The Hush Society Presents..., Izzy Matias [cat reading book .TXT] 📗

away, but we always have a cuppa within arms reach."

"Great," I say, shake my legs—the movement provides no relief to my cramping muscles—and walk towards the refreshment table to help myself to a cuppa, grabbing an empty paper cup and pouring the contents of the steaming jug of tea.

Even in cities we haven’t been to, The Fortunate Only has already built a reputation. I crack a weak smile. It’s great that we’ve made a name for ourselves, but this newfound recognition also comes with the pressure to live up to what people are saying. I sigh, hoping to vanish the pressure as I exhale.

"Oi, nan. How’s the arthritis?" Eric says as he approaches me. "Your presence is mandatory for sound check."

I try to tuck away the pressure that builds up to focus on the task at hand then set aside my steaming cuppa, exchanging it for my guitar. Eric starts off tuning the drums as Benji and I tune our guitars. Eric counts down with the snare and we launch into our first song. People around us scurry about as they set up the venue. They haul equipment, tables, and boxes—there’s so much motion everywhere, I don’t know where to look.

I try to stay present and focus on our sound check, but every couple of seconds, Maria’s statement about expecting a lot from us pops back up my head.

When we enter the second verse, that’s when the rogue note materialises. Benji’s and Eric’s faces give away that they notice my error, but we play on. I shake my head in hopes of dispelling this bubbling overwhelm.

Up until the bridge I manage to stay in the flow. Maria passes by and gives me a big grin and thumbs-up. This should propel me forward, but all it does is cause another wrong note as we play the outro.

Once we wrap up the first song, I tell my mates I’m sorry.

"All right, Cameron?" Benji asks with concern.

"Stop choking," Eric says with an irritated tone.

"It’s not like I planned to commit those errors," I snap back and face the microphone stand.

Everything is a blur of motion and colours.

"Good thing this is only sound check." Eric rolls his eyes, then transitions the beat to our next song.

What if I play the wrong notes again tonight? This hasn’t happened in so long. I don’t know why today of all days, I can’t seem to get it right.

We play only the intro and outro of the next two songs until Eric and Benji stop playing.

"That’s it," Eric says as we wrap up sound check. He stalks off and leaves me with Benji.

"What’s the matter?" Benji asks, rolling up his cord. "Haven’t seen you choke in over two years."

"Not in the right headspace, mate." I tap at my temples and give him a weak smile.

"Last night you were amazing."

"That was last night." I shrug, but don’t have the words to tell him that I’m afraid I won’t be able to deliver tonight. "Something about this place is off."

Benji gives me a look of disbelief. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but instead, shakes his head as he walks away.

I’m thankful he opts to forgo lecturing me. There’s too much expectation for us to be that shining band. There are so many people counting on us. What if I disappoint?

I grab another cuppa as I spot Cassie talking to Maria. When Maria turns to someone else from her crew, I approach Cassie and offer her the other cuppa in my hands. She thanks me and takes it and we’re sat on two beanbags near the railing. For a while, we say nothing to each other, and watch the people around us.

"Cass, I don’t think it’s a good idea to hold the gig on a rooftop," I say after taking a sip of my cuppa.

"And why not?" Cassie whips her head to face me with inquiring eyes. "I think it’s perfect."

"Imagine if the wind overpowers the microphone. That’s got to be horrible feedback." All of a sudden, I want out on tonight’s show. I don’t want to disappoint. There’s no guarantee that I won't be a right mess, like at sound check.

"Don’t worry about the sound quality. Maria’s double-checked everything in this venue even before booking it. She’s meticulous."

"My throat’s feeling a tad scratchy," I whisper, but Cassie doesn’t miss a beat.

"A couple of mishaps at sound check do not equate to a horrible set, Cameron." Her eyes are sharp, intense.

"How did you know?" I mutter, sinking deeper into the beanbag.

Cassie sits up straighter. "Because I’m a good observer." She taps her index finger lightly on my nose. "You choked this afternoon. Think of it this way: at least you got it out now rather than at your set later."

"But what if these people find out that The Fortunate Only is overrated and overhyped?"

"Every time you’re up on stage," she says, "you have an opportunity to overcome your doubt."

Or another opportunity to disappoint people.

I stare at my cuppa, observe the steam twirl up in the air then vanish.

"Nobody is perfect," she continues. "It’s about choosing your next move when you think it’s game over. You’re the one who said that everything we’re learning here on tour is good module material for Ear for Music."

"You’re right," I say and set down my cuppa. "You’re right."

She pokes my torso. "I’m here for you, too, you know?"

"I know." I crack a weak smile, still not convinced.

#

More than fifty people are staring at us. Their faces are a mix of curiosity, anticipation, and excitement. I try not to stare at a single face too long to avoid misreading their reactions.

We open with "Brick Walls"—a transition from Amber’s performance to ours—and it propels the crowd forward. They compress together as close to us as they can. Some people swing their hips. Others close their eyes while bobbing their heads.

I let out a relieved sigh and Amber leaves the stage. Next we play a cover and then "Electrified." Three songs. Three