Chapter 5

5

P eter waited backstage, a few days later, with his brothers. Despite the sound of the excited crowd, his mind wandered to his afternoon with Libby. He loved the time they spent together at Parfrey's Glen and hoped she'd be there Saturday. He didn't know why he felt this way; maybe because she didn't care who he was. But she didn't really know who he was, either.

The thought made him smile. It also might be that Libby was his friend and no one else's. She had nothing to do with the band, the new album, or the tour.

"Hello, Earth to Peter." Garrett interrupted his thoughts. "You want to get your head in the game here?"

"What?" Peter scowled.

"You might want your earpiece."

Peter reached for his sound pack and found it absent. "Aw, man. I'll be right back." He rushed offstage to get it and was met halfway by a panicked sound tech who quickly hooked him up.

"You've got it bad, man!" Garrett yelled after him. "Real bad!"

Once back in place and ready, Peter waited for their intro. The crowd in the arena went wild. The combined energy built to epic levels. The backup band was positioned at the rear of the stage. Garrett waited stage left, bass guitar in hand. Adam mirrored him on stage right, with Peter anchored in the center. His blood rushed in anticipation as their moment grew near. God, he loved this.

The music built in a huge crescendo, spotlights roamed the arena, and fog rolled onto the stage. The trio of brothers nodded to one another, in sync and ready to rock.

Adam went first, a spotlight illuminating him; he grinned and hit the opening chord; the crowd went into a frenzy. Moments later, Garrett appeared, guitar in hand. The audience cheered as he joined Adam in musical power. Finally, Peter stepped into the lights, and the crowd went ballistic.

Peter loved this part of the night. After a long afternoon of rehearsal, sound checks, and final warm-ups, it was time for the payoff. He gave his signature welcome to the audience, nodding in several directions, each time eliciting more cheers.

He stepped up to his mic stand and held it in anticipation. His body pulsed to the beat as he waited for his entrance. He gazed out over the vast crowd, filled with confidence and power .

The audience rocked to the music. Eager and excited, they became putty in his hands. The moment came. The guitars hit his key, the drum and cymbals crashed, and the lights exploded in color. In that same instant, Peter swung the mic stand and nailed his opening note, his body taut with strength and energy. His pure voice rose above the instruments; his lyrics hit the back wall. He owned the stage. All eyes were on him. The night was young, and he was ready to rock.

Song after song, the three moved with a synchronicity only possible among brothers. They worked off each other's signals, and moved from individual highlights and solos to unison movement. At times, they delivered their carefully crafted harmonies, singing together at one mic, their heads inches apart. They exchanged silent communication. When they were onstage, they displayed complete and utter harmony of movement, thought, and talent. They hummed with energy.

While Garrett and Adam awed with their expert guitar stylings, Peter ramped things up with stage moves, mic tricks, and vocals. He mesmerized the audience.

Perspiration glistened over his body. His mop of hair dripped with sweat. He whipped it to the side as he belted each note. He left every ounce of energy onstage; he held nothing back and the audience knew it. Peter peered out over the thousands of fans and watched as the lights illuminated different areas of the audience that the three brothers, Jamieson, held in a spell. The experience of sharing the music he created never failed to intoxicate him.

That Friday, Libby sank low in her folding chair and buried her head in a copy of The Great Gatsby. At least the book helped her appear a little less obvious as she sold tickets among the riotous noise of the commons area.

True to her word, Miss Orman expected her to sell bus tickets to the away football game that night. Some cheerleader should be stuck at the table, not her.

She'd sold a dozen or so tickets, but most of the students ignored her. Libby had become invisible to them months earlier. Of course, she didn't help the situation any by trying to fit in.

When she started school in Rockville, her heart overflowed with grief and thoughts of her mom and her sister, Sarah. Her withdrawn personality mistakenly convinced the kids she was a loner, but even the loners had found her eerily withdrawn. Libby's only problem was that she suffered terrible grief. But everything changed the day Peter walked into her life. Now all she could concentrate on was him and how unbelievable it was that he actually wanted to see her again.

Since checking Peter out on the internet, she'd thought of nothing else. When they talked at Parfrey's Glen, she thought he'd exaggerated the popularity of their band. In reality, he'd understated it .

She couldn't imagine why he asked to see her on Saturday, but she wasn't going to second-guess his sanity. She could barely wait to lay eyes on him again and make sure she didn't dream up the whole thing. The hour crept by so slowly, she wanted to scream.

If only she could figure out a way to get his music, then she could hear his voice and pretend he was near. She needed a connection to Peter, some way to get a little closer. But she had no money and no phone or way to download music. If she could just get her hands on a CD. It was old school, but it was all she could think of. But there was no way to go to a store outside of school hours, let alone pay for it.

Aunt Marge insisted Libby spend all her time studying or outside in the fresh air. She was paranoid Libby might do something remotely normal like get a job, have friends over, or, God forbid, go on a date. Libby suspected her aunt possessed other motives, but it never bothered her until now. She was used to her aunt's bizarre and strict behavior. Libby had never questioned her authority; she always gave in.

A group of freshman girls walked up and bought tickets.

"Thanks," their chirpy little voices said. "Yup," Libby mumbled as they walked away.

Libby picked up the crinkled bills and smoothed them. Out of boredom she arranged them in the same direction. As she flipped the bills around, it dawned on her that she held enough money to buy Peter's CD. Her heart stopped for a moment.

Stealing is wrong.

She placed the bills in the metal cash box and closed it.

She would not do it. She'd find another way.

Her determination wavered. The money would solve her problem so fast. No one would miss a few dollars. In the grand scheme of things, seventeen dollars was nothing.

Never in her life had Libby taken anything from anyone, but this was different. Her aunt only gave her enough money for lunch, nothing more. If Libby needed clothing, her aunt drove her to the thrift store to pick out a couple items. It humiliated Libby to buy other people's castoffs, but she wasn't allowed to get a job, and she didn't have access to money. Now that she thought about it, she realized how much Aunt Marge controlled her life and she didn't like the taste of it. Not at all.

The only way she could get Peter's music was to be creative. Taking this money qualified.

She peered around the crowded commons area. No one seemed to notice her or the tempting cash box. She chewed on her lip and tapped her toe against the table leg. After a minute or so, she reached forward and opened the lid. Her pulse raced. She grabbed a couple five-dollar bills and a handful of ones.

She pulled her hand out, folded the bills, and slid them into her back pocket. She kept her head down. If she didn't look at anyone, they wouldn't look at her. She sat tapping her foot back and forth, counting the final minutes until the bell. At last it rang and her ticket-selling session ended.

Libby grabbed her books and the cash box and walked to the front office. She quickly dropped off the box with the old secretary and left, her head held low in shame. The stolen money burned in her back pocket like a hot coal.

Without hesitating, she went straight to her locker, stuffed her books inside, and grabbed her coat. She swallowed down her guilt. She would not let her conscience get in the way. As the remaining students straggled to their next class, Libby strode out the school doors.