Chapter 4: Living on a Prayer (Bon Jovi)

  Logan & Danny (singing): “We've gotta hold on to what we've got. It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not”

  I gnced over at Logan, and he fshed me a grin, his dark hair catching the stage lights. My heart flipped, and I smiled so hard it was difficult to sing for a line or two, but nobody minded. The chemistry was clear. The audience was all smiles, tapping their feet, mouthing the words at The Rusty Nail, the dim bar buzzing with more energy than I’d ever seen.

  Logan & Danny: We've got each other and that's a lot for love. We'll give it a shot.

  Logan & Danny: Whoa, we're halfway there.

  Entire Band: Whoa oh,

  Logan: … livin' on a prayer. Take my hand, we'll make it I swear.

  Logan & Danny: Whoa oh, livin' on a prayer…

  As Logan rocked the guitar solo, the audience cheered him on, their voices rising over the final chords. We finished the song to a wave of appuse, the energy lingering as we transitioned into the next number. Later in the set, when we unched into “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” the crowd went wild, especially the younger fans who knew every word, their cheers echoing the grunge roots of this city. The song was a new one for us, and my first time getting a solo, my nerves buzzing as I prepared to belt out the chorus.

  We’re not filling the pce—not yet—but there were twice as many people as a month ago. I saw familiar faces—regurs from the st couple of gigs—with friends in tow. There was an energy that had been cking before, a buzz that made my chest hum even as I caught my breath between songs.

  I gnced down at my outfit, the stage lights glinting off the pleated tartan skirt that swished about my thighs as I strummed and moved to the music. That part, I loved. It made me feel—I don’t know—cute, I guess. Which I knew guys weren’t supposed to want, but it’s how I felt about it. The tiny mounds on my sweater, evidence of the padded bra underneath, still made me self-conscious. If it had been up to me, I would have done without—I felt enough like a fraud already—but Jeannie had insisted it would look weird for a girl to be completely ft.

  Makeup had been a journey. For the first few weeks, mascara and eyeliner seemed to end up everywhere except my eyes. Jeannie, always helpful, was constantly holding back snickers but saying, “You’re doing great! You’re getting better, Daniele!” Tonight, I’d done it all without her help, and when I finished, I felt a quiet pride as I looked in the mirror, my eyes defined in a way that felt… right. Jeannie had given me two thumbs up and a hug, her grin wide as she said, “You go, girlfriend!”

  Jeannie is the only person who calls me "Daniele." I've gotten used to it - kinda like it, when she says it. It makes me feel closer to her as a friend. I don't know what it would be like if other people called me that.

  With my new look came other challenges. Between sets st week, a drunk had tried to pick me up, his slurred words too close for comfort. Fortunately, Kyle, our drummer, was quick to intervene, his broad frame stepping between us with a firm, “She said she’s not interested!” That might have been the first time one of the guys referred to me as “she.” For some reason, it felt good. At the next practice, Kyle suggested that the band use female pronouns for me at rehearsals so that they wouldn’t forget at a gig. To help them remember, I only wear girl clothes to rehearsal now - at least that's the reason I told everyone. Now I'm used to hearing “she” and “her,” but it still feels good every time.

  We finished the set to enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy still buzzing as I leaned against the bar, sipping a Coke and watching the room. Scott fiddled with his bass near the stage, Logan schmoozed some guy about future gigs, and Kyle sat behind his kit, twirling a drumstick like always. Jeannie slid onto a stool beside me, her ponytail bouncing. She’d been at every show tely, even though she wasn’t officially a band member.

  “Why’s it picking up?” I asked, half to her, half to the air. “We’re still pying mostly the same stuff, but… people are coming back. Bringing friends.”

  Jeannie grinned, leaning in over the chatter. “Think about it,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the room. “You’re up there, all coolness and pretty, rocking that mini-skirt. The guys can’t take their eyes off you, and the girls? They see someone living out this badass fantasy—” Her eyes flicked toward Logan, lingering for a split second as he ughed with the booking guy, his hand brushing back his hair in that effortless way of his. A shadow of a frown crossed her face, her fingers tightening briefly around her soda can before she forced a brighter smile. “—pying guitar with some good-looking guys for bandmates… The girls want to be you.”

  I blinked, clutching the Coke a little tighter. Coolness and pretty. I couldn’t believe she was talking about me. I gnced at the skirt, smoothing it absently. “I guess,” I said, keeping it casual. “Still feels off sometimes.”

  “That first night in a skirt, you were pretty stiff,” she chuckled, “but now, you’re getting looser, you look natural—happy even.” Her eyes narrowed a little as she regarded me.

  She had a point. The st couple of shows, I’d caught myself rexing into it—smirking mid-chorus, feeding off the crowd’s vibe. The nerves still hit, but they didn’t linger like before. I tucked my hair behind my ear. “You think they’d stick around without the skirt?”

  Jeannie tilted her head, eyeing me like I’d asked something big. “Maybe. But it’s not just the skirt—it’s you. Your personality. You’re letting it show in a way you never did before.”

  Before I could respond, Kyle wandered over, wiping his hands on his jeans. “She’s right,” he said, nodding at Jeannie. “But it’s more than that. You’ve really stepped up these st few weeks, Danny. Like your solo in ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’ Did you see the view count on our video?”

  Jeannie grinned, “I did, more than a few comments about the hot chick…”

  I felt the warmth rush to my face. Kyle smiled too but discreetly looked away, noting my embarrassment.