Read Online Have Mercy (Have a Life #1) by Maddy Wells - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maddy Wells
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shallow and fleeting and everything, but the great thing about fame that people who aren’t famous can’t know is this: you can actually feel adoration pouring all over you from people who don’t even know you and I don’t care who you are, having a crowd of people pour love all over you is the most delicious feeling in the world.
Chapter 11
The Griffin and Bang and Raymond played a couple of songs to ear-splitting applause from the kids packed into the Trap and the late arrivals in the driveway, then Raymond with a big grin introduced us, saying Have Mercy was a group that was going to be big one day peut etre , and Tim jumped up and motioned for me and Captain Kirby to take the stage. Raymond joined The Griffin and Bang at the front of the crowd and we played Hole in the Sky, the song Tim wrote for the occasion and The Griffin actually paid attention in spite of the Goth girl’s pawing because the song was really cool. When it was over, he asked me if I wrote it and it took every bit of integrity I had not to lie and say yes.
“You should talk to my man,” The Griffin said to Tim, by which he meant his manager who was meeting them in Houston in a couple of days. “Send him a demo.”
“Can I call him or what?” Tim asked.
“No, I’ll have him call you,” The Griffin said.
And I watched Tim enter that twilight zone where everything is possible as he wrote down the chords for The Griffin and repeated the lyrics, and I was jealous that it wasn’t me as The Griffin nodded his approval and patted Tim’s shoulder. If only I could be free of school and move to Houston where I just knew songs would pour out of me.
“I have to talk to you,” I told The Griffin. “It’s important. I have a presentation which will explain everything,” which I felt kind of ridiculous saying in a garage full of people high on music and alcohol and pot. Like I was Mr. Dow bullet pointing in the Dark Ages to an audience of irate villagers. Boy, would Mr. Dow have a fit when he found out I was dropping out of school.
“Sure, babe. What’s this about?”
“It’s about school.”
“Sure, let’s see what you got.”
The Griffin always smiled like he was proud of me when I gave him printouts. See, this is the thing about The Griffin. When he’s noticing you with his huge blue eyes and he has this half smile on his face reacting to what you’re saying, he’s with you, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him.
“Let me get my laptop,” I said, and by the time I ran up to my room to get my laptop and returned to the basement, the Goth girl, whose name I found out from one of her friends was Evelyn—like who is named Evelyn who hasn’t been dead for a hundred years?—was leading The Griffin to the bus where the bus driver, a skinny old guy who’s been with The Griffin since I was ten and who wasn’t allowed to leave his post, closed the door behind them.
It was two o’clock in the morning. Jane would be home soon from the prom. A couple of people had brought their own guitars and set up with Tim and Raymond and Bang and the music had an air of exhilaration that you get when musicians, previously unknown to one another, discover each other though music. It’s an un-reproducible sound, the music of discovery, trading fours, the language of one soul, two souls, three having a conversation without words.
There must have been seventy people in the garage and the driveway grooving and dancing and spilling across the street and the lights were on in all the houses around us and I was wondering when the cops would arrive when Captain
Chapter 11
The Griffin and Bang and Raymond played a couple of songs to ear-splitting applause from the kids packed into the Trap and the late arrivals in the driveway, then Raymond with a big grin introduced us, saying Have Mercy was a group that was going to be big one day peut etre , and Tim jumped up and motioned for me and Captain Kirby to take the stage. Raymond joined The Griffin and Bang at the front of the crowd and we played Hole in the Sky, the song Tim wrote for the occasion and The Griffin actually paid attention in spite of the Goth girl’s pawing because the song was really cool. When it was over, he asked me if I wrote it and it took every bit of integrity I had not to lie and say yes.
“You should talk to my man,” The Griffin said to Tim, by which he meant his manager who was meeting them in Houston in a couple of days. “Send him a demo.”
“Can I call him or what?” Tim asked.
“No, I’ll have him call you,” The Griffin said.
And I watched Tim enter that twilight zone where everything is possible as he wrote down the chords for The Griffin and repeated the lyrics, and I was jealous that it wasn’t me as The Griffin nodded his approval and patted Tim’s shoulder. If only I could be free of school and move to Houston where I just knew songs would pour out of me.
“I have to talk to you,” I told The Griffin. “It’s important. I have a presentation which will explain everything,” which I felt kind of ridiculous saying in a garage full of people high on music and alcohol and pot. Like I was Mr. Dow bullet pointing in the Dark Ages to an audience of irate villagers. Boy, would Mr. Dow have a fit when he found out I was dropping out of school.
“Sure, babe. What’s this about?”
“It’s about school.”
“Sure, let’s see what you got.”
The Griffin always smiled like he was proud of me when I gave him printouts. See, this is the thing about The Griffin. When he’s noticing you with his huge blue eyes and he has this half smile on his face reacting to what you’re saying, he’s with you, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him.
“Let me get my laptop,” I said, and by the time I ran up to my room to get my laptop and returned to the basement, the Goth girl, whose name I found out from one of her friends was Evelyn—like who is named Evelyn who hasn’t been dead for a hundred years?—was leading The Griffin to the bus where the bus driver, a skinny old guy who’s been with The Griffin since I was ten and who wasn’t allowed to leave his post, closed the door behind them.
It was two o’clock in the morning. Jane would be home soon from the prom. A couple of people had brought their own guitars and set up with Tim and Raymond and Bang and the music had an air of exhilaration that you get when musicians, previously unknown to one another, discover each other though music. It’s an un-reproducible sound, the music of discovery, trading fours, the language of one soul, two souls, three having a conversation without words.
There must have been seventy people in the garage and the driveway grooving and dancing and spilling across the street and the lights were on in all the houses around us and I was wondering when the cops would arrive when Captain
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