The Riot

Chapter 2. The World Was Ending, But In A Good Way

The adrenaline was a living thing, a hum in her veins that refused to quiet even as the sweat cooled on her skin.

Rayna hadn’t been back in her dressing room for more than ten minutes- just long enough to trade her denim vest for a loose, oversized flannel shirt, when a sharp rap sounded at the door.

​"Rayna? You decent?" It was Marcus, the tour manager. He didn’t wait for an answer before sticking his head in, his eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and genuine shock. "You might want to come out here. Security is having a minor crisis, and it’s mostly your fault."

​Rayna stood up, her combat boots feeling heavier than they had on stage. "My fault? Did I break a speaker? I told Jax I’d pay for anything I blew out."

​"No, kid. You blew out the fans' expectations," Marcus said, beckoning her into the hallway. "There’s a crowd at the barricade near the backstage entrance. They’re refusing to leave until they get a signature. They’ve got those hand-drawn CDs of yours. I’ve never seen an opener move product like that on night one."

​Rayna felt a flutter in her stomach that wasn't nerves- it was awe. She followed Marcus through the labyrinthine concrete corridors of the Garden, the distant, muffled thunder of Iron Vanguard’s opening song vibrating through the floorboards.

When they reached the side exit, she stopped short.

​There were at least fifty people huddled behind a temporary metal gate. In the sea of black band t-shirts, she saw flashes of purple- hair, scarves, and even a few hastily drawn signs. As soon as her bright lilac ponytail appeared in the doorway, a cheer went up that rivaled the one she’d received on stage.

​"Rayna! Rayna Lynn!"

​"Over here! Please!"

​She stepped forward, feeling a bit like a deer in headlights until a young woman pressed a CD case against the gate. The cover was a simple sketch Rayna had drawn with a Sharpie on her tour bus bunk: a raindrop made of musical notes.

​"You were incredible," the girl said, her voice shaking. "I’ve never heard anyone sing like that. The growls? I thought my heart was going to stop."

​Rayna took the offered pen, her fingers still slightly trembling. "Thank you. Truly. I’m glad you liked the heavy stuff. Most people expect me to just do the 'pretty' songs."

​"The 'pretty' songs were gorgeous, but the growls made me want to start a riot," the girl laughed. "I’m Sarah. Can we get a picture?"

​"Of course, Sarah." Rayna leaned in against the cold metal of the gate, flashing a peace sign as the girl’s phone flashed.

​For the next forty-five minutes, Rayna was submerged in a sea of faces. She signed everything: CDs, tattered setlists, ticket stubs, and even the sleeve of one guy’s leather jacket. Each person had a story- a song that hit them a certain way, a lyric that reminded them of a breakup, or just a genuine sense of wonder at how one girl and a loop pedal could fill an arena.

​"How do you do the thing with the violin bow?" a teenage boy asked, staring at her inked arms with reverence. "It sounded like the world was ending, but in a good way."

​"It’s all about the friction," Rayna explained, leaning down to sign his shirt. "And a lot of rosin. You have to treat the guitar like it’s a living thing. You don't just play it; you have to have a conversation with it."

​"You’re a legend, Rayna!" someone shouted from the back.

​"I’m just a girl with a loud guitar," she shouted back, her smile widening until her cheeks ached. "But thank you for listening!"

​By the time Marcus finally cleared the crowd, citing "tour schedules and safety," Rayna’s hand was cramping and her voice was starting to rasp. She walked back inside, the silence of the inner hallway feeling heavy and strange after the chaos of the fans.

​"You handled that well," Marcus noted, checking his watch. "Most rookies get overwhelmed and bolt. You took the time."

​"They bought my music, Marcus," Rayna said softly, looking down at the ink stains on her fingers from the Sharpies. "They’re the only reason I’m not playing for tips in a subway station tonight. The least I can do is say hello."

​"Spoken like someone who’s been hungry," Marcus muttered, though there was a hint of warmth in his tone. "The bus is fueled and ready. The Vanguard guys will be another hour- they’re doing a full encore tonight. You go ahead and get settled. I’ll send the security detail to escort you to the lot."

​The tour bus was a massive, sleek beast of black chrome and tinted glass. Stepping inside felt like entering a private sanctuary. The interior was a mix of high-tech luxury and rock-and-roll clutter: leather booths, glowing LED strips along the floor, and stacks of gear cases tucked into every corner.

​Rayna shared this bus with the three members of Iron Vanguard. It was an unusual arrangement for an opener, but Jax had insisted. He said he liked her "vibe" and didn't want her stuck on a cramped van with a bunch of roadies who hadn't showered since the Midwest.

​The bus was empty for now, the air conditioning humming a low, soothing tune. Rayna kicked off her boots, letting them thump onto the floor, and collapsed into the horseshoe-shaped dinette at the back. Her body felt like lead, the adrenaline finally leaving the building and taking her energy with it.

​"Food," she whispered to the empty cabin. "I need something that isn't a protein bar."

​She scavenged through the small kitchenette, finding a stash of takeout containers the roadies had brought in earlier. She settled on a large bowl of cold lo mein and some spicy potstickers. Sitting there in the dim light of the bus, eating noodles with plastic chopsticks while the muffled bass of the stadium continued to shake the earth outside, she felt a profound sense of peace.

​She wasn't Rayna the orphan. She wasn't Rayna the runaway. She was Rayna the musician.

​Nearly ninety minutes later, the bus door hissed open, followed by a cacophony of loud voices and heavy footsteps. The Iron Vanguard boys piled in, smelling of sweat, expensive cologne, and the metallic tang of stage fog.

​"Tell me someone saved the pizza!" shouted Leo, the drummer, tossing his sticks onto a pile of laundry.

​"In the fridge, you animal," Jax grunted, sliding into the booth across from Rayna. He looked exhausted, his long dark hair plastered to his neck, but his eyes were bright. He looked at Rayna, then at her bowl of noodles. "Living the high life, I see. How was the meet and greet?"

​"Exhausting," Rayna admitted, swallowing a potsticker. "But amazing. I signed fifty CDs, Jax. Fifty."

​"Fifty?" Leo popped his head over the seat, a slice of cold pepperoni pizza already halfway in his mouth. "Damn, Lynn. At this rate, we’re going to be opening for you by the time we hit the West Coast."

​"Don't give her a big head, Leo," piped in Shane, the bassist, who was busy peeling off his leather pants in favor of gray sweats. "She’s already trending on social media. My niece sent me a t****k of her set. It’s got a hundred thousand likes already."

​Rayna nearly choked on a noodle. "A hundred thousand? Are you serious?"

​"Dead serious," Shane said, hopping into the booth next to Jax. "The caption was 'The Purple Queen of the Garden.' You’re a hit, kid. The label is going to be breathing down Marcus’s neck by tomorrow morning."

​Jax leaned back, watching Rayna with a knowing look. "How does it feel? The first 'real' taste of it?"

​Rayna set her chopsticks down, thinking for a moment. She looked around at these men- not 'millions of people' famous, but had been doing this for a decade and had solidified a name forthemselves; and then out the window at the dark parking lot. "It feels... solid. Like for the first time in my life, the ground isn't going to disappear under my feet. I’ve spent so long waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? Waiting for someone to tell me I don't belong here."

​"Well, get used to it," Jax said, reaching over and snagging a potsticker from her bowl. She swatted at his hand, but he was too fast. "You’re part of the circus now. No family, right? That’s what Marcus said."

​Rayna’s expression softened, a shadow of her past flickering in her blue eyes. "No. Just me and the instruments."

​"Wrong," Leo said, sliding into the booth on the other side of her, effectively sandwiching her in. "You got us now. We’re loud, we’re messy, and Shane snores like a chainsaw, but you’re on the bus. That makes you family by proxy."

​"I don't snore," Shane argued, though nobody believed him.

​"You really do," Jax said, then turned back to Rayna. "He’s right, though. This tour is three months long. We’re going to see you at your worst, and you’re definitely going to see us at ours. You did good tonight, Rayna. Really good. But don't let the 'Purple Queen' thing get to you. Tomorrow, you still have to tune your own guitar."

​"I wouldn't have it any other way," Rayna said, her voice regaining its strength.

​"Good. Now, tell me about that Tennessee blues song," Shane said, leaning in. "The bridge was weird. Not bad weird, but like... how did you get that chord progression? It felt like it was shifting under the melody."

​Rayna’s eyes lit up. This was her favorite part- the shop talk. "Oh, that? I was using an open D tuning, but I was fretting the low strings with my thumb to create a drone. I wanted it to sound like a train that was about to go off the tracks."

​"A train off the tracks," Leo chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds about right for this tour."

​They sat there for hours as the bus began to roar to life, the driver pulling out of the Garden’s loading dock and onto the dark streets of New York City. They talked about gear, about the road, about the songs that had saved their lives. Rayna listened to their stories of stadium tours in Europe and dive bars in Texas, realized that even though they were still risingly famous, they were still just kids who loved the noise.

​As the city lights blurred past the window, Rayna felt the gentle sway of the bus. She was tired, her body aching in that wonderful way that only comes from hard work, but her mind was racing with new lyrics.

​"Hey, Rayna," Jax said as he stood up to head toward his bunk. "Don't forget. We have a radio promo tomorrow at noon. Try to look like a rock star and not a tired college student, okay?"

​"I’ll do my best, Jax," she teased. "But no promises. The 'tired' part is pretty authentic."

​"Authentic is what sells," Jax said, nodding. "Night, kid."

​One by one, the boys retreated to their bunks, leaving Rayna alone in the dim light of the lounge. She pulled her notebook out, the one that said The Garden. Won. on the first page. She flipped to the next page and started to write.

​The bus is a hum, the city is a blur,

I’m not the ghost I used to be, I’m not the girl I were.

The ink on my fingers is starting to fade,

But I’m finally living the life that I made.

​She closed the notebook and leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. Outside, the world was vast and dark, but for the first time, Rayna Lynn wasn't afraid of the shadows. She had a guitar, a voice, and a seat on the bus.

​She crawled into her own bunk, pulling the heavy curtain shut. The space was small, barely larger than a coffin, but she had decorated it with a few polaroids of the fans from earlier and a small, lucky charm shaped like a silver plectrum. As the rhythm of the road lulled her toward sleep, she could still hear the faint echo of ten thousand people chanting her name.

​She closed her eyes, a tired smile on her lips, and fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.