Band X

Chapter 7: Tears on the Table

I arrive at Isabelle's house at 4:30 instead of 5:00 the next day. I decide to park my mother's car on the street and wait a half hour before pressing the buzzer that tells someone I'm here so they can open the gate and making the trek up her monstrous driveway to her even bigger home. I still can't believe I know someone with this kind of house. I wonder what her parents do for a living to afford a mansion like this.

I asked this question out loud earlier at home not really expecting an answer but it seems my family has been wondering the same thing.

"Drug dealer" my mom yelled from the kitchen.

"Neurosurgeon" my dad said as he made his way from the living room to the stairs.

"Professional athlete" Michael chimed in from behind his laptop screen.

I'm thinking my father is on the right track compared to Michael and my mom. I hope neither of her parents is a drug dealer and while I know next to nothing about sports, I think even I would have heard if one of her parents were professional athletes of any kind. Stuff like that spreads around a high school quickly.

I know why I'm here so early. I'm anxious. Isabelle's neighborhood is very different than my own but in reality we only live about 15 minutes away from each other. I look around the huge houses that line Isabelle's street and start to wonder what I'm doing here in the first place. Isabelle is so cheerful and confident and she clearly has the money to make her dreams come true. I, on the other hand, am shy, sullen, and will most likely have to take out a massive amount of student loans just to earn a bachelor's degree in...what? It's obvious that I like to sing, but I highly doubt I can make any kind of career out of this. My mother says I can but she's obviously blinded by her love and over-the-top protectiveness of me.

I love all things art related but each time I try to envision a future where I can make enough money to have my own place and not starve to death I can't quite bring up an image of what that might look like. My mom says I have a good eye for photography, but the thought of running my own photography studio seems exhausting even though being my own boss might be my only chance at any kind of job. Who would hire someone like me? There are days I can barely get out of bed let alone be a good employee. If I have my own business at least I can't fire myself even if I want to.

As I sit here, I realize that I could have spent more time at home getting ready, making myself look presentable. Instead, I rushed through my makeup up and hair, grabbed my mom's keys from the hook in the hallway, and now here I sit. I glance at the clock in the dashboard and am shocked to see that it's already 4:55. I lean my head back on the head rest and close my eyes, willing myself to open the door and drag my legs, which have suddenly turned to lead, out of the car and up the drive.

A sharp, unbearably loud rapping on the window causes my eyes to fly open and I see Isabelle standing outside my car, grinning excitedly. "Are you coming in?" She yells through the glass. I panic and consider starting the car, flooring it, and racing back down the driveway in reverse.

"Well?" she yells.

I sigh and give up. I think Isabelle might stand behind my car and block me if I try to make my escape.

I get out of the car. "I'm coming. Are the guys here?"

"Yep! They're out back. They both live in my neighborhood so they walked here."

Great. More rich kids.

I plaster a smile on my face. "Well, let's go!"

Isabelle links her arm with mine and we walk into the house, through the foyer, and out double French doors to the back patio. Thomas and Eli are there, messing around with their instruments. Or maybe they're tuning them. Honestly, I don't know much about the music business. Maybe I should learn before I continue with all this.