Jaded (Rock Star Trilogy) - By Mercy Amare Page 0,13

don't know...” he hesitates, but I can see that he will break easily.

“That girl, and every other girl in this school, will be falling at your feet within a month,” I promise.

“Fine.”

I can't help but feel satisfied.

3:11 pm

The real “Scarlett”.

One of the reasons why I chose Hope, Florida is because of my house. It's nothing fancy, especially compared to my home in Malibu, but it is exactly what I want. A 2 story house on the beach. On the bottom floor, the walls are basically glass, and the view of the ocean is spectacular.

At the back of my house, there is a huge stone wall that circles around the in ground pool. There is even a rock waterfall that is attached to the pool.

The best part... I know my parents won't want to visit me here. This house, as well as the town, is much too small for their taste.

I catch a ride home with Ethan, since I had rode to school with Stephan. When I get home, he is waiting for me outside. The security guys I hired are standing beside him.

“Want us to get rid of him, Miss Ryan?” one of the guys asks.

I smile, and look like I'm truly considering his question. Finally, I say, “Naw, he's with me. He's fine.”

I open the door, and Stephan follows me inside.

“My studio is in the basement,” I tell him.

He follows me down the stairs. “So, did you have fun at school?”

Absolutely not, I think, but I lie and say, “Yes. It was fine.” I smile, not offering him any more information. As soon as lunch was over, I regretted my decision to not leave with him. I would never get used to high school, or teenagers for that matter.

“Liar.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. It sucked. I'm not going to lie, high school sucks.”

“Yes, it does,” he agrees.

I switch on the light in the basement, and smile. This room, I quickly decide, will be my favorite. It will be my escape.

The walls are covered with white cloth, for better acoustics. There are a couple of small glass rooms. The first room has a pink drum set inside, and the other room has a microphone set up in it.

Huge amps, and speakers line up against the back wall, and on the wall above it hangs some of my guitars, and basses. I grab my favorite electric guitar off the wall, a cherry red Gibson Les Paul, and plug it into my Fender amp. I turn it on, letting the tube warm up, as I put the strap over my shoulder. I pull the mic stand up to meet my height, and tap the mic.

“Flip the red switch,” I tell Stephan, motioning towards the very large soundboard that has two computers set up in front of it. He does as I say, but doesn't say a word. He just watches me in amazement.

I strum the guitar, and shake my head. I haven't played this guitar since the move, and it's extremely out of tune. I turn on my guitar tuner, and begin tuning my guitar. It only takes a few seconds. I'm used to tuning it fast on stage. I then turn my amp to distortion, and turn on a drum pattern.

Then, I lose myself in my music. My hand glides up and down the familiar neck of the guitar. I'm smooth, never missing a beat, always hitting the right notes.

The song I'm playing, it's different than what I normally do. I haven't even shown this particular song to my producer because I know that he won't record it... And if he did, he would butcher it. He would take away the raw guitar, and add some computer animated shit that I hate.

My music is popular. But I don't want to be popular. I want to be good. As long as my dad is my manager, I will never be able to do what I want. And this is what I want.

Finally, I begin belting out the lyrics to my song. It's all me. Nobody helped me co-write. Hell, nobody else has even heard this song before. And as many times as I've performed in front of thousands of people, I've never been nervous, but I am right now. Maybe it's because I'm opening myself up, but I don't even care. I just play and sing. I perform like I would at a sold-out Madison Square Garden, because this is what I want. This song. This music. Me, playing... It's what I'm