Chapter 6: Eli, the Cola Boy

Mid-May 2001, Costa Mesa, California

The local club crouched on the edge of Costa Mesa, just across the railroad tracks, its neon lights trembling on the empty parking lot. Inside, behind the bar, the owner— a woman always tired, always critical—was scanning the weekly schedule when the skater kid walked in, twisting a cola can in his hands.

She didn’t even look up at first, just muttered,

“If you need a spot to rehearse, the list’ s already full.”

The kid shrugged but stayed in the doorway.

“I’m not looking to rehearse. I just wanted to say that if the Friday band really flopped—as I heard—I know someone who could fill in for them.”

At last she glanced up, eyes narrowing.

“Do I know your band?”

“It’s not mine,” he shook his head, hesitating for a moment before going on.

“But I saw them at the skatepark. They call themselves The Dainka Effect. They weren’t completely shit. Actually, they’re definitely better than nothing.”

She snorted, though curiosity flickered at the corner of her eye.

“Not completely shit, huh? That’s about the best recommendation I’ve heard all day. Can they manage three songs? Won’t the crowd bolt?”

He smiled, squeezing the can.

“I’ll tell them to come. You’ll see—it won’t be deadly boring. And… the crowd needs something, right?”

She nodded, half conceding.

“Alright. If they’re not totally hopeless, have them bring their gear on Friday. They get a free pitcher of beer—just don’t wreck the mood.”

He nodded and turned to go. In the neon glow his face nearly blurred as he slipped out the door, bound for TDE’s tiny apartment to chill the air with the news of a real gig.

“Holy shit, is this for real?”

Nova was the first to snap out of it. I saw her eyes light up, as if every ounce of fatigue and doubt had been airbrushed off her face in an instant.

“A real stage?”

Roxy recoiled, shoulders pressed against the couch’s back.

“There’ll… actually be people there?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

She was always like that when all eyes turned to her—pale, fragile, as if she wanted to step back one more pace.

I couldn’t sit still. I paced the cramped living room like a lion in a cage, twisting the pick hanging around my neck.

“How many people are we talking? Ten? Twenty?” I asked, then suddenly grinned and nodded at the kid’s cola can.

“Wait… you’re that guy from the skatepark, right? You always held a can like that when we hung around after practice.”

He blinked in surprise, then gave a faint smile.

“It could be fifty… when there’s live music,” he said.

“I really think you guys were good. I’m not just saying that.”

Cayde’s voice suddenly sounded even more British than usual.

“Bloody hell, that—”

“—Is a real concert.” Nova cut in, grinning widely now. Her words almost swirled in the air.

“With free beer.”

For a moment, everything froze.

The apartment, which had been nothing but cables, half-eaten pizzas, and echoes of rehearsals, suddenly brimmed with anticipation. The sheet-music notebooks from yesterday lay on the table. A disassembled drum piece from Roxy’s kit sat on a chair. Cayde’s jacket lay on the floor. Everything somehow… felt important.

“This place is a dump,” the kid said at last, as if trying to pull us back down to earth.

“But you’ve got to start somewhere.”

Nova broke the silence.

“We’re in.”

After he left, no one spoke for a long time.

Roxy walked to the window. Through the fogged glass she gazed out, neon streaks dancing on the floor. I collapsed into a chair, propping my feet on the coffee table, and closed my eyes for a moment.

This is really happening.

“Oi,” Cayde spoke up—that typical tone he uses when things get too real.

“Okay, what’s everyone wearing? Because if I turn up in last practice’s T-shirt, I bet they’ll kick me out with the beer mugs.”

Nova shrugged with a half-smile.

“The point is not falling apart on stage.”

I heard the tension in her voice. I stood up, searching for the right words—because suddenly it mattered how I said this.

“No matter how small the place. No matter how little they pay.” I looked at Nova.

“What matters is that we’re together. And that it means something to us.”

I paused.

“And if there’s even one single person who doesn’t forget they were there… it’ll have been worth it.”

Roxy smiled, still nervously twisting a napkin.

“Do you think there’ll really be fifty people?”

“Let’s hope not all of them stare at us at once,” Cayde laughed, though I heard the fear behind it.

I glanced sideways. Nova watched me as I fiddled with my guitar. She knew. She always knew when I was nervous.

But I didn’t want to show it.

The room fell quiet again. We all stared into the same unknown future.

A rundown club. Stranger faces. A few pitchers of beer.

And yet… this was the first real step.

I didn’t know what lay ahead.

Only that we were together—and that, together, even the smallest stage could feel huge.