Read Jaded (Rock Star Trilogy) for Free Online Page A

“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 good at, and it's what I love .
    I open my eyes as I hit the first chorus, and see Stephan looking at me with awe. He almost looks starstruck, which is kind of funny. But I feel good about it. I can tell that he likes my song. And I think he's in shock over the fact that I am good .
    No, I'm not good , I'm AMAZING. AWESOME. INCREDIBLE. OUTSTANDING. Take your pick. And it's not me being cocky, or overconfident, it's me being truthful. I know that I wouldn't be where I am today if I wasn't better than average.
    I honestly came from nothing. My family was an average family from the suburbs. My mom was a first grade teacher, and my dad owned a small business. Me and my older sister, Stacy, went to school, and made good grades... We were good kids.
    I started playing music when I was three. That's when my parents bought my sister her first guitar. She was 10, but quickly lost interest, so I picked it up. I had no idea what I was doing, but over time I taught myself, and my parents were surprised that I was actually good. I took guitar lessons, and by the time I was seven, they were putting me in