Young Adult Fiction
We played for ten minutes and drove home every last note. Al sang a barely audible lead and Drek and I tried to do backup vocals, but I don't think our mikes were even on. Toward the end, though, I had a long, crazy riff to play on my guitar. And you know what? It sounded good. It sounded better than I had ever played.
It was like my guitar and my fingers were doing all the work. I just stood there and watched. My fingers danced like fireworks. The lights sent mirror blasts of magic to the four corners of the room. And when I cranked the heat up to the absolute boiling point, we cut the song. Right on cue. Just like in practice.
The horses' iron shoes scraped, metal against solid stone. Slowly they struggled upward, legs bent, lungs wheezing. Society Girl's halter rope tightened in my hand. I looked back. The old mare was really having problems.
Groaning, she put her head down and lurched over one of the big rocks, her shoes slipping.
Then, as though in slow motion, she crumpled to the ground.
