Sisters in Sanity Read Online Free PDF Page B

compliment.
    Learning to play had been one of my Stepmonster-avoidance strategies. When she and Dad got married, she quit her job, so she was home all the time, redecorating the kitchen, talking on the phone to her sister in Chicago, making me feel like I no longer belonged there. So I did my best not to be there. I lingered after school. Spent hours nursing coffees at a greasy-spoon restaurant. Then one weekend I picked up a secondhand electric guitar and amplifier at a yard sale. I holed up in the basement, learning to play from a book, trying not to remember the days when I would’ve had twenty musicians lining up to teach me.
    I’d been playing all of five months when I saw the notice at the X-Ray Cafe: PUNK-POP POWER TRIO SEEKS RHYTHM GUITAR PLAYER. Considering my lack of experience, I was pretty nervous when I arrived at Jed’s house to try out, and when I first laid eyes on him, my nerves turned to full-on jitters. Jed was tall and lanky with adorably sloppy brown hair that curled over the nape of his neck. His eyes were green, with a glint of warm brown in the middle. I’d been around cute rock guys all the time at CoffeeNation, but something about Jed totally flustered me. I turnedaway from him and busied myself plugging my guitar into my amp, but I was so distracted that I didn’t notice the amp was turned way up. Then I heard the feedback loop bouncing against the walls.
    “Yow!” screamed Denise. She had bleached blond hair and eyes that dared you to mess with her.
    “Cool,” Erik shouted. “I think she dislodged some earwax.”
    The feedback was still blaring. “Do you want to turn that down?” Jed shouted. I continued to stand there like a moron. Jed had to click off the amp himself. “I think we’ve established that you can make some good feedback,” he said.
    “Yep,” I said, snapping out of my haze. “I was practically raised on the Velvet Underground, so it’s in my blood.”
    Jed smiled at that. “Okay. Let’s hear how you play. We’re going to do ‘Badlands.’ It’s pretty basic. GCD. Listen and fall in when you’re ready.”
    At first I was hesitant to jump in, and when I finally did I sort of tripped over myself for a few chords. But then the weirdest thing happened. I relaxed, and something clicked. I may have been the worst guitar player inPortland at that point, but with Clod, I rocked.
    Jed called me a few days later to tell me I was in. “Boy, you must have had some crappy candidates,” I joked.
    Jed chuckled. Even through the phone his laugh was warm and rumbly. “No. We had some very talented musicians. But four people playing instruments perfectly doesn’t necessarily translate into a good band,” he said. “I dunno. We all liked your vibe. And you were definitely the best at distortion.”
    “Thanks. I’ve been working on that,” I said, and Jed laughed again. “While we’re sharing, I should probably tell you that I can’t play bar chords.”
    I heard him sigh, but he didn’t waver. “We’ll want to work on that,” he said. “Bar chords can be important.”
    As soon as I started playing with Clod, it was like I’d always been in the band—even with my deficiencies, which Jed helped me to overcome. After practice, Denise and Erik would go upstairs for a bagel or a beer while Jed stayed behind, going over whatever parts of the songs I was having trouble with. Sometimes he’d lean over me to position my hand onthe fretboard, and I could feel the hair on his arm tickling mine. It was pretty much impossible to keep my mind on the music.
    I practiced every day until my fingertips turned first raw and then hard like leather. I got better, a lot better, fast. When I mastered bar chords, Jed did this little absentminded nod and smile. And then he insisted I start working on vocals.
    “I can’t sing,” I told him.
    “Yes you can.”
    “No, really. I can’t.”
    “Brit, I should let you in on a secret,” Jed said. “You are always singing. Songs. TV