Chapter 5
1031 Words
The adrenaline from the performance still pumped through my veins as I stumbled off the stage, my chest heaving with each breath. The crowd's cheers were fading, but in my mind, they echoed louder, amplifying my confidence. I’d nailed it. At least, I’d like to think I did. But the real validation, the one that mattered most, was whether or not Kennan had felt it too.
"Nice recovery," Anthony muttered as he packed up his guitar, barely glancing at me. "You really should warn us next time before you decide to pull a move like that."
I shrugged, unable to care less about his criticism. My eyes were glued to one person, and one person only. I spotted Kennan near the bleachers, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable. The excitement that had fueled me a moment ago faded, replaced by a nervous energy that knotted my stomach. Why wasn’t he smiling? Or at least pretending to be impressed?
As I made my way over to him, I forced myself to stay calm, to look cool. I am Wayne Ralbovsky, the famous frontman of Chico’s Band. I could handle anything even a stare-down from Kennan Chen. But as I got closer, his expression didn’t soften. If anything, his eyes narrowed, assessing me with a detached sort of scrutiny. Unlike the girls around the place who are almost screaming thinking I am about to go near them.
“Hey, uh... did you like the song?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but the faint c***k in my voice betrayed me.
Kennan tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. He looked at me for a beat longer, and I couldn’t tell if he was going to smirk or roll his eyes. Finally, he let out a sigh and shrugged. “It was alright, I guess.”
Alright? Alright? That performance cost me a near mutiny with my band, not to mention I poured my whole heart into it! I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my cool. “Just... alright?”
“Yeah,” Kennan replied, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant. “It was a little over the top, if you ask me. I mean, Styx? Really?” His gaze drifted to the crowd, where a couple of girls were still glancing my way, whispering to each other with starstruck eyes.
I felt my cheeks heat up, but I forced myself to smile. “I was just trying to mix it up. You know, show a little versatility.”
“Versatility? Or desperation?” Kennan asked, his eyes cutting back to me with a raised eyebrow.
Desperation? That stung. And for a second, I wanted to throw something sarcastic back at him, something that would prove I didn’t need his approval. But the thought of him walking away, of leaving with nothing more than a “just alright” review, gnawed at me.
“Look,” I said, forcing my tone to stay level, “I just thought you might... appreciate the effort. After all, I am the guy you kissed last weekend.” My voice dropped to a whisper on that last part, hoping it’d jar something loose, some flicker of emotion in his guarded face.
Instead, Kennan’s face stayed cool, though his eyes did flash with a hint of something. Annoyance, maybe? “About that,” he said, “don’t get any ideas. It was a mistake. I had too much to drink, alright? Happens to the best of us.”
That was a punch straight to the gut, and it knocked the wind out of my confidence. But I wasn’t about to let him see me crumble. I managed a shrug, playing off the blow like it didn’t matter. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself. But that’s not how I remember it.”
He chuckled, and the sound was more like a sharp exhale than an actual laugh. “Look, Wayne, I don’t know what kind of... attention you’re after. But don’t mistake one drunken kiss for something it’s not.”
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react. I wanted to tell him off, make him see that he was the one being cold and unreasonably dismissive, that maybe he was the one holding back. But all that came out was a strained laugh. “Sure. Keep pretending you’re not into this.”
Kennan rolled his eyes, turning slightly, like he was about to walk away. “Listen, I don’t have time for this back-and-forth.”
“Wait.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a softer tone, almost pleading. “Let’s just talk. Just for a minute. No crowd, no performance, just us.”
He hesitated, and for a brief moment, I thought he might actually agree. But instead, he shook his head, almost pitying. “You really think you can impress me with... this?” He gestured toward the stage, where my bandmates were still packing up. “What are you trying to prove, Wayne?”
I felt my chest tighten. I didn’t know how to answer him, didn’t know how to put into words why his opinion mattered so damn much. “I... I just thought—”
“Maybe don’t think so much,” he interrupted, his tone cool and sharp. “Stick to singing if that’s what you’re good at. But don’t waste your time trying to impress me.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me there, watching his back as he disappeared into the crowd. My fists clenched at my sides, a wave of frustration and disappointment swelling up inside me. How could he be so oblivious? Or worse... was he doing this on purpose?
As he vanished from sight, I made a promise to myself. I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. He could pretend all he wanted, act like he was indifferent, but I was going to break through that icy wall. He was going to notice me, even if I had to make a fool of myself in the process.
One thing was clear.
I wasn’t giving up that easily.
- Writer
