Chapter Text
Chapter One
I'm staring at my phone screen in complete disbelief. I'm watching a video of a girl rock band. More specifically, I'm watching the television broadcast replay of my three best friends onstage with a complete stranger. The four girls are playing out of their skins on a stage with flashing bright lights, and smoke machines, and they all play up to the multiple cameras that swoop and dive around them: big smiles, cheeky grins, saucy clothing, the girls look and sound good and this could be the country's next big band, ready to catapult onto the international stage and enter global consciousness. They are playing an upbeat pop/rock song and I have no idea where it came from.
Who wrote that? Who recorded that? That's certainly not my bass player playing that! The lead vocal is definitely that new girl, but the drums, guitar, bass, and keyboards? That doesn't sound like us!
Wait, there is no "us" anymore. Remember?
Fuck.
How could they do this to me? How can they carry on without me?
A teardrop falls onto the screen of my phone, angrily I swipe it away, pissed off at myself for crying without warning and pissed off at the band for seeming so happy without me.
They look like they're having fun: the time of their lives, even. This is exactly what everybody dreamed of, to be onstage for national television and owning it- all eyes on us. Them. They are ready. We had been honing our stage presence and musical skills for many years, gigging all around the country in a tiny, cramped car that would occasionally break down on the road, playing to crowds that weren't remotely interested in us, then winning over those crowds: You're fucking deadly! You're class! You can really play! I love that song with the guitar solo! Do you want a hand to put your gear away? Do you want a drink? You're gorgeous!
We had been through all the highs and lows together: a four-piece, all-female rock band. More recently, we had been doing well, more than well in fact: a three-month stint on a programme about unsigned bands on national television last year had caused the band to skyrocket. Suddenly we had found ourselves in demand at festivals and we were able to command a fee. That fee covered a professional PR team and to be honest, things had never looked better for the band. The band had been growing organically with lots of enthusiasm: finally, the fruits of our labour were paying off. Fans, followers, media coverage, contacts in the business: all had been growing steadily.
The video disappears and another replaces it. Now my friends are sitting on a couch in a television studio with a host and they are chatting happily about the song they have just been performing.
Performing? Miming, I mean. They might be singing live but they certainly aren't playing live.
And who is that new girl? I don't even know her name! Her hair is dark, sleek, and shiny, and she certainly has a stage presence.
She's now the lead singer of the band. There has been a complete reshuffle.
So I got kicked out of the band altogether and the original lead singer- my supposed best friend- has been demoted to just bass and backing vocals. The other two members: drums and rhythm guitar have held their positions.
I watch as they all giggle and act like they have known each other for years.
All of this had only happened last week.
I sigh and exit the app on my phone, shoving it into my pocket. I need to go to the local music store and pick up new guitar strings. On the way over, I replay the events of last week in my head:
A missed band practice in the television studio because my phone was in my locker at work led to my lack of involvement in the current project. But that was okay, I still had my place in the band: this new member who indirectly replaced me was only for the television show. Then the live television broadcast of the show: I watched at home- despite an invite to sit beside the band manager in the audience, and then the subsequent removal of my photographs and presence from the band's social media: the next day. A phone call from the manager that afternoon clarified that I was no longer a member of the band because of the missed rehearsal and the new girl was being made a permanent member.
Thanks for your service. Thanks for taking one for the team. Thanks for letting us move on... Be seeing you!
Another teardrop drips down my nose and I brush it away. For fucks sake, I can't even think about that phone call without feeling stabbed in the heart.
I have lost my friends, I have lost my musical project and I have lost my purpose.
I have never felt so fucking alone.
I reach the music store and push the door open with the chime of an old-fashioned bell.
"Hey, Jayde! How's it going?" The shop assistant greets me cheerfully.
"Hey!" I greet them, take my earbuds out, and sniff, hoping that I don't look like I have just been crying on my way over. "I need a new set of 10s please."
"Coming up!" They turn to the wall behind them and pick the usual brand of strings that I like. "Anything else?"
"Just those, thanks."
They ring up my purchase and chat. "So how are things? I saw the girls on TV last week. Where the fuck were you?"
I sigh and explain the events of last week. I know in my heart that I would have to get used to telling this story, so I grit my teeth and suck up the pain.
"That fucking sucks! They weren't your friends! Fuck the lot of them, Jayde! Better things are meant for you!"
"Oh, I don't know about that! I don't even know if I'll ever play in a band again. I just got these new strings to get rid of the energy of the old ones, do you get me?" I blush. "I don't want to play the same strings as I did in my last gig with them. Maybe that's weird as hell."
"Nah." The friendly sales assistant shakes their head. "You're cutting the ties. You think of that now when you're cutting off those old strings. With every cut that you make, you visualise any bond between you and the girls snapping."
"I like that! Thank you!" I giggle, feeling glad that someone understands me and my weird personality.
"Chin up! You'll be fine! Fuck them, they'll never get a lead guitarist half as good as you! Oh, actually, now that I think of it, a local band stuck a flyer up on the wall over there earlier today. Why don't you have a look at it?"
"Sure!" I put the packet of guitar strings into my other pocket and look at the wall of various flyers, almost like a community bulletin board.
One does indeed catch my eye:
LOCAL ROCK BAND NEEDS A SECOND GUITARIST.
WE ALREADY ROCK HARD BUT WE WANT A KICK ASS GUITAR PLAYER TO JOIN US TO MAKE US SOUND EVEN BIGGER!
HAVE YOU GOT THE CHOPS?!
YOU MUST LIKE METALLICA, BLACK SABBATH, ABBA, ROXETTE, MORBID ANGEL AND YOU MUST DEFINITELY SHOULD LIKE BEER, JOKES, CARTOONS AND THE IDEA OF WORLD DOMINATION! COS THAT'S OUR GOAL!
SEND A MESSAGE TO THE NUMBER BELOW.
NO DICKS PLEASE AND NO FUCKING EGOS!
I snort at the bizarre flyer and look at the grainy photo of the musicians in question. Two guys and a girl. One of the guys has long hair, the other has a dark mop hanging over his forehead and the girl has an amazing figure. They are standing against a stone wall and they look pretty cool. They're all hot. That guy with the mop hairdo has cheekbones to die for.
Sure, I might send them a message. Might as well try and make some new friends at least.
And I do happen to love all those bands they listed.
Let's see where this goes...