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  “Aiden,” my father said my name slowly. “You are not living up to your full potential. I want you to be more than just good. You can be a great football player if you just focus on that and not your little hobby.”

  “I don’t want to be a great football player,” I grumbled.

  “Oh really?” My dad raised his eyebrows at me.

  His face was getting redder by the second but there’s nothing I could do about that. I can’t sit here and let him think that I want to live his dream.

  “And just what would you like to do with your life, Aiden?” he asked sarcastically. “Play in a band? Become a rock star?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I snapped.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Dad yelled so loudly that my mom looked up from her grocery list.

  “Doug,” she said, “calm down. He’s a teenage boy. He’s just going through a phase. He’ll come around.”

  “Dina, stay out of this!” He turned to me. “Your rock star fantasy crap is getting on my nerves, Aiden! You will be at football camp this summer. I’m not going to sit back and let you change all of the plans we have for you just because I gave you a guitar! This “phase” you’re going through ends now!”

  “But Mom already said I could go.”

  Did I just say that?

  I didn’t even mean to, especially like that. I sounded like Delilah when she whines. But my dad is not going to force me to do anything else that I don’t want to do. I had to stand up for myself.

  “I meant-”

  “I don’t care what you meant,” he screamed. “You aren’t a rock star! You are a football player, damn it! Act like one!”

  I stared at the carpet, waiting until Dad had yelled everything he wanted. He could belittle my dream all he wanted; it doesn’t change anything.

  But what if he’s right?

  What if I never get good enough to make it as a musician? I need a backup plan. Who says that my father’s vision for my life isn’t a good one? Not the football part because I do not want to play football for the rest of my life. I can go to college and figure out what I want to do from there. It’s a safe plan that definitely beats being an out of work musician who never made it.

  While my dad continued to yell about my lack of focus on the football field, in the classroom, and my general attitude towards life itself, I gritted my teeth and didn’t say a word.

  “Are you even listening to me, Aiden?”

  I finally looked up from the floor and met my dad’s piercing green eyes.

  “Yes sir,” I answered in the most sincere voice I could muster up.

  “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Umm,” I paused. “I hear what you’re saying. I get it. I’m not backing out of the plan. All I want to do is go to the beach with Paulie this summer.”

  My father looked surprised. I guess he was expecting me to rebel against his wishes.

  “Doug,” my mom interjected. “Would it be okay if he went with Paulie for a couple of weeks? He’ll be back in time for football camp. Would that work for you, Aiden?” she asked me.

  “Why are you asking him?” my father barked. “He’s just a kid. He makes no decisions in this house.”

  “Maybe because it’s my summer vacation,” I yelled, finding my voice through my mother’s courage to speak up. “Maybe it’s because she actually cares about what I want!”

  “Don’t you raise your voice at me, boy,” my father growled.

  “Whatever.”

  I rose from my spot on the floor and faced my father. We stared at each other; our identical green eyes reflected the same look of defiance. He wasn’t as intimidating as we glared at each other, like two prize fighters before a showdown. I’ve never stood up to my father before. I know he’s expecting me to back down. I can’t. We’re talking about my life, not his. My life.

  He no longer has a say in what I do, what I wear, how I comb or don’t comb my hair. He no longer has control over me. Standing there, staring into matching eyes, we both knew it.

  “It’s just a couple of weeks,” I said to my father. “I’ll get back before football camp starts.”

  My father grunted something at me, laced with a bunch of curse words, before I walked out of the family room and towards the garage.

  “Hey Aiden,” Delilah called. “Can I come with you?”

  “To Paulie’s?” I stopped in the hallway. “I’m not going anywhere special.”

  “I just want to hear you guys play.”

  “Sure, come on.”

  “You’re not taking Dee-Dee?” she asked.

  “Nope. Eric has a super sweet Strat that I’ve been playing. I really like it.” I opened the passenger side door of my car and Delilah got in.

  My car.

  After I started taking guitar lessons, I knew that my father wasn’t ever going to buy me a car. He’d said so after he caught me ditching a Saturday workout to check out a band across town.

  Then Kevin’s dad bought him a car.

  And Jordan got a new car for his birthday.

  Doug Tyler had no choice but to buy me the black Firebird I’d been drooling over. He couldn’t be outdone by his golf buddies.

  My mother was still against me getting a car. She said I was too irresponsible and hadn’t done anything to earn it. But Dad never listens to her. He just tells her what he’s going to do.

  “Boys from prominent families get cars when they get their license, Dina,” is what he told her and that was that. I got a new Firebird.

  My car symbolizes everything that I’ve grown to hate in this stupid sheltered little town. I don’t want to keep up with the Jones’. I am going to be a trendsetter. My parents are cramping my style.

  ****

  A week later, Eric’s Chevy Blazer rolled to a stop in front of a quaint cottage style house that sat fifty yards away from the beach.

  “Welcome to Tybee Island,” Eric said. “Our home away from home.”

  “Cool, I muttered. My eyes were focused on the two blondes walking past the house wearing shorts and bikini tops.

  Oh yeah! This is going to be an awesome summer!

  “Aiden, grab your guitar,” Paulie demanded as he hopped out of the truck. “I want to show you this great spot on the beach where we can practice.”

  I glanced at Eric, waiting for him to tell us to unload the car first. My dad would have stopped us right in our tracks.

  “Go ahead,” Eric urged. “I’ll come by later.”

  I grabbed my acoustic guitar, a loaner from Paulie, and followed him behind the house down a stony path to the beach.

  “This place is perfect,” Paulie said over his shoulder. “Wait ‘til you see how many chicks come over to listen to us play.”

  That’s what I’m talking about! Cute chicks in bikinis with bouncy boobs listening to me play. That’s what summer is all about.

  Not football camp.

  Chapter 5

  “Hey, Aiden, look at this!” Paulie thrust a blue piece of paper into my hand while I was standing on the pier talking to a cute blonde from Atlanta.

  I glanced down at the paper. Amy leaned over and peered at it as well.

  “Tybee Island Blues Festival,” she read out loud. I was barely paying attention as I stared at Amy’s perfectly tanned breasts that were practically falling out of her electric blue bikini top

  “Tybee Island’s never had a Blues Festival before,” Paulie mumbled. He, too, was slightly distracted by Amy’s huge boobs.

  “It says,” she continued to read, “that Joey Clausen is going to be here! Oh my God, I love him!”

  “Who the hell is Joey Clausen?” I asked. Both Paulie and I stopped staring at her boobs and stared at her. We’ve never heard of a “Joey Clausen” and we are well schooled in the “Who’s Who” of blues artists. It’s our favorite genre.

  “He’s from Atlanta,” Amy explained. “He’s really good. I’ve have all of his CDs.”

  Paulie took the
paper out of Amy’s hand and started to read the lineup, naming many of our favorite bands.

  “Aiden, we’ve got to go to this thing!”

  “It’s next weekend,” Amy said. “I thought you were leaving in a couple of days.”

  I was supposed to be home a week ago. I’ve done everything possible to avoid the phone call from my parents telling me that it’s time to come home, but I think I’ve pushed my luck long enough. My father left a message the other day that he was sending me a one way ticket home. I leave in two days. I gritted my teeth and cursed my parents, my high school, and its useless summer football camp.

  “Oh man, you can’t miss this,” Paulie griped. “How often are we gonna get a chance to see these bands perform before we turn twenty-one? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

  As soon as I saw the lineup on that paper, I already knew that there’s no way I’m getting on a plane Wednesday. Dad will be pissed but I’ll deal with that when I get home.

  “You guys like blues music?” Amy asked.

  “We love the blues,” I corrected her. Then I flashed a friendly smile that made her blush.

  “We like blue everything,” I added while I trailed my finger along the curve of her bikini bottom.

  She blushed bright pink and fidgeted a little, but she didn’t swipe my hand away from her backside.

  “Do you play?” she asked.

  “Yeah, we play.”

  “Wow!” she gushed. “Are you any good?”

  “You should come here us,” Paulie suggested. “We usually play at night.”

  “That would be so cool,” she gushed. “Where do you play?”

  “At our house. It’s the white house on Billfish Lane. You can’t miss it. Come over tonight.”

  I grinned at my wingman. “Yeah, and bring a couple of your friends.”

  “Awesome!” Amy trilled. “Will do. I’ll see you in a few hours then.”

  We watched her walk away and burst out laughing.

  “You are so gonna get laid,” Paulie laughed.

  “We both are.” I laughed too. “Our first groupies.”

  Paulie stopped walking and looked up at the sky. He folded his hands as if he was praying.

  “Dear Lord, please keep the groupies coming.”

  “AMEN!” we said together. A couple of people gave us funny looks but we didn’t care.

  We practically ran back to the house to get Aaron and tell him about the festival and the groupies. This really is turning out to be the best summer EVER!

  ****

  “Boys, come on! I thought you didn’t want to miss the opening act!”

  “Dad, chill!” Paulie yelled from his bedroom window. He was scrambling into his clothes or trying to get his date back into hers. I was doing the same thing in the living room.

  Gravel crunched as Eric made his way up the drive, just as Paulie’s bedroom door swung open and Jessica slipped out sheepishly, holding her bikini top up. Amy grinned at her friend.

  “Go out the back door,” I told them. I grabbed Paulie’s guitar case, along with mine, and ducked out of the front door, meeting Eric on the front steps.

  “Hey! Can you put these in the car while I grab a shirt?” I thrust the two cases in his arms and ran back into the house.

  “I know y’all are up to something,” Eric commented. I didn’t answer.

  “That was a close one,” Paulie grinned in the hallway, “but it was definitely worth it.”

  “BJ or hand job?”

  “BJ. What about you?”

  I wrinkled my face in a frown. “What do you think? This isn’t summer camp. We’re seventeen. We’re too old to be getting hand jobs from girls.”

  We laughed all the way to the car. Eric glanced at us suspiciously as we got in.

  “Next time, at least make sure the girls get home okay,” he said casually as we pulled off. “It’s the right thing to do,” he added with a smirk.

  Paulie and I exchanged quizzical looks.

  “Umm, okay Dad.”

  We found a decent parking space and poured out of the car, excited beyond words. Paulie and I were excited like puppies that had been locked in a crate all day.

  As we walked, I noticed that there weren’t many people carrying instruments. The radio said there was going to be a jam session so Paulie and I were prepared. This was an opportunity that we could not miss out on.

  As we got closer to the pier and the smooth grooves of the Lantanas greeted our ears, I nearly forgot the argument I’d gotten into with my parents over my sudden departure from the plan. They don’t understand that I have to be here. My soul is telling me that this jam session is going to be the start of something great. I don’t care what my parents say. I’ll be home tomorrow. They can yell then.

  I started grinning like a kid in a candy store when we got close enough to see the band on the stage. There weren’t any seats around the stage, just people milling around or seated on blankets in the grass. I spotted a couple of girls that Paulie and I had hooked up with over the last few weeks. They were talking to each other so I made sure to steer us far away from them. I wanted to get as close to the stage as possible anyway.

  When we were satisfied with our location, we spread our blankets out and sat down to watch the show.

  “You boys nervous about getting up there?” Eric asked. Paulie nodded but I shook my head.

  I was mesmerized by the lights and all of the equipment on the stage but not the least bit nervous. I looked over the crowd of at least three hundred people. There are a lot of people here and I know that they aren’t here to see me but I still feel like they are. Some of the people in the crowd have even heard me play and liked me.

  I wanted all of them to like me. I wanted every single person in the crowd to stop what they were doing and listen to me play. I wanted that more than I have ever wanted anything in my life.

  “You’re not nervous, Aiden?” Eric looked doubtful.

  “No. I don’t get stage fright,” I answered confidently.

  “How would you know?” Paulie laughed. “You’ve never been on a stage before.”

  “Good point,” I laughed. “I guess we’ll just have to see then.”

  As the show progressed I kept looking at my guitar case, eagerly awaiting the break in the show where I could plug Dee-Dee in to one of those amps and play with real musicians. Not that I don’t enjoy playing with Paulie but I know that his heart isn’t as into it as mine is. He plays for fun. Music is his hobby. I live and breathe my music, so it will be cool to play with people who share that same passion.

  Eventually, I unlocked my case and took Dee-Dee out from her bed of zebra print felt. My sisters had gotten the case last Christmas. They know how much I love my guitar and felt that she should have a proper case instead of the box she came in. It was very thoughtful and simply the best gift they’ve ever given me.

  The crowd went wild when Atlanta’s own, Joey Clausen, stepped onto the stage. Amy was right. This guy is pretty damn good. Paulie and I have been listening to the CDs she let us borrow for the last two days. I really like his sound.

  I caught myself strumming my guitar right along with him as he played ‘Feels Like Rain’, one of my favorite songs. I absorbed everything – his stance, his voice, the way he bent his notes. It was fascinating! Seeing him on stage gave me more confidence that I can be great just like him.

  Halfway through his set, the announcement that I’d been impatiently waiting for came over the PA system.

  “It’s that time...what we call a blues jam! I know there’s someone out there who wants to jam with us! Come to the stage, plug in, grab some sticks and let’s jam!”

  I rushed the stage like a thirteen year old girl at a New Kids on the Block concert. Paulie was right behind me.

  I picked the amp closest to Joey Clausen and plugged in Dee-Dee. I played a few cords to check that she was tuned properly. She sounded perfect.

  The bass player, a smooth looking older black man, loo
ked me up and down and started to snicker.

  “You sure you want to do this, kid?” he asked.

  “Hell yeah,” I muttered, slightly offended by his snicker.

  “This is a blues jam session,” he added as if I didn’t know. “This ain’t no Guns N Roses concert.”

  “I wouldn’t be up here if it was,” I replied shortly.

  “White boy thinks he can play the blues, huh,” he gaffed. “You must think you’re Stevie Ray or something.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “You must think that.”

  I took a few steps away from the dude. Now I was nervous. I know how I look to the all black band. After all, I am just a white boy in a Hendrix t-shirt, cargo shorts, and Nikes with no socks holding a guitar. There aren’t many of us who play the blues. Looks can be deceiving, because I can play.

  I don’t care that I look different from other Blues players. Who says that all Blues players have to be black and from the South? However, the bass player’s assumption that I’m trying to be like Stevie Ray made me feel a little apprehensive.

  I’m not trying to be like anyone. There are tons of guitarists that influence me, but I like to think that there’s a distinct difference between me and them. I got nervous...more like terrified. I could be a great blues guitarist, but what if no one accepts that style of music coming from me, a white kid from the suburbs?

  As much as I tried, I couldn’t shake that fear from the pit of my stomach. Even as the drummer kicked off a highly charged snare beat and I tapped my foot to the beat, a scary thought invaded my mind.

  I’m the only white person on this stage!

  I had to impress the musicians on stage, not the crowd! If I couldn’t make a band of professional blues players see my potential, I’ll have no future doing this.

  The bassist started the baseline of a song that I knew, Every Day I Have the Blues. I knew the song well. I practiced it daily. I smirked at him and picked up the main guitar sequence. From the other side of the stage, Paulie grinned and nodded his head at me while we played.

  The crowd cheered loudly, whistling and yelling as we broke off from the original and really started to jam. My fingers glided over my strings effortlessly, as I played. For a moment I closed my eyes and imagined that I was the headliner of the show, that the crowd was cheering for me! When I opened them, I saw that the bass player had moved closer to Joey Clausen, and that they both were watching me.