Giving In (Michael Jackson story)

Giving In (Michael Jackson story)

I never finish my stories, But I'm bored. . . Comment please.

Chapter 1


"No, no, no! You're not playin' it . . . I want you give me passion! I want you to hit you're strongest notes. Whatever you're feelin', play it on that guitar, and we'll go from there."
No matter how many times Michael said it, Rachel still couldn't do it.
"No, don't think about it! Thinking is what you're doing wrong. Just. . . do it."
Rachel again played the chords, and it was better this time. But with her fingers shaking, her hand grip weak, it looked like her guitar was holding her up rather than the other way around. Her knees kept buckling, and I was surprised to see her still standing up. I was also surprised that I was the only one in the entire half-filled arena that could see this girl was sleep deprived.
Michael asked her to do it again three more times, and each time it was only a little better. But, considering that in total, Michael asked her to do it ten times, the last one was a landslide better than the first.
He settled on what she gave him, but it was obvious in his face that he wasn't satisfied, and I was worried he was going to talk to her after the rehearsal. Michael rarely ever said anything to anybody who worked on tour with him that wasn't personally working for him.
Not that Michael was a bad guy, but quiet. I personally hadn't said more than a few sentences to him since the day he hired me, and I was on stage with him everynight. So it was a thing amoung everyone who worked on the tour. Michael talks to you: you get fired. That was what happened to Tatitana.
"Where's my other guitarist?" he asked innocently. He looked around the stage, but I wasn't there. Instead I was sitting in the third row of the empty seats of the arena. I sat there for a moment, watching him turn this way and that, then, finally, calling his people from backstage to look for me. None of them knew my name, because I rarely talked, so they just looked for my face. Michael joined them in the search backstage, going behind the curtains like a child looking for a red ball. I chuckled as I curled into a ball and pulled my hat over my head. Everything I had on was black, and so were the seats. Not to mention that the place only had the stage lights on, so everthing was dark. After a minute or two, Rachel put down her guitar, shook off whatever she felt was on her, and jumped off the stage and sat next to me.
"You're ruining my cover", I hissed.
"When are going to stop confusing that boy and just get up there?" she asked, but she wasn't looking at me. Instead her head was kept forward as she leaned back in the chair. She was just as amused by the show as I was.
"I'll go up there when they find me, or when this stops being funny."
Finally, Michael came back from behind the curtains and searched the stage again. He looked over at the place we were seated and saw Rachel, but didn't see me. He gave a watery smile to Rachel, then went to look back, but he stopped in his tracks and turned around.
"Rachel, have you seen. . .?" He snapped his fingers and closed his eyes while he did a little dance, trying to remember what they called me.
"Savii?" Rachel asked. Michael clapped his hands, which held a microphone.
"Yes! Have you seen her?"
"Yea. She's right here."
"Rachel!" I gasped.
"Grow up!" she yelled. She got up, grabbed me by my collar, and for someone who looked like they were half dead a couple of minutes ago, she was strong enough throw me near the stage.
I held my hands out in front of me to prevent my teeth from hitting the edge and chipping, but it did nothing to prevent it from hitting my side.
"Now go up there and do your job before you lose it", Rachel mumbled.
"Oh, c'mon. I was just have fun. Right Michael?" I asked sweetly as I climbed on the black wood flooring.
Michael laughed quietly and said, "Right, Rachel. Can't you have fun?"
Rachel rolled her eyes.
"Alright, yall."
I looked at Michael and saw that his face held a little smile. It was the first time we had an exchange that contained words other than, "Hello, how are you?"
I grabbed my guitar from the hooks that held it, and tuned it as fast as I could. When I was done, I practiced until he told me I could stop. And when I did stop, I continued to watch from the seat I had previously contained.
I didn't watch because I thought it was a previlige to, like everyone else did. I was planning on going on my own one day, and I wanted to beat the best. And if you wanted to beat the best, you had to learn from them first.

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