Page 4 of Beneath the Stain

SOHEgathered the guys in Stevie’s dad’s garage—praying that Stevie’s dad didn’t show up, because they could only bug out of there so fast with their instruments, and sometimes they had to leave Stevie behind and that didn’t sit right—and Mackey told them how to play.

“We’re doin’ Nickelback, ‘Rockstar,’ first,” he said, and nodded, waiting for them to nod back. “And Offspring, ‘Pretty Fly’—”

Grant laughed. “Can you do the voice?” he asked. “Which one of us is doing the ‘Uh-huh-uh-huh’?”

Mackey smiled lazily and shook his bangs out of his eyes. “Tell you what.Youdo the ‘Give it to me baby,’ and I’ll do—” And all the guys joined in, “Uh-huh-uh-huh”

They laughed then, all together, and Grant winked at him. “I can’t wait to see you do your thing, Mackey. It’s gonna sell the show.”

Mackey preened, swinging his shoulders, strutting around his little circle of godhood like he was a big man. Then he turned and said, “Nah—it’s Kell and you who’re gonna sell the show. We got two lead guitars—man, that’s right out of Southern Fried Rock right there. You guys gotta play back and forth, ’kay?”

Grant and Kell looked at each other and grinned, then held up their secondhand Gibsons and made fake guitar battle gestures.

“Whaddo me’n’Stevie do?” Jefferson asked, all in one breath. It was how he and Stevie usually talked, which was why he never did backup vocals if there were real words in them.

Mackey smiled at him—not the flirty, cocky smile he gave to Grant or Kell when they were playing either. Jefferson and Stevie were… well, sort of special. They were quiet. In class the teachers just sort of overlooked them, and they hid in the back and got Cs and spoke an entire other language that not even Mackey could fully translate. They had the softest features, round faces, round chins, and the same sandy brown hair which they wore parted in the middle and falling layered to the sides, and they had the same faded blue eyes. They looked like cousins maybe, but Mackey and Kell had asked Stevie straight out if any of his male relatives had the last name Jefferson, and he couldn’t think of one.

“Well, you’re bass,” Mackey said, nodding and trying to give Jeff a complete picture. “You sort of have to ignore all the rest of us here and coordinate with the drums. So Stevie’s gonna be giving us a beat and you’re going to be reinforcing that.” He paused and saw that Jefferson looked sort of downcast. “You don’t get it!” Mackey watched every performance he could find on basic cable. He stayed up late to watch talk shows that had bands in them—hell, it was theonlyreason to watchSaturday Night Live. “See, the bassist hasmystique. You look totally… what’s that word? Alone… no! Aloof! You lookalooffrom all of us. The bassist always has sunglasses in the daytime, and he’s just totally his own person. So Stevie’s gonna be spazzing on the drums, ’cause that’s his thing, and Kell and Grant’ll be dueling guitars, and I’m gonna be—” He executed some pelvic wiggles and a few jerky dance moves, the kind he’d seen the rock stars do on television. “Andyou, you’re gonna be too cool for all that shit.”

It worked. Jeff grinned and pulled his lanky, slight body into his habitual slouch, but this time it looked purposeful. It was like Jefffoundhimself in that description, and Mackey beamed.

“So that’s three songs,” Kell said, frowning. “We know Nickelback and Offspring, and the Skynyrd.”

“Yeah, but they’re sort of old,” Grant said with a wince. Well, Grant’s dad could afford satellite radio. “We need something newer.”

“Well, how ’bout Cage the Elephant—”

“No!” Kell commanded sharply. “Mackey, all them songs’ll get us kicked outta school.”

Mackey bared his teeth and started the patented Matt Shultz spazz-strut. “We don’t care about the glory—”

And Grant picked up the guitar lick. “We don’t care about the money, we don’t care about the fame…” and just that quickly, their little garage band launched into “In One Ear” and Kell was left with nothing to do but pick up the lead guitar and join in.

The song ended abruptly, and Mackey swung his hands and his ass in time—then snarled at Kell, still wearing his stage face.

Then he dropped the snarl and gave him the stage “Am I stoned or just fucking with you” smile. “Yeah, not that one. How about the Broken Bells single?”

Grant shuddered. “Naw, man. That song gave me the creeps after I saw that redheaded girl in the space video. Can’t we just do the Bravery and ‘Believe’?”

And it was Mackey and the rest of the boys who all said, “Yes!” because just like the Muscat and the burned-out car, Grant really did have the best ideas.

“So, we do ‘Satisfaction’ and ‘No Rest for the Wicked,’” Kell said, still taking care of details.

Mackey conceded to Kell’s choice of classic Stones—because they’d already rehearsed it, for one—and to the “clean” Cage the Elephant song, and gave a fierce I’ll-eat-your-baby smile. “Kk, guys. Jeff, give us a 3/4 rhythm, two chords, C and G, bu-dum-bu-dum-bu-dum—like a heartbeat, right?”

Jeff started that, and then Mackey went to his keyboard and started playing the first riff for Kell. Kell was rock solid on the beat, and he’d play anything Mackey gave him—and fast—but he wasn’t much for improvising. The improv line he gave to Grant. Stevie had picked up on Jeff’s thumping bass and started to keep up a dual rhythm on the cymbal and the bass drum, and Mackey nodded. Good. They had the basics now.

Into the solid sets of chords, he started to sing.

You’ll hear me screaming in the mountains and the valleys far away,

Over oceans over planets over moons.

You’ll hear me tearing out my tonsils and my voice will never fade,

I’m begging and I’m pleading just for you.

I know you do not want me, not even on my knees