Tone Deaf by Olivia Rivers
To Mom,
for your endless love and unwavering support.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Due to the limits of written English, italics are used in this book to signify the use of American Sign Language (ASL). However, please note that ASL has its own vocabulary and grammar system that separates it almost entirely from English. If you’d like to learn more about the unique beauty of ASL and Deaf culture, check out the nonfiction resources listed in the back.
1
ALI
ROCK CONCERTS AREN’T meant to be watched like silent movies. Period. End of story. No exceptions.
So what the hell am I doing here?
I turn toward Avery with my arms crossed, ready to ask her this exact question for like the fiftieth time. She doesn’t notice me, not that I can really blame her. Surrounding us is a sea of girls wearing blue and green, all of them screaming, jumping up and down, waving their hands to a beat I can’t hear. The vibrations of the noise strike me from all sides, like some sort of tidal wave. We’re close to the stage, and even though there’s not a single person sitting, at least the rows of seats keep a bit of space between me and the strangers packed around us.
It’s still not enough.
Avery finally glances over at me, her eyes wide with excitement and a goofy grin plastered on her face. Typical. If I even mention the words “Tone Deaf,” my best friend turns into a babbling, fangirly mess. Usually, her enthusiasm is contagious—I might not get Avery’s love for the pop-punk band, but I’m no stranger to feeling passionate about music.
Tonight is different. All my enthusiasm for this concert fled about three hours ago, when we jostled through the crowded gates of the stadium and plunged into the unruly mass of Tone Deaf fans. Between the ruthless Los Angeles heat and the anxious pounding of my heart, I’m now covered in sweat, and my nerves are screaming at me to get the hell out of here.
Avery pulls me into a quick, giddy hug, and I wince as her fingernails accidentally dig into my shoulder. Her nails are painted in alternating shades of blue and green, the same colors on Tone Deaf’s album covers and the posters plastered all over Avery’s bedroom. Honestly, her boy band obsession is more endearing than annoying, but of all the musicians in the world, did she have to pick Jace Beckett to fall in love with? Jace is the sort of lead singer who gives the entire music industry a bad rep—he completely ignores the fans who praise him, and he goes out of his way to bad-mouth anyone who criticizes his band. Flip through any entertainment magazine, and there’s bound to be some story about Tone Deaf’s lead singer publicly mocking a music reviewer or giving a journalist the finger. My former piano instructor had a name for famous musicians like Jace: “popular disgraces.” Personally, I prefer the more accurate term “total jerk.”
I’ve tried to point Avery toward some very cute up-and-coming prodigies from the classical scene, but nope, she wants nothing to do with the sweet nerds I grew up performing alongside. Her heart belongs solely to Jace Beckett and his pop-punk band.
He is a good performer—I have to give him that. Tone Deaf’s lead singer jumps around onstage, singing into his microphone, expertly strumming his electric guitar. Every step he takes is in sync with the pulsing beat, and even though his movements are quick and energetic, he seems perfectly in control of both the music and the audience. His eyes are half-lidded, and it’s obvious that his focus is on the song, not the crowd. Even after hours of performing, a small smile lifts his lips.
Avery grabs my shoulder excitedly as she bounces up and down in Converse that have “I Love Tone Deaf!” scribbled across them. Her blue and green shirt reads “Jace’s #1 Fangirl,” and her pigtails bounce around with her, showing off the green streaks she’s dyed into her dirty-blond hair.
My best friend doesn’t take the title of “fan” lightly.
She screams something, but she’s twisted toward the stage so I can only see half of her lips. I shove her hand off my shoulder, which gets her attention. She turns toward me and blurts out something. I raise my eyebrows, trying not to look too impatient, and she repeats her words in both speech and sign language: “They’re announcing it!”