Chapter3:TheBastardWhoUnpluggedtheAmp—andanImpossibleMission
Inthebasementoftheoldactivityter,theheavyirondoor—rustedattheedges—stoodwideopenasusual.
Theexplosivedistortionuitars,thebright,skeyboardline,andthedeeproarofCra’sfive-stringbasspouredstraightoutthroughtheopendoorwaywithoutresistance.Sixeleventh-gradegirlswithlongbckhairweredeepinthesong’smostfeveredchorus,eachofthemsubmergedinthecollisionofsoundandthekindoftight,wordlesschemistryonlypeoplethesameagebuild.
Andrightastherhythmclimbedtoitsmostviolentpeak—
Adull*pfft*.
Thesub-bassthatfeltlikeitcouldvibrateyourribcagevahoutwarning.
Withthebassgohewholesong’sskeletonwasyafromu—everythingturningthin,messy,exposed.Thedrummerinthialframesmissedabeatinshock.Theguitarists’strumminghandsstalled.Thegirlsstaredatoherasasharp,awkwardringofleftoversoundhungintheair.
Crafrowned,herlefthandstillpressingthefingerboard,andturowardheramp.
Thebckcablethathadbeenfirmlypluggedinasedagowasnowinsomeone’shand—knucklesdefined,gripcasual—themetaljackstillswayingslightlyinmidair.
Atsomepoint,aboyhadslippedinthroughtheopenirondoorwithoutmakingasound.
oodbesideheramp.
Heworeasenior’suniform.Histiehungloose,halfyankedopen;onesideofhisshirttailwasoutofhisdresspants.Awornbdergigbagwasslungoverhisshoulder.Athinsheenofsweatyacrosshisforehead,likehe’dsprihewholewayhere.
Hedidn’tlookguiltyintheslightest.
Thoseeyes—restless,impatient,andstrangelybright—lockedstraightontoCra,thegirlwiththebckfive-stringbass.
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