Sequel: Soria Girl ›
Status: Regular updates every Sunday and Wednesday.
Renny Boy
Bolder Than Buzzing Bugs
“You know what we should do?” Soria had inquired one lazy Sunday when she was at my house – laying on my bed – and we were bored.
“What should we do,” I had said, saying it like a statement.
“We should just get together one day and record the two of us playing an acoustic cover,” she suggested. “Then we can put it on CoolTube.”
I shrugged. “Eh.”
“’Eh?’ What does that mean?”
“Just…eh. I don’t mind it.”
“You don’t mind getting a chance to get some actual fans?” She was giving me this look that made me feel really stupid.
“Well…what song should we do?”
Soria went quiet.
- - -
And that, my friends, is how I ended up at Soria’s house the next Friday afternoon, belting out the words to “Eleven to Your Seven” by Hey Mercedes, while she strummed her acoustic guitar to back me up.
Neither of us had one of those webcam thingies, so Soria bummed an old video camera off her dad. To the rest of the world, we were kickin’ it old school. When I asked her why we were going so primitive, she had replied, “It’ll be like that guy who posted all those live videos of Cap’n Jazz from, like, 1995. Somebody’ll come across it in a few years and go, ‘Oh, man, I remember those days.’ That date in the corner just gives it a nostalgic feeling.”
First of all, we had to actually create a CoolTube account, and the username was a huge pain in the butt to come up with. Let me brighten your day by reiterating the process:
“How ‘bout…iSoria,” I smirked, pushing her buttons.
“HELL no.”
“C’mon. I think it’s got a ring to it.”
“Your face has a ring to it.”
“Real mature.”
“How about…Hawkinson? I mean, your last name’s Hawker, mine’s Atkinson, so…It’s got kind of an old-timey feeling, like Anberlin or something.”
“Well, why don’t we just call ourselves Roria.”
“Ew.”
“That’s basically what you’re saying.”
“Nah, we need something that represents us.”
“Ren and Soria. That represents us.”
“That doesn’t flow. Soria and Ren.”
“That one sounds dumb…”
“Well, it’s better than iSoria! And I like Hawkinson. I think we should stick with that one.”
“That’s so cheesy! Who names their band after the members?”
“Uh, let’s see – Tegan and Sara, Meg and Dia, Aly and AJ…”
“Yeah – all bands I’ve never even heard of.”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t have any taste.”
“I don’t listen to rednecks screaming about their mamas!”
Silence.
“So what’s our channel’s name?” I asked.
She sighed. “Ren and Soria. Why not.”
- - -
And there we were, standing in the guest room of Soria’s house with an old-as-hell video camera sitting in front of us on a tripod. Her dad promised not to make any noise, so the house was quiet, but my heart was still pounding.
“How do I turn this thing on?” I asked her.
“Press the red button.”
“I’m pressing the red button and nothing’s happening.”
She pushed me out of the way. “Yeah, you just recorded me tuning my guitar. See that box right there?” she instructed, pointing. “That says record."
“I know how to read,” I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t working until you came over.”
“Maybe the camera just doesn’t like you,” she smiled.
“Maybe.”
“Go sit. I gotta rewind this thing.”
So I took a seat on the guest bed and fidgeted. To be honest, I hated being recorded. Especially when I was singing. And Lord, my mom has a whole box full of me singing in junior choirs as a little kid. It’s hell. Thank God she didn’t record that first grade incident.
“Ya nervous?” Soria said.
“Huh? Oh. Um, a little,” I coughed.
“Relax. Get some water.”
“Water makes me pee. Especially when I’m nervous.”
“TMI.”
I laughed a little. “Well…”
“Okay! Shut up. I’m about to hit record.”
I itched my nose one last time, and then I was on camera. Soria rushed over real quick and put her acoustic’s strap over her shoulder, waving to everybody who’d see this on the Internet.
“Yo yo yo! What up, Interweb?” she burst, a big smile glued to her face. “My name’s Soria!”
I tried. I really did. I tried my hardest not to laugh, but it all just came out in a blurred snort of laughter. She slapped my shoulder.
“And…and I’m Ren,” I coughed, unable to wipe the grin off my face. “And this is -”
“Don’t say it.”
I shut my mouth, still smiling.
“We’re gonna do a cover -”
“iSoria.”
Oh boy. If looks could kill, I’d have been dying a poisonous death.
“Anyways,” she continued, still shooting me a dirty look, “we’ll be playing a cover of ‘Eleven to Your Seven’ by Hey Mercedes.”
I had about a million things to say to her, but as I was about to say them, I realized we were being recorded.
“Enjoy,” I said, a permanent crooked smile still on my face.
And Soria struck the note that shot off one of my favorite songs of all time, and we were officially playing a cover…!
I didn’t mind being on camera the more we got into it. This is kind of a singer thing here – we close our eyes if we’re real concentrated. If you watch a band’s acoustic videos on CoolTube or something, most of the time they’ve got their eyes closed ‘cause it helps with focusing. Well, I did it when I was on camera so I wouldn’t be reminded that I was being watched. Go figure.
“We broke down
Miles out of Morgantown
The midnight rainstorm crashing down
Not one breathing soul around
Eleven to your seven,” I sang, the bridge bringing out the best in me.
Soria was smiling at me. I could feel it. It was like a sixth sense, you know? I was feeling that all throughout the song and if it hadn’t happened, I’d have likely not sang half as well.
The song ended with a high note on her guitar and in our case, synchronized grins that made us look like bigger idiots than we already were.
- - -
“Walk this way! Talk this -” my ringtone sounded the next day as I tackled my weekend math homework. (Can you believe that? I didn’t have to deal with weekend homework the previous year.) I picked up my cell phone – it was still hooked up to its charger – and flipped it open, pressing the talk button.
“Hey -”
“Didja check our video?” Soria gasped eagerly.
“Uh…no, not yet.”
“We got like three comments already! And no flames!”
“Is that good?”
“Are you serious?! It’s awesome! Nobody hates us yet!”
“What’d they say about us?”
“Go to the video and check it out, man!”
“Alright, jeez. What’s the big deal?” I asked, walking out of my room to go to the family computer.
“’Cause we’re getting recognized! This is awesome! Are you there yet?”
“Soria, I just got on.”
After a minute of typing and clicking, I was on the CoolTube homepage. Then I logged into our account – we called ourselves RenAndSoria.
“Are ya there? Are ya there?”
“Calm down!…Yeah. Oh my God, I look so stupid…”
“S’okay, so do I. Lookit the comments!”
I scrolled down the page and read the three critiques we got on our cover:
noodlecorefreek:
hey that was pretty good. and the singer doesnt suck haha
deadmeatballs:
good guitar
good vocals
if nanna saw this he’d smile
And then this last one from a guy named ETERNALCOWBOY said:
algernon cadwallader
I smiled. I think Soria knew it, too.
“Didja read ‘em?” she urged.
“Yeah,” I gasped. I couldn’t say anything else.
She was quiet for a minute. “…Do you know what the last one means?”
I laughed a little. “You never heard of Algernon Cadwallader?”
“No. Should I know them?”
“You love Cap’n Jazz as much as I do! They sound kinda like a modern version of them!” I smirked.
“Well, I’ve never heard of them. Why don’t you ask the dude what he meant when he said…al…ger…”
“Algernon. Cadwallader. Sound it out.”
“Right. Just ask him what he meant. Maybe they want us to do another cover.”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
I clicked on the little button that said “Reply” under the random comment. Then I typed:
oohhh man its taking me ooverrrr
haha
srsly what do u mean by that
And then it was on the Internet for everyone to see.
- - -
A few days went by; a couple new comments surfaced that said stuff like, “how old r u guys” and, “that singer guy is really hot. Id do him.” (Okay, maybe not that last one.) Generic stuff. Not that I minded, but…I kind of liked being noticed like that. And as crazy as it sounds coming from me, it’s true. I just wanted a sign that we could go somewhere with this. It sure beat being bored.
The ETERNALCOWBOY (still dunno what that meant) guy had replied back and told us, “u should do a cover of th song serial killer status but dude I think u need 2b in puberty to hit that up.”
I smirked. When I lost my voice, it was hell, but if it meant pulling off a cover of that song, I’d find a way to make it crack.
Soria had already replied back since we were sharing the account. “lol yea that would help,” she had responded.
And there was one ounce of feedback that hit home for me:
aurevoir_x:
im requesting a cover of ooh do I love you;; caP’n jazz
do it
now
NOW
or I will keel you
It was amazing. One of my favorite songs! And somebody wanted us to cover it! I don’t think I’d ever smiled so wide in my life.
So I pulled a Soria. I called her one Saturday and this is what happened:
“Hello -”
“Soria! Didja check the vid?”
“Yeah, I -”
“Ya wanna do it?”
“What? Do what?”
“Cap’n Jazz! ‘Ooh Do I Love You!’ C’mon! Let’s do it!”
“Okay, yeah!”
“I’m comin’ over. Be ready!”
And in fifteen minutes I’d rode my bike over to her house with nothing but the clothes on my back and a voice ready to sing. I was even doing warm-ups as I biked, knowing that nobody would hear me trilling like a moron as I whizzed past those familiar houses.
Soria opened the front door just as I parked my bike in the driveway, ushering for me to get in quick. When I raced into her house, her dad was on the couch, watching football and giving us a funny look.
“Any particular reason you came here so quick?” he asked skeptically.
“Where’s the camera?” Soria gasped.
“In the hall closet -”
“Okay! You’re gonna have to stay quiet for about four minutes,” she answered, smiling. Then she went into her room to get her guitar.
I smirked at her dad, who was still giving me that awkward stare, despite the fact that I’d been to her house fifty times at the least. “We’re doing another cover. Spontaneously.”
And as soon as the tripod was set up and we knew what we were doing, it was time to sing one of the greatest songs known to man.
“What’s up, Internet?” Soria smiled after hitting record.
“We’re gonna do another cover,” I added. She was dancing a little in her seat on the guest bed where we’d sat before. “It’s ‘Ooh Do I Love You’ by Cap’n Jazz.”
And then I got this feeling once she started playing. I don’t know. It was like a little tickle in my stomach. Butterflies…nah, that only happens when you’re scared. It made me grin all through the song, which might have screwed up a few words, but it wasn’t like I cared.
“Mud bubbles pop
And burst breath
Into the air
Where’s the in-between
If everyone’s a me
That there tree
Grew outta me…”
If I knew what love felt like, I’d have probably said that the feeling was love. But…I was twelve. I didn’t know what the heck love felt like. Or…It could have been love for the song, or love for how damn awesome we sounded, or…whatever. It didn’t matter to me, ‘cause all I knew was that I was high on life and didn’t want it to end.
“What should we do,” I had said, saying it like a statement.
“We should just get together one day and record the two of us playing an acoustic cover,” she suggested. “Then we can put it on CoolTube.”
I shrugged. “Eh.”
“’Eh?’ What does that mean?”
“Just…eh. I don’t mind it.”
“You don’t mind getting a chance to get some actual fans?” She was giving me this look that made me feel really stupid.
“Well…what song should we do?”
Soria went quiet.
- - -
And that, my friends, is how I ended up at Soria’s house the next Friday afternoon, belting out the words to “Eleven to Your Seven” by Hey Mercedes, while she strummed her acoustic guitar to back me up.
Neither of us had one of those webcam thingies, so Soria bummed an old video camera off her dad. To the rest of the world, we were kickin’ it old school. When I asked her why we were going so primitive, she had replied, “It’ll be like that guy who posted all those live videos of Cap’n Jazz from, like, 1995. Somebody’ll come across it in a few years and go, ‘Oh, man, I remember those days.’ That date in the corner just gives it a nostalgic feeling.”
First of all, we had to actually create a CoolTube account, and the username was a huge pain in the butt to come up with. Let me brighten your day by reiterating the process:
“How ‘bout…iSoria,” I smirked, pushing her buttons.
“HELL no.”
“C’mon. I think it’s got a ring to it.”
“Your face has a ring to it.”
“Real mature.”
“How about…Hawkinson? I mean, your last name’s Hawker, mine’s Atkinson, so…It’s got kind of an old-timey feeling, like Anberlin or something.”
“Well, why don’t we just call ourselves Roria.”
“Ew.”
“That’s basically what you’re saying.”
“Nah, we need something that represents us.”
“Ren and Soria. That represents us.”
“That doesn’t flow. Soria and Ren.”
“That one sounds dumb…”
“Well, it’s better than iSoria! And I like Hawkinson. I think we should stick with that one.”
“That’s so cheesy! Who names their band after the members?”
“Uh, let’s see – Tegan and Sara, Meg and Dia, Aly and AJ…”
“Yeah – all bands I’ve never even heard of.”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t have any taste.”
“I don’t listen to rednecks screaming about their mamas!”
Silence.
“So what’s our channel’s name?” I asked.
She sighed. “Ren and Soria. Why not.”
- - -
And there we were, standing in the guest room of Soria’s house with an old-as-hell video camera sitting in front of us on a tripod. Her dad promised not to make any noise, so the house was quiet, but my heart was still pounding.
“How do I turn this thing on?” I asked her.
“Press the red button.”
“I’m pressing the red button and nothing’s happening.”
She pushed me out of the way. “Yeah, you just recorded me tuning my guitar. See that box right there?” she instructed, pointing. “That says record."
“I know how to read,” I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t working until you came over.”
“Maybe the camera just doesn’t like you,” she smiled.
“Maybe.”
“Go sit. I gotta rewind this thing.”
So I took a seat on the guest bed and fidgeted. To be honest, I hated being recorded. Especially when I was singing. And Lord, my mom has a whole box full of me singing in junior choirs as a little kid. It’s hell. Thank God she didn’t record that first grade incident.
“Ya nervous?” Soria said.
“Huh? Oh. Um, a little,” I coughed.
“Relax. Get some water.”
“Water makes me pee. Especially when I’m nervous.”
“TMI.”
I laughed a little. “Well…”
“Okay! Shut up. I’m about to hit record.”
I itched my nose one last time, and then I was on camera. Soria rushed over real quick and put her acoustic’s strap over her shoulder, waving to everybody who’d see this on the Internet.
“Yo yo yo! What up, Interweb?” she burst, a big smile glued to her face. “My name’s Soria!”
I tried. I really did. I tried my hardest not to laugh, but it all just came out in a blurred snort of laughter. She slapped my shoulder.
“And…and I’m Ren,” I coughed, unable to wipe the grin off my face. “And this is -”
“Don’t say it.”
I shut my mouth, still smiling.
“We’re gonna do a cover -”
“iSoria.”
Oh boy. If looks could kill, I’d have been dying a poisonous death.
“Anyways,” she continued, still shooting me a dirty look, “we’ll be playing a cover of ‘Eleven to Your Seven’ by Hey Mercedes.”
I had about a million things to say to her, but as I was about to say them, I realized we were being recorded.
“Enjoy,” I said, a permanent crooked smile still on my face.
And Soria struck the note that shot off one of my favorite songs of all time, and we were officially playing a cover…!
I didn’t mind being on camera the more we got into it. This is kind of a singer thing here – we close our eyes if we’re real concentrated. If you watch a band’s acoustic videos on CoolTube or something, most of the time they’ve got their eyes closed ‘cause it helps with focusing. Well, I did it when I was on camera so I wouldn’t be reminded that I was being watched. Go figure.
“We broke down
Miles out of Morgantown
The midnight rainstorm crashing down
Not one breathing soul around
Eleven to your seven,” I sang, the bridge bringing out the best in me.
Soria was smiling at me. I could feel it. It was like a sixth sense, you know? I was feeling that all throughout the song and if it hadn’t happened, I’d have likely not sang half as well.
The song ended with a high note on her guitar and in our case, synchronized grins that made us look like bigger idiots than we already were.
- - -
“Walk this way! Talk this -” my ringtone sounded the next day as I tackled my weekend math homework. (Can you believe that? I didn’t have to deal with weekend homework the previous year.) I picked up my cell phone – it was still hooked up to its charger – and flipped it open, pressing the talk button.
“Hey -”
“Didja check our video?” Soria gasped eagerly.
“Uh…no, not yet.”
“We got like three comments already! And no flames!”
“Is that good?”
“Are you serious?! It’s awesome! Nobody hates us yet!”
“What’d they say about us?”
“Go to the video and check it out, man!”
“Alright, jeez. What’s the big deal?” I asked, walking out of my room to go to the family computer.
“’Cause we’re getting recognized! This is awesome! Are you there yet?”
“Soria, I just got on.”
After a minute of typing and clicking, I was on the CoolTube homepage. Then I logged into our account – we called ourselves RenAndSoria.
“Are ya there? Are ya there?”
“Calm down!…Yeah. Oh my God, I look so stupid…”
“S’okay, so do I. Lookit the comments!”
I scrolled down the page and read the three critiques we got on our cover:
noodlecorefreek:
hey that was pretty good. and the singer doesnt suck haha
deadmeatballs:
good guitar
good vocals
if nanna saw this he’d smile
And then this last one from a guy named ETERNALCOWBOY said:
algernon cadwallader
I smiled. I think Soria knew it, too.
“Didja read ‘em?” she urged.
“Yeah,” I gasped. I couldn’t say anything else.
She was quiet for a minute. “…Do you know what the last one means?”
I laughed a little. “You never heard of Algernon Cadwallader?”
“No. Should I know them?”
“You love Cap’n Jazz as much as I do! They sound kinda like a modern version of them!” I smirked.
“Well, I’ve never heard of them. Why don’t you ask the dude what he meant when he said…al…ger…”
“Algernon. Cadwallader. Sound it out.”
“Right. Just ask him what he meant. Maybe they want us to do another cover.”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
I clicked on the little button that said “Reply” under the random comment. Then I typed:
oohhh man its taking me ooverrrr
haha
srsly what do u mean by that
And then it was on the Internet for everyone to see.
- - -
A few days went by; a couple new comments surfaced that said stuff like, “how old r u guys” and, “that singer guy is really hot. Id do him.” (Okay, maybe not that last one.) Generic stuff. Not that I minded, but…I kind of liked being noticed like that. And as crazy as it sounds coming from me, it’s true. I just wanted a sign that we could go somewhere with this. It sure beat being bored.
The ETERNALCOWBOY (still dunno what that meant) guy had replied back and told us, “u should do a cover of th song serial killer status but dude I think u need 2b in puberty to hit that up.”
I smirked. When I lost my voice, it was hell, but if it meant pulling off a cover of that song, I’d find a way to make it crack.
Soria had already replied back since we were sharing the account. “lol yea that would help,” she had responded.
And there was one ounce of feedback that hit home for me:
aurevoir_x:
im requesting a cover of ooh do I love you;; caP’n jazz
do it
now
NOW
or I will keel you
It was amazing. One of my favorite songs! And somebody wanted us to cover it! I don’t think I’d ever smiled so wide in my life.
So I pulled a Soria. I called her one Saturday and this is what happened:
“Hello -”
“Soria! Didja check the vid?”
“Yeah, I -”
“Ya wanna do it?”
“What? Do what?”
“Cap’n Jazz! ‘Ooh Do I Love You!’ C’mon! Let’s do it!”
“Okay, yeah!”
“I’m comin’ over. Be ready!”
And in fifteen minutes I’d rode my bike over to her house with nothing but the clothes on my back and a voice ready to sing. I was even doing warm-ups as I biked, knowing that nobody would hear me trilling like a moron as I whizzed past those familiar houses.
Soria opened the front door just as I parked my bike in the driveway, ushering for me to get in quick. When I raced into her house, her dad was on the couch, watching football and giving us a funny look.
“Any particular reason you came here so quick?” he asked skeptically.
“Where’s the camera?” Soria gasped.
“In the hall closet -”
“Okay! You’re gonna have to stay quiet for about four minutes,” she answered, smiling. Then she went into her room to get her guitar.
I smirked at her dad, who was still giving me that awkward stare, despite the fact that I’d been to her house fifty times at the least. “We’re doing another cover. Spontaneously.”
And as soon as the tripod was set up and we knew what we were doing, it was time to sing one of the greatest songs known to man.
“What’s up, Internet?” Soria smiled after hitting record.
“We’re gonna do another cover,” I added. She was dancing a little in her seat on the guest bed where we’d sat before. “It’s ‘Ooh Do I Love You’ by Cap’n Jazz.”
And then I got this feeling once she started playing. I don’t know. It was like a little tickle in my stomach. Butterflies…nah, that only happens when you’re scared. It made me grin all through the song, which might have screwed up a few words, but it wasn’t like I cared.
“Mud bubbles pop
And burst breath
Into the air
Where’s the in-between
If everyone’s a me
That there tree
Grew outta me…”
If I knew what love felt like, I’d have probably said that the feeling was love. But…I was twelve. I didn’t know what the heck love felt like. Or…It could have been love for the song, or love for how damn awesome we sounded, or…whatever. It didn’t matter to me, ‘cause all I knew was that I was high on life and didn’t want it to end.
♠ ♠ ♠
As always, feedback is welcome... :) Y'all still interested...?