Boring Girls Page 12

  It was all good to think about these things, but before rehearsal as I waited for Socks, I actually felt nervous. He’d picked up Fern, Edgar, and their gear first, and I sat on the front lawn with my lyric book in my lap. I knew it was silly to be nervous: it would be our first rehearsal together. None of us knew what we were doing. Fern had expressed my exact worry on the phone the other night: “What if I suck?”

  It was reassuring to know she was just as nervous as I was. I mean, I’d sung along with my CDs in my room, with the stereo blasting loud enough that my family couldn’t hear me shrieking along, but how would my voice sound by itself? What if they didn’t like the lyrics or thought I couldn’t sing? I recalled how Socks had said that a band is only as good as its singer. What if they wanted to find someone else?

  I shook my head, trying to calm myself. The band was mine and Fern’s. If Socks or Edgar didn’t like it, well, we would find other people to play with.

  The van pulled up, and Fern grinned at me through the passenger window. Edgar pulled open the back door for me and I climbed in beside him.

  Everyone was happy and excited, and we chatted the whole way to Socks’s house, blasting some DED on the car stereo.

  “This is gonna be great,” Edgar said to me over the loud music. “I can’t wait. Me and Fern have five songs all ready to go, all we need is Socks to get into it with the drums and for you to put your vocals in.”

  I nodded and smiled, still afraid that I was going to dis­appoint. Fern turned around in the front seat and stuck her tongue out at me. I grinned and stuck mine out back.

  xXx

  We carried all the stuff we needed into Socks’s basement. Edgar had borrowed some amps from his father, and the guys carried those down the stairs while Fern and I carried the guitar cases. “I’m nervous,” I said to her while we were alone on the stairs. “I don’t want to sound bad.”

  “I know what you mean,” she commiserated. “I’ve been practising every night and Edgar says I sound great, but still.”

  “I know you’ll be awesome,” I murmured, squeezing her arm. “I can’t wait to hear you play.”

  “You’re going to be amazing too.” Fern would have my back, no matter what the guys thought.

  While Edgar and Fern set up their amps and pedals, Socks set up a microphone stand for me, also borrowed from Edgar’s father, and I plugged in the microphone.

  “Hello,” I said, and jumped. The others looked up, startled at the loudness of my voice.

  “This is going to be really loud,” Edgar said.

  “It has to be, so she can hear herself over the drum kit,” Socks said. “You guys are going to have to turn up pretty loud too.”

  “Won’t your parents be pissed?”

  “Nah,” Socks replied. “They aren’t home. And the neigh­bours are all old people, half deaf anyways. I jam down here all the time, nobody ever said anything.”

  Socks took his seat behind the drum kit, and Fern and Edgar pulled their guitars over their shoulders, checking the amps. Once everything was set up, there was an awkward silence. For some reason Socks was looking at me expectantly, as if I was supposed to get things started. I panicked and fumbled, trying to think of something to say. I glanced at Fern and realized that both she and Edgar were also looking at me, waiting. I felt blood rush to my face and hoped they didn’t notice my confusion.

  “Okay, so, let’s play a song,” I said awkwardly.

  “Right,” Edgar said. “So Fern, why don’t we play something and then, Socks and Rachel, you guys can join in when you’re ready. We’ll just go through it a bunch of times.”

  “Cool!” Socks replied, raising a fist from behind the drum kit.

  “Okay,” I said, nodding. Fern gave me a nod and a small smile, which I tried to take strength from. She looked absolutely amazing, with her long white hair contrasting the shiny black of her guitar. I didn’t feel ready, but I felt proud.

  Facing each other, Edgar and Fern counted themselves in and started playing. Socks and I watched as Fern’s fingers moved quickly over the fretboard for the song’s intro melody, and Edgar backed her up. I was surprised, to be honest. They both played fast, and it was better than I had expected it would be.

  They moved into the first verse, and Socks joined in with a crash of cymbals, proving, indeed, that he could play intuitively. Somehow he was able to estimate where chorus would turn to verse and back again, and when he missed it at one point he immediately corrected himself so it was barely noticeable. I stood and watched Socks’s hands moving so fast they seemed to be a blur, throwing in the double kick for the chorus portion as Fern and Edgar thundered along. It was so loud that my stomach felt a bit queasy, and as they relaxed into the song, I was struck with the thought that they all played better than I had thought they would, especially for a first rehearsal, and I felt even queasier at the thought of joining in. Fern launched into a solo, her fingers dancing up and down, and it was a little sloppy but she corrected herself so quickly that it was obvious she was going to be a really good player. Even Socks, hammering away on the drums, watched her and nodded to himself as if acknowledging how amazing she was.

  When they finished, the three of them grinned at each other.

  “That was great,” Socks said. “Sorry I had a couple little screw-ups here and there.”

  “Nah,” Edgar replied. “That was amazing. It’ll be even better when we go through it again.”

  “You’re amazing, Fern,” Socks said.

  She smiled. “Thanks. It was a bit sloppy, but I’ll nail it.” She looked over to me, and I smiled at her. “What do you think, Rachel?”

  “I hope I can do it justice,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with confidence.

  “Let’s run through it again,” Edgar said. “Can you join in, Rachel?”

  “Yeah.” I stepped up to the microphone. I ruffled the papers in my little lyrics book, completely horrified. Not only had I seen how amazing this band was going to be, but I was also about to prove to the three of them that I had no place in it. I felt Fern’s eyes on me and I looked up at her. She nodded. I looked away, totally betraying my nervousness.

  This time Socks counted them in, and I tried to remember the structure of the song. I opened my mouth during the intro and let out a growling wail, surprised at how loud it sounded coming through the speakers. The three of them looked at me, Edgar breaking into a giant grin, Socks nodding in approval, and I stretched the shriek for as long as I could. Fern smiled and rolled her eyes, as if she had known all along that it would be okay and I was silly to have worried. But as the song rolled uncontrollably towards the first verse, I knew there was still time for me to completely fail at this. My eyes flicked down to the lyrics. It was one thing to roar during an intro, it was another thing altogether to make it through a song in pure growling shrieks. I pictured Balthazar Seizure in my mind, and Marie-Lise, and took a deep breath.

  Riding through the night on blackened wings

  Singed with blood and vengeance, hear the angels sing

  It wasn’t perfect, and I missed my cues a few times, and Edgar messed up during the bridge, but Fern nailed her solo perfectly. To this day it’s pretty much the exact same song as it was that first time we played it. We played that song over and over again that afternoon, changing things here and there, making suggestions to each other. By the end of rehearsal we pretty much had what ended up being “Blood on My Fist.”

  SEVENTEEN

  We started rehearsing every weekend, and I knew I was impressing them with my vocals. I listened to music non-stop at home, always putting on DED and trying to emulate Balthazar’s voice as best I could. He really was the best vocalist of all the bands I listened to, never overdramatic with his growls, never drawing out a roar for too long, knowing when to back off and let the music become the focus, knowing which parts to emphasize, which lyrics to highlight by tak
ing the edge off, and even allowing himself to regress back into a whisper at times.

  A lot of other vocalists made mistakes, I thought, and had no dynamic. Some of them would go over the top to the point of sounding ridiculous. Some would draw out a roar until it almost sounded like a burp. Some would add too many random growls and totally dominate the song, which detracted from it. Balthazar never did these things, which made him distinctive, and that’s why I tried to work with the same style he did. At rehearsal I relished when the others would smile as I allowed myself to start with a whisper and escalate to a shriek, and as I would accent as opposed to overpower what they were doing musically.

  One afternoon at rehearsal, we were sitting on the couches in the rec room. We’d been working on a few new songs and now had four to run through. Socks put on a CD by some band none of us had heard of: there was a guest vocalist on one of the tracks that he wanted me to hear. Her name was Annika. Apparently she was from Norway and did guest gigs on a bunch of different metal albums. I was curious to hear another female metal singer.

  The music was mediocre, but I straightened my back and smiled to myself as I listened to the song. She wasn’t any good, allowing her voice to get carried away and dominate the song. It was almost as though she was trying to exploit her voice, to emphasize the novelty of having a female vocal in a heavy metal song, and it was annoying. I congratulated myself for not making the same mistake. Yes, it was going to be unusual for a metal band to have a female singer. But I wasn’t going to attempt to draw attention to it in the way that this Annika did. Colostomy Hag was going to succeed, or fail, on its true musical and lyrical merits, not because of the presence of females in the group.

  We finished listening to the song and were still relaxing on the couches when Socks commented, “We got a pretty unusual band here, don’t you think?”

  Edgar laughed. “Two girls, a black guy, and you. Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty unusual.”

  “And not just that.” Socks nodded. “I mean, Rachel, you’re so much better than Annika, and she’s the most prominent girl singer in metal. You kick her ass. And Fern, you are amazing on guitar. Like, really good. And you’re going to get better and better.”

  “That’s surprising?”

  “Well, yeah,” Socks said. “I haven’t seen a girl play guitar as good as you, like, ever.”

  One night when I was on the phone with Fern, I brought up what Socks had said. “Why do you think there aren’t more girls in metal? I mean, I can think of Marie-Lise and that Annika, but that’s it. It’s all guys.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it’s because guys don’t want to give girls a chance or something. Maybe they think girls don’t have the aggression to play metal. You see how surprised Socks is by the fact that I can play. Maybe guys just dismiss us, because they think we can’t fit the image or something. Or think that we can’t play. Or they hear that awful Annika and just assume that girls can’t sing metal either.”

  “I think we have a really good chance to prove them all wrong,” I said. “Imagine if we play shows? Get famous? We’ll be the only band with girls in it that’s done that.”

  “Except for Marie-Lise and Gurgol,” Fern agreed. “Wouldn’t it be cool to meet Marie-Lise? Talk to her and ask her what it’s been like for her in the band?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I think it’d be pretty cool to meet Balthazar Seizure. He’s such a damn amazing singer. I’d totally like to ask him a couple of things.”

  She laughed. “You like him,” she teased. “You totally crush on him. You do realize you’re always talking about him, right?”

  “It’s because I find him inspiring,” I said. How silly, to have a crush on a musician. So what if he was really talented and also had all that long hair and those gorgeous eyes and was so tall and handsome and . . . it was foolish to have band crushes. I giggled then, even though I knew it was ridiculous, and looked up at my poster of him. He looked back down at me, and I wondered if one day, if our band ever did anything important and got anywhere, whether or not he would be impressed by me. The whole thing was so ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it.

  As summer waned I made some changes to my room, as promised by my parents and as earned by me by doing extra stupid chores around the house. It wasn’t so bad, weeding the backyard or sorting through the basement storage or whatever other pointless idea my parents dreamed up to justify giving me the money to buy black bedding and paint for my furniture. I’d just put on my headphones and focus on Balthazar’s voice while I mindlessly worked.

  The duck lamp ended up in Melissa’s room.

  EIGHTEEN

  School started again, and the problems I’d had with Josephine at the end of last year seemed to have blown over. We had a few classes together, and she chattered about her summer — her family and going to parties and other crap — as though we hadn’t argued at all. It was nice to have a friend there even though I couldn’t have cared less about school. I would just drudge through the week, waiting for weekend rehearsals, and spend my nights doing homework, listening to music, and writing.

  Edgar got the idea to try recording our rehearsal. Socks rigged up a few microphones around the room, and we ran through our four songs. We sat back on the couches afterwards and played back the recording.

  I was happy to hear that my attempts to incorporate Balthazar’s techniques were working. I sounded really fucking good. Hearing the songs played back without seeing my friends play them was really weird. Without watching Fern play her solos, for example, I was able to listen to them objectively, and once again acknowledge how good she really was. The recording was pretty crappy, but all of us were really impressed with the way we were starting to sound.

  “We have to play a show,” Socks announced afterwards.

  “We can’t play a show with only four songs,” Fern said. “But I agree, it would be awesome.”

  Socks burned copies for all of us, and even though it sounded lousy, I listened to the CD over and over. We were a good band. Even the shoddy recording couldn’t hide it.

  xXx

  As winter neared, I was finding it very hard to focus on school when all I wanted to do was spend time with Edgar, Socks, and Fern working on music. I was jealous that Fern and Edgar went to the same school and I was stuck at Glen Park with Josephine. Sometimes I would see Craig in the hallways, and we’d wave at each other, but I was finding it increasingly frustrating that I was basically alone at school. During classes I would sit and look out the window, daydreaming, and often writing lyric ideas in my notebooks rather than taking notes on whatever subject I should have been focusing on.

  One afternoon I was in the school bathroom, washing my hands, when the door swung open and in walked Brandi. I immediately looked away from her, back to my reflection. My stomach jittered. I was pissed at myself. All of last year I hadn’t had any problems with her. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to me in such a long time that I felt stupid for reacting to her at all. But I couldn’t help it. She paused, and to distract myself I pulled out my lipstick and focused on my reflection, leaning forwards and applying more of it to my lips.

  “It doesn’t really help,” she said.

  I rubbed my lips together and didn’t look at her.

  “The lipstick,” she said, in a mock-helpful tone. “It really doesn’t help you look any better.”

  I turned to her. She stood there, with her eyes wide, trying to make herself look innocent, but she had a pleased smirk.

  “You don’t think so?” I had never had such prolonged eye contact with her, and I was pleased to find that my fear was subsiding. I stared at her, and she boldly met my gaze.

  “You’re still fucking ugly. No lipstick or hair dye is ever going to help you with that.” She grinned, folded her arms, and waited for my response.

  I tucked my lipstick back into my skirt pocket. “You know, you haven’t spoken
to me in a really long time. What’s inspired you today?”

  “I’m just trying to give you some tips.”

  I didn’t respond to that, just stared at her, and to my pleasure I saw her falter for a second. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” she finally said.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you.” I smiled. “Ever since that day after exams, I’ve thought about you a lot.” I took a step towards her, maintaining eye contact. “I’ve even had some really nice fantasies about you.”

  “Oh, really?” Brandi was starting to look a little upset, a little uncomfortable, but she managed to retain the smug tone. “What are you, a dyke now too? An ugly dyke?”

  “Oh, no. Not those kind of fantasies.” I grinned and she swallowed. I felt a rush of joy realizing that I was scaring her. “Very, very different ones. You bitch.”

  “You’re crazy,” she fumbled, breaking our eye contact and rolling her eyes. She tried to paste the smirk back on her face.

  I took another step towards her, still grinning. “What’s wrong, Brandi?” I said. “Don’t you want to know what I think about? Don’t you want to know what goes through my ugly head?” I was really enjoying this. Her growing discomfort made my heartbeat pick up. I almost felt giddy. “I dare you to push me. I dare you to touch me again,” I pressed. “Try it. Just fucking try it. Like you did before.”

  At this, she attempted to rally. Smirk gone, her face turning red, she returned my gaze. “Maybe I will.”

  I felt like I was dancing, like my body was buzzing. “Then do it, you stupid bitch,” I laughed. My face was starting to hurt, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I reached my hands out to her as if I was inviting her to hug me. “I’m here right now, Brandi. I want you to,” I said.

  “You’re fucking crazy and this isn’t worth my time,” she said, beginning to turn towards the door. Immediately I darted at her and grabbed her blonde ponytail in my hand. She cried out in shock. I yanked her head back and put my mouth close to her ear.