Page 1 of The Masks We Wear

Prologue

Brody

I learned how toplay the drums in high school marching band. Pathetic, I know. Back then I still had braces, still wore glasses, and was unquestionably a virgin. I thought I was a pretty shitty drummer but apparently, I was pretty good. I mean, they call me “Sticks” for a reason so, I must be good at hitting shit with two wooden sticks, right? Right.

My best friend since the sixth grade, Selene Stone, encouraged me to continue playing even when I wanted to quit because I was so sure I sounded horrible. Selene is wicked smart and boringly rational. She knew she wanted to be a lawyer from the ripe age of seven. In elementary through high school, Selene was almost my unofficial lawyer. The girl had to break into my locker and destroy evidence a few times when I was in the principal’s office for my usual trouble of the week. She also instructed me on what I shouldn’t say when being questioned by both the principal and that one minor run in with the cops. That carried over into adulthood, but before we get there, there’s a few more things you should know.

I ditched the braces and the glasses and opted to let my golden strands get some attention. I also learned how to do makeup and dress myself better. By my eighteenth birthday, Selene was the one trying to get me to quit the drums and go to college, but fuck that. I love the sound of the sticks hitting the instrument.

I met Aria Kane at Mickey’s, a music store on the Sunset Strip. Oh yeah, totally forgot to mention we live in LA. Key plot information, so keep that in mind. Anyways, I met Aria whowas stealing a Gibson electric guitar by entering with an empty case and leaving with it full. The store’s staff didn’t catch her, but I sure did. I followed her out, unsure of what I was going to say or do. I totally didn’t give a shit that she stole and if I’m being honest, I thought it was pretty badass. So badass, that I desperately wanted to be her friend and I didn’t even know who she was or even her name. I approached her, and after an awkward conversation -in which I reassured her multiple times that I wouldn’t snitch- we exchanged numbers and became best friends soon after. When we hung out, Aria played the stolen guitar, and I played the drums. We actually sounded pretty good together, but it was just for shits and giggles. Until it wasn’t. Pretty soon, Aria was raising the question of starting a band. I didn’t like the idea of being in a real band. I was a marching band drummer for Christ’s sake. I shut down the band idea. Until Ivory Aslan came around.

Ivory Aslan had moved to West Hollywood from New York. We met her at a bar on the strip. I at the time required the usage of a fake ID, but Aria, who is two years older than me, was of legal age. We went to the dive bar, surprised to find that it was an open mic night. We heard a bass guitar playing and both turned to watch, completely mesmerized by the sound. On the stage, in pink cowboy boots and a white glittery mini dress, stood Ivory Aslan, with a hot pink glittery Squier guitar. The girl sang like shit but her guitar playing was insane. She really knew what she was doing. After her performance, we found our way over to her and started chatting, only to find that Ivory’s father had recently passed and left her a guitar and a broken dream of his own. Her sudden move to West Hollywood was due to her father’s death and she moved here with her brother and widowed mother. Ivory is a few months younger than I am and so we bonded over alcohol and maybe a little bit or marijuana usage. A few days later, Aria and I invited Ivory to a hang out.She brought her guitar and we got to playing.

Aria and I thought we sounded good before, but with Ivory playing the bass along with Aria, and the sound coming from my drums, we had created a sound that nobody had ever heard before. We took rock and metal to a whole new level, and it gave us chills. We were unique and if we truly wanted to start a band, there was no doubt in any of our minds that we would be successful. We just needed a singer.

Turns out, in addition to playing the drums and piano, I can actually sing. Now we had two guitar players, a drummer and singer combined, and no name for ourselves. We needed a name and fast. That was how Satan’s Angels were born.

Now, remember when I said Selene had always cleaned up my messes? Well, Selene was now not only cleaning up my messes, but the messes of Aria and Ivory. The three had all gotten along amazingly and we had our own little friend group. Selene wanted no part in being in the band, but soon enough, she found herself managing us.

We started at a local bar. We had one little show with four songs Ivory and Aria had written. I myself have never been good at using words so I left the songwriting to the people that actually knew what they were doing. People apparently enjoyed our songs that night, which led to us being able to perform at another bar and then another bigger bar and well…shit. The gigs just kept getting bigger and bigger after that. Eventually we found ourselves performing at The Novo and the Honda Center. Satan’s Angels only grew from there and we had Selene and her sick manager skills to thank for that.

All of that was two years ago and now, we’re on our first tour as a rock band of girls. Do you know what it’s like to be on tour as a rock band ofgirls? I’m gonna take a lucky guess and go with no.

Let me tell you what a day in my life looks like on tour. Here,I’ll even write it out.

DAILY TOUR SCHEDULE BY STICKS

5 p.m.- Wake up to Selene banging on my hotel room door and demanding I get up for the show. Remember absolutely nothing from the night before.

7:30 p.m.- Hang out backstage, and come back to life. Snort copious lines of cocaine and wash that down with some Jack Daniels. Ask Ivory if she drank my whiskey. Why is the bottle empty? Oh shit, I did drink it.

9:30 p.m.- Showtime, baby!

11 p.m.- Finish the show. Time to party, motherfuckers! Get on tour bus and drink more, trash the fuck out of the bus, smoke, snort, swallow, WOAH! HAHAHA….Aria did that earlier. WHAT!? Who said that?

4 a.m.- Make it to the next location. Are we in Michigan? Not sure. Party at the nearest strip club, make sure to tip the strippers good! Find a guy to take back to the hotel for some late night activities. (SEX!)

6 a.m.- Kick out the guy from the stripclub, we don’t do sleepovers. Redecorate the hotel room by smashing the TV and tearing the furniture apart. Make a bed for the chicken I stole from a tractor supply store down the street. (Her name is Gloria and she’s beautiful.)

6:30 a.m.- Wake up Selene with my redecorating. Selene yells at me to go to bed and I try to escape and find Aria and Ivory to party. Selene handcuffs me to my own bed so I can’t leave.

6:45 a.m.- Knocked out.

5 p.m.the next day - Same as yesterday, Wake up to Selene banging on my hotel room door and demanding I get up for the show. Remember absolutely nothing from the night before. Where the fuck did that chicken come from? And who smashed the TV?

Think you can handle all that? Doubtful. See, our little group works in a very specific way. Ivory, Aria, and I fuck shit up, Selene takes care of it, and we continue fucking up in the future. And it’s every single day! It’s totally awesome! We’re the bad girls of Los Angeles and everyone either wishes they could be us or wishes they could party with us.

Imagine living this life for three months in a row on tour! It’s a party every day and we love it! Absolutely nothing can ruin this for us. Not one single thing.

Chapter 1

Brody

“Aggravated assault, possession ofdrugs, public indecency, damage and destruction of property, vandalism, indecent exposure, disturbing the peace, and my personal favorite,driving while under the influence of drugs and alcohol!” Selene reads our offenses off a piece of legal paper, her tone enraged. She slams the piece of paper down on her desk, her palm slapping against the mahogany wood. Her cheeks and ears flare an angry red color as she stares each of us in the eye. Her shoulder length, curly black hair is swept into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, her pale skin flushed with rage. Her thick, black eyebrows are creased, and her chocolate eyes are wide and angry. She wears a charcoal gray pants suit that screams “I mean business,” and leaves it unbuttoned to reveal a white dress shirt tucked into her pants and a pearl necklace around her neck with matching pearl earrings. “Do you not realize what a shit storm this is? You guys are looking at potentialjail time!” She reprimands.

I sit between Ivory and Aria, turning my head to my left to meet Ivory’s amber colored eyes. She gives me a wide-eyed look of discomfort, but when she realizes that there is not one ounce of worry on my face, her shoulders relax. Why is Selene shocked anyway? We’re fucking rockstars. Did she expect us to stay home and knit sweaters all day and night?

Ivory’s waist-length coffee-colored hair is curled slightly, especially on the ends where her hair fades into a fiery pink ombre. The pink starts around her shoulders and ends at herwaist. It’s pretty cool. She wears a denim jacket and matching jeans, a pastel pink cropped top underneath.

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