeing Lauren on Tyler's lap that I usually forgot that she was glaring at me so intensely. Tara and I had smoked in the woods twice already, and I seriously needed to pay her back for her weed. And Ben... Well, clearly Ben had it bad for Angela, and by the grace of being her friend, I knew she did too.
It was... fun. Being involved in things was fun.
Even when the miraculous prodigal ginger returned to school last week, it didn't phase me.
Well, that's not strictly true, but I was sure he couldn't tell I'd been phased. He'd said nothing to me, and I returned the favor with vigor.
He certainly didn't know I'd had a panic attack over it in the women's room after bio and skipped English.
But I was better now, and it didn't matter. I was going to play music with my friends.
When my amp was plugged in and my bass was tuned, I unstrapped it and set it down in the stand. "I'm gonna get a soda," I said, choosing to test my yearly flu shot, "anybody want something?"
"Coke," Tara said, and I was pretty sure she meant the soda.
"World peace," Ben intoned from behind the kit, adjusting cymbal height.
"Sex on the Beach," Tyler said, flashing me yet another of his lascivious smirks.
"Done, done, and in your dreams," I tossed back over a shoulder as I made my way to the bar. The place was starting to fill up, and we had fifteen minutes until Rick started letting in the kids from school. Angela was coming, and Lauren obviously, and Jessica. Jess was bringing Mike, and I heard that Eric Yorkie was bringing the Mathletes.
I ordered four Cokes, as I doubted that Rick's ancient soda gun had Dr. Pepper, and watched the windows while I waited. I spotted our friends in the line, and a few other people from classes that I'd never spoken to. I gave a quick wave, then juggled glasses back over to the stage, passing them around and then chugging my own. I needed the sugar high. I was nervous.
I fiddled with my bass instead of looking up when the doors opened for our classmates. The air became stifling. It was crowded in here.
I took in a few deep breaths. I glanced up and almost puked. It was standing room only.
"Go Bella!" Mike shouted from his booth, and Jessica smacked him on the arm.
And tucked in the back corner, at a tiny table, was Alice Cullen and Rosalie Cullen. Emmett was winding back from the bar with four drinks. There was someone sitting out of sight on the far end.
I hoped it was Jasper, but somehow I knew it wasn't.
He doesn't get to win, I said to myself. He doesn't get to win, he doesn't get to have music, he doesn't get to have your friends, he doesn't get to win.
Tyler, his guitar slung low across his hips, grabbed the mic.
"Hey, we're Closing Time," he said, and I swear to God I heard Lauren giggle somewhere.
Ben's sticks began slapping together, counting us in.
I had four counts to make my peace.
I jumped into the song, weaving the bass line into the melody. I sang the harmonies with Tyler. I glanced back at Tara, who beamed at me with unrestrained glee.
"This is the dawning of the rest of our lives," Tyler and I were belting now, voices blending across the bar. We were back to back, leaning against each other and using the same mic.
Pretty dramatic for a dive gig, but I was feeling the moment.
The show continued and we played and I felt it then, the way I always used to. Like his eyes were a physical touch along my skin. He was watching me. I refused to do the same.
I started to itch, as though the act of not returning his gaze was festering in my blood. I ignored it.
The last song came, and I was the vocalist on it.
I stepped up and Mike started hollering and Angela gave a whistle that pierced my ears. Some kids from my Trig class whooped. The song started, and I let myself go. I wasn't anyone. I wasn't Bella, the chief's daughter, or Bella the abandoned, or Bella the klutz, or Bella at all.
I was a voice in a room, hands on a bass, and lips on a mic.
"I'll write you just to let you know that I'm alright. Can't say I'm sad to see you go, cause I'm not."
He was watching me, a look of devastation so plain on his angelic features that it winded me for a second.
I smirked, copying Tyler as best I could, and stepped back into Tara's space for the instrumental section of the song. She and I leaned into each other, foreheads together, beaming at each other. I made a kissy face at her and she rolled her eyes, prompting me to laugh before heading back to the microphone.
"Thanks, we're Closing Time," I said over the cheering.
By the time my bass was in its stand and I made my way into the bar to thank people for coming, the Cullens were gone.