Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
But my eyes train in on something else.
Commotion happening backstage with one of the introduction bands that play before me. They’re often upcoming music stars, wanting to get their name out there, so they come on tour with me and play a few sets before I come on. I know the group, though I haven’t spent any time with them, I don’t get the chance. Two girls, and two men. Country music. Good singers.
There is a girl, standing with her head down, long black hair flowing over her shoulders, arms wrapped around herself. Someone is yelling at her, just screaming in her direction. He’s telling her she can’t play anymore, she can’t be part of the group, because she can’t hear properly and she missed the intro to his song. She’s not looking at him, but she’s shaking. If she can’t hear, then how does she know what he’s saying? Maybe she doesn’t need to. Maybe she knows that she did something wrong and is getting punished for it.
I’m fascinated, though.
She can’t hear, but she’s in a band?
I find myself moving in her direction, Susan is yelling in my ear that I’m on in five, people are trying to grab me and pull me back, the roaring crowd on the other side of the stage are like rolls of thunder ripping through these back rooms, yet I can only focus on the girl. There is something about her, something that fascinates me, yet I’m not entirely sure what it is.
When I reach them, the man yelling at her stops, his eyes go wide, and he stammers, “Scarlett. Wow. I ... wow.”
I don’t focus on him, I just look at her. “Can she hear me?”
He looks to me, blinks, and then glances at the girl, who still has her head low. “She can hear, but it’s not the best. Very minor.”
I reach over and tap her shoulder, and her head jerks up. I stare at the beauty that hits me. She is, without a doubt, one of the most stunning girls I’ve ever seen in my life. Sky-blue eyes set in milky porcelain skin. A soft face, rosy cheeks, delicate features, big beautiful lips. Her eyes are framed with dark lashes that match her raven-black hair that’s thick and stunning. She’s only little, petite and tiny, but she packs a punch that nearly knocks you off your feet.
Her lips part, and her mouth drops open as she stares at me.
“Hi,” I say, and her eyes drop to my lips.
“She can lip read if she struggles to catch what you’re saying,” the man mutters.
“I’m Scarlett,” I tell her.
She nods and says in a soft tone, so soft it’s hard to hear, “I know.”
Her voice is slightly off-pitch, but it’s soft, like honey. It’s the softest voice I’ve ever heard.
“Scarlett!” Susan barks. “You’re on, right now.”
I ignore her, which is something I never do.
“Are you okay?” I ask the girl. “What’s your name?”
She looks to the man, then back to me. “Amalie.”
She pronounces it “Am-A-Lee.” It’s a beautiful name. It suits her.
“You’re in this band?”
She nods but then quickly shakes her head.
“We can’t have her on anymore,” the man explains, cutting in. “It’s not her fault she can’t hear that well, but she missed the intro and threw out our whole set.”
I ignore him. “What do you play?”
Amalie is looking at me again, her eyes moving back and forth between me and the man, reading our lips to follow the conversation. She raises her hand to sign at me, but then lowers them, and says, “Piano.”
She can play the piano, even though she can’t hear well? I’m fascinated. Completely blown away. That’s incredible. I need to see it. I need to watch her do that.
“Scarlett!” Susan screeches.
I flinch and say, “I want to watch you play, after my set. Please don’t leave.”
Amalie looks at me, then to the man, then back to me.
“It isn’t up to him, it’s up to me. Will you wait?”
She nods.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I put a hand up, cutting him off. “It’s not up to you, she doesn’t belong to your band anymore. Now, I have to be on stage.”
I glance at Amalie once more and mouth, “Wait for me.”
She nods.
I turn and make my way to the stage, walking right past a fuming Susan and out into the bright lights and the screaming crowd. I stride over to my microphone, pick it up and yell, “Good evening, Los Angeles!”
They go crazy, screaming and cheering, bellowing my name. I can feel the pounding of their words and their screams in my heart. It starts beating harder, faster, as my band begins to play my first song.
“Are y’all ready for an incredible show?” I call out to them.
They get louder.
I start singing, and my eyes zone in on a man standing in the front row, right over to the left of the stage.