Back to School

"Could I call you later, darling? I'm really a little tired today." Ryan wrapped an arm around the woman's waist and whispered in her ear.

"You have my contact info." The black-haired woman in an orange romper dress pinched Ryan's chest, then blew him a kiss as she left.

Ryan made sure to grab her ass one last time, and after talking her around, he finally saw her off.

Joel sat in the car looking stunned. As soon as Ryan got into the passenger seat, he blurted, "I thought you weren't coming back with me tonight."

Ryan shook his head. Who knew what might happen?

"You did the right thing." Joel nodded. "I'd only been working part-time at this club for a little while when something similar happened to me. Guess what happened?"

"He pulled it out, and it was bigger than yours?" Ryan burst out laughing.

Joel shrugged. Ryan's guess probably wasn't far from the truth.

Then Ryan brought up his next move. He said he wasn't in a hurry to submit anything to a record label, and wanted to build up a following online first.

"If I have a choice, I want the record labels to contact me, not the other way around," Ryan said.

Joel strongly agreed, then laid out the tricks of the record-label business. After signing a singer, a label would promise an "advance" to cover the costs of making and promoting an album. It looked like an investment in the singer, but was really just another form of "debt." Once the album made money, the label would deduct the advance first, and only then would the singer get a cut.

"What if the producer and recording studio are both owned by the label? The label gets to decide how much the album costs to make. If it doesn't sell enough to cover the advance, your career is as good as dead—unless you can figure out a way to pay the money back."

"Even if the album sells well enough, distribution costs are another huge expense. Returns, shipping, pressing the records—all those extra costs are decided by the label. Then there are payment schedules and taxes. Ninety percent of singers make less than five thousand dollars a year."

"Ever since Napster—a peer-to-peer music-sharing program—shut down its service in July 2001, the record industry has been going downhill. People in the business have lost faith in the future, everyone's on edge, and the industry is full of shady practices. The Big Four record labels control eighty percent of the market, and every label is trying to squeeze out the last bit of profit. Everyone wants to use whatever tiny bit of power they have to get a little extra for themselves. It's even worse than Hollywood's old studio-system era. It's like a last hurrah before the end of the world. You'd better be careful. Some people are especially fond of soft-skinned little guys like you," Joel warned.

After quietly returning to Trey's house, Ryan went to the study again. First, he logged into the Copyright Office website, registered his copyright, and paid the fifty-dollar registration fee with Trey's credit card.

Then he opened YouTube and deleted every video of himself singing and playing guitar from his channel, "Ryan Rivers Official Channel." He thought about what to rename it, and after considering a few options, he hit on Dr. Dre. Using his own name as a base, he came up with the stage name Dr. Ray and changed the channel name.

Finally, Ryan opened Ableton Live again and tried to polish the original track. But just as Joel had said, there weren't any suitable Sound Effect Plugins yet, and no matter what Ryan adjusted, it still didn't sound the way he wanted.

Would he have to teach himself how to make plugins, too? Ryan began uploading the music to YouTube as videos. Of course, he had no idea how to create those flashy visual effects, so the videos had nothing but a plain black background.

Next, Ryan registered under the stage name Dr. Ray on the major social networks of the day: Twitter, Myspace, and others. Since Myspace had the most young people, he made it his priority. His other social accounts were just copies of his Myspace profile.

"Bang!" The front door opened again. Trey walked in with her hands on her hips, looking furious.

"You'd better have a good explanation... I can smell the perfume on you from here. Where have you been fooling around?" Trey wasn't happy.

"It's a long story. Want to hear this?" Ryan said, pretending to press play.

Trey immediately shook her head. "I don't care what you did tonight. You have to report to Hendersonville High School first thing tomorrow morning. Your application's been approved."

"Wasn't I supposed to come over first thing in the morning? It's already ten!"

"You told me at three-thirty in the morning. Why didn't you wake me up tonight?"

"I... I set an alarm!"

"Is there an alarm clock in your room?"

"It's the alarm clock in your room."

"You never planned to drive me there, did you?"

"That's not important."

Ryan and Trey tiptoed down the hallway. They both felt guilty about being late and didn't want to disturb the other students in class, so they peered through the classroom window.

The teacher spotted Ryan before long and invited him inside. Trey, however, didn't plan to stay another second. She turned and left for the production company where she worked.

Ryan could only steel himself and introduce himself, then spotted a familiar girl in the second-to-last row.

She was resting her chin on her hands, fingers spread like a flower. She looked just as surprised to see Ryan at the front of the classroom.

"Pick a seat, Rivers," the teacher said.

Ryan didn't think too much about it. He walked over and sat beside Abigail. At once, all the other girls in the classroom turned to look at him. Abigail looked rather pleased with herself, while the boys wore long faces. As an underwear model who had shot campaigns for Christian Audigier, Adidas, International Jock, and Hugo Boss, Ryan was several leagues better-looking than the students at this suburban public high school. No wonder the girls were drawn to him.

Before long, class was over.

"Want one?" Abigail held out a red, stick-shaped Twizzler to Ryan. It was basically the American equivalent of spicy strips.

Ryan shook his head. "Where's the locker room?"

"I'll show you!" Abigail immediately stood up, ready to lead him there.

Abigail was clearly being a little too enthusiastic, but Ryan didn't know how to turn her down. On the way, he asked, "Is Taylor a student here, too?"

"She's already left school," Abigail explained.

Had she dropped out? That made sense. You had to choose between your career and your education. At the thought, Ryan felt a lot better.

"She graduated a year and a half early, with a 4.0 GPA," Abigail added.

"Impressive." Ryan whistled.

That meant that even if she put down her guitar, with her grades and family background, getting into a top university wouldn't be difficult.

"Let's not talk about her. Which club are you going to join? I recommend Hendersonville's swim team. Your height and long reach would give you an advantage, and you could show off your muscles." Abigail grinned, putting in a good word for her swim team.

Unfortunately, Ryan had already been claimed.

"I was on Pineville High School's football team. Before I left, we made it to the Louisiana 4A finals," Ryan explained.

Football was what had gotten him back into school. Not long ago, the football coach had nearly wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist in the principal's office, insisting that Ryan stay.

Though Abigail had been turned down, her eyes lit up even more. "The 4A finals? I had no idea you were that good. Hendersonville's desperate for football players like you. What position do you play?"

"Tight End."

Abigail nodded, looking at Ryan with even more admiration.

At American schools, football players automatically gained ten points in every girl's favor. Even Taylor hadn't been immune.

At the same time, a Toyota Sequoia pulled into the school parking lot. Taylor and her mother got out.

"This time, I should finally be able to get my graduation paperwork, right?" Taylor said.

Then Taylor thought of Abigail and pulled out her phone to call her best friend.

"What are you doing this afternoon? Football practice? Don't those guys on the team all have girlfriends? Why's he there, too?!" Taylor's voice suddenly rose. When she noticed her mother looking at her, she quickly lowered it.

"He really came to Hendersonville High?"