Music Inn

Music Inn wasn’t the town’s biggest business, but it did pretty well, especially since it was located in a neighborhood that happened to be inhabited by a bunch of bohemians and hipsters who were always looking for some new record.

The owner, Dan, was in his mid-twenties and he had loads of tattoos and wore horn rimmed glasses, button down shirts with blazers, and always kept his dirty blond hair slicked to one side. He had just gotten married last year to his girlfriend of a few years; her name was Hazel and she didn’t like The Doors, but apparently Dan made an exception for her. He was also an extreme music snob and only hired people whom he felt appreciated it just as much as he did, which I guess was a good thing for me, since the only other person who worked there besides me and him was a guy named Jesse and a girl named Kiera.

Jesse was two years older than me and had somehow managed to have a beard without looking like a lumberjack. You technically weren’t supposed to smoke in the store, but apparently that rule never applied to him, because whether he was at the counter or in the back room, there was always a lit cigarette in his hand and a brooding look on his face.

Kiera was my best friend, the same age as me, and knew every single secret I’d kept and even some I’d forgotten. When we were sixteen and rebellious we dyed our hair bright blue. Eventually, mine wore off, but Kiera routinely continued to dye hers, and now I couldn’t even really picture her without it. Kiera always joked that she was a cooler, spunkier version of me. We all knew she was right.

The store was kind of cramped, squeezed in between a coffee shop called The Grind and a clothing store called New Threads. The place was overflowing with CDs and records; it seemed like we got a new shipment every day. In addition to those, we also sold tapes, headphones, record players, mp3 players, CD players, radios, speakers, amplifiers, cassette players, instruments of all kinds, lighters, music magazines, and a couple local bands’ merchandise. In the back room there was a large sound system that we’d hooked up to play through the entire store, so you could listen to music while you browsed. If you wanted to request a song, we had scraps of paper and small pencils at the front desk that you could write the name and artist on, and we’d add it to the bottom of our “set list.” It was a pretty cool method, and it was also how some up-and-coming bands in town got their music known.

Right now, “Living Room Song” by The Wonder Years was playing, a request I myself had put in. I smiled. The bell above the door jingled, signaling another customer.

I looked up and came face-to-face with four extremely attractive boys. They had that sort of cool, grungy look that meant they probably liked Weezer and Nirvana and Linkin Park and all of those other 90’s - early 2000’s punk bands. And unfortunately, that was exactly the type I went after.

“Hi,” I said. “Welcome to Music Inn.”

All four of them muttered some form of “hey” at me. One of them asked, “Is that a Gibson?” He was staring at one of the guitars that was hung up on the wall.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Dude,” was all he said before he hurried to check it out, two of his buddies following. Only one of them remained standing by the door, and he was staring straight at me. Now, I hadn’t planned on having any particularly attractive boys come into the store, so I was wearing a white muscle t-shirt with a picture of a ukulele on it, shorts, and my dirty black Vans. The other week, Kiera had ombre’d my hair for me, so at least that looked good.

“Hi,” I said finally.

“Hey.” He was grinning now, and part of me wanted to say like what you see? but refrained because I didn’t want to scare him off.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, there is.” I was preparing myself for an extremely cheesy pick-up line when he said, “Do you sell guitar strings?”

I blinked. “Yeah. Right over there.”

“That’s good. You see, I’m in a band with those three guys over there. I’m the handsome one, as you can probably tell.” And whoomp, there it is. I tried not to laugh as one of the other boys shouted, “Heard that, asshole.”

“What’s your band’s name?” I asked, taking the bait.

“We’re called Common Castles,” he told me proudly. “We’re not very good.”

“At least you know.”

“I suppose,” he said, and the grin still hadn’t left his face.

“So, are you a local band or something? I’ve never heard of you guys before.” I tried to sound apologetic. Usually, most of the bands who wandered in here took offense if we didn’t know them. I always felt bad; Kiera didn’t.

“Uh, you could say that, I guess. We just moved here last week.”

“Oh really? Where?”

“Uh . . .” He scrunched his nose, trying to remember. “The Towers Apartments, down on Fisher Street?”

My eyes widened. “No shit. I live in those, too. What floor are you on?”

“We’re 5B.”

“Oh my God. I’m 5J. My best friend and I live right down the hall from you!” I gaped at him. It seemed like a huge deal to me, but if Kiera were there, she would’ve just said that the town wasn’t that big and that the Towers were cheap, so of course this band would live in them. She was right, but still. I liked to think it was an amazing coincidence.

“Sweet.” He grinned before sticking out his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Hi, Sam of Common Castles. I’m Alexa.”

“Hi, Alexa of Music Inn.” We stood there like that, smiling, before one of the boys he’d entered with came over. He had messy dark hair and bags under his eyes.

“Come on, dude. Buy your fuckin’ guitar strings and let’s go.”

“Oh. Alexa, this is Colton, the lead guitar player of our humble ensemble. Colton, this is Alexa.”

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” he mumbled. He seemed like the kind of guy who never got any sleep. He’d probably be good friends with Jesse. He glanced up at the speakers above us, which were now playing “Fatlip” by Sum 41, a song Kiera had no doubt requested. “So, like, is this on a playlist or something, or a Pandora station?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a playlist. We call it a set list. You can request a song if you’d like, and we’ll add it to the list. Do you want us to put on one of your band’s songs?” I offered.

Colton and Sam’s eyes widened comically. “Seriously?” Sam asked. Even Colton perked up a little, like someone had breathed life into him.

“Yeah, totally,” I said, shrugging. “Be right back.” I went to the back room and looked up Common Castles. Apparently they had a decent-sized fanbase, an EP called Fantasies with a Grudge, and a single titled “Souvenirs in America.” I added that one to the list.

“Okay,” I said, coming back out. “Pretty soon, “Souvenirs in America” will be played for all the inhabitants in the store to hear.”

The other two band members had joined Colton and Sam, and introduced themselves as Fletcher, the drummer, and Thomas, the bassist. Colton and Sam both played guitar, although Colton did most of the vocals. “That’s so sweet,” Fletcher said, grinning. “Thanks a lot.”

“No problem,” I said, smiling, as Sam placed the guitar strings and a pair of drumsticks for Fletcher on the counter for me to ring up. Before I did, Colton asked, “Hey, do you guys happen to sell cigarettes?”

Sam hit him over the head. “You shouldn’t smoke, fuckboy. It’s bad for your voice.”

“Sam,” Colton said tiredly.

“Besides, I thought you quit.”

“I haven’t had one in two weeks. I need a break. Fuck off.” Fletcher and Thomas said nothing, and something told me this argument had happened multiple times. Colton turned towards me. “Do you?”

“No, we don’t,” I said apologetically. “But my co-worker has a pack around here somewhere.” I felt around under the counter until I found Jesse’s pack of Marlboro’s. “I can give you one . . . for $5.”

“Seriously?” Colton grunted. “If it’s that much . . . not worth it. Thanks anyway.” I finished ringing them up and Sam gave me a wink. I put all of their items in a bag, along with their receipt. “Thank you for coming, enjoy your day.”

“Come on, boys,” Sam said jovially as Thomas grabbed the bag. “Rehearsal awaits.” The three of them called some form of good-bye to me and made their way to the door. Sam was the last one out, and before he left, he glanced back at me and grinned. “See you around, neighbor.”

“Who was that?” Kiera asked, coming out of the back room. The dress code for Music Inn was, as Dan put it, “casual but not obscene.” However, like the no smoking rule apparently did not apply to Jesse, the dress code did not seem to apply to Kiera. She was wearing a long-sleeved tie-dye shirt that was cropped at the stomach, extremely short shorts, and (my) white Converse. However, Kiera made it work, so maybe that was why everyone let it slide.

“Common Castles,” I answered. “Also known as our new neighbors.”

“That guy seemed interested,” she said. “Are you gonna try and get with him?”

“You know dating a musician is a bad idea,” I reminded her. When we were seniors in high school, Kiera had dated the lead singer of some indie band who had settled in town for a few weeks to play some shows and add to their following. All was well until the band packed up and left for Sacramento, California, not even leaving behind a note. Kiera was devastated.

She shrugged. “Yeah, but as far as we know he’s staying in one place for now, so . . . why not go for it? It doesn’t have to be an actual thing, anyway.”

“I just met him,” I rolled my eyes. “He’s basically a stranger.”

“For now,” Kiera said, lifting her eyebrows and waggling them mischievously.

♫ ♫ ♫

I ran into Sam of Common Castles about a week after we first met, this time in our apartment building. I was in the basement, doing some laundry, when the door opened and he walked in.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greeted me brightly, even though it was barely eleven o’clock in the morning. “Alexa, right?”

“Yes. Hi.” I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear, feeling self-conscious in jogging shorts and a navy Jack Wills t-shirt. It had belonged to an old boyfriend of Kiera’s and somehow it ended up being mine.

“How’s it going?” he asked, putting down a basket that was full of dirty shirts, pants, and boxers. He mimicked me, separating his darks from his whites and throwing them into a machine.

“Fine, I guess. How’s the band?”

“Great, thanks. Rehearsals have been going well.” He picked up the bottle of detergent and frowned at it, trying to read the label. “Thomas usually does this,” he explained distractedly. “But he’s at work.”

“Rehearsal for what?” I said offhandedly.

“Hm? Oh – we’re going on tour in September.”

“Really?” I said, interested. It was the third week of May. Mine and Kiera’s first year of college had ended a week and a half ago, and we were celebrating by spending our days doing absolutely nothing and loving every minute of it. “Where?”

“Oh, everywhere. All around America. Well, not all around. But I think, like, 35 states or something like that.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, we get around.”

“I thought you said you weren’t very good,” I teased.

He laughed. “Apparently the rest of America disagrees. I dunno, it’s not really a big tour, just a couple venues here and there.” He shrugged, clearly trying to be humble.

“No, that’s awesome,” I argued. “It’s amazing to go to a place like, in Wyoming or something, and have people recognize you and actually wanna see you play. That’s super cool.”

He grinned, a little bashfully. “Yeah, I guess. A couple other bands are joining us, so it’s not like we’re headlining.”

“Really? Who?” My music/band knowledge had been pretty good before, but getting a job at a music store had certainly helped it expand.

“Uh, just some other punk bands. Easy Whip, We Are Open, and Blind Vision.”

“Blind Vision?” I said, surprised. They were a pretty well-known band around here. We had a bunch of their CDs, but their most popular by far was the first one they’d released, Riot Radio. “That’s awesome. Kiera and I went to one of their gigs a few months ago.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t believe it when they asked us to come with them.”

“How long is the tour?”

“Eight months. Maybe longer.”

“Oh.” All hopes I had of getting with this guy instantly vanished. Eight months was a long time to be away from somebody. “That’s a long time.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, a little nervously. “I suppose.”

As we did our laundry together, we talked a little bit more about our lives. I learned that Sam was nineteen, like me, and he met Colton in eighth grade and Fletcher in ninth, and the three of them started Common Castles and then picked up Thomas a year later. They were discovered by their manager, Gabe Bryant, and soon signed to their current record label, Whitewash Records. They’d decided to skip college and pursue music full-time, but Thomas and Colton took online courses whenever they could, while Sam and Fletcher simply didn’t care.

Colton, apparently, was the unofficial “leader.” He was by far the most serious and shy of the band, always moody and brooding. He’d bitch at the others if he felt the music didn’t sound right, but nobody really minded because he was just passionate, that was all. He occasionally showed a soft side, and when he did it was kind of adorable.

Fletcher was the most fun, in Sam’s opinion. He was always game for a laugh and enjoyed parties and living wild. He was energetic enough to never ever need coffee and could be extremely obnoxious at times, but he could also buckle down and write good music if needed.

Thomas was the steady rock of the band, always keeping his cool and anchoring the rest of the boys. Being the stereotypical bassist, he was stoic and calm, an “old soul.” He was extremely easy to get along with.

“And me?” Sam said, puffing out his chest. “I would say I’m the ladies’ man.” I laughed, and he pretended to be offended before grinning. “Nah, we all get our fair share of game. I would say I’m the laid-back one. I make the jokes, I go with the flow, you know.”

“So you’re the funny one,” I guessed.

“You could say that, yeah.”

Sam, unlike me, clearly didn’t care about his laundry, and was done with it in a short time. Instead of leaving, he sat on one of the dryers and continued to chat with me. I told him a little about myself: Kiera and I had been best friends since we were thirteen years old, and we’d both applied for jobs at Music Inn before we graduated high school. Dan, his wife Hazel, and Jesse had all become close friends of ours very quickly.

“You lead a pretty sweet life, Alexa of Music Inn,” Sam decided, banging his heels on the dryer.

“Says the guy who’s going on tour with his band in a few months,” I teased.

“No, I mean it. Look at you; you’ve just finished your first year of college, you’re working at what might possibly be the coolest music store ever known to man, you’re holding a conversation with an extremely handsome rhythm guitarist . . .” He trailed off with a grin and I tried not to flush.

“Well, the music store part is all pretty much thanks to Dan,” I said, shrugging.

“Who’s Dan?”

“The owner. You’ll probably meet him sooner or later, if you keep frequenting the store.”

“I plan to,” Sam decided, smiling at me in a way that made my insides flutter. His phone started ringing a few seconds later. He checked the Caller ID before glancing at me apologetically. “Do you mind if I – ?”

“No, not at all,” I said quickly. I pretended to be interested in my laundry as he answered.

“Hey. No. I’m in the laundry room. Doing laundry, what do you think? Yeah, well, he’s at work. Yeah. Okay. Sure. Bye.” He hung up. “I gotta go. Rehearsal and all that.” He hesitated. “We’ve got a gig on Friday at ten. At Bender. You and Kiera should come.”

Bender was the club where most bands played. If you were really good and brought in a decent crowd whenever you played, you got a regular time slot. The best slots to get were on Friday or Saturday nights, but you had to work with what you got.

“Friday? Wow.”

“Yeah. Gabe was on the phone with the guy who runs the place for at least half an hour, and we had to send him our EP first, but in the end he said he’d give us a chance. So if we do well then we get to keep the spot.”

“That’s awesome,” I said, meaning it. “We’ll be there.” Kiera was probably going to want to go to some kegger, but it would be easy to convince her to go the gig instead.

“Cool. Great. I’ll see you then.” Sam grabbed the laundry basket and starting to walk out. “It was nice talking to you, Alexa of Music Inn.”

“You too, Sam of Common Castles.”

He flashed me a grin before leaving. I could hear his footsteps echoing up the stairs all the way, and boy, I could tell that I was about to be in some deep shit.