Page 26 of Talk Nerdy To Me
“Because I’m in the zone, and I’m not coming out of here until it’s dried up. I’d take getting high off the creative buzz over getting drunk on booze any day. Now that you’ve come to visit me, I might not be coming out for a while.”
I still don’t know if he’s the one who made sure to get me here.
“Since you have no secrets, tell me something that most people don’t know instead,” he goes on, still so relaxed, as though he really is high.
Only he doesn’t have that glazed look I’ve seen in high eyes. It’s more of a…content, easy look, as though the world is off his shoulders. Then again, he might be high and I’m just insinuating what I hope is going on. After all, he’s a musician. Maverick assures me that all musicians are high, and that I should never give one of them my ‘V-card’ no matter how much the ‘groupie-effect’ makes me want to.
I’m still learning Maverick-speak most days.
“I’ve always been terrified of rats. We go to the pet store a lot when we’re out as a group, because Sean and Angel like to buy things for their pets. I don’t react when I see rats, because the guys torment each other with the insects, rodents, or reptiles they fear individually. It’s one case where I don’t want to feel like I’m included.”
He laughs under his breath, a soft, gentle rumbling as he stops strumming.
“But you want to be included in other ways?” he asks, eyes intently focused on mine.
“Of course. They’re the only people to ever make me feel included. Even when I say the wrong things, they seem to like me even more. My favorite days are the days when we’re all together.”
His eyes seem to lighten, and he scoots closer to me as he lifts an arm and puts it behind his head.
“Most everyone wants to be included, and the majority of all people don’t want to be scared with things that scare them,” he says, not sounding like he’s mocking me. “So in all actuality, you’re not really telling me anything someone not close to you wouldn’t guess on their own.”
He gestures around.
“For instance, most people either assume or know that Tag lets me rent this house. A house I’d never be able to afford otherwise, even with three other bandmates splitting the rent. It’d be easy to figure out. Something most people don’t know is that in a little over two more years, if I’m still playing in bars and no closer to getting a contract, I’m out.”
“Out?” I echo, parroting the word that confuses me.
“Out,” he says again, smiling a little tighter. “My dad spent his life chasing the same dream. Left me and my mom at home, while he slept his way through random towns and drank, snorted, or shot up with little money he had. Which, compared to Tag’s dad, I got the good one.”
He shrugs, not sounding like he’s bitter or anything, but I decide not to comment or ask.
“But I swore if I didn’t make it by the time I was twenty-four, I was done. I’ll get a regular job doing something I don’t hate, and live a nine-to-five life without ever wondering ‘what if’ because I gave it everything I have.”
“You’re twenty-two?”
“Just turned twenty-two,” he says, arching an eyebrow at me. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I’ve heard a lot of ages from the girls. I’m not surprised, just glad you clarified.”
He laughs quietly. “The inner circle of Sterling women talks about me a lot?”
“Only when they see you play. Maverick calls it the groupie-effect. I’m not sure I understand what that means.”
He shakes his head, working a little harder to smother his laughter.
“What about Tag?” I ask. “He knows Vince Jaggons. And he owns a—”
He waves me off, grinning as he interrupts. “That’s a much bigger favor than you realize. Even if he could pull those strings, I don’t want that sort of favor. I’ve sent three demos to that label, and asked my cousin not to call in a favor that substantial.”
“You want to make it on your own,” I surmise. “I can relate.”
I did the same thing when I applied for my internship. It’s the one time I hid the Sterling name.
“Well, I’m not that noble,” he says, grinning larger. “When you get that favor called in, the label doesn’t care about your sound. They care about your name and what your name can do for them. You lose all integrity that very second. They try to repackage you, change your sound, strip out the soul of your music until you’re just a shell and singing whatever song you’re told to like the cookie-cutter cutout they know will sell. Those bands break up most all the time. Or they stick around for the money and forget about the music until the fad has ended and they’re forgotten. And everyone, Randy included, agreed that wasn’t the route we wanted to take.”
I lean back, genuinely intrigued now.
“When I make it, I want it to be for real. I want to keep the love and not lose myself to the beast of the industry. If I have to sell my soul, I’ll start to resent the music.”
