Walk Like an Egyptian

  Me (singing): “All the old paintings on the tombs, they do the sand dance, don’t you know…”

  I stood singing in the middle of Logan’s garage, the sound of my voice barely discernable as the band echoed off the concrete walls. I gnced at Logan, hoping for approval, but his expression was unreadable—my second try, and I still wasn’t getting it right.

  Me (continuing to sing): “If they move too quick…”

  Kyle and Scott: “Oh whey oh…”

  “Okay, hold up,” Logan said, raising a hand; the faint hum of an old space heater buzzed in the corner, barely cutting through the damp cold. Logan’s eyes narrowed, locking onto mine, and I braced myself. Here it comes, I thought, my stomach twisting. He’d been so excited about me singing lead on this iconic Bangles tune, but now I was letting him down. Oh please, can I just crawl under a rock and die? Why can’t I do this?

  Just as Logan was about to speak, the side door opened as Jeannie slipped inside, her arms den with cokes and snacks. A gust of chilly wind came with her, and I felt goosebumps rise on the bare legs under my short pid skirt. Jeannie looked puzzled as she unceremoniously dropped her haul onto the rusty card table. It was rarely this quiet in the garage—even when we weren’t pying, there would be multiple conversations going at once.

  Finally, having chosen his words, Logan spoke. “Dani, your singing—it’s good. It’s… pretty,” he shrugged. Then he frowned, “But listen, Scott’s gonna be drivin’ that bass line hard, and Kyle’ll be waking the dead hitting that hi-hat about a hundred times a second. If you don’t belt it out hard, it’s just gonna get lost.” He paused, his gaze steady. “You gotta give it a hundred percent. No blending in—you’re the star on this one. Got it?”

  I looked down at my red sneakers, tugging at the pleats of my skirt as though the answer I needed was written there, hidden inside the folds. I shifted my weight—Logan never raised his voice to me—he didn’t have to—my cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

  Was it really only a half-hour ago that I strode so confidently down the block from Jeannie’s home to Logan’s garage? Jeannie’s makeover had been magical in my eyes. My hair, makeup, clothes—all to a new level. I imagined the guys gushing over how pretty I looked. Surely today Logan would see me as Daniele. But when I’d arrived, Logan had barely looked up, muttering something about the setlist without a single word about my outfit. To be fair, Kyle had said, “You look really nice,” his voice quiet but kind, but I’d expected so much more. Stupidly, I’d imagined that all I had to do was show up and be gorgeous, and the rest would take care of itself. Real life isn’t a Disney movie, Cinderel, I thought.

  I was used to singing backup, blending in, not standing out—story of my life, really. But now I needed to. The band needed me to. All of this ran through my mind in the heartbeat before I answered Logan, my voice barely a whisper. “I get it. I’ll try. I’ll get it this time.”

  “You got this, Dani,” Kyle said from behind me, his drumsticks tapping lightly against his knee, a steady rhythm that grounded me.

  “Yeah ya do, Dani,” Scott added, his bass guitar resting against his shoulder.

  Jeannie leaned forward in her chair, her eyes bright with encouragement. “You’re a rock star, Dani! You’re gonna kill it!”

  I looked around, taking in their faces, all of my favorite people in the world. I can do this! I told myself, closing my eyes for a moment. I pictured myself on stage—not as shy and quiet Dani—no, I pictured Pat Benatar, Susanna Hoffs, Debbie Harry—all of them tiny, but powerful—owning the mic and the spotlight from the moment they stepped on the stage. That’s who I needed to be—who I would be. I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease, my hands steadying on the mic stand.

  We started again, as Scott’s bass line led us out, thumping through the garage. I let the rhythm move me. Then I opened my mouth and just went for it. “All the old paintings…” My voice rang out, stronger this time, filling the space. By the time I hit “…all the bazaar men by the Nile, they got the money on a bet…”, I caught Logan nodding out of the corner of my eye, a faint smile tugging at his lips. I couldn’t help it—I swayed my hips, letting the skirt swish against my thighs, a grin spreading across my face that I couldn’t contain.

  “Foreign types with the hookah pipes say…”

  Band: “Whey oh, whey oh, ay oh whey oh—”

  Me: “Walk like an Egyptian.” (repeat)

  During the interlude that followed, stepped and moved to the beat, maintaining the energy. Look out, boys, this chick can rock! I thought, ughing to myself. By the end of the three-minute run-through, the garage erupted with cheers. “Crushed it!” Kyle shouted, banging his drumsticks together. “Really good!” Scott added, giving me a thumbs-up. Jeannie cpped, her smile wide. “That’s my girl!” she called, her voice full of pride.

  But as always, I waited for Logan’s verdict—it was all that mattered to me in that moment. He crossed his arms, his expression softening, and nodded. “That was good. Much better. This is gonna work.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, my heart soaring. I did it, I thought, a rush of joy flooding through me. When I looked back on it ter, that was the first day I really forgot about being “Danny in a skirt” and really felt like “Daniele.” Because Daniele is somebody. She’s a singer in a kick-ass band. And I liked that person—that person I was becoming. The person that I wanted to be all the time.

  We went over the song a few more times. And Logan wouldn’t be Logan if he didn’t have a hundred things he wanted to improve both with himself and the band. But for once, I wasn’t the problem—the weak link. I was contributing like everyone else, and it felt good.

  We were going on our st run-through when the side door opened again. This time the wind blew hard enough to cause napkins, chip bags, and papers to scatter. My legs, face, and arms once again felt the shock of the cold air. A storm is coming for sure! I thought briefly, but kept on singing. A tall guy, as tall as Logan, with messy reddish hair came in. Logan’s quick nod at him indicated that he was expected. As we finished the song, he pulled a chair up and sat next to Jeannie.

  “That’s a wrap, guys! Good practice today.” And then, I swear to God, Logan looked at me and smiled. It was just a moment, but it was like nuclear fusion igniting inside me. And then, just as quickly, it ended. He strode over to the stranger.

  “Hey Dani, it’s getting pretty nasty out there—would you like a lift home?” I turned around and saw Kyle smiling. “Um… if it’s not too much trouble? Yes, thank you!” I said, grateful for his kindness, my heart still glowing from the day’s victory. As we moved toward the door, I turned back, curious about the stranger speaking with Logan. For a moment, his eyes caught mine, until the door opened, and the cold wind chilled me to the bone.