The Hush Society Presents... by Izzy Matias (best desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

There’s this warmth in my chest—a pull I haven’t felt since Elliot and Lewis cut the cord. I’m itching to put myself out there.

I slither through the crowd and make my way to the stage. The spotlight exudes this brilliant, hypnotic light. Even the single, archaic wooden stool on stage has more charm than age. I grab the battle-scarred, steel-stringed acoustic guitar hidden in the shadow of the spotlight and lean against the only remaining amplifier on stage to tune it.

After I’ve tuned the guitar, I close my eyes and tap into the buzzing energy around me. I let the pulsating energy throttle me forward. It sends enough waves of courage for me to set aside my doubts and remember the magical, addicting high nine-year-old me first fell in love with.

I step into the shimmering light and sit on the stool, but don’t dare tap on the microphone to introduce myself. I allow the natural progression of the music take its course.

My fingers strum a simple progression of major chords. I’ve garnered a couple of stares and looks of interest; the conversational hum quiets down.

I jazz up my piece and ad-lib a guitar solo before I return to the simple chord progression. I make this instrumental piece into a medley of a song that I never got to share with Lewis. Since I have no one else but myself on stage, I lean in closer to the microphone and begin to sing.

There’s a slight tremor in my voice as I sing the first verse. I ain’t no singer, but somehow, in this moment, I am compelled to try something I’ve never done before. I glance at the crowd. When I notice some of their vibrant, focused faces, I’m reminded that this is The Hush Society community.

The sinister voice that could cause a potential meltdown is nowhere to be found. I enter the pre-chorus, strengthening my vocal timbre, and close my eyes. And up there, on that makeshift stage, surrounded by likeminded mates—new and old—I make a decision.

I’m not going to Uni.

Music is the life I choose.

#

"Two pints coming through!" Cassie approaches our booth.

I stand up to meet her. As I take the pints from her, one of the lads who performed earlier cuts in front of me.

"Cassie," he says, ignoring me. "I was looking all over for you."

"Ben, this is Cameron," Cassie introduces us. I say hello. Ben nods, but faces her again. Huh. Can’t he see he’s interrupting us?

"Thank you again for choosing us to be part of the line-up. It’s an opportunity like no other." I try to remember which band he’s from and what he plays.

"Of course. Ella’s got a great radar for good music," she says, but shifts her weight from one leg to another. Right when I think I’ve identified him as the drummer, he speaks up again.

"I was wondering if I could, you know, treat you to a meal. As a way of saying thanks."

I almost scoff. Really? This lad’s timing is way off. Unless he’s trying to intimidate me. He could have asked her whilst she was alone.

My hands are cold and wet from the pints I’m carrying. "Uh, I’ll go get us a table," I say. It’s too weird to be around when he’s clearly chatting her up.

"All right. I’ll be there in a few." She half-smiles.

I turn towards the table, still within earshot of their conversation.

"That’s really nice of you, Ben, but I’ll pass. Thank you. Really."

Ouf. I almost feel sorry for Ben, but I can’t help but smile as I walk towards a vacant table. Twice today, she’s refused to go on dates. Why is that? She’s single, isn’t she? She hasn’t said anything about a boyfriend, so…

"Okay shoot," she says, as she’s sat across the booth and takes a sip from her pint. She unbraids her purple tinted hair; it’s a tad unruly, and my eyes widen. I don't say anything about Ben. Neither does she.

"Pour out your sorrows on me," she says.

"Can we defer them to another time? I’m too happy to talk about unhappy things. Let’s chat about how awesome tonight was!" I beam and almost put my hand on top of hers. I still can’t believe she managed to get Callum Ford here.

She laughs.

"And now we’re on the subject," I say, "how on earth did Callum Ford get involved? I know his side of the story, but I want to know yours."

"He was the one who actually reached out. Can you believe it? Dan knows someone who knows The Gramophones personally and told them about it."

"Wow," I say.

"I know!" This time she squeals, but immediately covers her mouth. Her eyes dart from left to right, checking to see if anyone noticed her outburst.

"You are allowed to go bonkers if a member of one of your favourite bands is promoting your passion project."

"I am freaking out on the inside, but I need to show professionalism right now," she whispers, glances to where Callum is—at a booth near the stage—then lets out another low squeal.

"You’re so cute," I blurt out.

She gives me this odd look, but laughs it off.

I raise my bottle—a toast to this moment—and she clinks hers against mine, giggling.

"Organising gigs is not exactly related to art," I say, putting down my drink and leaning in closer. "How did you get into it?"

She runs both hands on her hair and shakes it. "I always thought you had to be someone who loved order and structure—two skills I do not possess by the way—to pull off things like these. But I’ve always toyed with the idea of secret gigs, ever since I heard about them through The Gramophones." She has a far-away look in her eyes, like she’s recollecting a specific memory.

"What made you take that leap?" I ask, sipping my drink.

"I love the chaos that comes with planning… even if it drives me mad at times. It’s like art." Her hands animate in different shapes and movements. "There are