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I take a deep breath as happy, squealing jumping jacks bounce around my insides. My foot taps in a nervous tick, and I’m tempted to dance around in an attempt to shake it off.
Alyssa squeezes my arm, stilling my foot. “Oh gosh, Jackie, can you believe this? We’re actually performing near the Santa Monica pier.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s nuts.”
And it is. We only formed Trumpethead, our humble ska band a month ago. Who knew we’d win our school’s battle of the bands and end up here?
“Get out your trumpet,” Gracie says. “It’s almost time.”
The three of us make quite the trio. Gracie with her long red hair, powerhouse rock voice, and killer guitar skills, Alyssa with her gorgeous tan skin, short black hair, and sick drum playing, and me with my wavy dark hair, dark eyes, and a trumpet.
There was a time when I wanted to quit my instrument and do theater instead, but now I’m grateful Mom didn’t let me. I still get stage time, and it’s doing something I’m really confident in.
“Please welcome Trumpethead!” an announcer says as the curtain opens.
Gracie raises both her arms giving the crowd the rock-on symbol. “Are you ready to jam?” she says into the microphone.
A few people clap, but the excitement isn’t high. It’s okay though. We knew we’d have to warm up the audience a little. I’m still pinching myself over playing in this little dive restaurant on the beach, with the Santa Monica pier in the background. It’s like a dream come true.
“We call this song,” Gracie continues, “‘Lunch Tables.’”
I wet my lips and set the trumpet to my mouth, buzzing to make vibrations to start the song. We chose this one first because it’s one of our more upbeat tunes, and it usually gets people nodding their heads.
“She said to me,” Gracie sings, “you can’t sit here. I said to her, you can’t sit on the moon.”
A few people from the audience smile at our wacky lyrics. I happened to come up with that line, and I’m pretty dang proud of it.
Most people have been chatting and enjoying their coffee rather than looking at us, but now a few heads turn our direction, and I even see someone bouncing to the beat.
The second “Lunch Tables” finishes we start into our second song, “Hairbrush .” It’s about a girl who likes to sing into her hairbrush and ends up standing on a stage at the end.
All of our songs are about our life story in one way or another. That’s the awesome thing about ska. It doesn’t have to be poetic, but it does need to be real.
There’s actual applause after the second song, and I search the smiling faces. My eyes widen as I lock eyes with one person standing in the back. It can’t be. There’s no way.
“Jax?” I mouth, hardly believing what I’m seeing. But it’s him. It has to be. I’d know him anywhere.
He still looks like a celebrity. He no longer has dyed hair or makeup, but all of that simply enhanced his attractiveness. It wasn’t the thing that made him attractive to begin with. His personality is what won me over.
He drops his head, covering his face with his hand.
“Jax!” I say louder, waving.
He looks around him like he’s hoping I’m calling to someone else. Or maybe I have the wrong person. After all, no one has seen Jax in a year.
If it’s really Jax, I need to get to him, need to know what happened. He’s the only reason I’d screw up this show.
I take the microphone in one hand, pointing his direction with my other hand. I don’t care if I’m rude. I’ll go crazy if I let this go. “Jax, is that you?”
And that’s when I know. It’s him. It has to be, because who else would run? I set down my trumpet and leap off the stage, chasing him.
There are so many tables, chairs, and people that slow me down, but I’m not paying attention to them. I push and thrash and pump my legs to catch up.
“Jax, please wait,” I yell as I make it out the door of the restaurant and to the beach.
My breath heaves in my chest as I look both left and right searching for him. At first I see nothing, but when I walk around to the side of the building, he’s plastered against the wall.
“I just want to talk,” I say, my voice low, but he takes off into the sand.
I pump my legs to try and keep up with him, but dang he’s fast.
He jumps straight into the traffic when he reaches the road, and a few cars slam on their brakes and honk their horns.
“Please,” I scream into the air. I’m not going to catch him, but I’m still not willing to give up.
He stops at my plea, and the traffic resumes. I’m too chicken to cross the way he did, so we stare at each other from a distance.
I have a feeling if I try to reach him again, he’ll run and be lost forever. So I use my voice once more.
“Are you okay?” I shout. “Are you healthy?”
“I’m fine,” he shouts back. “Don’t look for me.”
And with that, he takes off again.
I crumple onto the sidewalk, tears streaming down my face. Thank goodness he’s alive and well. After he disappeared from Korea, I spent many sleepless nights worrying I’d never see him perform again, and it’s miraculous to spot him this once.
“Jackie?” Gracie says, coming to my side. “What happened? Why did you leave?”
Alyssa crouches down, putting a hand on my back. “Was that really Jax?”
I nod, not able to pull myself together enough to say anything. She’s the one who knows the whole story, about the Kpop boy-band Take5 and what happened when Jax disappeared. I didn’t meet Gracie until later.
Alyssa shifts so her arm is around me and I lay my head on her shoulder. “That must hurt,” she says, and I nuzzle into her embrace, letting the tears flow.
“Will one of you please tell me what’s going on?” Gracie asks, taking a seat on the other side of me.
“You of all people,” Alyssa says gently, “know how important music is.”
Gracie’s voice goes somber. “I do.”
“Now I want you to imagine,” Alyssa continues, “that you’ve had one group you’ve loved for years, and they’re ripped from you suddenly, and without explanation.”
Gracie lowers her head. “I can imagine it.”
“That’s what happened to Jackie one year ago. She loved Take5 since she was twelve, and for three years they were her everything. That guy, Jax, disappeared into thin air and Take 5 was no more.”
“And,” I finally pop in, the leftover tears still heavy in my throat. “Despite his agency in Korea looking for him, no one could figure out where he’d gone. I didn’t know if he was sick or hurt or if he’d just wanted to start a new life. There were even times I thought he was dead.”
Gracie joins in on the group hug, and now my two best friends have their heads on my shoulders.
“I’m so sorry,” Gracie says, and it gives me the strength I need to push forward. My heart is broken, but at least I can go on knowing Jax is out there somewhere.
The Gig