Page 1 of Out of the Blue

Chapter 1 - Trent

Iraise my mug, foam sloshing over the rim of the cold glass. “To The Light Rail. First we’ll be an opening band, next stop world domination!”

As if they rehearsed it, Dwight, Joey, and Maurice chorus, “Here, here!”

Our glasses clink and the cool effervescence of Budweiser, my favorite beer, bounces down my throat. Even my Bud celebrates I’m on the cusp of achieving my dreams. Finally.

We’re at our favorite Mexican restaurant in Jersey City, celebrating our impending big break, hopefully for the last time as unknowns. Sitting outside on this warm September day, we scarf down a variety of appetizers. All my bandmates put in for an extended leave from their day jobs today, since we’ll be touring for at least the next few months. With everything that went down with Mom, I’m still on leave from mine. For a minute, I clasp the cross necklace she gave me ages ago. Using a jalapeño popper, I stuff down my grief over what happened. Not. Now.

Maurice pushes his thick rims up his face—the deep black frames a good complement to his skin tone. “We’ve been here before, guys, so we shouldn’t get too ahead of ourselves.”

Joey, our bassist, punches his shoulder. “Shut it, piano boy. No negative talk allowed.” For emphasis, he shakes his head, his mass of dark brown hair swishing over his light brown skin.

Maurice takes a swig of his drink—his signature, a Cuba Libre. His glass thuds onto the table. “Don’t get me wrong. Iampumped. I only wanted to bring us all back to reality.”

“Fine. What can we do to change your mind?” interjects Dwight, our kickass drummer. “The radio station already called and said we won. We’re opening for Hunte at Madison Square Garden in two weeks.Fourteen days. Then we’ll be their opening band for the Eastern seaboard part of their tour. We’re going to be huge!” As he speaks, his voice raises with eagerness.

Reaching over to my best friend, I put up my fist, which he bumps. “Yeah, this is it. I can feel it.” And I can. This is so different from the other times we were supposedly “on the cusp.” Excitement courses through my veins. If only my mother were here to experience our success with us. I stifle a sigh.

“I don’t want to be a wet blanket, guys. We’ve been here before and it’s always fizzled. I can’t take another disappointment.” Maurice sips his drink. “Neither can Fee. She said this is our last shot and if it doesn’t work out, I’m going to have to step back.”

Maurice and Fee got married three years ago, and they’ve been talking about having kids soon. Guess I can see her point, but fuck. This is our big break. “C’mon, Maurice. We won the radio station’s contest fair and square. This time is different from all the others.” I almost believe my own words.

His shoulders rise then fall. “We still haven’t heard from Apex.”

He’s right. Hunte’s label hasn’t contacted us yet. “We will, man. How about this?” I toss my cell on the table. “Will you feel better when they call?”

Maurice stares at my silent phone. “Well, yeah.”

“Okay. While we wait, you can coddle your Cuba Libre. The rest of us will more than cover for your pussy ass.” My bandmates grin at our banter. As if by unwritten agreement, we finish our drinks—including Maurice—and the server delivers another round together with our meals.

Munching on some of the remaining nachos, Dwight turns to me. “Wish your mom were here to cheer us on.” He offers me a chip.

Automatically, I pop the tortilla into my mouth. Unlike when Ithoughtabout her, hisspeakingabout my mother does dampen my spirits. The pain of her loss, only four months ago, is still raw. I rub my arm, over the tattoo I got in her honor. “Thanks. Me, too.”

“I’m sure she’s looking down on us, proud as all get out. I bet she even had her finger on the pulse of the contest, if I know her.” Dwight spreads his own caramel hands wide over the table.

His words are like a balm. “I can see her now, directing everyone from the Pearly Gates.” I smile at my closest friends—for all intents and purposes, my only remaining family. “She’s probably taking a victory lap with her harp and halo right now.” I picture her doing just that. Telling everyone up in heaven her boy won this contest.

I’m jolted out of my pleasant musings when my phone bounces. Four pairs of eyes land on the phone jumping on the table. It’s an unknown number from New York City.

Clearing my throat, I scoop it up. “Hello?”

A woman’s voice floats through the line. “Is this Trent Washington?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Cordelia Hernandez, and I work for Apex Hits. I’ve been instructed to call and give you the logistics for your performance at Madison Square Garden, opening for Hunte in two weeks.”

Although I’d tossed out the phone to pacify Maurice, I never thought this call would come through now. “Okay. Good. Great.” I fumble to put my phone on speaker. “Is it alright if I put you on speaker? I’m with my band now.”

“Sure. Are you ready?”

“For?”

She sighs. “For the details about the concert?”

“Oh, right. Yeah. I mean, no. I need to get some paper.”Way to play it cool. My bandmates pass me a napkin and a borrowed pen. “Got it. Shoot.” I write down her detailed instructions. When the call concludes, I hold up the napkin toward Maurice. “Proof enough for you?”

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