Glitch

"Sometimes, life needs to be shaken up a little bit, because if it's not, it gets boring. And really, what's the point of doing the same thing every day anyway? It's not like repetition got anyone anywhere." - Margret Olivia Chancey, age 17.

I threw myself down on my bed and let my heavy eyelids close slowly. A concert like that could really drain the energy out of a girl.

"Mickie? You home yet?" I heard Dad call from downstairs.

"I'm sleeping..." I groaned loudly.

"Well wake up! Miss Mary is here for your piano lessons!" He called.

I hate Miss Mary. I hate her nasally voice, the way she chomps on her gum during our lessons, and most of all, her flirting with my wealthy father almost constantly, even though he's still clearly happily married.

"But Dad!" I whined, "I don't feel good... Can't i just postpone the lessons until Monday?"

I sat up to see my father standing at my door. He was definitely not impressed with me. "Mykynli, I paid good money for Miss Mary to come in and work with you. Now get downstairs before she leaves."

I shrugged, "Dad, you're a millionaire, you pay good money for everything. What makes Miss Mary any different?" I stood up and fixed my messy brown hair, "And besides, I'm a child prodigy with the piano, do I really need more lessons, especially from someone who barely can read sheet music?"

“Mykynli, that is no way to speak about the woman who only wants to help you improve!” My father snapped.

I jumped back a little bit, my father was always so calm and mild, he'd never yell at me... What was going on with him?

“Help me? Dad, all she's after is you!” I cried with frustration. Right then and there, I could have hit my father, and hit him hard too, but I held it in. I had the feeling that he was frustrated enough to hit me too. He never had before, but I'd never seen him this way before.
Dad clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fits, not to hit, but to calm himself, I did the same. “Get downstaires now Mykynli!”

“But Dad!”

“Now Mykynli!”

I started to stomp my way downstairs, but before I had step out of the hall onto the staires, I had turned to my father and bitterly said, “If you care, we were approached by an agent today. Says he just might sign us, because he thinks we're good. He doesn't care if I can play scales for an hour unending like you must.”

Halfway down the stairs, Mom, who was going up, grabbed my arm and stopped me in my tracks. “Don't let him get you worked up Mickie Mouse, I know he's proud of you, he's just stressed,” she said, her brown eyes glazed over with forming tears, “you know what his job is like.”

“Alright. If you say so.”

“I'm proud of you too baby.”

“Thanks Mom.”

Miss Mary sat down at the grand piano in the front room, wearing her usual attire. A black top, too tight to be worn by a woman her age, too low to be worn by a professional, and too see through to be worn by anyone. With this, she wore a white, short, pleated skirt, almost like she was trying to look like she was only twenty, and a white shrug that covered next to nothing. Still don't think she's trying to seduce my father for his money?

“Hello Miss Mykynli, how are you this fine day?” She said with fake joy, smiling like she'd just gotten botox injections. Actually, she probably did just have botox injections. I most certainly wouldn't doubt it.

"Fine, and you?" I said politely, if only to keep my parents from yelling at me later on. 

"Quite well, thank you," she replied, pulling a few stacks of sheet music from her leather brief case, "So, shall we review the scale C major?"

C major? She has got to be kidding, she simply had to be kidding, there's no way she's not kidding, "You're not being serious, are you?"

Another fake smile crossed her plastic face. "Well of course I'm being serious! C major is a very important scale!"

Not to toot my own horn, but because I was composing my own melodies in C major by the time I was five and a half, Miss Mary's constant review of it was completely necessary. Every three weeks we must have wasted an entire practice on scales, and then, she'd decide to drag it out until the next class, just to “Make sure I was getting the hang of it.” I don't think this woman realizes I was on daytime talk shows as a preschooler playing the piano.

“Miss Mary, not to be rude or speak out of line, but--”

Before I could finish, the phone began blaring it's obnoxious ringer. Rather than sit through an entire conversation with Miss Mary, I jumped up and grabbed the phone.

“Y'ello?”

“Hey Mickie, it's Willow. Are you busy right now?”

I turned to look at Miss Mary, who was absentmindedly staring the the sheet music, pretending she could read it. Turning back, I said, “Nope, what's up?”

“We're all meeting at the diner in about twenty minutes, think you can get here?” she asked, a hopeful tone in her voice, “We really need the whole band there.”

“What for?”

I could here the others in the back giggling. “Ethan wants to hear that demo we recorded a few months ago for Music class. He seems like he's going to send it in to his friends back at Rising Sun and get a second opinion, that way, people won't think he only signed us because he's Kimi's uncle.”

I tried to hold my laughter in, but I couldn't. "Willow, you say that as if someone would actually clue in that Kimi and Ethan are even related!"

"True, true, but just to be on the safe side, we should probably go meet with him."

"Fine, I'll go tell Mom, I'll just have to have to postpone my piano lessons." I said, a bit too enthused.

Sarcastically, Willow said "You really seem bothered by that."

I simply laughed and said "Well you know me Willow, and how much I love it."

"Yes I do, and not at all. Text me when you're about to leave, Kay?"

"Alright, can do! I'll see you then!"

"Okay, bye!" Willow said before hanging up. 

"Where are you going?" I heard my father asking from behind me. Miss Mary had joined him, as well as Mom.

"I, um, well, uh," I stammered, before finally finding my words, "That guy from the record company, he wants to meet with us at the Chancey's diner."

My father grew a bit too suspicious for my taste. "Why does a grown man want to meet with a group of teenage girls?"

Mom rolled her eyes and lightly smacked the back of his head. "Relax Sherlock, it's Ethan Cove, Kimberly's uncle, not some pedophile. I used to babysit him, and you went to prom with his sister, you know him."

My father grumbled to himself and crossed his arms. He still didn't want me to go

"Have fun sweetie, be back before eight," my mother said brightly. She placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head and handed me my car keys.

Miss Mary awkwardly looked from my mother, to me, and to my father. "But what about our lesson for today?"

Mom smiled sweetly and said, "Do you think you could postpone? This really is a once and a lifetime opportunity for our daughter, isn't it Patrick?"

Dad stumbled and tripped over his words, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "Of course honey."

Miss Mary fumbled with her sheet music and stuffed it into her brief case. "So, Monday then?" She asked anxiously.

"We'll call you," Mom said, wanting Miss Mary to get out of our home as much as I did, "Now get going, you're going to be late." 

“Thanks Mom!” I squealed, running to the door. “Bye Dad! Bye Mom!”

I ran as fast as I could to the garage, and fumbled with the car keys until I found the one for my baby blue buggy. Someone seriously needs to invent a teleportation machine, because I just simply could not get to the diner fast enough. Even when I was going 80 down the highway that connected the gated community where I lived and the main town.

Once I finally made it to town, I saw four familiar cars parked in front. Kimi's beat up old Ford, Laney's mom's new silver car, the Chancey's mini van, and Angie's pick up. Nearby, an expensive looking sports car was double parked, which I could only assume was Ethan Cove's.

If you've ever seen an old movie set in like, the fifties or sixties, then you could imagine the Chaney's Diner. Bright pastel blue and white tiles, pastel pink vinyl stools that could spin, with the same vinyl used on the booths, and metal trim. The waitresses wore roller skates, white aprons, and orange retro dresses, just to fit with the theme.

Our usual booth was in the back corner, close to the window so there was enough light, but far enough that people couldn't read your lips and eavesdrop on your conversation. Four of the girls were already sitting, while Willow was skating across the floor, carrying one tray of root beer floats and another of nachos and fries. She was still in her street clothes, the typical denim jeans and layered tank tops, meaning she wasn't on the clock, so I could only assume she just liked those roller skates just a little too much.

“Hey Mickie! Take a seat, I'll getcha a drink too kay? It's on the house!” Willow said brightly as she speed past me, skating backwards to talk.

“Alright, thanks Willow.”

“No trouble!” She then whipped around to the table, where Margret was attempting to shove a nacho the size of Canada in her mouth, “And watch it! Those are burning hot!”

Margret ignored her sister, and continued to eat, only to burn her tongue and yell out in pain.

“She did warn you Mar,” Laney said in the same tone a mother would have used, “You'll have to learn to listen to her one day.”

“Maybe one day, but for now,” Margret began, before cutting herself off by sticking her burnt tongue in the ice cream. “I 'appy if eh.”

We laughed, knowing that Margret would never, ever change her ways.

I gave Kimi a weak shove and took the seat next to her, pressing Laney closer to the wall. “So, where's Mr. Rising Sun?” I asked, noticing the diner was only filled with us girls and a few other regulars, who sat on the other end of the room.

“In the back, talking to our parents. He said he'd be out in about 10 minutes.” Kimi explained as she twirled her straw around the float, making the ice cream swirl like it were in a vortex.

"Anyone else nervous?" Laney asked, "Because I am freaking out right now!"

"Me too," Angie admitted anxiously, "Can you guys believe this is actually gonna happen? Any minute now we could be signed artist!"

"Easy there Angie! Let's not blow this out of proportions. Uncle Ethan said that we won't know if the record company wants us for at least a week, and even then, it could takes months, even years, before something actually happens." Kimi explained, "Thought, knowing minutes from now would be nice..."

"Yeah," I added dreamily, "going on tour, playing for thousands of adoring fans. You know, fans that aren't just Lucas Zealman and our parents... Actually, them too, a fans a fan, right?"

Margret pulled out a sketch pad out of her bag and began to doodle. "Can you imagine the kind of costumes and outfits we'd get to wear? Designers would pay us to wear their clothes!"
“Guys, remember what Kimi said about not blowing things out of proportions? You're kinda doing that.” Laney interrupted, only to be ignored.

Willow skated over with my drink and took the seat next to her sister. “What'd I miss?”

“Not too much, we're just discussing how unbelievable amazing we're going to be!” Margret squealed.

So, maybe we were dreaming just a bit too big, but at the time, I couldn't think of any other way to dream. We couldn't just pretend we weren't going to get anywhere at all. We'd get somewhere, and then, we'd get somewhere else, and then, we'd be built up so big, we'd be impossible to stop! At least, that's what our mentality was. Our group as a whole understood very little about how the music industry actually worked, and how people really became famous.

Willow smiled and took a sip of her melted float. “Think you're getting a little out of hand with this guys? We aren't even signed yet.”

As if they were mentally connected, (which they probably were) Kimi and Laney both cried, “That's what I've been saying!”

“Besides,” Willow continued, “we don't even know what we're apparently missing yet.”

“Actually,” Laney cut in again, “I think I may have figured it out, but I'm not sure.”

“What is it!” The remaining five girls almost screamed. We brought our voices down when other people began to stare.

“Come on Laney! Say it!”

“Yeah, we've got to know!”

The blonde took a deep breath and bit the nail on her index finger. “Well, I was talking to Kevin--”

“Oooo! The infamous Kevin!” Margret teased, though she probably shouldn't have.

Laney pressed herself farther into the corner and tried to hide her blush. Do you want me to tell you or not?”

Margret apologized and encouraged her to go on.

“Well, Kevin was saying something about how a performer can completely turn of their fears and insecurities when on the stage, like becoming someone, or something, else. We don't do that, do we? We've been performing to please a crowd, rather than performing to be real, to be us. Yet, at the same time, I don't think we should be us... It's rather confusing, but once we figure it out, I think that'll be it.

We looked at one another in confusion, trying to comprehend what Laney had just said. In a way, it made sense, but in another, it didn't make any sense at all.

Before our conversation could even continue, I heard the door leading to the private room click open. Almost instantly, my palms were becoming clammy, and my teeth were chattering like crazy. What did he think of the demo? What about the record company? Did he think they would like it too? Millions of questions filled my head and tortured my name as we walked the mere fifteen steps to the private room. Soon they'd be answered, but I didn't think I'd be prepared to hear the answer.