Blood in My Veins

CARRIE

The 8123 conference room is a rectangular room with a big conference table in the middle of it. It has white-grey painted walls, decorated with a couple of photographs of some of their signed artists. Something in me hopes that our photo would be hung next to them one glorious day.

Almost three weeks have passed since we hijacked The Maine’s show at The Duke’s, the leading bar in the city of Jacksonville, a perfect venue for a rock show. I can still remember the look on Tim’s face, crossed with a splash of curiosity. If I hadn’t remembered to give him our number as I was being carried away by a sumo-wrestler-to- be, he wouldn’t have known how to contact us and we wouldn’t have been here.

Every time I think about that night, an image of John’s face flashes through my mind. I still vividly remember him standing on the side of the stage, his black ink tracing his arms and his sharp features that gave the message of a stunned expression.

‛I couldn’t stop thinking about what you girls did,’ Tim told us on the phone. ‛And I don’t think anyone could ever forget it.’

That was our aim. Maybe he would be pissed, but we gave him a show that was unlike anything he was ever going to witness. We wanted him not to just know how good we are at playing music, but how reckless we are as well.

And that’s all we’ve ever been, ever since we’ve been introduced to each other. We are the ones that your mother warned you about, the ones that were given faulty glares by elderly, the ones that parents force their children to look away from whenever we passed by. It wasn’t just the tattoos, the piercings, or the extensive dark attire; it was our fierceness, our attitude, and the way we refused to let anyone tell us what to do.

Each and every one of us are different.

Juliet is tall, blonde and has emerald green eyes. Everything about her says that she should be on the cover of every magazine and on huge billboards in Times Square, but nothing makes her happier than being our bassist. She has a bubbly personality, and she is extra sensitive so we have to take extra care of her.

Nora is the perfectionist. The neat-freak. Her room is always so clean and shiny and her stuff are always so organised. Her closet is colour coordinated, her skin care products are aligned in size order, and the herbs that she keeps in the kitchen are standing next to each other in alphabetic order. Her favourite guitar sports a dark navy blue shade to match her coal black hair, which intensifies the brightness of her icy blue bright eyes.

Cora is two years older than us. She is the eldest and the most intimidating. When we failed to find the perfect drummer in our school, and had to resort to Nora’s goth hot-headed sister, our teenage selves were mortified to ask. Fortunately, the black make-up turned down a notch but she still walks around with a full tattooed arm, a lip ring and a flaming red shoulder-length hair.

We didn’t even hesitate when Tim invited us to Arizona for a meeting with him. As soon as we were notified, each of us packed a duffel bag, tossed it in the back of Cora’s old Jeep, and set off on a long 28 hour road trip to Tempe. The mid August heat beamed on my sun-kissed skin as I watched the golden desert unroll itself for me.

‛Welcome to the 8123 offices,’ Tim greets us as he leeds the way to the conference room. ‛It’s good to see you again.’

‛I’m glad, because we didn’t really think you wanted to see our faces ever again,’ Juliette tells him.

When we enter the conference room, Tim sits at the head of the table, and I take a seat between Nora and Cora. Nora speaks first. ‛I would like to start off with an apology. What happened that night was…’

‛One of the best auditions i’ve ever seen,’ Tim finishes for her.

Nora blinks at him. She wasn’t a hundred percent on board with the idea and it took a lot to convince her at first. Whilst on stage, she turned and saw the look on Tim’s face and she knew that this plan was too outrageous and it was simply not working.

Tim leans forward and says, ‛I think that the four of you are exactly what we’re missing right here. You’ve got more balls than any of the guys and I really think people are going to like you.’

‛Thank you,’ Nora says. She turns and gives me a look, and I give her one that says I told you this would work.

‛What I really wanna know is how you pulled it off. You managed to somehow appear on the stage, and not to mention that the only thing the security could do was just watch.’

‛We knew some people on the inside,’ Cora tells him.

‛Or…we’re just that good,’ I say with a sly smile.

Tim throws his head back and laughs.

‛Now, I did a little research on you and found out that you were previously signed by a major record label,’ he says. ‛Interscope, am I correct?’

‛Yeah, that’s true,’ Juliet says with a frown on her face.

Tim pulls his eyebrows together. ‛What happened there?’

‛I wasn’t always the lead singer. I used to only play the guitar.’ I say. He raises his eyebrows at me, signalling me to go on. ‛ And the girl that sang…well, the label liked her better without us.’

‛They told us we could stay and be her ‟back-up” band,’ Cora chimes in. ‛But that isn’t the way we roll.’

‛So we walked out, and we never looked back,’ Nora said.

I still remember the day like it was just a mere second ago. The day where we lost all hope, and had to go back home to let our parents know that they were right all along; that we would all be better off with a college education than a contract with a record label. I can also never forget Louise’s face, our then-singer, when she stayed and didn’t follow us out. My heart pumped anger, truly underestimating her selfishness and her feigned allegiance. We truly didn’t know what to do after that mess. None of us were interested in going to college because it would only be a constant reminder of our failure. We didn’t realise continuing as a band, just the four of us, was even an option.

‛A few months later, we heard Pioneer, and that’s how we came across The Maine, and how 8123 was formed,’ Juliet speaks.

‛We told ourselves that if they can do it; if they can tell the system to fuck off and do everything without the support of a label,’ Nora told him, ‛then why can’t we just do the same?’

At first, Tim has a look of sympathy on his face, but then it turns into admiration. ‛Girls, are you aware that everything you’ll be doing will be self-funded as well, right?’

‛Yes, we’re aware of that. And we’re totally capable to finance our music production, touring and other necessities,’ I told him. ‛Well, we have an amount to start with.’

Tim’s brown eyes sinks in his face when he smiles. ‛Okay, then,’ he claps, which startles all of us a bit. ‛Let’s talk music now, shall we?’

JOHN

‛They did what?’ My best friend, Eric Halvorsen, says as we are standing on the porch with red beer cups in our hands. We are at Peter Seller’s house, where he’s throwing his birthday party. The music is so loud, the liquid in my cup is shaking even as my hands are still. Familiar faces are scattered all around the house.

‛It was fucking insane, dude! One minute, the lights were off, and the next, we had chicks playing on our stage,’ I explain.

‛What was it about, though?’

‛I think they were trying to get Tim’s attention or something. The singer gave him a card on her way out. It said Blood In My Veins and a phone number under it.’

I have an instant flashback of that moment, it was the first time I saw her up close. She had moon-sized brown irises that matched the colour of her ocean-like hair. Her image never fail to part ways with me ever since that night. I just wish I could put a name to that face.

‛Blood In My Veins? Like that Brand New song,’ Eric asks as he takes a sip from his plastic cup.

‛I guess so,’ I say while squinting my eyes at the sight before me. There was nothing quite as colourful as a sunset at Arizona in mid-August. An explosion of hues; orange, yellow and blue. They mix rhythmically to form a warm fusion of colours, in which you can see glimpses of pink and purple. This sight is the one thing I always miss when we’re away on tour in the summer.

As I bring the cup to my lips and allow the warmth of the liquor to resign in me, I chuckle at yet another memory from that night, one that got me all flustered, something so rare.

Eric notices and says, ‛Dude, you look like a doofus with that smug on your face. What is it?’

I look at him and it hit me how much of an idiot I must look like right now. ‛Nothing.’ Because Eric is my best friend and he can tell when my “Nothing” means something or not, I have no choice but to keep going. ‛It’s just the girl that sang…’

I wasn’t able to finish my sentence because there wasn’t really a word that could come close to describing her.

‛She was hot?’

I don’t have a clue why, but I roll my eyes at this. ‛No it’s not that. I mean, yeah she was hot but…’

‛But what?’ Eric is obviously getting frustrated.

‛I don’t know. She was just…different.’

At that moment, I start to think about the way she looked that night. The way her tiny figure moved from side to side as she sang. The way she strummed her guitar as if she was born to do it. And how when she smiled at me, the entire room froze and for that mili-second, it was just me and her in the universe. She performed on stage as if she’s done it her entire life. She embraced the space as if it was her home.

I turn around and face the door that lead you inside the house. It was wide open and I can see the front door and the swarm of people entering as it opens again and again every two minutes. I wonder how many people Peter has invited. This house will eventually burst from the amount of people. However, amongst the new wave of people that have just entered through the door, I can’t help but notice a face that makes my heart jump. ‛No way,’ I say to myself. But Eric hears me.

‛What? What is it?’ Eric asks.

‛This is crazy. I’m thinking about her so much that I swear I just saw her standing right there.’ I point to the door and Eric follows my finger. She is wearing a black and white striped skirt with a red top.

‛Is she wearing a red t-shirt?’ Eric says.

I am surprised but also confused. ‛How did you know that?’

‛Because you’re not crazy. She just walked in with Tim.’

I glance once again and I do in fact see Tim standing beside her, as well as three other girls that I remember them being on stage that night with her. They are talking to Peter who’s handing them drinks. Tim looks like he’s asking him a question, and then Peter turns around and points to where Eric and I are standing. Tim gives him a pat on his shoulder and then heads our way, behind him strolled the four girls.

‛Halvo, my man!’ Tim gives Eric a quick hug when he approaches us. The band’s singer is standing in front of me and I give her one of my most awkward smiles and a nod. She has less makeup on that she did the last time I saw her, but she still looked beautiful. On her right stands a red-haired girl with a lip piercing, a tall blonde was towering her on her left side, and also, a brunette that has the same blue eyes as the girl with the red hair. Tim begins to ask Eric, ‛How’s California been treating you?’

‛Cali’s great and all, but I constantly miss Arizona,’ Eric tells him.

Recently, after Eric’s band, A Rocket to the Moon, parted ways, he moved away to California. We don’t get the chance to see him a lot which is why he comes and visits as often as he can.

‘Oh, excuse my rudeness,’ Tim suddenly apologises. ‘This is Blood in my Veins. This is Cora, Nora, Juliette and Carrie.’ Tim introduces us to each other.

I reach my hand and shake Carrie’s hands, ‘I’m John.’ I could have sworn I felt an electric shock coursing through me the moment my palms became in contact with hers.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, John,’ she says to me.