Let's Make Waves

They say you’ll feel different after it happens. That things won’t ever go back to normal. The life you once knew was over. Change was imminent. Maybe in a good way, or maybe in a bad way, but unavoidable just the same. Nevertheless, you’ll come out of the experience a different person.

My philosophy? Screw it. I embrace this change. I was born to be a star, damnit, and the warmth of the spotlight felt like coming home to me.

I’m Poppy Aeliana Olivia McIver, and I’m in a band that’s better than yours.

Okay, I feel like I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Let me take it from the top. For starters, I smoke and I smoke like a fucking chimney. I’m well aware that it can cause cancer, that it stains your teeth and your nails, and that it ages you quicker than most, but frankly I stopped giving a damn. I started smoking during my parents divorce when I was sixteen years old, and try as I might, I’ve been unable to kick the habit. The inhaling, the exhaling and the smell, I love it and when push comes to shove I’ve got enough money to get the best care out there. Doctor Armstrong gets paid the big bucks to keep my teeth looking impeccably white, and and Doctor Pullman keeps my skin looking young. But, I’m getting sidetracked.

Now that you know I love smoking, you can imagine I’m not overly fond of people interrupting me during a good drag. This was why I got pissed off when this dark haired looking goth girl ran into me outside of UNLV – the university of Nevada in Las Vegas – one day, causing me to drop my newly lit cigarette.

“What the hell?!” I yelled, shooting her a withering glare as I reluctantly pulled another Merit Ultra Light out of my Gucci purse to light it.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I was in a hurry, and not really paying enough attention, besides-”

“Relax,” I said cutting her off. “I’m already over it.”

“Excuse me?” she replied, brushing her side-swept bangs out of her heavily lined eyes and glaring at me. “You know what? You can stick that apology where the sun doesn’t shine,” she spat venomously. “It’s obvious you’re just another rich bitch here on some fashion design kick paid by Daddy’s money. Let me tell you, you don’t own the fucking sidewalk, princess, and if you hadn’t had your eight hundred dollar stripper shoes stretched out so far, I wouldn’t have tripped in the first place.”

I opted to ignore her as I took a drag of my newly lit cigarette, unwilling to give her temper tantrum the attention she believed it deserved. I must admit that I was pleasantly surprised by her confidence, as our eyes remained locked in a battle for dominance. This girl wasn’t going to back down without a fight, and I liked it. I rarely got challenged these day, and it tickled my fancy.

“Poppy McIver,” I finally replied, taking a step towards her and shaking her hand.

“Eve-lynn Greene,” she said hesitantly as she gripped my hand firmly, self-assured. I liked it.

“Thank God,” I exclaimed, taking another drag from my cigarette as I scanned her over with my dark green eyes. “I’m happy some people around here still have some balls. You smoke?” I tilted my pack towards her, but she raised her hand and kindly declined.

“Trying to quit,” she explained.

“Suite yourself,” I said stuffing the pack back in my bag. “You just look like you could use one.”

“Well, it’s been one hell of a day, so you’re not wrong.”

“Anything you’d like to share with the group?” I leaned against the brick wall of the campus library, watching students pass us by and dismissing the occasional appreciative whistles and gestures aimed in our general direction by horny frat boys that walked past.

It took her a moment to feel at ease, but eventually she joined me against the wall. Dark brown eyes staring into the distance as her mind mulled over whatever drama got her this distracted.

“This is going to sound utterly cliché,” she said, still staring off into orbit. “But, I have this band-” She stopped mid-sentence when I couldn’t help myself but snort derisively. “You know what, I’m not doing this with you,” she finally stated, getting ready to walk away from me before indulging my curiosity.

“Come on.” I grabbed her by the arm. “You said it yourself, it’s a big cliché. Anyone with a forty dollar guitar from Wal-Mart is giving this ‘being in a band’ gig a go. What makes you believe you guys are special?” I knew she knew I was making a valid point. With all the talent shows out there, and the punk-pop scene being far from what it used to be, beginner bands struggled to make names for themselves. “These are not the 2000,” I added.

A silence fell as she mulled over what I’d just said.

“Come, I’m taking you to lunch,” I said, throwing my cigarette bud on the floor and pressing it down with the toes of my heels. “My car is this way.”

“Wait. Why?”

I took a deep breath and exhaled a heavy sigh. “Because everyone here is either relaxing on their high horse or seriously depressing and you seem halfway decent,” I replied, pulling the keys to my yellow lamborghini out of my handbag. “Plus, I’m starving and you haven’t told me about your day yet. Consider me caring and curious. You in or out? My treat.”

Her shoulders slouched forward in thought, but eventually she gave in to my tempting offer, and as she climbed into the passenger seat of my car, our friendship officially started.



As it turned out, Eve-lynn’s big problem was the fact that her band was missing something. That ‘it’ factor that made them stand out in a crowd; to get them noticed by record companies. With the internet being what it was, everyone with a decent set of pipes believed they could make it big, but only the few truly made it. She was worried that, after losing their pianist to a full ride at an ivy-league music school, they’d lost what made them special.

I offered the only solution that I knew was fool-proof. I offered her me. What spiced up an all boy band with a female singer? Another girl, and a hot one. Not that I’m bragging, or stating Evie wasn’t a looker herself. It seemed that fact alone wasn’t enough to convince Evie, however, but once she found out that my mother and father forced me to spend my formative years being classically trained on piano, she grew more accustomed to the idea.

I might’ve declined my Juilliard acceptance in pursuit of a career in fashion, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pack a mean Mozart concerto when push came to shove.



After a three hour lunch at Koi, we went back to my penthouse downtown. Campus housing was for the poor, and while some considered the social interaction vital to their college experience, I was fine missing out on frat parties and sorority hazing rituals gone wrong.

“So,” I started as I slipped into some leather leggings and a classic dark gray v-neck. “When do I meet the band?”

“Well, you could join us at practice tonight,” Eve-lynn replied, as she sat on my king sized bed, flipping through fashion catalogs that had just come in through the mail.

“Sounds perfect,” I smiled, hopping onto the bed beside her. “Anything you’d want me to bring? Wine? Pizza? Weed?” She laughed at that last comment.

“You’ll blend in just fine.”

And so it began. The beginning of our tumultuous journey. They called themselves ‘water waves’ after their favorite childhood water park. ‘They’ being Eve-lynn, Nathaniel, Jonathan and Peter. Upon first meeting everyone I could tell that these connections they shared where old, but I’m a trained extrovert and managed to find my own place among them with ease.

There we were, five college students trying to make it big, while keeping up with classes, party-time jobs and the immense pressure of our parents and peers.

I have to admit, it wasn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be. In all fairness, I wasn’t used to working this hard without validation. We played shows here and there, but while crowds were usually entertained, no one valued our presence enough to actually pay us.

“Evie, your lyrics are phenomenal. We’re super hot and our musicianship is flawless. I really don’t see the problem here,” I complained one day as we finished another four hour practice session at a little studio I’d rented out. I have quite the trust fund, as you might have noticed.

“Like you said when we first met,” she sighed, “we’re a dime a dozen. There’s only so many thing we can do to rep ourselves. We just got to be patient. This is the low point before our big break. I can just feel it.” She took a swig from her beer bottle, back leaning against the exposed brick wall.

“That’s called intoxication, sweetie,” I mocked. She stuck out her tongue before finishing her drink and hopping back behind the microphone to test out these new lyrics she’d written.

I just shook my head. Patience may be a virtue, but it wasn’t one of mine. It was time I called in the big guns. I headed outside to smoke a cigarette, and to call upon an old friend.

Anthony James Garner.

As the son of my mother’s oldest friend, Anthony was by far my favorite person growing up and I knew he’d be willing to help me out if I asked nicely enough. It helped that he used to have the biggest crush on me.

“Poppy,” he said, happily surprised when I rang him up. “It’s been a while. What’s going on?” I could hear him smiling, as ones voice tends to color lighter when they do.

“I know, I know,” I chuckled. “I can’t help it that you’re never around anymore. How’s life been on the road? It still treating you good?”

“It’s amazing, as per usual,” he replied. “We’re just hitting up Phoenix. We’ll be doing a show at home in a few days. You better be there.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

You see, my dear friend was in a band, and they’d made it big a few years prior. They’re called Untamed Highs and they’ve been touring non-stop since their first single hit the Hot 100 charts.

“While we’re on the topic,” I continued. I ended up telling him about the band I was in, and that if he truly loved me as a sister, he would do me the favor of giving our demo to their record label. He joked that he was feeling somewhat embarrassed for me that I had to use him as a connection, but we laughed it off and started imagining what it would be like to maybe tour together one day.

I’m not going to lie, talking to him calmed my nerves. I hadn’t called him in such a long time as I figured he was far to busy being a rockstar. It felt good knowing he still valued my time, as though nothing had changed.

“Okay, I’ll see you after the show and give that demo a listen, but if it’s terrible I’m throwing it in the trash and we’re never speaking of this again, okay?”

“It’s not going to be terrible,” I replied confidently.

“I know,” he laughed.



Three days passed since I gave Anthony our demo. He loved it, and shared it with his bandmates, who loved it as well. They handed it over to their record label, and that’s when the nerves really hit me. I hardly ever got nervous, and when I did, I was excellent at hiding it.

“God,” I exclaimed as I found myself pacing the floor of my penthouse apartment, waiting anxiously for the phone to ring as Evie sat on the couch flipping through the ten million channels on my TV. “What if they hate it? What if this was our shot and we blew it? I don’t think I can deal with that. I’m not used to that sort of rejection.”

“Calm down, will you?” Evie replied with a smile on her face. “This isn’t life or death. Seven months ago you said we would never make it, but here we are waiting for this phone call. We got here once, we’ll get here again if it’s a no. Plenty of other record labels in the sea. Just… breathe.”

She made a fair point, but I played my ace. I used my resources and I wasn’t willing to let it all be for nothing. I hardly ever asked for favors.

“Whatever,” I replied irritably, as I continued pacing through my living room.

I could hear Eve-lynn chuckle in response to my behavior. How did I end up getting in this deep? I thought joining this band would be a fun side-gig. Something to fill my time with between shopping sprees and classes. Like a soft drizzle, I had underestimated it, and now I was soaked to the bones, overwhelmed by it. I needed an answer and I needed it now.

That was when the phone rang. A ring that had the power to stop time. Or at least that was how it felt as I reached for my iPhone with shaking hands.

“This is Poppy,” I answered hesitantly, willing my voice not to crack from nervousness. “This is she.” The conversation lasted for a good thirty minutes. Eve-lynn looked at me expectantly, but I tried to keep my cool. My heart was racing a million miles per minute, but I held my composure perfectly.

“Thank you,” I finally spoke. “Goodbye.” I hung up and dropped myself down on the couch next to Evie, whose eyes looked abnormally large. With her dark brown irises her eyes always looked bigger than normal, but this time they looked unusually huge.

“Pop?” she asked. I slumped down a little, my already pale complexion turning nearly white. “You look like you’re going to throw up. Want me to get you a bucket? What did they say? Did they like it? God, did they hate it? Talk to me.”

“We got signed,” I finally whispered, my voice cracking for the first time since I’d picked up the phone.

“What?” she asked in disbelief.

“We got signed,” I repeated a little louder. I turned to face her, color flushed back into my cheeks as the excitement finally hit me. “We got signed!”

I jumped up onto my couch and started dancing excitedly.

“We got signed!” Evie joined in, and together we celebrated by dancing and drinking, after informing the boys of this great news, of course.



There you have it. The moment our lives changed. There was no turning back. That was the day we got signed to the same label as Untamed Highs, for which we were going to open during the last leg of their tour. All while hopping from studio to studio to record our first EP.

Things were changing for good, and I was ready.