One Last Thing ✅

fifteen things

Riley and Abbott are already onstage, messing with the drum set. Jared hops up and scopes out the scene, probably deciding where he'll set up his guitar and amp. I hang back by the bar, just watching for a moment.

People trickle in and take seats at booths or high tops. Most of them look like college students, with that rumpled Friday look in their eyes, like they've just finished classes for the week and are ready to unwind a little or a lot.

Mostly a lot.

I lug my guitar case onto the stage and kneel before it, running my hands over the zebra stripes and relishing the moment. Then I pop open the latch and take Betsy into my hands.

It's not long before we're all set up and ready to go.

This is what I live for.

A darkened room, people slowly getting drunk, the low buzz of anticipation. The familiar excitement bubbles in my stomach as I tune my guitar, testing out chords and making slight adjustments. I can't wait to start, for that moment when the four of us become the most important people in the world. Or, at least, the bar.

Mac, the owner, comes up to see if we need anything.

"I'll take a gin and tonic," Jared says in his best of-age voice.

"Nice try," Mac says, chortling. "How about a nice Shirley Temple?" He turns to me. "How about you, princess? Would you like a Shirley Temple?"

I shake my hair out of my eyes and nod at him, and then Riley speaks up. "A Shirley Temple sounds great, Mac. I'll take one, too."

Mac brings us our drinks and wishes us luck.

I take a sip of the sweet drink and set it on the floor, out of the way.

A soft thrum starts in my chest when the house lights go down. It's always like this, like my heart is just waking up when it's time for us to perform. Abbott is already sitting before his drums. Jared pulls his guitar strap over his shoulder. Riley takes her place behind the microphone.

Mac turns on the stage lights, and I'm blinded for a moment. Then my eyes slowly adjust to the brightness. I scan the crowd and spot a few familiar faces from school. My eyes fall on the heart-shaped, upturned face of Rose Evans, who is sitting near the bar with a glass of what looks like Coke. When she sees me looking her way, I waggle my fingers at her. She waves back.

I find Betsy right where I left her and loop her strap over my shoulder, facing the crowd. Riley picks up the microphone and switches it on. I stand a little behind Riley, and her brown hair is highlighted like a chocolate halo.

Abbott hits his sticks together four times, and I follow his cue and launch into the opening chords of "Outside." When Riley starts to sing, one head turns after another until nearly everyone's eyes are on her. A few people start nodding along with the song, like they recognize it.

It's hard to describe how it feels, making music with the Sea Monkeys. The closest thing I can think of is standing in church, everyone reciting a prayer together. Except, for me, this sense of unity is much stronger than it is in church. When we're blending our sounds together, it's like we're all connected in this way that I've never felt within the walls of St. Anthony's. Riley and Jared and Abbott and I, we're bound together, and there's something that ties us to the crowd, the people who are listening to us, too.

In what seems like the blink of an eye, we have gone through five songs, and it's time for a break. The house lights go up, and I lay Betsy in her case and straighten, ready to gather everyone for Rose's interview. Riley is talking animatedly to Abbott, but Jared has disappeared already.