A/N: Hi there! so, this is my first fanfic ever. Exciting~! Thank you in advance from reading and I would appreciate any from of contrastive criticism so this story can improve. I cannot promised regular updates to due to final year of school and lack of motivation most of the time but enjoy! - C :)
The first day is always the worst, at least that's what they say to make you feel like that decision was worth it an telling that person the you don't love them didn't mean anything to you. The truth is that everyday becomes new-worst day. Call me a pessimist, or whatever. I think of myself as more of a realist in honest truth.
In order to break this building philosophy I had, my mother suggested that I attended an arts and performance night at my new school so even though the first would be the lovechild of watching paint dry and an extremely slow news day, it could have potential to improve minimally.
The details of why we had moved again were blurred, probably some new job opportunity for my mother and her art knowledge. Moving house and life essentially was second nature to me; there was no questions involved, just cardboard boxes and duct tape in hand. On my university applications under unique or special skills would be the ability to pack up my life within the span of 3 days max, leaving nothing in my wake. The number of best friends I have had in the past 10 years was on the lower end; due to the constant shift of lifestyle and the inability to socialise I seem to have developed over the years. This isn't to say that I was absolute loner; just that my mother and I's religion of the moving truck came first.
My mother, in all seriousness, must have come out of the womb with a paintbrush in hand or something. The difference in artistic talent between my mother and myself was staggering, to say the least. While she could juggle between paints and artworks, I could barely shuffle between pencil grades. She has this misconception that I have an unsung talent but she just being a typical mother, codling their child blindly until one of them breaks. Probably will be a pencil to the throat at this rate.
It wasn't until the end of my shift at work the night before that I recalled that the loom presentation night was beginning to rear its ugly head. Work was a new staple for me when we made this move, especially since it was in a back alley indie music store. The boss was a big, what my last best friend Simon would call, hippie. I'm pretty sure that between paying rent and running the store, a fair deal of cash was funding the nations weed industry exclusively. This meant that when I was rostered to work, the boss was too spaced out to care what music was highlight on the store's sound system, let alone stand up from on top of a mouldy beanbag that smelt of cigarette smoke. All in all, I was in it for the money. Who isn't?
"Clary, trust me when I say that, you, of all people, will enjoy this night." Mother pleaded with me as I continually refused to budge on going to the damn presentation night. I had gotten curled up with a bowl of pasta and a well overdue movie marathon on the couch; did the woman not understand the importance of a Saturday night to any teenager?
"On what belief system do you base that comment on?" I said as I slurped pasta into my mouth, the tomato sauce lingering on my fork.
"Don't make me disconnect the Wi-Fi, Clary. I swear I will." Her tone was stern only when the matter was serious. A possible future without my disgusting close connection to the Internet was frightening, causing me to ditch the lay-in Saturday night plan all together.
"Okay, I'll be ready in 10 minutes." I called as I ran into my room, pulling my fingers through my fiery locks, beginning to plait roughly. After little deliberation and little care on my public appearance, I disembarked from my room in a pair of ripped light blue jeans and a black long sleeve tee, a pair of white converse in hands as I ran out the door and into the already running car. Mother was fiddling with the crappy radio in the old car, trying to find the balance between music and piercing white noise. The buckle of my seat flipped in my hand inhumanly as she finally set off toward the oncoming storm.
The drive itself took about 15 minutes. 15 minutes of track after track of music that generated a sick feeling in myself. Mother was, god knows why, tapping her hand on the steering wheel, bopping to the sound of the thing coming out of the stereo. The fact that she was dancing was embarrassing enough but the fact that the music wasn't even music in the sense of actually being of reasonable quality was the worse part.
"Please no more." I would say as one song ended, queuing the entrance of another.
"It's this or I put on the ABBA Greatest Hits CD." Mother sung as she giggled and danced in her seat, her hair bouncing along with the beat.
"You call that a compromise? I can't bare listening to you murder such wonderful music with just your voice." I sarcastically responded, sticking my tongue out at her for good measure. She threw a quick glance and slapped my forearm. I just laughed as she drove the rest of the way to the school with a frown on her face.
As we turned off the main road, a procession of cars were lined up, leading up to what I could only guess was the school. A few cars in front of us, I noticed a few people bailing out and walking instead. Mother turned to look at me as if I should follow suit. I stared back at her, as if to send the message that I had contracted the inability to walk 500 metres to the school front as my legs were painted on. The traffic persisted for another 5 minutes before we could finally roll forward and into a park near the entrance to the school building.
We had discovered what was holding up the traffic. A group of teenagers were carrying in a bunch of equipment to the presentation night, guitars and amps and so. I don't know what is all was, okay?
"Is it too late to bail out now?" I pleaded, throwing my hands together to ask for forgiveness. Mother raised one eyebrow and just waited. The message was pretty clear, and so, I dragged my lonesome self out of the car and into hell itself.
Upon entering the school, vivid shapes encapsulated the surroundings and mesmerising colours of meaning emotion caught my eye. My limited excitement for this evening had heighten quickly, and somehow I had become eager to spend hours in the beckoning auditorium at a school I barely knew with people I didn't know to witness things that would fail to impress me.
The show began moments after everyone had entered the large hall. I had sat a relative distance from everyone else, toward the back of the seating area and sunk back into the plastic chair, one leg over the over, ready for the night to be over already.
The performances began with a handful of solo compositions as part of the students' finals for the semester. One of the solo in particular caught my attention. A young woman who seemed quite awkward, with ink black hair, walked cautiously to centre stage. She had dared to look up from the ground at the audience and seemed to regret that action immediately. The hall was half to two thirds full of students and their families and other member of the community. Conversation was echoing across the room easily as we waited on something to happen. The girl on stage was disorderly and seemed quite clumsy as she motioned for the adjacent music to her piece. As the first few noted dragged out, the crowd grew silence and focused their attention on the girl.
It was peculiar how this girl had gone from nervous to determined within the first bar of the song. The music ebbed and flowed into the first verse as she began to amaze everyone.
I began to smile, unconsciously, at the choice of music (A/N:Sweet Dispositon by Temper Trap) and watched the dancer threw herself along the raised stage, each movement showing raw emotion and thought put into the piece. The dance was entrancing due to its flawless choreography that the indefinite ending had come as a surprise.
The girl went the front of the stage and curtsied gracefully, stirring a roar of appreciation that seemed to erupt from the crowd. I was on my feet, clapping violently, a grin spread along my face. She was by far the best of all of the solos that night. The rest lack the soul that she showed, and frankly, I couldn't be bothered with them.
I was deep in thought about that black haired girls' solo when I had finally come to my senses upon the announcement of next few acts being student bands. They all were cover bands, much to my disappointment. I watched as some stage managers moved on equipment, testing microphones and connecting cables, some complicated shit to be frank. After a few seconds of dead stage, the first of many student bands made their debut.
The band consisted of all average looking teenage boys, some sporting the emo fringe and comb over styled hair. The lead singer, it seemed from his swagger onto stage was a rough but stunning looking blonde, with prominent cheekbones and piercing golden eyes I think. After he had set up his microphone stand, he causally stumbled around the stage, mike in one hand and the other in his jean pocket. A few girls in the audience let out a scream, making Blondie chuckle to himself.
"Hello all. We're the Choking Alibis. And if it wasn't already obvious, The Killer's cover band because we can't anything this good, I guess." He rambled on nervously about crap, must to my distaste, talking comments about bands he despised. This infuriated me incredibly. How could you that uncultured that the mere mention of anything from before you pluck the first guitar string gives you hives?
Somehow, though, he had seemed to won over the affections of everyone other girl in the auditorium with these comments. No snide comment would make me fall to the floor with teenage lust for him, never. If he was smart enough, he would have known just to keep his mouth shut.
Apparently the rest of the band shared my impatience for Blondie's manner as they counted each other into their first song. A steady drum sounded initially, along with the guitars. Synthesizers came into play as the lead singer abruptly ended his stupid speech and began to sing.
A round of applause sounded after the song (A/N:Somebody Told Me by The Killers) has finished, pulling me away from my entrancement. I didn't know the Killers that well but this song seemed to be a crowd favourite, signalling the cries of adolescent girls. As much as the lead singer was the basis of the 'man-whore' character, his voice resinated well, causing a stir in me. Eww, Clary, I thought, disgusted by my sudden teenage girl moment. As quickly as the applause began to die out, it ended sharply as the next song eased its was through the hollow hall, ghostly undertones vibrating through the plastic seats it seemed.
Much to my, and all the other people in the audiences' disappointment, the Choking Alibis had finished up their set for the night, beginning to exit off the stage. I somehow over the last two songs had grown interest in the group, wanting and waiting for more sweet music to come my way. Suddenly from behind me, a uproar of people yelling for an encore performance began, travelling like a lit fuse around the room until everyone was on their feet, screaming practically for more. I didn't partake in this peer pressure, remaining seated as the boys ran back on stage and steadied themselves for one final number.
"An encore you say?" The lead singer asked into the microphone, pulling in from the stand to walk up and down the risen stage, swinging the cable in one hand. He was answered back with the demonic roar of the audience. As the guys exchanged whispers between themselves a wild roar broke out from behind me.
"Okay, okay. One more song?" The audience answered with an excitement 'yeah!' "We will need a volunteer to help us with this one." As he uttered those last words, several girls in front of them dramatically fell back into their chairs, suddenly short of breath at the aspect of singing with Blondie. Frantically, he jumped over chairs and ran through rows of chair, making his way up towards the back area where I was residing for the gruelling evening. Hands few forward to try and grab him as he ran past, crying as they begged for his attention.
As if out of the blue, he began to side step his way into the row I sat in, narrowly missing the grabbing girls before he stopped, one hand out in front of me. "Care to join me on stage?" he panted sightly, exhausted from his up the theatre to my seat. I was too embarrassed to say no and too anxious to even think of the prospect of standing up in front of the bright stage lights and singing.
Awkwardly, I accepted his proposal and let him take my hand. I struggled to keep up with him as we both ran down to the stage, to stand central with the band. The stage lights were quite warm on my exposed, a feeling that I began to get use to.
"What's your name, babe?" he posed the question into the microphone, looking me dead in the eye as he put it just in front of my mouth.
"Clary, just Clary." I retorted, disgruntled with him calling me his 'babe'.
"Okay then, Clary" He chuckled. "What song would you like us to perform?"
"I'm not thoroughly education in music but id o know this one song by The Killers, I think. I believe it is called 'Read My Mind', correct me if I'm wrong?" I fumbled my words out of sheer embarrassment of lacking rich music knowledge. Blondie smiled, showing off a chipped incisor, giving a wave to the audience before turning to look back at me. Arrogant bastard.
"Good choice! But you will have to help me sing it, okay babe?" I didn't argue this way when he called me babe as he handed me another microphone and putting me into his body with his gentle hand on my waist. I thrust his hand off me immediately and blushed tomato red. It was scary enough being on stage and performing a song you barely knew to people you didn't know, but the contact made in mortifying. I didn't think of myself as a good singer, but when in Rome, do as the Romans do, I thought as I nodded my head unsurely and waited for the opening bar.
As the auditorium echoed back the first bar of Read My Mind, I began to stiffen up with incredible anxiety. This was really happening, I thought, I was really going to sing. The lead singer glanced over at me, and what felt like I was melting into the stage floor, and whispered that he would sing until my nerves calmed down. I began to loosen up a little before the crash of symbols sounded behind me.
He nodded at me, dropping a sweaty hand down to squeeze my free one. You can do this, I thought as I licked my lips, placing the microphone close to my mouth and sang.
I let out a deep breath and readied myself to continue. The lead singer began to harmonise with me as we made our way through the chorus.
I moved the microphone away from me, giving myself a moment to take a breath then continued. Blondie was being awfully quiet as I sang, and had inched closer.
I exchanged a quick glance beside me at Blondie, he flashed me a sneaky smile before the headed back into the chorus.
A wave of pure ecstasy rushed through my body, sending shivers down my spine. He had nodded at me as if to finish off the song. What was he playing at?
"Are you sure, I mean, you seem to be play the dainty role of lead singer?" I whispered at him. He chuckled sightly before replying with, "You have a beautiful voice, and you should finish it."
I had trouble believing that I had 'a beautiful voice', when I had no training or the like. I inhaled sharply, pursed my lips and let my thought of as beautiful voice resinates throughout the theatre.
As the song faded out, a round of applause burst from the room, filling the space dramatically. I held a hand to my forehead and nearly dropped the sweat-covered mike on the floor. Blondie applauded me too, a grin spreading across his face. After giving a small curtsey, I was subject to extreme bear hug from my singing accomplice. His face was in the thick of my red locks, whispering into my ear.
"You were amazing, Clary." He complimented me, holding me gently. "Meet me backstage after the show, okay?"
I wasn't sure whether it was due the adrenaline coursing its way through my veins or the fact that my undiscovered teenage girl nature made use of my mind, but I was choked up, unable to answer. I clumsily nodded, supressing an unnatural squeal. God, I need to learn to restrain this gross girly shit.
Still caught up in the thrill of the performance, I found it hard to focus on the rest of the acts when I finally made my way back to my seat in the crowd. A few people shout praise at me as I walked past but I couldn't get past that insane feeling I got when I sang. I even had to contain a silly giggle from escaping at the thought of going backstage after the show. Stupid teenage brain.
Half way through the next bands' final number, I felt a buzz from inside my jean pocket. Mum, I guessed, was checking up on me. Typical.
Hey honey, how is everything going? – M
I wasn't exactly sure how to word what had just happened to my mother without her throwing a party on her daughter finally escaping from her cocoon of hating the world. I'm serious, she has a banner prepared and everything.
Don't talk to me, I'm famous now. Speak to my agent if you wish for an appointment thanks. – C
I smiled as the text had its way to my mother. I honestly couldn't wait until the end of the night, but to be frank, I was thinking the same thing at the start of the night. So, as per usual, pessimist Clary strikes again.
A/N: Please excuse the awkward breaks, i did have music lyrics in their but took them out as they are against policy.