The crimson that flows within my head

Makes me wish that I were dead

I've been made defensive to the core

You'll be sorry when there's nothing more

Tried to ignore you, pleaded you to stop

You wouldn't fucking listen, I fear I may pop

I never did anything, but you needed your kicks

Needed to laugh at your own stupid tricks

You wear blindfolds to cover your sight

Severe your brain so your wrongs seem right

They're the angels, but what you can't see

They're wicked and cruel with the sting of a bee

Their wings are charred to the color of bugs

You turn your head as they do their drugs

One day you'll be sorry, one day you'll pay

One day there will be nothing more to say

--The song I Hate You, lyrics by Orion Bauwens

"Fuck!"

Orion walks over to Ben, grabs one of his drumsticks, and tosses it over his shoulder. Ben looks at him, bewildered.

"What are you doing?" Orion demands.

"I-I-I-uhhhhhhh."

"I-I-I-uhhhhhhh--what? You what, Ben?"

"Sorry?"

"Dude," I tell Orion, touching his shoulder. "Back off."

Ben screws up his face, talking to Orion as Orion stalks away. "If you're going to be a prick like this every time we have a gig, I'm not fucking doing this."

Orion sighs and turns back to Ben, raking his hands down his face. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just stressed."

"And we're not?"

"You're right, I'm sorry."

Ben gets up and gets his stick, still glaring. Once he sits, Orion turns around. "From the top."

Tonight is our first gig. I've barely eaten today because my nerves are shot. We're doing a final run-through before we load up the van we rented and head to the place.

How the fuck Orion managed it, I don't know, but we're playing at an actual venue. We're one of the three openers. We have to drive all the way to Grand Rapids, but that's fine. Orion insists on paying for everything band related, so he's paying for gas and any snacks or drinks we might want and need while out. Where he got the money from remains a mystery. My mom is sending us off with a cooler of water bottles.

As we leave, my mom kisses me on the cheek, giving hugs to Orion and Ben. "Good luck! Have fun! Don't drink."

I roll my eyes and groan. "Mom..."

"What?"

"I'm sure they're going to have wrist bands, even for the performers," Orion replies, grinning, as he holds up his wrist and taps it. "Don't worry Mrs. Larson. I'll make sure your Jakey Wakey stays out of trouble..." He jumps up and ruffles my hair, then runs away.

She laughs. "You better..."

Charlotte was seeing us off, too. Now she stands before us, arms crossed, twisting her body back and forth in annoyance.

"This is so lame I can't come with..."

"We'll have the show recorded," Orion grins at her.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her to me, kissing the top of her head. "It's okay, we know we have your support."

She makes a face, shoving me off her. "Gross. But yeah, you do." She smiles then and walks back to the house. "Good luck guys! Have fun, drive safe!"

The gig goes surprisingly well. I mean like, surprisingly. Since we're so new and no one has even heard of us, we're the first band to play. It starts like countless other concerts. Everyone is talking, walking around, not really paying any mind to the first act.

But the longer we play the more quiet it becomes. I don't care if it looks stupid, but by the end of the set I'm grinning throughout every song. Why?

Because they've shut the fuck up. Not only have they shut the fuck up, but they're listening to us. And even more exciting? They're cheering.

I've attended shows where there's just a smattering of applause for the opening acts, if people even realize the song is over. Whenever I attend shows where that happens, I always feel so bad for the band. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?

But I'm pleased to say by the end of our set everyone is clapping and cheering. It's not anywhere near the enthusiasm we got at Battle of the Bands, but can you imagine? Kids in High School, playing your first professional gig ever, playing songs that no one has ever heard, at an actual venue, and have the crowd liking what you're doing?

I had found Heaven, and it was a stage with my guitar.

We were surprised when afterwards we had some people walk up to us and ask if we had any merch for sale. They were disappointed when we didn't even have a CD.

"Sorry," Orion told them with a wink, "you'll just have to come to our next show."

Before the gig we had talked about maybe renting a hotel room if the gig ran long. But we were so ecstatic we drove all the way back. The entire time we all were just chattering away about how awesome that was.

"What would happen?" Ben asks me late that night. We've already dropped off Orion, so now it's just me and him sitting in the rented van that has to go back in the morning.

He had spoken out of the blue after a long strain of silence. "What would happen, what? Huh?"

Ben is looking at the window. I see his reflection in the glass--he looks equal parts scared and equal parts hopeful.

"What would happen if we made it big?"

I grow quiet. What would happen if we suddenly got famous? Instead of answering I just lean over, opening the door for him.

"Good night Ben."

He looks at me. But without another word he leaves me to my thoughts.

~

We spend Senior Year playing literally every single weekend we can. Come hell or high water we perform. That includes once when Orion had the flu. He ended up making Ben and I sick the following week, the bastard.

Yet somehow that performance managed to be one of our best yet. Besides his voice being a little more nasally than normal, you couldn't tell he was performing with a 101.1 fever that was down from 103. Orin was really dedicated.

It's near the end of the school year when it happens. Our crowds have started getting bigger and bigger. We're all happy to notice during this show and the previous one that people left after we played. That means they came to see us. And exclusively us.

We had just finished up playing and were quickly moving our equipment off stage for the next band.

"Excuse me."

We all stop and look who spoke. We're half on, half off stage. Ben is carrying his top hat, I have my guitar and Ben's stool, and Orion is carrying a heavy amp.

Standing before us is a man dressed business-casual. He's wearing khaki slacks, a button down blue shirt, and his black hair is slicked to one side. He's older than us, way older. I'd peg him late thirties, early forties. Confused, the three of us look at each other.

"I was hoping to have a word with you all?"

Orion looks annoyed. "Can it wait until we're done here?"

"Of course," the man replies, smiling, and moving out of our way.

He waits patiently off to the side. As we finish up we give a friendly hi to the next band ("Great job, that was phenomenal, I wish we sounded anywhere as good!" they told us. Joke was on them, they ended up being famous, too). The man also greets them and wishes them luck.

"So," Orion says to the mystery man, leaning against the wall and swigging some water from a bottle. We're all a bunch of sweaty messes. "What's up?"

"Are you the band leader?"

Orion looks at us for a second and then shrugs. "I guess."

The man extends his hand to Orion. Confused, Orion shakes it. The guy then hands Orion a business card.

"My name is Paul Stephensberg. I work for EMI. I was hoping I could talk with you and your band?"

EMI? EMI?!? I look at Orion. He's gone pale, and I fear he might faint. He's completely frozen on the spot, just blinking. After a few seconds, the guy chuckles. Orion gives his nervous laugh, which just makes the guy laugh more.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"O-Orion," he squeaks.

"Can the four of us go somewhere we can hear each other, Orion?"

Seriously, I think Orion is going to faint. As nonchalantly as I can, I reach my hand out to steady him. Paul with EMI merely smiles kindly.

"S-sure," Orion says, doing his best impression of a small rodent.

We end up going out to our van. Paul with EMI (sorry, I have to refer to him like that, it still seems surreal to me, even now) helps us load up. As he does he talks.

"Look gentlemen, I'm going to cut right to the chase. I was sent here to scout The Grunge, so I need to make it quick. You guys have a very unique sound, which is hard to do these days. I really think you're going to be the next big thing. I want to sign you."

Okay, that's it, Orion is seriously going to faint.

"Orion, sit down."

He sits in the back of the van where the one door is still open.

"I can't do it right now, but--"

"No."

Ben and I look in disbelief at Orion. Honestly, Paul with EMI looks just as surprised.

"What?"

Orion focuses his eyes on him. "I said no."

"May I ask why?"

"My friends and I are teenagers. We just started. Most of our parents are expecting us to go to college next year." Orion rubs his forehead and I notice his hand is shaking. "So while I thank you, Paul, the answer is no for right now."

Ben and I gawk at Orion.

Orion stands as though in a daze and nods absentmindedly to the man. "Thank you, good day."

We all watch in shock as Orion walks to the front of the van and climbs in. Ben and I look back at Paul. He's still all smiles.

"Uh, sorry about that?" I say.

Paul gives a wink and begins to walk away. "Don't worry about it. We'll be in contact."

Ben is on his phone immediately. I run a hand through my hair. I'm stunned. We seriously just got offered a record label, and then just like that it was gone.

"Dude," Ben says, and then holds his phone out to me. It's EMI's website. Paul Stephensberg is listed as an employee.

I blow out a breath, holding my hair. "Holy shit..."

Ben and I go to the van and get in, me in the driver seat, Ben shotgun. We both twist around to a sobbing Orion.

"What the fuck was that?!" I demand immediately.

"I don't know!" Orion cries at us.

"I thought this is what you wanted!" Ben shouts at him. "I thought this was your dream!"

"It is!" he tells us, "but it's also really soon, and--"

"What if we never get another opportunity like that again?" I rant.

"I-I-I--I mean, everything I said was true!"

Orion was correct. It was all very true. I could only imagine what our parents would have done had we gotten back from this gig and announced we were signed by EMI Records.

Even so I was pissed. We didn't even discuss it. We weren't even allowed to discuss it. And yet here Orion was, crying like someone had shot his dog. He clearly wanted to say yes to Paul with EMI. I didn't get it.

Then again I was so pissed I didn't want to get it. So I twist around in my seat and start the car, driving off, refusing to speak to Orion the entire ride back home.