i. in which the readers catch a glimpse of quinn stevens' exciting life

• • •

THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY nothing better than feeling the heat of those silver stage lights as they flash neon colors onto your back. There was nothing as melodious as hearing the frantic onslaught of cheers as soon as you take one step onto that obsidian paradise.

To think that after countless tours and performances, I would get bored of the same routine, the same songs, or the same people. Let me just say that I think that's absolute bullshit. The truth is I don't think I could ever tire of this high life I'm living. I had the world in my palms and glory illuminating from my fingertips.

Six years ago, I learned that when the music hits you: it hits hard, and it just so happens that music managed to knock me into a boxing ring against an opponent by the name of Life. Now, Life and I were constantly at each other's throats, but I manage to scrape through. Especially during times like this when I feel invincible and infinite. When I'm just downright reckless.

I was currently in a room, a simple four-sided trap colored in with beige and decorated with splashes of warm brown. In the opposite side from where I sat on a white, leather couch alongside my band, a mirror faced us, keeping us locked in a showdown where no one can turn away. Our appearances mesmerized us - not because of our outfits or our hair or anything clearly materialistic, but because like always, we were left wondering how we were just a few of the lucky ones.

I stared at the young female towards the center, barely visible behind the bulky shoulders of the two, lean men on either side of her. Her eyes were alight with sparks of excitement and anticipation, shining a bright, amber hue. I took note of the cascading waves of light caramel that draped over a single shoulder, the semi-shaved undercut behind her pierced left ear. Her lips were full and bloody red, standing out in contrast from her too-dark outfit comprised of a showy, laced tank top, skinny jeans, and a pair of Doc Martens. I smirked, and the girl in the mirror immediately copied.

An inanimate television set sat in the corner with magazines strewn carelessly on top of it. In between the mirror and the couch was a simple coffee table with browning stains from cups of Joe made by previous users of the dressing room. A silver rack of outfits was pushed into the opposite corner, along with the pile of clothes we originally came in.

"Joel, how many people do you think are out there?" A petite voice radiated from my right. It belonged to our bassist, Ebony. She was a tiny little thing, though I was the child of the group. Her curly black locks were unmanageable as always but she managed to pull it off with style and flourish. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of emerald that I wanted so desperately, and she wore a black dress adorned with rainbows, bright yellow leggings, and Converse. Ebony was my best friend, practically my sister.

 "Judging by how the floor is vibrating right now, I'm guessing over a couple hundred?" The boy directly to my left replied. That was Joel - our drummer. He had the most remarkable baby-blue eyes that pooled towards the irises, a grin to make the ladies swoon, and the perfect chocolate brown, boy-band haircut to prove it. Evan and I would often mock his resemblance to a boy band member, and every time he would simply find a new excuse to defend his flirtatious hairdo.

Evan was our second vocalist, besides myself, and presided in rhythm guitar. Unlike Joel, he was quiet and reserved. The two were the complete opposites of their hairstyles - Evan having a dirty blonde, bad-boy quiff. Sometimes their differences made even me question how they were related. The two were both dressed in flannel, rocking the old-style blue jeans, and wearing similar shoes.

"Another sold out show," I hummed, as if the prospect of selling over six hundred tickets meant nothing. I leaned my head against Evan's shoulder, continuing to stare at the large mirror in front of us. “Typical. When was the last time we didn't have a full house?"

I watched the eyes in Joel's reflection roll as his mouth opened to respond to my rhetorical question. "That would be about two weeks ago, Q. Jesus, quit being so cocky."

"Can't help it, babe," I smirked at the mirror, playing with a loose tendril of my hair. "When you're the Princess of Rock 'N' Roll, you have to live up to your title." Ebony snorted at that statement, rising up from her chair.

"Where are you headed?" Evan asked. He had an arm draped over my shoulder casually, not meaning anything. I remember having a thing for him back when the band was just starting out, but over the years he's made it clear that he only thought of me as a little sister. If little sisters could hug and cuddle with their older brothers, then the rejection didn't hurt as much.

"To ask someone about when the show's going to start," Ebony called over her shoulder. She just made it over to the wooden door and started to reach for the knob when it opened on its own accord, making her jump in surprise. Evan and Joel let out a little snicker and I just gave a lazy smirk as our manager, Tanya, slipped through the open crack, oblivious and unaware of the heart attack she nearly gave Ebony.

"Damn it, Tanya," Ebony gasped out, clutching the door frame with one hand and her heart in the other.

"What?" Tanya's blue eyes twinkled enthusiastically despite her budding age. For a woman nearing her fifties, Tanya was still as active and energetic than she was in her twenties. Her graying blonde hair was scooped professionally into a bun, minus the few strands escaping onto her oval face. She wore a business casual, blue suit with matching, pointy high heels.

"Way to almost kill me before the show!" Ebony persisted, giving the woman a stern look. Tanya merely shrugged as she made her way over to where the brothers and I were seated. After a moment's hesitation, Ebony just let out an exasperated sigh before rejoining us on the couch.

"Alright, you four are set to be on stage in five minutes. The opening act just finished, and tech is setting up for your set as we speak. I suggest you all start heading down." Tanya said in her naturally authoritative voice, before breaking out into another wide, grin. "Go get 'em, Rebels."

• • •

I let my hand skim against the walls of the corridors, feeling the bumps and cracks as a way to navigate through the darkness. On the floor were small lights, sort of like the pathway for an airplane.

I could tell that we were nearing the stage area when the shouts of our band's initials  —"CMR!"— began to echo through the thick walls. Even though I've lost track of how many shows we've done, the feeling never goes away. There's something about hearing your name being yelled across an arena that reminded you of how many people adored you, and were there to remind you of what you do and what you love.

As we got closer, the cheers became increasingly deafening and I knew that as soon as we stepped foot on that stage, it would only become more unbearable. Sometimes I wondered why I wasn't deaf yet. The sound of the crowd just feet away made me grin in anticipation.

I took a deep breath as I made it to the mouth of the stage, hidden just behind the thick, corduroy curtains. If I leaned a little to the right, I could just make out the silhouettes of the crowd. My feet were itching to get out there, and I felt the usual flutter of butterflies in my stomach, dancing around. A roadie walked up to me, lifting my signature Fender Stratocaster and I took the instrument gingerly in my hands.

I've had this instrument since I was eleven, and I never once thought of parting with it. The two of us had been through a lot together, and I would never replace the rusting auburn polish on the light brown wooden body, or get rid of the little dent just by the tuning pegs. This guitar was perfectly imperfect - just the way I liked it.

Lifting the strap over my shoulders, I glanced behind me to check if the others were ready. Another techie handed me my in-ear monitor, and I placed it into my right ear, adjusting it to be comfortable - which they never really were. I saw Evan strapping down his guitar while Ebony already had her bass ready to go. In Joel's hands were his signature drumsticks and he hopped from foot to foot, psyching himself up for the show.

As Ebony nodded in my direction, I smirked energetically and mouthed to the band, "Let's do this." Soon enough, the world zoomed into slow motion as I started to lead the way past the curtains and onto the stage where Joel's drum kit lay, Evan and Ebony's microphones stood, and where my own mike was standing at the very center, waiting patiently for my arrival.

With one step, my face became unhidden behind the curtains and the audience exploded into loud shouts and cheers as the rest of the band followed suit. A wide grin exploded onto my face as I gave mini-salutes to fans near the front and even winked at a few flirtatiously.

By the time I reached the main microphone I was already feeling pumped. "Chicago!" I screamed into the mike, hearing my gritty, low voice echo around the arena. "Are you ready to rock?" My question was answered by a wave of screams that hit me straight in the face.

"I can't hear you!" I taunted, as Joel hit his drums behind me. There were more yells, just a cent louder than before.

"Alright, alright. I guess you fuckers are ready." I smirked, banging my head as Evan let out the opening riff to our first song. The crowd began to jump up and down, following my lead as I gestured to them to raise their hands in the air.

The rest of the band made their entrance and I immediately began to strum, feeling a surge of adrenaline as soon as I hit that first chord. I danced around on stage, grinning like a maniac as I played the introduction. When the start of the first verse drew closer, I dropped back on guitar and walked up to the mike, gripping it with both hands as I took in the crowd.

My eyes drifted closed as the music began to overpower me, take me under its wings. And then I began to sing, "Her eyes are like lightning, she'll zap you 'til you're through. Be careful once her gaze is locked on you. She's like a phantom they say, haunting your every step. She'll stalk you in your sleep and you'll wake up with her in bed."

Ebony joined in with her beautiful harmonies, and I re-entered with my guitar. "Son, I'll give you some advice, that woman is bad news. She'll rip out your heart and tear it in two."

I took out the mike from its stand, throwing my head back as the refrain began, "We all have secrets, and I just happen to know hers. She struck a deal with the devil, sold her soul for some records. She's a sin on two feet, there's lust in her shoes. My condolences, boy, but she has her sights on you."

I held my hands above my head, clapping in time to the beat and the crowd followed as they danced along. Leaving them to clap, I put the mike back and returned to my guitar, banging my head every once in a while.

"There are whispers in the alley; no one knows who she is. One day she was gone, but apparently now she's here. Her nails are like claws when they scrape against your back. And her moans are just fake to keep you intact.

“Son, I'll give you some advice, that woman is bad news. She'll rip out your heart and tear it in two."

Grabbing the mike again, I yelled, "Come on!" and began jumping up and down. They copied and screamed the refrain back to me as I let them, soaking the moment in. Hearing them sing my lyrics was something inexhaustible; I remember when no one but Jared knew my songs, let alone sang them.

"We all have secrets, and I just happen to know hers. She struck a deal with the devil, sold her soul for some records," They sang, while I entered on lines every now and then. "She's a sin on two feet, there's lust in her shoes. My condolences, boy, but she has her sights on you."

I put the mike back to my mouth as the song took a turn for the slow, heading into the bridge. My voice became higher pitched as I sang in the point of view of the woman. I pretended to fan myself, letting out an melodramatic giggle that would make even Marilyn Monroe scoff at. "Oh, bother. Those folks just don't quite understand. I'm just a pretty little lady, looking for a nice little lad. I'm honest, the whole hundred percent. Can't you look me in the eyes? I promise I'm innocent." The band paused, as silence drifted over our audience, and I put on a seemingly innocent face - even batting my eyes sarcastically.

"Bullshit!" A bold man towards the front yelled as the crowd laughed. I laughed too, pointing a finger in the direction the voice had spoken in.

"Amen." I winked and the sound of the music returned, crashing onto my shoulders as I sang along with the crowd, "We all have secrets, and I just happen to know hers. She struck a deal with the devil, sold her soul for some records. She's a sin on two feet, there's lust in her shoes. My condolences, boy, but she has her sights on you."

"I want to see you dancing out there!" I yelled, letting them finish the song as I switched solely to playing guitar.

"We all have secrets, and I just happen to know hers. She struck a deal with the devil, sold her soul for some goddamn records," They sang, bobbing up and down. Some had even formed a mosh pit out further near the middle. "She's a sin on two feet, there's lust in her shoes. My condolences, boy, but she has her sights on you."

As the song began to fade out, I sang the last line in a sickeningly sweet voice, throwing my head back and closing my eyes, "Sorry, fucker, but she has her sights on you."

Joel closed the song with a loud crash, and immediately the crowd roared, asking for more. I pushed my sweaty bangs out of my eyes, breathing heavily and looking out past the stage. I was on a musical high, holding my guitar tightly while pressing my mouth against the microphone.

To think that after countless tours and performances, I would get bored of the same routine, the same songs, or the same people. Let me just say that I think that's absolute bullshit. I would never tire of this, and neither would my band. As I listened to the noise of the audience, I said breathlessly into the mike with a smirk, "We're Call Me Rebel, don't wear it out."

• • •

There you guys have it. The first chapter of Reckless Serenade. I hope to update on a schedule for this story, because Lord knows how terrible I was at updating My Little Decoy. Comment below on what you think so far, and let me know your thoughts! Poster on the side made by alpacapaca. Thanks Brooke!

Because I am a musicaholic, I'll be uploading some songs on the sides of my chapters for you all to listen to (and hopefully find new bands to listen to!). This chapter's song is Black Sheep by Gin Whitmore. It'll make you feel like a badass, I promise.

Anyway, yeah. Comment. Vote. Promote. :)

-Isa