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

you," Eric says. That’s enough to get them both bickering once more.

"Shut it, please, the both of you," I say. "I can’t concentrate on driving."

"Get your lass under control, will you, Benji?" Eric shouts.

"I don’t control anyone," Benji replies, smiling.

Eric groans.

"That’s why you’re awesome, babe," Amber says.

I expected London to have this sparkling quality to it, but it’s as gloomy and overcast as the rest of the UK. And the traffic is horrible. We almost hit a bus twice.

Before heading to our hostel, we take one massive detour. At Amber and Eric’s insistence, and to stop their bickering, we drive around the city to get a glimpse of the landmarks: Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, St. Paul’s Cathedral.

In typical UK weather, it’s pouring as we lug our gear and settle in a musty, six-bed dormitory room. It took us over an hour to find overpriced parking, and it was a couple of blocks away from our hostel.

"The website made it look contemporary," Cassie says, inspecting the room.

"Not so glamorous in real life, eh?" I say, entering with two guitars—one hanging like a backpack and the other in my right arm—and set them against the bunk beds.

"Not at all." Cassie frowns. "But it could be worse."

"We could be lost on a hill wondering if we will ever get picked up," I reply.

Cassie gives me a sly grin and pokes my chest. I grab her hand and pull her to me.

"We should have put you two in a separate room," Eric says, entering with his bags.

I let go of her—reminding myself that we’re only mates, nothing more—but Cassie’s blushing.

I crash sideways on the bed.

Ahhhh.

I’m on a cloud made of marshmallows. I almost drift off to sleep.

Benji comes in with his Macbook Pro in his hands. Amber’s glued beside him.

"All right lads, I’ve completed mixing and polishing four tracks. It’s ready to be uploaded online."

"Yes!" I jump up from my position as Benji plops on the bottom bunk bed beside me. Amber, Cassie, Eric and I surround him. "Let’s give it a go."

My insides feel like they’re on fire. My atoms collide at the anticipation of hearing our mixed tracks—the same way everyone else in the world will hear it for their first time when they visit our website.

The next twenty-three and a half minutes are spent in disbelief. These are the tracks my best mates and I created. Our music. There is no way for me to stay objective about it now; all I can focus on is that I am alive and living my purpose. It’s better than smoking up or getting pissed on great ale.

Once the room goes quiet, we stay planted on the bed.

"Who is that band?" someone asks. Two pairs of hazel eyes peep inside from the hallway.

"The Fortunate Only," Eric says, beaming.

"Cool. I’ll look for them on Spotify."

"Not available on Spotify—yet," Benji says. "Look for their official website. There’s a song available for download."

"Great. Thanks!"

I have a massive grin on my face—a reflection of everyone around me.

After I ask Benji to teach me how to send the link, I fire it off to my family, Judy, and Nate.

#

We make a pit stop at Borough Market to grab some food. "It says it’s one of the top markets to visit," Benji informs us.

Even if I slept for over ten hours, it’s as if my body is a deflated punching bag that won’t blow up. "How do bands do this for a living?" I ask, sinking into the wooden tables at the green house area of Borough Market. I put on my sunglasses, lift my arms, stretch, and bend on each side. My bones crack. "What is this? I’m turning into an old man!"

Amber laughs. "Stop complaining like a bitch."

"I ain’t complainin’. That was not a rhetorical question. How do bands do this, especially when it involves different time zones?" I plop my head on the table. "One ice-cold pint, please!" I say without looking up.

"Comin’ right up," Eric says, his voice getting louder as he approaches.

I laugh, my head still inches from the table, and feel the vibration of the wood as he sets our glasses on the table.

"It’s not so glamorous, is it?" says Amber. "It looks so sparkly and enticing from afar—traveling and playing music for a living, but it takes its toll on your body and health, if you don’t take care of yourself."

"Thanks, mate." I sit up and grab a hold of my pint from Eric. To Amber, I say, "I take it you’ve done this before?"

"I bet she has," Eric chimes in.

"I’ve done a couple of tours here and there, but this is the longest. I read up a lot about the tour life and asked fellow musicians who have done the same," she says, lighting a cig. "I tried to load up on fruit and veg, but seriously, how does Benji stay vegan on tour?"

"How do you expect to stay healthy whilst smoking up?" I challenge her.

"I’m livin’ life on the edge," she replies, nonchalant. "It’s a hard bad habit to kick."

"I have exciting news," Cassie squeals, running towards us. She juggles a couple of burritos in her arms, but her mobile hangs from her fingertips.

Benji, Ella, and Dan approach us from the opposite direction with a sarnie, taco and vegan bowl in their hands as well. Ella and Dan are on their day off from their leg of the tour and couldn’t resist a trip to London. It’s where Dan’s from.

I jump up from my seat, meet Cassie halfway, and take the food from her arms.

She thanks me and continues. "Callum Ford just called me."

"What?" we all scream. I almost drop her burrito.

Whatever news she has is going to be massive. I can hear Nate saying a major game changer in my head.

"What did he want?" Dan asks.

"Oh my gosh!" Ella squeals and clutches Amber’s arm hard. "Oh my gosh!"

"Girl, you’re going to squeeze my arm until it falls off. I can’t play shows without an arm."

Everyone’s eyes are wide with excitement