Gary Clark - Some Kind of Comfort

For Ella.

Accept your superpower. Grow with it, shape it, and it will be your friend.

T he air in the common room is humid and thick with silent anticipation. I turn to look at Ada and grit my teeth as I accidentally knock my guitar into my mic stand, releasing yet another pop and thud through the PA speakers. Even with her cut-down drum kit and using the smaller guitar amplifiers, the makeshift stage is only just big enough for the three of us, with Mia perched right at the front.

I try to catch Adas eye, but shes already in the zone, playing through the beat in her head as we wait to start the first song eyes down, hair flopped over her face. A bead of sweat tickles the side of my head as it makes for the floor. I need Ada to see me, need her reassuring expression, a nod of her head and that mischievous smile that tells me well be OK.

It was Mias idea to play in front of year 11, and her natural persuasiveness has drawn a small crowd of almost twenty people, making this our biggest ever public performance. I steal a glance at the gathered faces.

Katherine and Matt, the schools alpha couple, are at the front, publicly draped over one another as if theyre the main attraction. Katherines presence alone tightens the knot in my stomach. There are smirks and the occasional quip, like weve opened ourselves up for criticism and theyre not planning to hold back. My skin prickles.

I lower my head, focusing on my guitar strings. I shouldnt be here. Why did I think I could do this? Mia has already made it clear that she has no more patience for my mistakes. If I cant keep it together and get through this set, shell flip out on me for sure. Shes invested everything into this band, and the auditions for the Arena gig.

The Arena competition is the band competition: the pinnacle of the unsigned showcases outside of London, and the only redeeming feature of our dead-end town. Its run every year by the London Academy, my target college for the singer-songwriter course. The finalists get to play on stage at the summers Arena gig, supporting some A-list band with a capacity audience. But, more than that, the winners get a place at the Academy, and thats my best, if not only chance of getting there.

I shuffle back from the front of the stage. My hands are wet with sweat. I hold so tight to my plectrum for fear of dropping it that my fingers go numb and it slips onto the floor. My vision blurs with the panic, and for a moment I cant see it. Perspiration drips from my forehead as I lean down to retrieve the little red plastic triangle.

I straighten, take a deep breath, and try to settle. The anxiety Im feeling is not a rising panic, not the beginnings of an attack it is merely the expected and normal adrenaline response to the situation, on stage in front of all these people. It will pass, and I will do this right. People will see.

Mia glances at me and the tangles in my head tighten. Get on with it! I urge under my breath. I look at Ada and at last she meets my gaze. And there it is that nod and confident smile that tells me we might just make it through this. She reads my desperation to get going and immediately counts us in with four clicks of her drum sticks. I take in a deep breath on the third click and, at last, I let loose.

I hammer on the strings of my guitar, channelling the built-up adrenaline through my hands. Mia says something into the mic an introduction that I dont catch, and then she joins in, her bass guitar punctuating the rhythm. Her smooth voice slices through the room, as cool as ice. I spit backing vocals through gritted teeth. The clean, electric sound of my guitar explodes from the speaker system and bounces around the walls of the common room. In less than a minute, my head is clear and Im flying.

Ada pounds on the drums, mouthing the rhythm and flinging her sweat-dampened blonde hair around as she crashes out the beat. Mia is calm, almost static in comparison. The natural, rich tone of her vocals speaks for itself. When we play and click together like this, the music is everything, and it reminds me of how it used to be: me, Ada, Mia, together, jamming, writing songs. The summer before last we did the four-week residential masterclass at the Academy a taster of the full time course. We were never closer than we were that summer.

As the last chord rings out, I pluck up the courage to look up. Danny is at the back of the room. His presence sends a ripple of warmth through the room. In the short time Ive known him, since his transfer here from some school up north, hes shown kindness and understanding I forgot existed. He nods his head at me. As much as he likes to melt into the background, with his height, his olive skin and floppy hair, he cant help but stand out from this crowd. He gives me a half-smile and I look away, back to my guitar strings, my comfort zone.

The first two songs go down well. People actually clap after the second one. The third is our least rehearsed. But, still, it should be a walk in the park. Were halfway through and Im just starting to relax when things start to go wrong.