The Firehouse

  The Firehouse in Tacoma was a half-hour drive from our usual spots, both bigger and nicer than anywhere we’d pyed before—a real step up. “This is impressive, Logan! Nice pce!” I said, smiling as we set up on the polished stage. Logan, our bookings manager, nodded, but I could see the tension behind his smile. “We’re only booked for one night. The owner wants to see how it goes,” he said, the pressure of leadership clear in his tight expression. I often forgot how much he carried on his shoulders.

  The bar buzzed with energy, the crowd bigger than we’d ever drawn at The Rusty Nail. I adjusted my guitar strap, feeling a thrill in my new outfit: the familiar tartan skirt paired with a bck peasant top, its ce detailing at the hem, sleeves, and neckline giving it a boho-goth edge, accented by an eclectic mix of neckces. Jeannie had insisted it was perfect for the Seattle rock scene—edgy, like the days of Heart and 90s grunge. I didn’t need much convincing; the ce, open neckline, and puffy sleeves felt so feminine—I loved it, a big step up from the solid green sweater.

  Adjusting my mic stand, I spotted familiar faces—regurs from the Nail who’d driven from the Seattle suburbs to Tacoma, their presence sending a thrill through me. I hadn’t expected so many to follow us. We’d just nailed “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day, Logan’s voice soaring over Kyle’s irresistible beat, the crowd riding high. But now it was my turn.

  My heart hammered as I wiped my sweaty palms on my tartan skirt. Logan stepped up to the mic I’d just lowered for myself, having to bend down low. “Oops,” I mouthed to him, my anxiety getting the better of me—I should’ve waited until after his introduction. “Alright, everyone,” he said, his voice smooth and confident, “you’ve been incredible! We’ve got something special tonight—old but new for us. Give our rhythm guitarist, Dani, some encouragement, okay?”

  The room erupted as I stepped forward, smiling shyly. It was my first time being singled out, and I could feel my heart racing as every eye turned to me, cpping and cheering. Jeannie stood right up front, a key part of our recent success through her styling and coaching, giving me two thumbs up with a smile as big as the sun. “You got this!” she mouthed, her voice lost in the noise.

  As the crowd’s cheers faded, I heard Kyle’s drumsticks clicking. Scott’s hard-charging bassline and Kyle’s steady beat kicked off the song, and soon Logan and I joined in on guitar, the automatic motion of strumming calming me as my hands found the chords instinctively. Pying the intro, I remembered Logan’s words: “You gotta own it!”

  All the old paintings on the tombs… The crowd recognized “Walk Like an Egyptian” and let out a fresh cheer. I smiled, singing the verses and chorus with a confidence I’d never felt before, adrenaline surging through me—I wasn’t sure if my singing was good, but I’d never felt the song like this. I connected with the audience, swaying and stepping back and forth with my guitar, almost dancing—a far cry from my usual statue-like stance. After the bridge, Logan’s guitar solo set the stage abze, the crowd roaring with every note.

  When the song ended, the crowd’s roar hit me like a wave, unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I must have lost my mind for a moment, blowing kisses and mouthing, “Thank you! Thank you! I love you guys!”—their cheers only growing louder. I exchanged a look with Jeannie in the front row, her mouth agape, her grin as wide as ever, sharing my exhiration—a moment as much hers as mine, since I owed so much of my newfound stage confidence to her. Behind me, Kyle stood from the drum set, high-fiving Scott, then Logan and me. I was breathless, cheeks flushed with adrenaline and pride, as the entire crowd rose to their feet, cheers echoing off the bar’s walls. Our biggest crowd yet, and we’d just given them our best show. I’d done it—I’d sung lead, danced, connected with the crowd, and they loved it.

  Backstage, the energy crackled like a live wire. Scott slung an arm around my shoulders, his bass still dangling from its strap. “Dani, you were a freaking rock star out there! That dancing? Killed it!”

  Jeannie pushed past the crew to join us, pulling me into a quick hug, her eyes sparkling. “You owned that stage!” she said, her excitement contagious.

  I hugged her back, her praise sinking in as I said, “Thanks, Jeannie. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Logan set his guitar down, wiping sweat from his brow. “She’s right,” he said warmly. “You were incredible, Dani. Keep it up, okay?” His smile made my heart flutter, and then he stepped closer, his presence filling the space between us. He lightly took my arm to pull me aside, and I froze—I couldn’t remember the st time Logan had touched me. The warmth of his hand sent a jolt through me, like a thousand volts sparking where his fingers brushed my skin, my pulse pounding in my ears.

  “Dani,” he began quietly, his voice soft as he looked me in the eyes, his gaze steady and intense. My breath caught, the world narrowing to just the two of us. Is this the moment? Does Logan feel something for me? I held my breath, waiting, hoping—then he continued, “You’re the only one who hasn’t responded to my Discord question. What do you think? I’d like to ask her tonight.”

  Discord? I was in such a rush today, taking extra time with my outfit, hair, makeup—what’s he talking about? I stood there like an idiot.

  “You’re against it. Damn. Everyone else was on board…” I interrupted, my nerves finally giving way. “Logan, I didn’t see your message. What is this about?”

  “Jeannie—are you in favor of her joining the band on a trial basis? I was thinking she could come to our next rehearsal, but it needs to be unanimous, Dani.”

  I gnced at Jeannie, ughing with Scott and Kyle. “Of course! I think it’s a great idea,” I said, but as Jeannie looked our way and smiled, I returned it—until I gnced at Logan and realized her gaze was for him. How well I recognized that look on Jeannie’s face, it was the same one I gave to Logan a hundred times though he never noticed. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach, a hollow ache settling in as I saw the joy on Logan’s face, an expression he’d never directed at me in all the years I’d known him.

  “Logan!” a voice called out, cutting through the backstage buzz. We both turned to see a tall, nky guy striding toward us, the same one who’d shown up at the end of our st rehearsal. His unkempt red hair stuck out beneath a faded hoodie, hands shoved in the pockets, a crooked smile pying on his lips.

  “Charlie!” Logan waved him over, his excitement undimmed. “Come meet the band. Charlie, this is Scott, Jeannie, Dani, and Kyle. Guys, this is Charlie—he’s going to be shooting videos for us, getting us on YouTube!” Logan’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm as he cpped Charlie on the shoulder. Scott and Jeannie greeted him warmly, but when Charlie’s gaze nded on me, his eyes traced over me, all of me, with a slow, deliberate sweep before returning to meet mine. He raised his eyebrows, now smiling at me like the Cheshire cat. Maybe on any other day, his forwardness would have been off-putting, but when I met his gaze, still feeling the weight of Logan’s rejection, Charlie’s attention lifted my spirits, coaxing a small smile to my lips despite the ache in my chest. Just then I needed a man to think I was pretty—it was a salve for my wounded heart and ego. Kyle, however, froze mid-step, his drumsticks cttering to the floor. “Charlie and I…” he paused, then added simply, “know each other,” but I couldn’t help but feel that there was something—perhaps a lot—that Kyle was leaving out. Without another word, he turned away, crouching to pack his equipment with sharp, deliberate movements, the tension radiating off him like a storm cloud.

  I gnced between them, the strangeness of Kyle’s reaction tugging at my curiosity—what had happened to make Kyle so cold? But Charlie seemed to shrug it off, chatting casually with Logan as if nothing had happened. Kneeling to pack my guitar, I looked up to find Charlie watching me again, that crooked smile lighting up his face. Then he winked, catching me off-guard, and I giggled like I was four years old, shaking my head as I looked down. For god’s sake, act like a grown-up, Dani, I scolded myself. But as I lifted my guitar case and gnced toward the stage, I caught Kyle staring at me, his expression serious, a frown creasing his brow. I gave him a questioning look, but he turned away, leaving me wondering, What is going on?

  End of Act I - A New Direction