Crammed into his uncomfortably tiny dorm bed in the room he was sharing with Reggie and Alex, Luke couldn't sleep. Now was their year—it had to be. Last year had been rough. Just before the LFCM's final showcase, where they performed in front of the whole school and a bunch of managers, their rhythm guitarist Bobby had dropped out of Sunset Curve and landed a manager after performing with his new band and "Crooked Teeth." While Bobby's parents had lawyered up with a very expensive and aggressive copyright lawyer, Luke's parents hadn't thought anything of consequence was really going on even when he'd explained that his songs had been stolen.
It had felt like a setback—it was a setback, and the part of his heart that had birthed those stolen songs still felt deeply bruised, with a unique heartbreak attached to each and every song. But it also felt like an opportunity. Something about Sunset Curve hadn't really felt complete to Luke, like there was a specific style or voice or instrument missing. He hadn't ever been able to articulate to the guys or his instructors what it was, no matter how many rabbit holes he'd sent them all down in his quest for the missing sound. It was something intangible that he could almost hear it when he'd written songs for Sunset Curve, but he'd never been able to pin it down.
He'd thought that he would have figured out what it was by now. They were two months away from this year's showcase, from a chance to perform for managers and get their big break, and he was determined to nail it this time. They hadn't talked about it, but he knew that the other guys also felt like this would be their last year at LFCM. After the summer, they would be starting their senior year of high school and their parents would finally realize that they weren't going to apply to colleges, that they were planning to pursue music immediately after graduation. In a matter of months, they'd probably be cut off. This was their last chance to take advantage of the LFCM showcase, and he needed to crack that missing sound soon.
Luke slipped quietly out of bed and grabbed his journal, guitar, and key on his way out of the room. There was a semi-soundproof practice room off of the atrium of the dorm and he'd always found middle-of-the-night brainstorming sessions to be his most productive. But when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, he was surprised to hear the wafting sounds of a piano coming from the room. He was usually the only one who used the room this late in the night. But he was even more surprised when a voice joined the piano.
Voice was underselling it. Voice of an angel was underselling it. "Voice of an angel" tended to be used to describe voices that were pretty but thin. This voice was packed with power and sustained with expert vocal control. It was a voice that had definitely not been in the program before-he would never have forgotten that voice if he'd heard it before.
Luke drifted towards the door, peeking cautiously through the window. The girl he'd shocked with his surprise back flip sat at the piano, playing and singing with her eyes closed. Her face ran a gauntlet of emotions—inspiration and joy and freedom and… pain. Deep, profound pain. Through the grimy window, he couldn't be sure, but he thought she might be crying.
This was a private moment, and he had no right to be there.
But as he retreated to the elevator, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just heard the sound that had long haunted him. He regretted more than ever that he had sent the girl running out of the dorm screaming before he could learn her name.
The next day, Reggie, Luke, and Alex were sitting together in the auditorium waiting for the start of their first modern vocal performance class of the summer. The boys were all doing three tracks of the music program—vocal, composition, and their individual instruments. The vocal track was always Luke's favorite. He never felt like the others took composition as seriously as he did (Reggie and Alex said he tended to get "absolutely fucking insufferable") and his guitar class just wasn't as fun without having the whole band there to make faces to. Vocal hit the sweet spot of letting them work together on something they were all equally invested in.
Ms. Harrison got up on the stage and clapped loudly to get their attention. "Alright, everyone should have a sample prepared for today's initial assessment. You'll be performing for one another and giving each other feedback. Remember, we want to be supportive, but we also want to be constructive. So point out things you like about each performer's performance, but also mention areas that you think the performer should focus on improving for the next two months. Constructive critique is a very important part of musical performance, both as a form of respect that you show one another" her gaze lingered on Carrie "and for your own self-reflection. Is that all clear?"
A handful of half-hearted nods responded. Between the bobbing heads, Luke noticed that the Girl Who Screamed was sitting three rows ahead of them. She was curled in on herself, like she could disappear if she made herself compact enough.
"Okay, today we'll have the soloists perform, and then tomorrow we'll have ensemble singers." The boys silently bumped their fists together and slumped down in their seats to get comfortable.
Honestly, the first performances were usually interesting—Luke liked sizing up his fellow performers and he genuinely enjoyed giving feedback. But today, he was just getting antsy waiting for the Girl Who Screamed to sing again. The girl she was sitting next to, Flynn, performed a solo and they had the awkward polite energy that he associated with new roommates, so she wasn't in an ensemble. He was eager to hear her again, this time without the muffling of the door to the practice room. Would he get the same feeling that he'd gotten last night, that sense of rightness?
"Alright, final soloist of the day: Julie Molina. Julie?"
As the class gave a half-hearted round of applause and Girl Who Screamed Julie dragged herself up the steps to the stage, Luke nudged Reggie and Alex to make sure they were paying attention. "Wait until you hear this. This girl's voice is insane."
"Yeah, we heard it yesterday when you tried to murder her, remember?"
Luke elbowed Reggie sharply to shush him as Julie sat at the piano. She put her fingers on the keyboard, then took a deep breath and looked out at the auditorium.
He was anticipating her powerful voice filling the space, so he was surprised when what he did hear was a shaky exhale. She flinched away the stage lights, squeezing her eyes shut. For a moment, her face was full of that same pain he'd seen last night. They were too far away for him to see for sure, but he thought she might be breathing too quickly.
She jumped up and away from the piano as if it had spontaneously combusted, and the squeak of the piano bench against the floor echoed ominously in the otherwise silent auditorium.
"Well, first piece of constructive criticism—a panic attack isn't a good vocal performance." Carrie flipped her hair over her shoulder and giggled.
Luke normally didn't engage with Carrie—he tended to think poisonous people were best left alone to sting themselves—but he could see how shiny Julie's eyes were. "Hey, Carrie, constructive criticism—you singing isn't a good vocal performance."
Reggie and Alex stared at him open-mouthed, as did Ms. Harrison, who had clearly not been expecting anything that had just happened. But it was too late for Julie, whose eyes only flicked to him briefly, tears visibly leaving her eyes, and then bolted off the stage towards the door. Flynn jumped out of her chair and followed quickly.
Ms. Harrison let out a deep sigh. "Alright, we're almost at the end of our time anyways, so we'll pick up again tomorrow. Luke and Carrie, come speak to me so we can review the definition of constructive criticism."
As Luke got up out of his seat, Reggie wiped away mock tears. "You're my hero."
One verbal lashing and a very exhausting first day later, Luke once again found himself unable to sleep and heading down to the practice room. And once again, he was greeted by the sound of piano and a now familiar voice.
He crept closer, leaning against the door to try to get clearer listen.
Wake up, wake up if it's all you do
Look out, look inside of you
It's not what you lost
It's what you'll gain raising your voice in the rain
Wake up your dream and make it true
Look out, look inside of you
It's not what you lost
Relight that spark, time to come out of the dark
Luke was so enthralled by her voice, her playing, and the lyrics that he had forgotten two crucial things—the door to the practice room was notoriously unreliable and it swung inwards.
The door opened violently and abruptly under his weight, depositing him on the floor of the practice room. Julie screamed and jolted back from the bench.
"Is this your thing? You jump out at people instead of saying hello?"
"I'm so sorry. I was just listening to you—"
From her facial expression, that was the wrong thing to say. "So, you were eavesdropping?"
"No, I—" What was it they said about honesty? "Um, yeah, I was. I'm sorry. About scaring you again. If I'm honest, I'm not sorry about eavesdropping because your voice is, like, killer."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "My voice is private."
"Music school seems like a weird place to go if you don't want people to hear you sing."
She sighed and sat back on the piano bench, seeming to hug herself. "I applied ages ago, back when I used to sing for people. I didn't want to go, but my dad..." Her eyes met his, and he could see that pain still lingering and a desperation to change the subject. "That girl earlier… You, um. I guess, thank you?" She paused. "That wasn't a coherent sentence, was it?"
He couldn't help but smile. "It's my bad—apparently the way I say hello is very alarming." He waved at her. "Hello, I'm Luke."
"Julie." She smiled, the first smile he'd seen from her. It was… a really good smile. "I was trying to say, you were the one who told Carrie off?"
"Yeah, she pissed me off. Are you… obviously not okay. Do you want to talk about it?"
She shrugged. "There's not much to talk about. I shouldn't be here."
He pulled out a chair and sat down several feet from the piano bench, leaving her with plenty of space. "With your voice, your piano-playing? Dude, you're like a human wrecking ball. I've been coming here three years now, and I've never seen anyone who deserved to be here more."
She smiled awkwardly and looked away. Ugh, yet another instance of "Luke can't human." Too much passion directed at someone he didn't really know. Her eyes landed on his guitar and she pointed at it, deflecting attention away from herself. "Did you want the room?"
He noticed his fallen journal and snatched it back up. "No no, I was just writing. There's this piece that feels like it's missing something. I usually think better in here, that's all."
She paused for a second, eyeing the journal. There was a tentative longing there, the itch to compose mixed with… whatever else she was dealing with. "Do you want a second opinion?"
He tried not to stare at her. "Are you on the composition track too?" Was this how Reggie felt whenever he saw pretty people? His eyes scanned her face. Actually, even exhausted and in raggedy pajamas, she definitely qualified as pretty people.
"Yeah, I missed today." Because I was having a panic attack hung in the air, unsaid.
"You didn't miss much. Ortega's first class is always him showing us pop songs that he thinks have shit lyrics and begging us to do better."
She tapped the journal. "Are you doing better?"
"You tell me." He passed it to her, open to "Bright."
She read through it, humming along and occasionally pressing the keys on the piano, getting completely absorbed in a way that made him feel like he was looking in a mirror. After several minutes, she shook her head, coming out of the zone and meeting his eyes.
"You have a pencil?"
He'd never let anyone else write in his journal, but was he going to tell her that? He offered her the pencil, chuckling nervously. "Are the lyrics that bad?"
"No, the lyrics are solid. I think you're at the point where you're fixing the parts of the song that are working because you don't know how to fix the parts that aren't?"
There was something about how casually she threw it out, like she wasn't even paying attention to how well and how quickly she'd figured him out.
"You have a bunch of edits here around the pronouns. Leave the pronouns alone—they're good. I think what you need is a higher vocal part? Maybe I'm biased, but it feels like there's a voice missing, you know, like the whole song wants to be brightened up with a higher, sweeping voice, like a soprano or falsettist? And the opening… does anyone in your band play piano? Because I love that intro, but listen to it on piano."
As she began to play the intro, he heard the whole song shift into alignment in his head. Of course, none of the guys did play piano. But it was the start of an idea.
Songs/musical references in this chapter:
• "Wake Up"