How to Date a Nerd

Chapter 24 - How to Make Your D.I.Y. Band

Reed slapped him hard on the back, laughing. “We both know you went as far as drug Gran just to make it here, Ricky. What Gran doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Probably. She’d just think you got locked up in the public library after closing time or something. If… I mean, when she wakes up.”

I grinned back at them. I knew I could count on these guys. We cut back on the chit-chat and hurried to the elevator, to the fourth floor of the building to get to the studio. We ran like hell along the sleek corridor and arrived at the last few minutes of my deadline. I barely caught my breath before shouldering the glass doors. When we got in, the guys gaped at the posters of past and present artists made famous by Sonnet. Hurriedly, I rallied the guys to Studio 2, pushing and yanking them away from staring at the pictures on the walls.

We literally burst through Studio 2’s entrance. As we did, I saw the toothy sneer disappear from Jobs’ face. Classic. He managed to contort his rubbery face—too much Botox, I guessed—to glower at us before wordlessly waving us off. Riley, on the other hand, was suppressing a smile as he tilted his thumb to the booth, giving us the signal to get in. That told me Riley must be a member of the Secret Anti-Jobs Movement.

Like hungry wolves, the guys raced to the door of the recording booth and dropped their backpacks on the floor. I could tell by the way their eyes widened and shined that they were somehow amazed by the instruments I (meaning Moira) prepped for them. A Fender American Standard Strat for Reed. The latest model of Korg stage piano for nerdy Ricky. And a Tama Starclassic for Chuck.

“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat. For the first time in many years, there were butterflies in my stomach. “Just like Freddy’s arrangement.”

“What?” Chuck groaned irritably. “Now? Where are the groupies? The first class hotel suite? The designer shades? The paparazzi!” he lamented pretentiously.

I shot him a look that said, seriously?

“Kidding,” he chuckled, practically hurling himself behind the drum set, making a quick roll.

Gulping, Ricky headed to the keyboard and stood there frozen. He looked like he was counting the keys. Ugh, crud. Reed ran a hand over the sleek surface of the electric guitar before slinging it over his shoulder, intently tweaking the strings to check if it was tuned okay. Heaving a deep breath, I propped my own guitar—a vintage modified Jaguar in custom blue—in front of me and stepped closer to the microphone. In the live room, Jobs, his mousy assistant, Charlie Rudd—a swarthy, dark-haired guy in knee-length shorts and golf shirt, who had something to do with production—Riley, Moira and two other staff fixed their eyes on us.

“Just like Freddy,” Ricky nodded, his fingers shaking as he positioned them on the keys.

Reed let out a grunt like he was choking on his tongue. “Leon, if you got any advice, now would be the right time to give it.”

“Err…” I rummaged in my brain for something encouraging. Something that’d sound cool. “Don’t mess up.” Right… Cool. Pshh.

“Makes perfect sense,” Chuck commented from behind us, shrugging like he’d done this a million times before. At least one of us was relaxed. He tapped one of his drumsticks over the other, chanting, “One, two… one, two, three, four…”

Throwing me a reluctant look, Ricky did his intro. I gave him a nod. Reed and Chuck accompanied him in a silent harmony. It took us three tries to make it through the song. Our small audience looked a bit impatient at first but as the whole track unravelled and with the help of Riley’s outboard effects—which was pure genius, if you’d ask me—the song turned out pretty awesome in my opinion. A bit badass but still tame enough to be easy on the ear. Even better than Nathan’s demo, I bet. Way better. And while I sang, I kept an eye on the people watching us. They seemed to be enjoying the song, nodding their heads a bit to the rhythm as it picked up pace.

Except for Jobs, of course. He was born sour-faced.

I haven’t had much fun recording and performing in years until now. I felt like cracking up just seeing Chuck beat the drums with that funny I’m-in-my-element look on his face. Or Ricky actually looking kind of cool. And Reed. As serious as hell, like he was in an operating room rather than a recording studio.

“And… that’s a wrap,” Riley announced from the other side of the booth. “Good work, guys.”

Chuck and Reed did their secret handshake behind their backs. Beside the producers, Moira excitedly grabbed the clipboard from Jobs’ assistance and wrote something before showing to us what she wrote.

WT!!!

“What does WT mean?” Ricky mumbled.

I grinned widely at the guys, prolonging the suspense. “WT. World tour.”

“That’s awesome, man,” Chuck tapped me on the back, smiling. “Well, I guess… we won’t get to see each other that much from now on.” He looked a bit disappointed.

“On the contrary…” I began, nonchalantly heading to the door. “We’d be stuck together for a long while, maybe I’d just start to get sick of you guys.”

A stunned pause. Then it was Reed who broke the silence. “You’re messing with us…” He blinked, incredulous.

“Nope.” I hunkered to pick up their bags and coaxingly tossed them one by one to their faces.

No one caught anything, so naturally the bags hit them. But since they were all busy either staring or thinking whatever I meant, no one bothered to dodge or flinch in pain. Their jaws just dropped to the carpeted floor.

“And these,” I cocked my head to the instruments. “You can take them home. Except for the drums. It’s too heavy.”

“No. Freaking. Way!” Chuck shouted, jumping back to the drum set. He looked at it like he was trying hard to figure out how exactly to carry it. “You’re not saying—“

I cut him off. “Well, I just fired the other band so the position’s currently available. Anyone brought their resumes?” I said, keeping my face straight.

Chuck and Reed swore the exact same curse word at the exact same time. Ricky didn’t seem bothered that his treasured laptop was on the floor and maybe, well, broken. He’d probably throw a fit about that. But way, way later, I guessed.

“I have got to tell Gran!” he finally said, chuckling like mad.

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Hi guys! So Life as told by Nerdy was nominated for Best Original Story in the Giggle/Snort awards and I'm hoping you can help me by voting. The links and info are in my profile page. Thanks for your undying support! Next update will be on Tuesday so... til then :)    ~shim