Rockstar Serenade: The Chorus

Ch 3: Our Affairs, How Ironic

 TREVOR~

I snarl at the intermittent bursts of blinding light from the photographer for Castleburn’s school paper’s camera. I try to flex my facial muscles into a smile, something Rick told me I don’t usually give the crowd, but then I start wondering if the flash’s intensity might cause me permanent visual impairment and my lips sink into a frown.

Flash!

“Can’t they just provide adequate lightning?” Nathan, our drummer, mutters in annoyance. I am relieved to find that I’m not the only one bothered by the lights.

The photographer raises his index finger in the air. “One more. Please move close together and give your best smiles.”

Rick steps in front of me and intentionally blocks my face. I seize the top of his head and push him down enough to expose my upper torso, causing him to fall onto his knees with a huff. I decide to give my best smile since this is our last.

Flash!

Reflexively, I furrow my brow. I'm certain that the camera captured that millisecond of my reaction. How unlucky.

I rub both of my eyes afterwards in fear of the flash blindness phenomena. Thankfully, I am still able to see through the twinkling stars in my vision. I rapidly blink and they fade away. The cameraman approaches us to let us view the latest shot.

My bandmates cluster around the device’s little screen and even before I could catch a glimpse, I receive a strong thud at my back.

“Quit frowning during photoshoots, will ya?” Xavier, my long time buddy and co-guitarist, exclaims. I regain my balance and give him a punch on the arm as revenge.

"Ha! I’m sorry!”

I am in high spirits today. I have longed for this day since I received the invitation from Ralph two months ago.

Frankly speaking, during these last three months, this is the very first time I have felt at ease. After leaving our busy record label situated in California, the cool and tranquil night breeze of Castleburn High in Virginia is somehow rejuvenating.  For more or less twenty-four hours, we are blessed with freedom from energy-draining interviews from producers, music magazines and music channels, album sign ups and promotions, tours, and meetings with the executives.

Zephyr, our vocalist, excuses himself after Ralph appears out of nowhere. Ralph gives me and my band a smile that says welcome back.

“Mr. Radburn,” he says as he holds out his hand to me.

“Ralph,” I nod back.

Honestly, I hate the awkward formality between us. I’ve known him since before I joined the association because our fathers were close friends. I thought that the formality was a part of his personality, but I was proven wrong when I noticed he didn’t treat others the same way he treats me.

But why would I care about how he acts around me? We’re nothing but clubmates.

Ralph calls for bodyguards to escort us to the school gym. Castleburn Jammers’ Association, a powerful alliance and a large organization of music enthusiasts, works under the school administration. Because it holds authority equal to the student council, it was able to acquire the permission of the school to allow the gymnasium to be used for its club members’ refreshment area and for storing and setting up band equipment.

“Good thing there’s this building to separate us from the paparazzi,” Xavier says while pulling down his hemline and adjusting the collar of his button-down shirt. “Man, women can’t get enough of  Xavier Henson.”