The Hush Society Presents... Izzy Matias (read any book .TXT) 📖

our car breaking down, losing our mates in the hills of a city we’ve never been to before, getting stuck in horrendous traffic—only to have our gig cancelled tonight."

"No wonder they cancelled!" The same voice continues. "You suck!"

Benji and Eric are horrified. Eric’s face is red, almost maroon.

My bright idea has sure gotten us into a spectacular situation, but to stop playing right here and now would be surrendering and giving up. I cover my microphone and say to my mates, "We just have to get through this last song." Even if I do want to stop right here and now. What’s the point if they hate us anyway?

Benji nods, goes up to Eric and gives him a hard pat. Eric sighs, muttering.

I curl and uncurl my palms.

Halfway through the song, the heckler throws another insult. This time, I spot Amber and Cassie walking over to the heckler’s group. I can’t hear what’s being said, but I can tell it’s a quarrel about to explode.

It’s not in Cassie’s nature—from what I’ve seen—to fight back. That bustling situation in Manchester proved it. Why pick a fight now?

Who cares about finishing this set when Amber and Cassie might get harassed by a rude lad? I let go of the microphone stand I’d been gripping hard and glance at Pam, who seems as agitated as I am. She holds her hand up to me as if telling me to wait, so I do.

I get the microphone from the stand, trying to interact more with our nonplussed audience as I strum my guitar. My eyes are on Pam, Cassie, and Amber.

Pam escorts the boisterous heckler outside and Amber and Cassie walk back to their table with triumphant smiles.

As we enter our final verse, I itch to get off stage.

This performance is horrible. Just as I had presumed it would be. Imagine if Callum had seen us tonight?

 "Thank you for having us, Three Tuns," are my only words before we quietly pack our gear in a rush—me exhaling a loud sigh—and approach our table. Aside from The Hush Society crew, nobody bothered to clap at our performance.

"What a horrible crowd," Amber says to us. "No way am I performing tonight. Not to that."

"I am so sorry you guys had to experience that," Cassie says. "What a rude guy."

"Win some, lose some." Kai shrugs, but gives Benji, Eric, and I slaps on the back.

"I need to get a pint," I say, excusing myself.

A different bartender gives me my pint as I sulk on the barstool.

"Not so great, ey?" The middle-aged man says.

My body crumples further into my arms. I huff.

"Musicians are a dime a dozen, I tell ye. Now business, there’s a lot of opportunity in there if ye ask me!" he says, beaming at me. I don’t need a ghost of my Dad echoing me at this moment of defeat.

It’s as if he’s punched my gut. "Thanks for the tip," I say, hoping he can read into my sarcasm as I pay for my pint and neck most of it down.

"Yer welcome, young lad." His voice is chipper. "Simply passin’ on wisdom."

I huff, abandon my unfinished pint, and walk out the pub. Outside, the cold air slaps my face. The streetlights dampen the cement with an eerie, haunting glow. The silhouettes are menacing shadows that threaten the night.

I pull out my mobile from my pocket and turn it on. I’m surprised when a message from Lily comes in.

Lily: Hey,Cameron. Was having a rough night, but then listened to a video snippet of Brick Walls on my mobile. Put a smile on my face and reminded me that I actually have a song written for me. So, err, yeah, thank you. The world needs musicians like you.

After I re-read her message a couple of times, I fire up a reply thanking her. She didn’t have to tell me this, but she did. It’s as if she knew that I, too, need the pick me up.

Her words are the wake-me-up I need. Of course it isn’t going to be easy; I’ve always known that. There will be haters. There will be nights like this, but it should not stop me. So what if those people in there don’t like us? That’s not my bloody goal, to be liked by the whole world.

My purpose is to create music that helps people through tough times. With music, I have an opportunity to give back, to spread the positive message and do more than I thought I’d ever do.

I laugh aloud. I must look like a pissed idiot, but I don’t care. This is my life—nobody else’s. I can’t control how people react to what I do.

Then it hits me: how many other budding musicians don’t have that encouraging voice to help them through their self-doubt? Maybe there’s another way to give back that goes beyond dedicating or writing songs…

I glance around looking for the lad who heckled us tonight, but don’t find him anywhere. I have this weird urge to thank him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I sit on the cool cement pavement. Above me, the grey clouds begin their slow shift to reveal a yellowish full moon. I inhale deep and allow myself to stay in this moment, let my mind wander.

There’s guitar strumming—an acoustic version of a metal song—and the boisterous chatter of a pub. Someone opens the door from The Seven Mermaids. A couple of footsteps approach.

A silhouette shadows behind me, but when I turn around to see who it is, that person has taken a seat beside me.

"All right?" Cassie asks.

"Had to clear the nasty thoughts outside," I explain.

"Don't let anyone else tell you that your music’s horrible. That lad was rude. And very pissed." Her hand lingers on my shoulder.

"Thanks, Cass. I shouldn’t expect everyone to like The Fortunate Only," I say.

She pats my back.

"Lily messaged me tonight. She said some really encouraging things—enough to get me through tonight."

"Your music matters, Cameron."

"Thanks," I say and rub my hands together. "It got me thinking about other musicians out there who are beginning their journey…I wonder how many of