After hours of practice on Friday night, I slept like a baby. Despite getting home late, I woke up on Saturday with energy and enthusiasm. The Storm Rocks had asked me to come to their house at the ass-crack of dawn so they could prep me. Their words: “prep” me. What exactly I needed prepped for, I was not sure, but I packed up my fiddle and a few options for costumes and headed for their house.
“Eli!” Doug answered the door wearing black leggings and a white Tortuga shirt and ushered me into the house. He looked out of place among the modern décor. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Nothing fancy, just bacon and eggs and stuff. P’s upstairs. You brought different clothes, right?” He looked my jeans and T-shirt over with a sudden moment of alarm.
“Yeah.” I hefted my back
