The air at the music venue called The Whole was hazy and smelled vaguely like beer and cigarettes. The crowd stood huddled around the tiny stage as the simple high school band called Tempest went into our closing number. The crowd was a decent size for a Tuesday night, as it had been every week since we scored the weeknight slot. That was only going to give me fuel for my guitar intro for this song. Performing, even for a small college crowd on a weeknight was intoxicating, and even though my face mask made it trickier to breathe, the adrenaline was pumping.
The riff was sort of my own design, and I took a lot of the heavier chords and intermixed them with some tricky fingerwork. Admittedly, I was showing off, but the crowd got a huge kick out of the Masked Maiden who never said a word, but her guitar screamed into the night. Roger soon broke out into the lyrics and the accompanying guitar, with Barry on bass and Carl beating the hell out of his drums. The crowd reacted by beating the hell out of the dance floor as they stomped in rhythm. After one last lick from our guitars, a brief moment of reverb filled our ears before the crowd began cheering.
I stood in my classic power stance, trying to be as edgy as a sixteen-year-old girl could be while dressed in black and masked, and I felt the sweat pour down my forehead. As usual, it was like running a marathon, but the sheer rawness of the music surged through me. Who would have thought that a mild-mannered honor student could be a rock star – if only part time.
“Thank you, everybody,” called Roger into the mic. “We’ve been Tempest, and you’ve been a rockin’ audience! CDs are for sale at the front counter.”
The crowd dispersed, with a few stragglers who milled about chatting with Roger and Barry, and while a few college guys attempted to chat me up, I remained mysteriously silent. It was part of my gimmick; the Masked Maiden only spoke through her guitar. Plus, I had no desire to talk to any college guys, especially if they’d had a beer or two. I was still a minor, after all.
Mike had gotten us the gig at The Whole claiming that he wanted our band to find its voice. I had the suspicion he just wanted to see if I was as talented as I had displayed at the audition. He always approached us after the show to give some notes, and I always noted that he spent some extra time talking with me. There were times Roger gave me an unreadable look whenever Mike would praise me and ignore him.
Besides this gig, we had gotten a few others for various parties around where I lived on the weekends. Nothing grandiose, simply a few birthdays and summer events, but Roger was eager to get them. I hadn’t encountered anyone from my school that I knew, and I hoped that my stage disguise would be enough to keep anyone from knowing my little alter ego. Well, the one that wasn’t a genius investor with over a million to her name.
I was thankful that my positions were rather tame at the moment, and didn’t need much maintenance until my next major buy months from now. Aside from the one or two nights I was rocking my pretty little heart out, I had plenty of parties to go to and managed to spend time with Jake. We were still dating, though mostly platonic which was just the way I wanted it. I was firm about not getting too physical, and thankfully we never went too crazy. Jake never even approached my boundaries, even if I secretly wished he would try.
When August finally arrived, with it came the start of the junior varsity cheerleading practices. Catherine was chosen to be captain, since she was the most dedicated member of the squad. While this would be our second year on JV, the routines would be familiar to me and not so grueling, but with practice four times a week my time was becoming increasingly limited. Tuesdays were especially tight, as I had to rush from practice to make it to Roger’s garage for pre-show rehearsal. There was one week where practice had run late and I kept the band waiting, and Roger muttered something about “preppies” and “not committed.” I just slipped on my mask and said nothing.
While August was hectic, it was nothing compared to when school started after Labor Day. I continued my duties as Junior Class Treasurer, which meant I got to delegate tasks to younger classmates instead of manning tables, but it was an increased workload which was already putting a strain on my schedule. Even my classes were managing to eat away at my time, though I still managed to breeze through the material.
It was only a matter of time before I started making slip-ups. My mind would wander during student government meetings, or I was off rhythm during band practice. One particular Wednesday I was simply exhausted, and was missing steps with the other girls. In the locker room afterwards, Catherine approached me as I was changing.
“Hey, Maya, do you have a sec?” she asked.
I snapped out of my trance. “Sure, Cat. What’s up?”
Catherine leaned against the locker. “Is everything okay with you? You seem really tired lately, even in the summer.”
I nodded. “I’ve just been really busy lately. Busier than usual, I guess.” Last night was our regular gig, and we stayed out past curfew. It was the first time I had ever gotten home late, and thankfully Mom and Dad weren’t too angry. The advantage of being well-behaved, I suppose.
“You’re usually so focused. I just want you to know that if there’s anything going on you can let me know. It’s sort of my job now, to make sure everyone’s doing okay.”
I smiled weakly at her. “I know, Cat. It’s just been really hectic. I’ll get it together.”
Catherine nodded back at me, and I finished dressing. I couldn’t help but beat myself up, though; I was usually so en pointe, and it just wasn’t like me to slip like I had been. But the band was doing really well, and it was such a release for me to go out and play my heart out. I enjoyed cheerleading and all, but being on stage with my guitar was a thrill. Plus it had nothing to do with high school; that was liberating in itself. While it was a kick reliving high school as a girl, I was looking forward to being an adult again in two years. Then I could play guitar whenever I wanted.
For the next week, though, things just got busier and I got more and more tired. I would rush from a student council meeting or cheer practice to Roger’s garage, and even the guys were giving me long glances. It didn’t help that it was clear Mike was more interested in me than the rest of the guys, and it was likely that it was the only reason we were getting stage time. In my head I knew the guys were a little derivative, but while I may have had some more technical skill I never wanted to be famous. I just liked performing.
It came to a head a few days before homecoming week. The squad was busy preparing for the pep rally the following Friday, and after the last bell rang I made my way past the bustle of the student body to my locker so I could drop off my bag and head to the gymnasium. As I was fiddling with my combination, Roger approached me from behind and leaned against the locker next to me.
“Hey, Maya,” Roger said, “you got a minute?”
I scanned around, making sure no one I recognized was looking. “What is it, Roger?”
“I got us a gig this Saturday, seven o’clock. I wanted to have a session today to go over a new set list.”
“I can’t meet today, Roger! We talked about this.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “What, you have cheerleading practice? This is a paid gig on Saturday, potentially a big one! And you don’t want to prep for it?”
I glared at him. “I have commitments, Roger. I can’t just skip out on my squad!”
“So the band isn’t as important as your precious routines?”
“I didn’t say that! I work just as hard as you. Besides, I don’t care about the money.”
Roger scoffed. “Of course you don’t. You just think you can just come and go as you please because you’re talented. Why would you have to care about the band?”
It was my turn to scoff. “You might be seniors who are graduating and don’t have to care about school, but I still have responsibilities! I can maybe—maybe—stop by after practice a bit—”
“Fine. Whatever,” sneered Roger as he pulled away from the locker. “Don’t be too late. Wouldn’t want to think you’re just a tourist and not a real musician.” With that, Roger sauntered away.
I slammed the locker in frustration. I was absolutely livid that I was accused of not taking it seriously. Maybe I didn’t need to be in a band, but didn’t I work hard? Didn’t I show up when I said I would? I stomped to the locker room to change into my uniform, and I imagined my sneer could curdle milk. He didn’t need to go over the set list, he knew that today was my busy day and he was trying to get a rise out of me. And it worked.
My foul mood carried over to practice, where we were integrating back handsprings into the routine. It was a short sequence of handsprings, nothing special, but it had to be in sync as we came in from the left and right to center. I was still angry about Roger, and when the whistle was blown, I rushed my takeoff and didn’t lock out my body. It barely registered to me, and I didn’t spot my landing. I came slightly short, and I heard the thump as I rolled my right heel and landed hard.
I screamed as I collapsed on the floor, gripping my foot, and immediately the coaches rushed towards me. The rest of the girls formed a circle around me as the coach stabilized my ankle. Tears poured down my cheeks as needles stabbed my foot with every movement I made. The coach barked at Catherine to get the ice pack, and I noted the hint of controlled anger and concern for my leg.
Catherine applied the ice to my ankle, and I saw a flicker of frustration from her despite her clear concern. Two of the girls hoisted me up to a nearby bench, and I could feel my leg swelling up through the ice pack. Everyone was hovering around me, and I felt idiotic for stopping practice. By now the nurse had been fetched from the office, and she examined my foot as the coach stood close by.
“It’s an inversion sprain with lateral ligament involvement. Nothing broken, but probably grade two,” the nurse informed the coach.
The coach sighed. “That’s two weeks. We’ll get you some crutches, but you have to stay off that leg. What happened there, Maya?”
Another set of tears ran down my cheeks. “I-I rushed it,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Coach waved it off. “It’s fine, Maya. We’ll call your parents. Keep it elevated with the ice for now.” She promptly turned and scattered the crowd of girls who were milling about. A compression wrap was put around my ankle as Catherine and the nurse helped me into a pair of crutches, and I was led to the nurse’s office. I lay on the cot on my back, with my foot resting on a pillow, as I listened to the nurse talk to one of my parents. Probably Mom.
I felt so stupid, screwing up such a basic maneuver. And to have it happen in front of everyone, not to mention right before homecoming, which I would totally miss. I covered my face with my hands, feeling like an absolute failure. What’s more, I would have to face it from Roger as the famous Masked Maiden wouldn’t be hobbling to any practice any time soon. I stifled another round of tears. I couldn’t do anything right; I couldn’t be a musician, I couldn’t cheer, I just sucked at being a girl in general.