Chapter One
EFFA
The stage is pitch black.
Not quiet.
Never quiet.
The crowd is a living thing out there, thousands of bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, their roar vibrating through the floor and straight up my spine. It rattles the rigging. It shakes the speakers. It claws at the dark like it’s starving for us.
The house lights cut, the arena inhales, and for half a second, the world holds its breath.
Thump.
Not the drums.
Thump.
Not the bass.
Thump.
My heart.
It slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break free, each beat heavier than the last, adrenaline flooding my veins so fast it feels like I’m wired straight into the amps. The darkness isn’t empty, it’s loaded—electric and waiting.
Another beat.
Another surge.
The first chord hasn’t even hit yet, but the explosion has already started.
And I am the fuse.
This is utter euphoria, and I love every second of it. The endorphins from an undeniable surge of excitement coursing through my veins as my heart pumps faster, harder, and more furious with every movement I make. My mouth opens, and Iuse every ounce of energy I have, letting the words flow over my tongue like the lyrical geniuses are somehow caressing the air with their magic. My husky voice echoes through the stadium, gravelly and silky, but with a hard edge that only the best girl rockers can accomplish.
I’ve worked hard for this and so have the girls.
We’ve come from nothing.
Worked our way up to packed stadiums.
And now we’reliving the dream.
As I sing the catchy lyrics to our chart-topping song “Melodramatic,” Casey moves in behind me, slamming on her lead guitar as I strum away on mine. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temple, strands of my long blonde hair sticking to my face.
Turning to the microphone again, I belt out the verse, my voice caressing the words as if they’re warm, thick honey while I glance at Andi, who’s trying to find her lighting cue. But it isn’t coming. Her face contorts, screwing up, as she moves forward anyway on the stage with her Fender bass guitar and starts rocking out. Her pixie haircut—short on the sides but longer on top, dyed red today—sways with the frantic movements of her headbanging as she takes her position at the front of the giant stage.
Kristy leads in with her drum solo, banging hard and furiously, the vibration running right through me, causing me to smile as I sing. She’s a different person while playing percussion. On the kit, she’s a freaking animal and lets loose like an untamed beast. But in person, she’s quiet and calm.
Casey breaks away from me, strutting her way over to Alana in her little section of the stage, where her keyboard and DJ set are stacked up. She’s working frantically, giving us that slight electro edge that mixes in with our hard rock sound, making us that little bit different from the other rock bands out there.
The end of the song creeps up, and the crowd is pumped. I’m on a high, but the lighting is strobing all around the stage in the wrong cues, as per usual. It should be fading into yellows right now to match the gold streamers that are about to burst out over the crowd.
But no, of course not.
Dennis, the idiot, has our strobe light going off erratically instead.
