The Birth of a Juke Box Hero
Disclaimer: Welcome, true believers! As Stan "The Man" Lee would say. L1701E is back and with a new fic! The newest member of the Marvel Universe is gonna rock its very foundations! This fic will introduce you to the first ever superhero of rock 'n' roll! None of the Marvel Super Heroes, WWE Superstars, or famous rock musicians are mine.
{dialogue} - thoughts - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You really getting it..." The voice of Def Leppard's Joe Elliot blasted out of a clock radio. A hand reached out from under the covers of a bed next to it bashed on its top, shutting it off. The clock had 8:00 on its digital face. The hand's owner arose from the bed with a yawn. He had messy short brown hair, and green eyes. He was a handsome, but rather average- looking nineteen year old college student. The young man was wearing an Aerosmith T-shirt with blue shorts. His ears were pierced, but he had no earrings. He yawned and looked around his room sleepily. It was an average room belonging to a person his age: He had a bed, dressers, a stereo, a television, a video game system, and posters. He had lots of posters: most of them were of classic rock groups in his case, but he had some of bikini- clad babes, and a couple of professional wrestlers, most notably one of Shawn Michaels, aka the Heartbreak Kid, one of the Ultimate Warrior, and an old one of Razor Ramon on his wooden door. He also had a bookshelf, complete with books and some karate trophies.
"Ugh." The young man stretched and yawned.
"Bobby!" A woman's voice, the boy's mother, called out from downstairs. "Robert Parkins! You have class today!" The young man looked at a calendar on the dresser next to him. He looked at the day on it.
"Not until 4PM, Mom!" The young man cried out in response. He fell back down on his bed, but couldn't get to sleep again. "Might as well wake up, Bobby." He said to himself. Bobby leapt out of his bed and went to one of the two doors on his wall. He opened it up and turned on a light to reveal it was a closet. "What to wear?" Bobby looked through the hanging clothes until he picked out his outfit for today: an old Ozzy Osbourne shirt, with a blue button-down t-shirt, and a pair of faded blue jeans. Bobby put the clothes on his bed, and then walked to the bathroom. There, he got ready for the day, showering, cleaning his teeth, and combing his brown hair. He put on his clothes, and then he opened up the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out a pair of black biker gloves and a pair of yellow wristbands. He put them on, and walked down the stairs. He walked into the kitchen and saw his father looking in a tech magazine. He was a rather handsome man in his late 30s. His suit and tie suggested he did office work. However, Bobby seemed to get his looks from his mother, despite the fact she was blond. She was sitting next to her husband, her hair in a bun, her face in a newspaper. She also wore office clothes. "Hey Mom. Dad."
"Hello Bobby." The man looked up from his magazine. "What class do you have today?"
"English 102." Bobby told him as he got out some bread and put it in a toaster. "Aka Torture." The man laughed.
"Yeah, I hated it too." The young man's father laughed. His mother sipped her coffee, and put down the paper. Her green eyes, shining under the gold- rimmed glasses she wore, met Bobby's own. It was obvious that though Bobby had his father's hair, he had the looks and eyes of his mother.
"Be good, Robbie." She smiled. Bobby groaned at his pet name.
"Moooom, don't call me that!" The college student sighed. He buttered his toast and sat down with his parents. An only child, Bobby was showered with attention by his parents, despite the fact that they weren't home a lot.
"Have you found your own place yet?" Bobby's father asked him. "I know you've wanted your own place since your 18th birthday."
"Not yet." Bobby sighed. "I'm thinking of staying with Rip for a while. He has his own place."
"Rip?" Bobby's mother wondered.
"What his friend's called, dear." Bobby's father reminded her. She mouthed out an "Ah."
"Yeah, Ronald." Bobby explained. "That guy is obsessed with the 1980s." Bobby stared at the wall with a smile. {In that goof's mind, Back to the Future was released a week ago} He shook his head and looked at his watch. "Aw shoot! I gotta go! I promised Rip and the others that I'd rehearse with the band at 9!" Bobby got up and ran up to his room. He grabbed his blue backpack, and scrounged around for his books. He shoved them in, threw on a leather jacket, and picked up a guitar case. {Oh man, oh man, Rip, Wendy, and the others'll kill me if I'm late!} Bobby mentally groaned. He jumped down the stairs, passing by his parents.
"Bobby, calm down!" His father advised. "Kid, you really need to calm down. You'll be in time to rehearse. But remember, don't think the Firecrackers are your meal ticket. The chances of them getting big are practically none, no matter how good you are as musicians. You'll need to keep studying."
"I know, Dad." Bobby sighed. "But, I love the group. I just have a feeling. I have a feeling that we're gonna hit it big. I just know it. All my life, I've wanted to be a musician. You two know that."
"Just be realistic, son. Good Luck, and stay out of trouble. Your mother and I will be working late."
"Again." Bobby sighed. "See ya." Bobby ran to his car, an old blue Chevy Nova. Bobby threw his stuff in the back seat, then drove off. Bobby's home was in Cleveland, the capital city of Ohio, known for the Terminal Tower and the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. As he drove through the city, he thought about the latest inductees: {Finally, AC/DC gets in. They deserve it. They've dome some kick-ass music over the years. Too bad Bon Scott isn't here to see it. He would've loved it.} Bobby pulled into an alley next to a music store. He ran in with his guitar case. He saw all the guitars, drums, records, and various other musical instruments. Bobby went behind the counter, and opened a door. Behind it was a flight of stairs. He ran down the stairs into a basement covered in rock posters, with fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and a clock on the wall. Bobby noticed a green-and-silver drum kit, a pair of blue keyboards on a stand, and a guitar rack for six guitars, but three were on it. One was a regular Gibson, one was a cherry red flame-shaped guitar, and the third was actually an off-white bass guitar. Bobby also met up with five other kids, around his age. (A/N: Bobby's thoughts will provide background info). The other equipment were amplifiers, a couple of worn couches and a small table.
"Hey, Bobby! You showed up early! Great." A smiling handsome nineteen year- old said. He had long blond hair, and mischievous blue eyes. His 5'6" frame was clad in an Aerosmith t-shirt with a red leather jacket. The jacket had gold highlights, and the kid also wore a red headband, and leopard-print boots and gloves.
{Robert "Rip" Jones, guitarist and vocalist.} Bobby remembered. {My best friend since...forever, I guess. That guy is obsessed with the 1980s, always dressing like he came from a Kiss music video. He does tend to use 80s slang a lot, and he gave himself the name "Rip" because he can "rip an axe", which he claimed was 80s slang for "play a guitar well". He used to be a real womanizer, but he's calmed down a bit since meeting Wendy. His old man lets us rehearse here, and that's pretty cool of him}
"Are we gonna jam or what?" A nineteen-year-old girl asked. She was very beautiful, around 5'5", with her long raven-colored hair put up in a high ponytail except for the long bangs. Her hair had bright yellow streaks in it. She was clad in tight black jeans, a yellow tank top, a gold necklace with a tiny cross pendant, a sleeveless black leather jacket with several bracelets on one arm, and a studded forearm band on the other. She walked over and picked up the Gibson. Her brown eyes screamed playfulness and intensity, and her ears were pierced, with a star earring dangling out of each one.
"Hey Wendy." Bobby rolled his eyes. {Wendy Anderson, guitarist. She's Rip's girlfriend, and one of the prettiest girls in Ohio. She loves rock as much as any of us. She has written a few songs for The Firecrackers. She is one heck of a contrast. She has the tough attitude of Joan Jett, but also the songwriting ability of Stevie Nicks. Appropriately, those two are her big influences. Not bad for an ex-military brat. She and Rip have so much in common. They both dress up like they're in a 1980s rock video. Not to mention that she works at a clothing store where they get their wild clothes. I did look around there, but that's it}
"Yeah sure, babe. When's the pizza coming, Fingers?" Rip smirked at an eighteen-year-old boy leaning against a wall. He looked like any other boy his age, clad in a fiery t-shirt, with blue eyes, tanned skin, blue jeans, and white shoes. However, there was something different about this kid. He had short green hair.
{Daniel "Fingers" Carrington.} Bobby smiled at the sight of his friend. {He's called "Fingers" for his keyboard mastery. He is a mutant, believe it or not. He has no special powers, just green hair. He's had green hair all his life. Some people have teased and brutalized him, but he never lets it get him down. He's a great guy, always joking.}
"Calm down, Ripster." Fingers waved good-naturedly. "Keep yer pantyhose on, it's on its way."
"That's good, Carrington." An auburn-haired boy sitting behind the drum kit smiled. He had a plain blue t-shirt, plain blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. His reddish-brown hair was in a ponytail. The eighteen-year-old had hazel eyes. Fingers laughed.
"Tommy, don't call me that."
{Tommy Baines, the drum king} Bobby glanced at the boy. {That guy can slam the skins. But then again, it's in the blood. His old man played drums for an old local band called The Aces. They were Cleveland's hottest local band in the 50s and 60s.}
"Yo, Bob!" Tommy looked at his friend. "Bring out the guitar, man."
"Yeah, Bob!" A nineteen-year-old kid with a black buzz-cut grinned, taking the white bass guitar out of the rack and putting it on. He wore a Browns jersey, and black sweatpants.
"Alex, go check if the pizza man's arrived." Wendy sighed. "I'm starved." The bass-carrier sighed and ran up the stairs.
{Alex Baines} Bobby shook his head, opening up his case. {Tommy's older brother and the bassist of the Firecrackers. Those two get along great, but when they argue, boy do they argue. Last time they had a fight, Tommy nearly bashed Alex's head in with a cymbal} Bobby pulled out a beautiful black Flying-V guitar. "Nice, huh?" Bobby pointed to it.
"It's beautiful." Wendy sat on one of the couches. Rip sat down next to her. Alex ran down.
"He hasn't shown up yet."
"Great, now what do we do?" Fingers groaned. "We can't rehearse without food."
"Hey Bobby, did you see that show on TV about Ronnie Rocker?" Rip asked.
"Yeah, Ronnie Rocker was one incredible guy." Bobby responded.
"I got ya. There's something attractive about a man who wore makeup." Wendy laughed. "Too bad he died back in 1992 in that car accident. Underneath all the flash and flare, he was a talented guitarist, and a very talented singer."
"Did you know that his real name is Ronald Entwistle?" Tommy interjected.
"You serious?" Alex asked. "Why'd he change it to Rocker?"
"He started in the 70s." Bobby explained. "It was the fashion to give yourself a "superstar"-ish name in the glam era of the time. Besides, he thought that if he played under his real name, people would think he was related to John Entwistle of the Who."
"Yeah." Fingers shrugged. "Hey, I heard a rumor."
"What?" Wendy asked.
"Well, you know how Rocker was into magic and all that?"
"Yeah, he said that magic has fascinated him all his life." Rip scratched his head. "So?"
"So, rumor said that as he was dying in that car, he transferred his soul into his beloved guitar that he carried with him all the time. You know, the planet-shaped green-and-blue guitar?"
"That reminds me!" Rip got up. "Bobby, you are a big fan of Ronnie Rocker, right?"
"Duh." Bobby rolled his eyes, smiling. "I thought he was the greatest. The long wild mane of blond hair, the space-themed costumes, the show, his songs...He called himself "The greatest rock musician of all time"..." Bobby sighed. "And he was."
"Well, I saw this guitar that looked exactly like Rocker's." Rip grinned. "You should get it, Bobby. He was your idol growing up."
"I already own a guitar." Bobby said.
"No reason why you shouldn't have another." Tommy smiled. "Many great musicians do have multiple six-strings." Bobby mulled it over.
"Where'd you see it, hon?" Wendy asked her boyfriend.
"Down at that pawn shop on Sixth." Rip smiled. The other band members groaned.
"Dude, that place gives me the creeps. They say it has freaky stuff there. The owner's really into magic." Alex sighed.
"They say the guy that owns it was a magician." Wendy remembered, looking at her watch. "We called the pizza guy at 8:00. It's now 8:30 and he never showed up."
"30 minutes or less my butt." Fingers grumbled.
"No tip for him." Rip winked.
"You guys, it's hard to keep a promise like that in a city like Cleveland." Bobby said. "Let's say we find a restaurant and get us a real breakfast."
"Might as well." Tommy agreed. The six kids got up and went to the music store's front door, but the pizza guy finally arrived, carrying three pizza boxes and six drinks.
"Three cheese, and one pepperoni pizza. And three Diet Cokes, one Sprite, and two Pepsis." The man read the order. "10 bucks, please."
"Now ya show up." Tommy grumbled. The man looked particularly freaked by the fact Fingers had green hair, but he tried his best to hide it. Rip gave him the money. The delivery guy coughed.
"Sorry. You were late." Wendy grinned. "You said that you'd arrive in 30 minutes or less. You took 32 minutes. No tip for you."
"Punks." The man grumbled as he gave the kids the grub and walked away.
"Try being on time, pal." Laughed Fingers. The man grumbled as he went back to his truck. He was grumbling about getting a new route. The kids went back into the music store, and back to the basement. There, they feasted.
"You should go there, Bobby. You'd love that guitar at the pawn shop." Rip suggested. He, Bobby, and Wendy took the Diet Cokes, Alex had the Sprite, and Tommy and Fingers took the Pepsis.
"Oh, alright. I'll check it out." Bobby sighed. "I might as well. It would be nice if it was the real guitar."
"Too bad." Rip munched on a slice of pizza. The gang went down to the basement and ate the food. After they filled their stomachs with pizza and soda, they grabbed their instruments and started practicing. They sounded like a cross between Aerosmith and Styx as they played. Rip's singing and strumming filled the room as he sang Styx's "Rockin' the Paradise", accompanied by the hard-rock licks of Bobby and Wendy, the thunderous drumming of Tommy Baines, Fingers's Liberace-style keyboard mastery, and the cool bass of Alex Baines. They did cover some songs to get their rhythm, and they did some originals. It was noon when they finished. Rip thought about the last song they did, an original.
"Man, Wendy!" Rip grinned. "That last song you wrote was totally awesome! I mean, it was radical to the max!"
"Dude, join the new millennium already." Fingers laughed. A smirking Wendy just buffed her yellow-and-black striped nails on her top and blew on them.
"No biggie. I wrote that one in a few minutes."
"You and Rip seriously need to get updated." Bobby laughed.
"Yeah, do you two e-mail each other, or do you still use Apple computers?" Alex joined in.
"Oh, I just remembered!" Tommy put a look of mock shock on his face as he looked at his wrist like he had a watch. "They have that new movie out. I believe it's called Top Gun." The drummer burst out laughing. Everyone else but Rip and Wendy joined in.
"Laugh it up fellas, just laugh it up." Wendy crossed her arms, grumbling.
"C'mon guys!" Rip groaned. "I'm not that out of it."
"We weren't talking about you, we were talkin' about your outfit." Fingers quipped. A voice called out to the six kids. It was Rip's father. He looked like an older version of Rip, only with short hair and dressed in more contemporary clothes.
"Hey kids, I'm opening the store." Rip's old man announced. "Practice time is over."
"Too bad." Tommy said. "Hey bro, did you say you got us a gig?"
"Yeah." Alex nodded. "We're playing at the new club, the Starbox."
"I've been there, it's a very retro club." Wendy remembered.
"I gotta go." Bobby packed up his guitar. "I have to go study."
"Alright, meet you at class." Rip high-fived his friend. Bobby ran to his car, and was about to drive home, but he had a change of heart, and decided to go to that pawn shop. The old place gave him some incredible creeps. There were all sorts of old items there for sale, but Bobby saw the object Rip told him about. The guitar with the blue-and-green planet-shaped body. A perfect replica of Ronnie Rocker's famous "Ringer" guitar. Bobby felt like he should own it, like it was there for him and him alone.
"Like the guitar, kid?" A voice piped up, frightening the college student. Bobby turned around and saw the storekeeper. He was a creepy-looking old man, with an eye patch over his right eye, the other eye a deep black, and long white hair. The sparse lighting made him look like a pale wrinkly demon in a slight way.
"Uh...Uh, yeah..." Bobby shook his head nervously. "For some reason, I feel I should own it. I hope it's not too expensive." The old man looked Bobby over.
"You seem like an honest kid." He judged. "Tell you what. I'd normally sell that old thing for a hundred bucks. But, I feel that guitar should be yours, kid. It fits you. You can have it for fifty."
"Fifty dollars?" Bobby whistled, holding the instrument. "That's still a lot."
"Hey, in a regular store, you'd have to pay around 150-200 dollars for that." The old man smirked. Bobby mulled it over.
"You got a point." The young musician agreed. He paid the man and drove to his home. Along the way, Bobby noticed something weird. His radio started blasting Foghat's "Drivin' Wheel". "Wha?" Bobby wondered. He tried to turn it off, but he noticed the radio was already off. "What the hell? What's with this thing? I just got this stupid thing fixed!" Bobby smacked the radio, and it shut off. He drove home, and took in his stuff. He ran up to the fridge, and there was a note telling Bobby his parents were at work. The young man sighed, not noticing the slight glow coming from his new guitar. He went to bedroom, only to notice something strange in his closet mirror: His short brown hair had suddenly grown to shoulder-length, and it was blond! "My hair!" Bobby fingered his transformed hair. "How'd it get this long so quickly? And I don't remember bleaching it! Oh my God!"
"I dunno. I think it looks good, kid." A voice said. Bobby saw the reflection, and was in shock. He turned around to confirm it.
"Oh God." The young guitarist said. "It can't be."
What happened to Bobby's hair? What's with the guitar? Who was the person Bobby saw? Find out in the next chapter of The Birth of a Juke Box Hero!!
Disclaimer: Welcome, true believers! As Stan "The Man" Lee would say. L1701E is back and with a new fic! The newest member of the Marvel Universe is gonna rock its very foundations! This fic will introduce you to the first ever superhero of rock 'n' roll! None of the Marvel Super Heroes, WWE Superstars, or famous rock musicians are mine.
{dialogue} - thoughts - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You really getting it..." The voice of Def Leppard's Joe Elliot blasted out of a clock radio. A hand reached out from under the covers of a bed next to it bashed on its top, shutting it off. The clock had 8:00 on its digital face. The hand's owner arose from the bed with a yawn. He had messy short brown hair, and green eyes. He was a handsome, but rather average- looking nineteen year old college student. The young man was wearing an Aerosmith T-shirt with blue shorts. His ears were pierced, but he had no earrings. He yawned and looked around his room sleepily. It was an average room belonging to a person his age: He had a bed, dressers, a stereo, a television, a video game system, and posters. He had lots of posters: most of them were of classic rock groups in his case, but he had some of bikini- clad babes, and a couple of professional wrestlers, most notably one of Shawn Michaels, aka the Heartbreak Kid, one of the Ultimate Warrior, and an old one of Razor Ramon on his wooden door. He also had a bookshelf, complete with books and some karate trophies.
"Ugh." The young man stretched and yawned.
"Bobby!" A woman's voice, the boy's mother, called out from downstairs. "Robert Parkins! You have class today!" The young man looked at a calendar on the dresser next to him. He looked at the day on it.
"Not until 4PM, Mom!" The young man cried out in response. He fell back down on his bed, but couldn't get to sleep again. "Might as well wake up, Bobby." He said to himself. Bobby leapt out of his bed and went to one of the two doors on his wall. He opened it up and turned on a light to reveal it was a closet. "What to wear?" Bobby looked through the hanging clothes until he picked out his outfit for today: an old Ozzy Osbourne shirt, with a blue button-down t-shirt, and a pair of faded blue jeans. Bobby put the clothes on his bed, and then walked to the bathroom. There, he got ready for the day, showering, cleaning his teeth, and combing his brown hair. He put on his clothes, and then he opened up the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out a pair of black biker gloves and a pair of yellow wristbands. He put them on, and walked down the stairs. He walked into the kitchen and saw his father looking in a tech magazine. He was a rather handsome man in his late 30s. His suit and tie suggested he did office work. However, Bobby seemed to get his looks from his mother, despite the fact she was blond. She was sitting next to her husband, her hair in a bun, her face in a newspaper. She also wore office clothes. "Hey Mom. Dad."
"Hello Bobby." The man looked up from his magazine. "What class do you have today?"
"English 102." Bobby told him as he got out some bread and put it in a toaster. "Aka Torture." The man laughed.
"Yeah, I hated it too." The young man's father laughed. His mother sipped her coffee, and put down the paper. Her green eyes, shining under the gold- rimmed glasses she wore, met Bobby's own. It was obvious that though Bobby had his father's hair, he had the looks and eyes of his mother.
"Be good, Robbie." She smiled. Bobby groaned at his pet name.
"Moooom, don't call me that!" The college student sighed. He buttered his toast and sat down with his parents. An only child, Bobby was showered with attention by his parents, despite the fact that they weren't home a lot.
"Have you found your own place yet?" Bobby's father asked him. "I know you've wanted your own place since your 18th birthday."
"Not yet." Bobby sighed. "I'm thinking of staying with Rip for a while. He has his own place."
"Rip?" Bobby's mother wondered.
"What his friend's called, dear." Bobby's father reminded her. She mouthed out an "Ah."
"Yeah, Ronald." Bobby explained. "That guy is obsessed with the 1980s." Bobby stared at the wall with a smile. {In that goof's mind, Back to the Future was released a week ago} He shook his head and looked at his watch. "Aw shoot! I gotta go! I promised Rip and the others that I'd rehearse with the band at 9!" Bobby got up and ran up to his room. He grabbed his blue backpack, and scrounged around for his books. He shoved them in, threw on a leather jacket, and picked up a guitar case. {Oh man, oh man, Rip, Wendy, and the others'll kill me if I'm late!} Bobby mentally groaned. He jumped down the stairs, passing by his parents.
"Bobby, calm down!" His father advised. "Kid, you really need to calm down. You'll be in time to rehearse. But remember, don't think the Firecrackers are your meal ticket. The chances of them getting big are practically none, no matter how good you are as musicians. You'll need to keep studying."
"I know, Dad." Bobby sighed. "But, I love the group. I just have a feeling. I have a feeling that we're gonna hit it big. I just know it. All my life, I've wanted to be a musician. You two know that."
"Just be realistic, son. Good Luck, and stay out of trouble. Your mother and I will be working late."
"Again." Bobby sighed. "See ya." Bobby ran to his car, an old blue Chevy Nova. Bobby threw his stuff in the back seat, then drove off. Bobby's home was in Cleveland, the capital city of Ohio, known for the Terminal Tower and the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. As he drove through the city, he thought about the latest inductees: {Finally, AC/DC gets in. They deserve it. They've dome some kick-ass music over the years. Too bad Bon Scott isn't here to see it. He would've loved it.} Bobby pulled into an alley next to a music store. He ran in with his guitar case. He saw all the guitars, drums, records, and various other musical instruments. Bobby went behind the counter, and opened a door. Behind it was a flight of stairs. He ran down the stairs into a basement covered in rock posters, with fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and a clock on the wall. Bobby noticed a green-and-silver drum kit, a pair of blue keyboards on a stand, and a guitar rack for six guitars, but three were on it. One was a regular Gibson, one was a cherry red flame-shaped guitar, and the third was actually an off-white bass guitar. Bobby also met up with five other kids, around his age. (A/N: Bobby's thoughts will provide background info). The other equipment were amplifiers, a couple of worn couches and a small table.
"Hey, Bobby! You showed up early! Great." A smiling handsome nineteen year- old said. He had long blond hair, and mischievous blue eyes. His 5'6" frame was clad in an Aerosmith t-shirt with a red leather jacket. The jacket had gold highlights, and the kid also wore a red headband, and leopard-print boots and gloves.
{Robert "Rip" Jones, guitarist and vocalist.} Bobby remembered. {My best friend since...forever, I guess. That guy is obsessed with the 1980s, always dressing like he came from a Kiss music video. He does tend to use 80s slang a lot, and he gave himself the name "Rip" because he can "rip an axe", which he claimed was 80s slang for "play a guitar well". He used to be a real womanizer, but he's calmed down a bit since meeting Wendy. His old man lets us rehearse here, and that's pretty cool of him}
"Are we gonna jam or what?" A nineteen-year-old girl asked. She was very beautiful, around 5'5", with her long raven-colored hair put up in a high ponytail except for the long bangs. Her hair had bright yellow streaks in it. She was clad in tight black jeans, a yellow tank top, a gold necklace with a tiny cross pendant, a sleeveless black leather jacket with several bracelets on one arm, and a studded forearm band on the other. She walked over and picked up the Gibson. Her brown eyes screamed playfulness and intensity, and her ears were pierced, with a star earring dangling out of each one.
"Hey Wendy." Bobby rolled his eyes. {Wendy Anderson, guitarist. She's Rip's girlfriend, and one of the prettiest girls in Ohio. She loves rock as much as any of us. She has written a few songs for The Firecrackers. She is one heck of a contrast. She has the tough attitude of Joan Jett, but also the songwriting ability of Stevie Nicks. Appropriately, those two are her big influences. Not bad for an ex-military brat. She and Rip have so much in common. They both dress up like they're in a 1980s rock video. Not to mention that she works at a clothing store where they get their wild clothes. I did look around there, but that's it}
"Yeah sure, babe. When's the pizza coming, Fingers?" Rip smirked at an eighteen-year-old boy leaning against a wall. He looked like any other boy his age, clad in a fiery t-shirt, with blue eyes, tanned skin, blue jeans, and white shoes. However, there was something different about this kid. He had short green hair.
{Daniel "Fingers" Carrington.} Bobby smiled at the sight of his friend. {He's called "Fingers" for his keyboard mastery. He is a mutant, believe it or not. He has no special powers, just green hair. He's had green hair all his life. Some people have teased and brutalized him, but he never lets it get him down. He's a great guy, always joking.}
"Calm down, Ripster." Fingers waved good-naturedly. "Keep yer pantyhose on, it's on its way."
"That's good, Carrington." An auburn-haired boy sitting behind the drum kit smiled. He had a plain blue t-shirt, plain blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. His reddish-brown hair was in a ponytail. The eighteen-year-old had hazel eyes. Fingers laughed.
"Tommy, don't call me that."
{Tommy Baines, the drum king} Bobby glanced at the boy. {That guy can slam the skins. But then again, it's in the blood. His old man played drums for an old local band called The Aces. They were Cleveland's hottest local band in the 50s and 60s.}
"Yo, Bob!" Tommy looked at his friend. "Bring out the guitar, man."
"Yeah, Bob!" A nineteen-year-old kid with a black buzz-cut grinned, taking the white bass guitar out of the rack and putting it on. He wore a Browns jersey, and black sweatpants.
"Alex, go check if the pizza man's arrived." Wendy sighed. "I'm starved." The bass-carrier sighed and ran up the stairs.
{Alex Baines} Bobby shook his head, opening up his case. {Tommy's older brother and the bassist of the Firecrackers. Those two get along great, but when they argue, boy do they argue. Last time they had a fight, Tommy nearly bashed Alex's head in with a cymbal} Bobby pulled out a beautiful black Flying-V guitar. "Nice, huh?" Bobby pointed to it.
"It's beautiful." Wendy sat on one of the couches. Rip sat down next to her. Alex ran down.
"He hasn't shown up yet."
"Great, now what do we do?" Fingers groaned. "We can't rehearse without food."
"Hey Bobby, did you see that show on TV about Ronnie Rocker?" Rip asked.
"Yeah, Ronnie Rocker was one incredible guy." Bobby responded.
"I got ya. There's something attractive about a man who wore makeup." Wendy laughed. "Too bad he died back in 1992 in that car accident. Underneath all the flash and flare, he was a talented guitarist, and a very talented singer."
"Did you know that his real name is Ronald Entwistle?" Tommy interjected.
"You serious?" Alex asked. "Why'd he change it to Rocker?"
"He started in the 70s." Bobby explained. "It was the fashion to give yourself a "superstar"-ish name in the glam era of the time. Besides, he thought that if he played under his real name, people would think he was related to John Entwistle of the Who."
"Yeah." Fingers shrugged. "Hey, I heard a rumor."
"What?" Wendy asked.
"Well, you know how Rocker was into magic and all that?"
"Yeah, he said that magic has fascinated him all his life." Rip scratched his head. "So?"
"So, rumor said that as he was dying in that car, he transferred his soul into his beloved guitar that he carried with him all the time. You know, the planet-shaped green-and-blue guitar?"
"That reminds me!" Rip got up. "Bobby, you are a big fan of Ronnie Rocker, right?"
"Duh." Bobby rolled his eyes, smiling. "I thought he was the greatest. The long wild mane of blond hair, the space-themed costumes, the show, his songs...He called himself "The greatest rock musician of all time"..." Bobby sighed. "And he was."
"Well, I saw this guitar that looked exactly like Rocker's." Rip grinned. "You should get it, Bobby. He was your idol growing up."
"I already own a guitar." Bobby said.
"No reason why you shouldn't have another." Tommy smiled. "Many great musicians do have multiple six-strings." Bobby mulled it over.
"Where'd you see it, hon?" Wendy asked her boyfriend.
"Down at that pawn shop on Sixth." Rip smiled. The other band members groaned.
"Dude, that place gives me the creeps. They say it has freaky stuff there. The owner's really into magic." Alex sighed.
"They say the guy that owns it was a magician." Wendy remembered, looking at her watch. "We called the pizza guy at 8:00. It's now 8:30 and he never showed up."
"30 minutes or less my butt." Fingers grumbled.
"No tip for him." Rip winked.
"You guys, it's hard to keep a promise like that in a city like Cleveland." Bobby said. "Let's say we find a restaurant and get us a real breakfast."
"Might as well." Tommy agreed. The six kids got up and went to the music store's front door, but the pizza guy finally arrived, carrying three pizza boxes and six drinks.
"Three cheese, and one pepperoni pizza. And three Diet Cokes, one Sprite, and two Pepsis." The man read the order. "10 bucks, please."
"Now ya show up." Tommy grumbled. The man looked particularly freaked by the fact Fingers had green hair, but he tried his best to hide it. Rip gave him the money. The delivery guy coughed.
"Sorry. You were late." Wendy grinned. "You said that you'd arrive in 30 minutes or less. You took 32 minutes. No tip for you."
"Punks." The man grumbled as he gave the kids the grub and walked away.
"Try being on time, pal." Laughed Fingers. The man grumbled as he went back to his truck. He was grumbling about getting a new route. The kids went back into the music store, and back to the basement. There, they feasted.
"You should go there, Bobby. You'd love that guitar at the pawn shop." Rip suggested. He, Bobby, and Wendy took the Diet Cokes, Alex had the Sprite, and Tommy and Fingers took the Pepsis.
"Oh, alright. I'll check it out." Bobby sighed. "I might as well. It would be nice if it was the real guitar."
"Too bad." Rip munched on a slice of pizza. The gang went down to the basement and ate the food. After they filled their stomachs with pizza and soda, they grabbed their instruments and started practicing. They sounded like a cross between Aerosmith and Styx as they played. Rip's singing and strumming filled the room as he sang Styx's "Rockin' the Paradise", accompanied by the hard-rock licks of Bobby and Wendy, the thunderous drumming of Tommy Baines, Fingers's Liberace-style keyboard mastery, and the cool bass of Alex Baines. They did cover some songs to get their rhythm, and they did some originals. It was noon when they finished. Rip thought about the last song they did, an original.
"Man, Wendy!" Rip grinned. "That last song you wrote was totally awesome! I mean, it was radical to the max!"
"Dude, join the new millennium already." Fingers laughed. A smirking Wendy just buffed her yellow-and-black striped nails on her top and blew on them.
"No biggie. I wrote that one in a few minutes."
"You and Rip seriously need to get updated." Bobby laughed.
"Yeah, do you two e-mail each other, or do you still use Apple computers?" Alex joined in.
"Oh, I just remembered!" Tommy put a look of mock shock on his face as he looked at his wrist like he had a watch. "They have that new movie out. I believe it's called Top Gun." The drummer burst out laughing. Everyone else but Rip and Wendy joined in.
"Laugh it up fellas, just laugh it up." Wendy crossed her arms, grumbling.
"C'mon guys!" Rip groaned. "I'm not that out of it."
"We weren't talking about you, we were talkin' about your outfit." Fingers quipped. A voice called out to the six kids. It was Rip's father. He looked like an older version of Rip, only with short hair and dressed in more contemporary clothes.
"Hey kids, I'm opening the store." Rip's old man announced. "Practice time is over."
"Too bad." Tommy said. "Hey bro, did you say you got us a gig?"
"Yeah." Alex nodded. "We're playing at the new club, the Starbox."
"I've been there, it's a very retro club." Wendy remembered.
"I gotta go." Bobby packed up his guitar. "I have to go study."
"Alright, meet you at class." Rip high-fived his friend. Bobby ran to his car, and was about to drive home, but he had a change of heart, and decided to go to that pawn shop. The old place gave him some incredible creeps. There were all sorts of old items there for sale, but Bobby saw the object Rip told him about. The guitar with the blue-and-green planet-shaped body. A perfect replica of Ronnie Rocker's famous "Ringer" guitar. Bobby felt like he should own it, like it was there for him and him alone.
"Like the guitar, kid?" A voice piped up, frightening the college student. Bobby turned around and saw the storekeeper. He was a creepy-looking old man, with an eye patch over his right eye, the other eye a deep black, and long white hair. The sparse lighting made him look like a pale wrinkly demon in a slight way.
"Uh...Uh, yeah..." Bobby shook his head nervously. "For some reason, I feel I should own it. I hope it's not too expensive." The old man looked Bobby over.
"You seem like an honest kid." He judged. "Tell you what. I'd normally sell that old thing for a hundred bucks. But, I feel that guitar should be yours, kid. It fits you. You can have it for fifty."
"Fifty dollars?" Bobby whistled, holding the instrument. "That's still a lot."
"Hey, in a regular store, you'd have to pay around 150-200 dollars for that." The old man smirked. Bobby mulled it over.
"You got a point." The young musician agreed. He paid the man and drove to his home. Along the way, Bobby noticed something weird. His radio started blasting Foghat's "Drivin' Wheel". "Wha?" Bobby wondered. He tried to turn it off, but he noticed the radio was already off. "What the hell? What's with this thing? I just got this stupid thing fixed!" Bobby smacked the radio, and it shut off. He drove home, and took in his stuff. He ran up to the fridge, and there was a note telling Bobby his parents were at work. The young man sighed, not noticing the slight glow coming from his new guitar. He went to bedroom, only to notice something strange in his closet mirror: His short brown hair had suddenly grown to shoulder-length, and it was blond! "My hair!" Bobby fingered his transformed hair. "How'd it get this long so quickly? And I don't remember bleaching it! Oh my God!"
"I dunno. I think it looks good, kid." A voice said. Bobby saw the reflection, and was in shock. He turned around to confirm it.
"Oh God." The young guitarist said. "It can't be."
What happened to Bobby's hair? What's with the guitar? Who was the person Bobby saw? Find out in the next chapter of The Birth of a Juke Box Hero!!