Page 16 of #Moonstruck

I slung my guitar strap over my left shoulder, standing in front of the microphone. When we’d started out, I’d suffered from crippling stage fright. The kind that had me puking for about ten minutes straight, right before the show. But we’d been at it for so long that now being onstage felt normal. I belonged here, performing. Sometimes I had to force myself to concentrate on what I was singing because I’d done the same songs so many times that my mind could drift. I would think about what I wanted to eat when the show was over. But that could ruin the performance, so I tried to stay focused.

Which was harder than usual, considering the YouTube views and the fact that Diego had promised to come tonight.

We ran through our set. Cole played keyboards, Fitz was on bass guitar, and Parker played drums, while I was on lead guitar. We took turns singing our songs, but I did most of the singing. That was because Fitz had talked to somebody in the industry ages ago who’d told him that girl-fronted bands tended to make more money. I don’t know if that was an actual fact, but my brothers treated it like gospel truth even though they all sang just as well as I did.

I couldn’t see very far past the first row of tables because of the stage lights, but I had hoped Diego would sit right in front. I wondered if he’d made it.

We finished our final song of the night, “Yesterday” by the Beatles. It was our signature song, and at each show we performed it differently. Sometimes we stayed true to the original. Other times we did a fast-paced rock version, a ska-sounding or punk-inspired one, a cappella—whatever we were in the mood for. Tonight we kept it old-school.

Fitz thanked “everyone” for coming out, and we started breaking down our equipment to haul it back to the van. No roadies for unknown bands.

I hummed to myself as I packed up. I never felt more alive than I did after a performance. My skin hummed; my heart pounded like a snare drum in my chest. There was something about getting up onstage and singing your heart out that gave you this absolute rush of adrenaline. It made you totally wired, and it took a while to come down from that high.

Which meant that after a show, we basically kept vampire hours.

After we’d loaded everything, we went back inside. Rodrigo always fed us the most amazing quesadillas as part of our payment. I looked everywhere for Diego, but I didn’t see him. It bothered me. I was the kind of person who kept my word. I found it annoying when others didn’t.

“Did you see the redhead at the bar?” Cole asked, holding his hands out in front of his chest. “With the big ...” His voice trailed off as he looked at me.

“I’m not a child. I know how that sentence ends.”

“The redhead with the big brains was what I was trying to say.”

I couldn’t hold in my derisive snort. “Yeah. I’m sure you could see her brains all the way over here.”

“Where? I love big-brained girls,” Parker said, his head swiveling back and forth as we sat down at an empty table.

“She must have gone to the bathroom or something,” Cole responded.

Seriously ... men! That woman could have all the personality of a wooden plank and my brothers would still want her. Which I knew because of all the planks of wood they’d previously dated.

“There she is. Dibs!” Cole called out, giving the redhead a wink.

“You can’t call dibs!” Parker protested, elbowing Cole in the ribs.

I tried to help them out. “Just so you know, women really dig it when you reduce them to objects you can call dibs on.” They ignored me.

“You know the band pecking order. Men with picks and sticks get first shot. Which means Cole’s out of luck,” Parker informed us. Both of my brothers stood up and tried to look like they weren’t running toward the bar, but they were jostling and attempting to trip each other on the way. I hoped the redhead liked her men with a side of immaturity.

Fitz stayed put at the table, drumming his fingers against the top. Heather, the waitress who usually worked nights at Rodrigo’s, brought a tray of quesadillas and set them down in front of us, along with four sodas. I thanked her, and she said to let her know if we needed anything else.

“You’re not going to throw your hat in the ring?” I asked Fitz after I’d polished off my first quesadilla. Not only did performing make you energized, but it also made you ravenous.

“Not tonight.” His ex-girlfriend had done something to Fitz that made it so he couldn’t let go of her and couldn’t move on. I didn’t get it, but to be fair, I didn’t ask. I’d found that guys didn’t much care to talk about stuff like that.

But I should probably try. “Did something happen with Miranda?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Women should come with instruction manuals.”

“Why? That would be totally pointless. I’ve lived with three men my entire life, and I’ve never once seen you guys read instructions.”

That at least made him smile, which made me feel better. He polished off his entire DrPepper in one gulp and then asked, “Weren’t you supposed to meet a guy here tonight?”

“Looks like he didn’t show.” It was probably for the best. But why keep in contact with me, promise to come, and then just blow me off? It was really rude.

“Don’t forget we have to vet him before you go out on an official date.”

It would probably be bad if I threw my half-empty mug at Fitz. “No, you don’t. I’m an adult who can make her own choices.” I grabbed his empty glass and my mug. “I’ll get us refills.” And would refrain from spitting in his drink, which I thought was very big of me.

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