Nobody knows about the secret band Vero and I are creating.
For the past couple of weeks, Vero and I have been working the logistics of starting this band. Any free time I had between dual major rehearsals and school work was dedicated towards getting this band together. For Vero, she had basically starting to live this double life; she was Vero whenever we would meet up and talk about band stuff, and she was Ronnie when she was being Mollie’s girl best friend doing all of the girly things they do.
Thankfully, Mollie was away this weekend for a dance competition with Jennifer, which meant this was the perfect time to actually work on band stuff in the studio without any of Mollie’s family being around.
The doorbell rang, and I immediately ran out of my room to go downstairs and answer it. To my surprise, my dad is hanging out in the living room with my little sisters playing with their toys.
“Whoa there, speed racer,” my dad commented. “Who’s that?”
“It’s just Ronnie to do band stuff,” I said quickly. It wasn’t a lie per se, it just wasn’t the type of band stuff he thinks it is. I rushed down the stairs and opened the front door. Standing there was Vero, wearing her guitar case on her back. She smiled as I answered.
“Hey, Milo,” Vero greeted, walking into the house. I immediately opened the studio door for her, which she walks right into. Vero was no stranger to the studio space at my house, but it was a little weird to have her here without Mollie being the mutual friend between us. “So, what was so important that you had to call a band meeting on a Saturday?”
I walked over to the piano and grabbed my lyric book, holding it up. “I finished writing a song.”
“Word?” Vero responded. “It only took you 5 years to finish it.” I rolled my eyes at her, smiling. She has every right to call me out on that considering the piece I finished was something I was writing almost 2 years ago now.
“Dude, you’re a dual major at Waverly, and you still don’t have any songs written in your book?” Vero mentioned as she sat in the beanbag chair in my room. I paced back and forth with my book and pen in hand, trying to find the right words to write. I didn’t realize just how bad my writer’s block had become.
“It’s not easy to just write,” I sighed, giving up. “Literally I have all of these unfinished songs and I feel like I can’t even finish one of them.
“Are they all about Sophie?” Vero asked honestly. I looked up, slightly surprised at her aggression.
“Why would they be about her?”
“Why wouldn’t they be about her?” Vero asked.
“Sophie and I aren’t together; there’s no reason for me to write about her–“
“Ugh, boys.” Vero got up from the beanbag chair and sat next to me on the bed. “Writing is one of the most sacred things that you do as a musician. You think all of these artists got their Grammys by being happy all the time? Some of their best work is done by heartbreak.”
“I’m not writing about my relationship with Sophie,” I said, getting up from the bed. “I don’t have anything to say about my relationship with her–“
“Just the fact that she was your muse,” Sophie scoffed as she crossed her arms. I looked over at Vero, trying to disguise my transparent reaction to hearing that. She sighs as she gets up from my bed. “Just try to finish writing something you started in your book. It doesn’t have to be diamond platinum bars, but try to just make something out of what is already written.” I looked at Vero as she flashed a reassuring smile at me.
“So, let’s hear what you got,” Vero said, leaning back in her chair. I suddenly start to feel nervous.
“Don’t laugh,” I said, pulling out my acoustic from the closet.
“Why would I laugh?”
“I don’t know,” I began to say before looking up at Vero. She didn’t seem to be joking, giving me a sense of feeling that maybe she’ll take this as serious as I did. I cleared my throat, strumming on a few strings to get myself ready.
“I wrote this as a love song a few years ago and shared it with Sophie. I meant to finish it for her, but I never had the time to actually do so.” I looked down at my guitar before looking up at Vero. She stares intently. I cleared my throat and began playing the chords of the song, softly singing the lyrics. The song starts off slow and sweet with words describing a young love that was once something they weren’t looking for and now something they can’t live without. I take a moment before I start singing the lyrics of the second half; the new stuff I wrote. I began to play the melody, singing about the idea of love being selfishly sacrificed for outside love, ultimately feeling lost in the moments once shared.
“I can’t promise I can love you the way the world does, but hope to become dangerously close // I’m dangerously close // to losing you to the world,” I finished singing. I let out a deep breath, playing one final chord to end the song. The studio was quiet, which made me feel even more exposed and vulnerable than before. Vero just sat there, nodding her head in deep thought. I was anticipating to hear Vero’s thoughts.
“Well?”
“It’s alright,” Vero said.
“Just alright?” I asked, seemingly very surprised at her reaction. “Sheesh, you’re a worst critic than my dad—”
“I’m not saying that it was bad,” Vero crossed her legs, focused on the debate now. “I just don’t think that acoustic does the lyrics justice.”
“It’s supposed to be a love song—”
“But it’s written as a pleading love song,” Vero responded. “It’s heartache and yearning for a love that is no more. It needs to have the same melodic feel to those words.” She got up from her seat, turning my music stand to face her. She looks in my lyric book, scanning the pages intently. She has only been the one other person to have ever look in my lyric book. She unzips her guitar case, untangling the wires for her electric guitar. She walks to the amplifier and plugs her wires in, seeming very comfortable in the space. I was now the one sitting down in my chair, watching her.
She starts playing the notes written in my book; fixing her chords throughout the song to get them right. Once she gets to the chorus part, she starts getting into it, playing the song like a punk-rock one. She looked so bad ass playing the song on the electric guitar. The song went from being sweet and melancholy to aggressive and angst. She was depicting the song the way it was written.
I held my hand out toward Vero. “Wait,” I immediately said. She stops playing and looks back up at me.
“What?”
“That’s it,” I said excitedly, standing up from my seat. “The band!”
“The band?” Vero asked, clearly confused.
“The band’s sound,” I began to explain. “This should be the band’s sound.”
“You wanna make a punk-rock band?” she asked, crossing her arms along her chest. “Why the change of direction?”
“I think once I figured out the sound of the band, writing the other songs would be easier for me.” I walked up to Vero, grabbing her hands into mine. She looks at me with a weird expression while I smiled at her. “Do you want to be the lead guitarist in the band?”
“Me?” she questioned. “I was just suppose to teach you and help you start your own band, I–“
“Please, Vero,” I pleaded, getting down on both knees with my palms against each other. “You’d be amazing playing the lead! Plus, you carry the aura of the band.”
“The aura?” she scoffed.
“The aura,” I stated, smiling at her. “Plus, somebody told me that Vero was the name you’d use if you ever did join a band.” Vero rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what I was referring to. She sighed, sitting back down in her seat. I got up from the ground and sat in mine.
“So, it’s this just gonna be a two-person band? We simply just can’t create an entire band with just us two.” Fuck. She totally had a point.
“Fuck,” I said, feeling defeated. “Where the hell are we gonna find people we vibe with wanting to join a random band?”
“I think I know a few people,” Vero smiled as she said.
…
“Jonah and Davy?!” I said out loud, watching these two goofballs walk into the pizza parlor. “These are the people you had in mind?!”
“Yo, hear me out!” Vero shouted, her Latina-nature coming through. Jonah and Davy finally get to our table, sliding into the seat next to me.
“Wassup, homies!” Davy greeted us. “Ronnie said you wanted us to join your band.”
“Wanted? Really?” I looked at Vero, who simply shrugged her shoulders.
“You said we needed to find people willing to join–“
“Yeah, not Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum!”
“I’m going to assume I’m Tweedle Dee while Davy is…” Jonah looks at Davy, clearly offended.
“Don’t hate me because I have uncontrollable rizz,” Davy mentioned. Vero clapped her hands in front of the guys’ faces, getting their attention.
“Now that I got you guys to focus,” Vero looked at me. “Hear me out. Jonah is in percussion with you, and could easily be the drummer of the band.”
“I also play drums.”
“The lead singer is never in the back playing drums at the same time–“
“Lead singer?” I repeated.
“Oh,” Vero started to laugh. “You thought we were getting a lead singer for the band? Nah fam, you’re the lead singer.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Dude, you’re a dual major!” Davy intervened. “You sing for grades, why not sing for something cool?”
I don’t pay any mind to Davy’s comments; my focus is completely on Vero. “What did you come up for the comedic relief of the band?” She smiled before she answered my question.
“Davy plays bass guitar,” Vero answered.
“You know how to play bass?” I asked Davy, surprised. He simply nodded his head. I turned back to Vero. “How do you know this?”
“Davy tried to serenade me freshman year,” she confessed. Davy gasped, visibly upset.
“Dude, why would you tell him that?!”
“Relax! Playing the bass guitar got you further than what you thought it would,” Vero rolled her eyes as she said.
“So, lemme get this straight,” I intervened, trying to get back on track. “The band consists the four of us: You as lead, Davy as bass, Jonah as drums, and me as the vocalist?” Vero nodded her head.
“Sounds like a pretty dope band if you asked me,” she added.
“Do you guys really want to do it, or did Ve-Ronnie forced you into this?” I raised an eyebrow toward Vero, teasing her a bit.
“I think it’ll be sick,” Jonah answered softly. Jonah didn’t say much but when he did, it actually meant something. “Sometimes just playing Mr. Harrison’s pieces for class can get repetitive, and I’m down for a challenge.”
“I agree,” Davy added on. “Plus, Ronnie mentioned that it’ll be a punk-rock band and suggested I can be the screamo person since I have the mouth big enough for it.” I looked at Vero, absolutely believing that she said that to Davy.
I sighed, looking at the potential other members of my band. Could this possibly work out in the end? Will this be enough to be considered for Juilliard in two years? Will this help me finally write again?
“So, we’re doing this?” I said more than asked.
“Let’s fucking do this,” Vero said with a devilish smile.
Letters From Liz. 