The focus of this particular challenge is stage presence. How do each of us stand out in the line-up of nine other competitors?
That’s what MFB is judging us on tonight.
I’m a fast learner, but it helps that “Longview” by Green Day is a song I’ve played before. My eyes kept edging over to Lexi while we were practicing. She’d flip her long hair over her shoulder as she’d get frustrated with a note in the song, and then she’d puff out a breath of air before tackling it again.
She’s persistent. She’s focused.
I’m sure the other guys here are, too, but she’s got some special, unique quality about her that the others don’t...and it’s not just the fact that she’s a she.
I force her from my thoughts and put all my energy into focusing on the song. We’re counted down from five, and when one hits, we all start into the song at the same time. I think of the lyrics while I play, something my mind tends to wander to, and then I play a quick fill between notes to really propel the bassline. It’s not part of the original song, but it feels good and right—and it feels like something that’ll help me stand out from the rest when MFB listens back.
I have no idea if others are doing the same thing, but it doesn’t matter. I need to show what I can do, and fills are an idea I stole from listening to thousands of basslines over the course of my relationship with the bass guitar. I know there’s a fine line between overplaying something and ruining the song or adding something magical to it, and I’ve played this song enough times to know that this is adding.
I push all my energy into the song, too, because I’ve learned over the years that if I don’t feel it, those listening won’t, either. I think of the nights I played with the Crue when I was drunk or bored or lonely or tired, and those performances were all shit.
Tonight, though, I’m focused.
I rock the song, and I’m proud of what I left behind as it comes to an end.
All ten of us exit the stage. I’m all fired up after that. I want to keep playing, and I realize how much I’ve missed my guitar over the last few days when I was cooped up and distracted with a girl.
No more of that shit.
“How’d you do?” Decker asks me, and it feels good to have someone here I sort of already know—aside from Lexi, of course. We’re just acquaintances, but he has the potential to become a friend as we both find ourselves leaning on one another in this very strange situation where we’re competitors but also living together.
“Felt good,” I say, putting my bass back into its case. “You?”
He nods. “Same. You think you’re safe?”
“I think I’ve got more stage presence than Marshall did,” I say, and he laughs.
I feel a little bad for jabbing one of the other contestants when he’s not even here to defend himself in the middle of our conversation. I guess I’m not really making myself look too good so far.
But the only opinions that matter now are those of the MFB men. They’re watching back our performances, both as a whole group and the individual shots that were captured as we played. They’re listening to our individual bass tracks to spot the talent and the skill.
I left it all out there, and I just hope it was good enough.
It doesn’t take as long as I think it will when we’re called back to the stage. Cameras are set up to capture our reactions as we listen to what Dax has to say, and the four producers lead us to stools where we sit shoulder to shoulder.
“This was a tough decision,” he begins. “The four of us see so much talent standing on the stage in front of us. We’re honored you each want to be part of what we’ve created here, and we’re thrilled to say that we all think our next bassist is here in this room.” He glances at his bandmates. “Though we don’t all agree on who that is just yet.”
Nervous laughter flits through the contestants, but this is good. They don’t need to decide now. Split opinions mean better chances.
“You each have a talent, or else you wouldn’t be here—and that’s why this competition was about so much more than just skill. We needed to see your stage presence and how you stand out in the crowd. Unfortunately, you can’t all stay, and so we were forced to choose the one person we thought most faded into the background even though his performance was technically perfect.”
His.
So it’s not Lexi.
She’s staying.
And technically I still don’t know if I am, though my confidence definitely says yes.
“We tried to pick a winner for this battle, but there were too many of you who stood out to us. So instead, we had to settle on one person who didn’t win. We’re sorry to say that Marshall, you lost this battle. You won’t be MFB’s replacement bassist.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as I look over at Marshall, the skinny nerdy guy with a buzz cut so close to his scalp that you can’t even really tell what color hair he has.
The poor guy is classically trained, and he came in here expecting to win just based on his talent.
But it takes more than just being technically perfect. His normally pale face is bright red as he tries to contain his disappointment by pressing his lips together and nodding just once.
I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. It sucks to get the boot anytime from a competition like this, but to be the first one cast off must really hurt.
I’m glad I’m not the one who has to feel that pain.
We’re ushered back to the house. “It’ll be an early morning tomorrow,” Miles announces once we’re all back in the family room seated around the room on various couches. “If you haven’t already done it, be sure to put in your food selections before you go to bed, and get some good rest. You’ll need it for what’s in store tomorrow.”
The four producers leave, and no one moves. My eyes edge over to her again. She’s deep in conversation with Tyler, and I hate it. I hate that she’s talking to him when he perked up after I said I spent the weekend hooking up with her.
Goddammit, why’d I say that?
I’m such an idiot.
And now he thinks she’s fair game or fresh meat or whatever—that she’ll put out for him like she did for me. But I didn’t tell him it wasn’t like that.
It meant more, but now she hates me, and then she made me feel like an idiot in front of everyone...and you know what?
I just thought of the first thing I can do to piss her off.
I head to the food room. I’m going to channel these strange feelings into making sure I win.
I circle the meals I want for tomorrow. I check through the papers already in the folder and find her food order.
I change her lunch order from a chicken salad sandwich to a tuna salad sandwich.
Then I find the general food request form. This is more for things to stock for the house that anyone can eat—things that’ll be in the refrigerators and cabinets in the food room.
Under special requests, I add a few things.
Cinnamon.
Cinnamon rolls.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
Cinnamon raisin bread.
Cinnamon sticks.
Cinnamon gum.
I even ask for cinnamon candles, though I don’t know for sure if we’re allowed to get non-food items.
It’s petty. It’s mean. It’s childish.