Page 1 of Ambiguous
CHAPTER1
Jules
“Jules! Jules! Jules!”
Hoisting my guitar, I duck into the strap and sling it over my back. When I open the greenroom door to head to the stage, the volume increases like I’ve removed earplugs.
“Jules! Jules! Jules!”
Speaking of which, I dig in my pocket, fish out the in-ear monitors, and insert them. They’re custom-made for me, with black rhinestones on the outer edge.
While I'm stopped in the hallway, I scan my body. Do I feel it?
Yeah, I do. I’m ready.Let’s do this.
Grinning, practically skipping, I race through the bowels of the Forum, passing crew dressed in all black with ID tags around their necks. I wave and acknowledge them as I pass and hear “Good luck,” “Knock ’em dead,” “Break a leg.”
They spur me into being even more excited about the show. Someone snaps a photo of me with their phone. That’ll be on InstaTwitFaceTok in a moment, no doubt.
Julian Hill backstage with a rakish grin.
My pulse pounds, and I run the last few paces toward the stage.
I can hear the roar of the crowd getting louder and louder. Then it crescendos into an all-encompassing shriek, like everyone out there plugged into an amp.
The house lights must’ve turned off.
Now, it’s nothing but anticipation—for me and for them.
Everyone—literally every paid ticket holder—is here for me, but I can’t help but wish for someone who wants me in a quieter way. Someone I could cuddle up to after the show. Someone I could confide in.
Although I need to be grateful for the fans. I don’t know what I’d do if they went away.
I shake my head.Stay focused, Julian.
I ready myself to climb up and walk out on stage. No one can see me in the dark except the crew, one of whom has a red-covered penlight to show me where to go so I don’t trip on a stair.
Goose bumps race up my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
This is the best part—or one of the best parts—besides actually singing. This timeright now, before it all begins. Yes, it scares me. But therapy has helped me train my anxiety to stay in its lane. I’ve learned to love this moment when I don’t know what’s going to happen next. When the performance is open to all possibilities.
I’m free.
Oh, of course we have a set list, but I don’t know what’s going to happen beyond that. Some nights a streaker breaks through security to run across the stage, and others I get beaned in the head with a banana.
That’s rock ’n’ roll… or whatever you want to call the kind of music I play.
Mitch begins to beat out a rhythm, the stage still in darkness behind the gauzy black curtain, and the sound of the crowd somehow increases further in volume. They know the show is beginning, and the vibrations of their shouts and claps soak into my skin, skittering through my body until I can’t take it anymore.
Deep breaths. I bring my guitar around to my front and grin at Loren.
“Go get ’em, kiddo,” they say.
I blow a kiss and climb the stairs, then bounce onto the stage in the darkness, the drums still increasing in intensity.
A huge indoor arena extends before us just beyond the curtain as I linger beside a wall of amps. I can feel the music surging in my body: not just what the band is playing, but what I’m going to create.
Everyone’s here. We’re thumping. Pulsing. Radiating energy.
