by Allie Martin
Super cool.
The tall, thin, long-haired brass player, Nate, steps over Hector to flop down next to Nat and drops a trumpet across his lap. “Hey, Jordie. Didn’t think you’d make it to this one.” He kicks Jordan’s leg, and I’m back to being stunned that I am here with my favorite band. Nat and I exchange keep it cool, Slick, glances, and I know we are both trying to quietly absorb this crazy night and its seemingly never-ending twist of events.
“I wasn’t going to.” Jordan glances at me.
“Yeah, I talked to Rick outside a few minutes ago,” the female singer, Sarah, says. “He told me about Annie. It’s about time you got rid of her. When did that happen?”
Jordan tenses and leans back. He doesn’t answer, but Sarah waves her hands. “Whatever, little brother."
I snap my focus to Jordan.
"Sarah used to date my brother. She's called me that since I was seven," Jordan flips her off.
Sarah shrugs. "I'm just sayin'. But you look like you’re doing okay now," she says, raising a light eyebrow at me. Jordan’s tension feeds my own, and I suddenly feel ridiculous sitting on him like this.
“It’s a bet.” The words fall from my mouth, and my head drops immediately to shield the creeping heat climbing my face. Jordan tenses further, his hand tightening around mine.
“A bet?” I hear one of the band say, and I wish that I could get up and walk out without anyone noticing, but I can tell they’re all staring at me. (so much for quietly observing). I notice little lines of black poking out from the sleeve of my hoodie so I tug the material to my elbow and hold out my arm. This way I don’t have to explain.
“I leave in the morning,” I say as the words on my arm are read by them all.
“You would, Jordie.” Hector punches him again. “I wish I had your play, man.”
The lead singer, Steve, throws a bottle cap at Hector. “So do the rest of us. If I have to listen to you say, ‘Hey baby, nice rack, I’m in a band,’ one more time...”
“Does that ever actually work?” Nat’s features sour.
“More often than you’d think.” Hector reaches forward to grab a slice of greasy pizza.
Everyone laughs, and the attention is shifted completely away from me as they all tell stories of failed attempts at hooking up. My shoulders slowly unwind, and I sink deeper and deeper into Jordan, whose arms wrap tighter and tighter around me.
“Is this weird?” Jordan whispers in my ear. I turn so our noses are almost touching.
“It’s very weird.”
He closes the distance, a quick kiss to my cheek. I blush again.
“Good,” he says. “Weird is good.”
I shift so I can see his whole face. “How do you figure?”
“You’re outside your normal. This is new. I’m new. Everything is different because we’re making it so. That’s why it’s weird. That’s why it’s good. We’re redefining the word, Evan.”
“I think you’re weird.” I grin at him, and he turns his head away from me, back to his friends. He relaxes into the chair.
“Good.”
John, the drummer, teaches Nat how to do a basic beat on the coffee table using the wood, a pizza box, and a crushed soda can. She smiles at me—her big toothy this is awesome grin.
I always thought that if I ever met my favorite band that I’d scream, or faint, or go numb from being overwhelmed by famous people, but they seem no different than anyone else. Just people. People who are passionate about music in the same way that I am passionate about the stars. Just people. They’re people I can see myself being friends with.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Jordan asks, and I blink away my thoughts.
“How do you know these guys?”
“I went to high school with Hector. He and Rick and I played ball together. Sarah and my brother dated for a long time. I don't really know the other guys beyond band stuff..."
"Band stuff?" I cut him off, and for the first time tonight I see his cheeks flush red.
“Jordan used to write for us, back when we were basement nobodies,” Hector cuts in, ruffling Jordan’s hair and tugging his hat down over his eyes.
“You used to write for them? You said their writing wasn’t even that good?” Again with the words and the inability to keep them inside.
“You’re going to get me in trouble, Evan.”
“Yeah, of course he said that." Hector speaks with a mouth full of pizza. "Jordan believes he’s an artist—a sculptor of words to prove nothing else but their individual beauty. He doesn’t believe that a little old band like us who has a corporate label and a bus with our name on it has any merit. We've lost our ‘street cred,’ if you will.” He makes air quotes, and Jordan leans forward to punch him in the arm.
“You sold out the second you put that pen to the contract.” Jordan states, but his voice is only half-teasing.
Hector makes a bored face. Nat's holding drumsticks above the coffee table but has stopped her practicing.
"We can't all afford to be purists, Jordie. Living on my brother’s couch wasn't an option for me."
Jordan's eyes go distant again, farther than I've seen them go before.
"Well, I think your songs are awesome." Nat leans forward to smack my leg with the drumstick. "And so does EJ. Right?"
"Ow."
"You're kind of delicate aren't you?" Hector asks, and my cheeks fill with heat again. "It's adorable."
The door to the room swings open, and a balding man sticks his shiny head into the room. "Five minutes, guys."
Jordan shifts under me, and I stand. He seems relieved that the conversation has ended, but I'm still curious about what Hector meant about Jordan being able to afford living the life he lives.
"We should go, man." Jordan does the hand slap shake thing with Hector. "Thanks for letting us come back to hang out."
Hector wraps his arms around my shoulders and swallows me in a hug, shaking me back and forth. I get dizzy, but I stubbornly fight it. I am hugging a member of the best band ever. Every one of them hugs me and Nat and thanks us for coming to the show. I finally feel that star-struck, giddy, amazement I thought I would feel.
"Sorry it was such a short visit. We’re heading out after the show; you guys should totally join us." Sarah hugs Nat, waving her hands at the drumsticks as Nat tries to give them back.
"We’re only seventeen..." Nat starts and Sarah cuts her off.
"Not to a club or anything. We always go for breakfast after our shows."
"At midnight?" I ask, but excitement bubbles under my skin. Hanging out with Lemming Garden after a show, getting their drumsticks, kissing a guy that writes songs for them. This is turning out to be a way weirder (and awesome-r?) night than I originally thought.
Weird is good, I remind myself. Accept it and go with it.
"Midnight breakfast is the best kind of breakfast. Make sure you come." Hector points at me and Nat before he swats Jordan’s arm. "Hey, man stick around for a sec, I need to talk to you."
I see the discomfort flash across Jordan's face, and I want to see into him to figure it out. His eyes dart around the room then lock onto mine. For the first time through my excitement, I truly see his tension. He has a history with this band, obviously writing music for them, but there's more.
"I'll catch up, ‘kay?" His smile stirs something in my chest. He's so many things. I want to peel away all the layers to study all the parts of him. Guys like him are not normal in my world. I want to put him under a microscope.
Keep it light, Evan, I think. He is only one night of your life. You aren't going to tell him about the pacemaker. Tonight you're normal.
"See you out there."
I take a quick scan of the room, the band, Jordan, and Nat's stunned face. I burn it all into my memory, locking it inside my head. Even if I wasn’t sick, this type of thing doesn’t happen twice.
I follow Nat out into the dark hallway, and the door closes behind us.
"Holy shit, Evan.
What happened?" Nat squeals and shakes her shoulders.
"I have no idea." I breathe out, and we start back toward our table. "But whatever it was, it was awesome."
"I take back what I said. Please be in love with Jordan. If it means getting to hang out with the band, please be his princess. His damsel, or whatever you need to be."
I push her dramatically through the dark curtain into the dim club. I take one last peek over my shoulder toward the door and wonder why Hector wanted to talk to Jordan alone. I wonder why his face twisted into the same expression I use before I am strapped into some machine to monitor my heart.
Friday, April 19 • 9:55 PM
Jordan
She walks away from me, her hand tucked safely in Nat's. I never thought about it until Hector said she was delicate, but there is something about her that makes me feel like she's weak. Not weak in her comebacks or her ability to stand up for herself, but there’s a crack that runs the length of her that threatens her stability.
Hector slaps my shoulder, and I know what he's going to say before he opens his mouth.
"I am not changing my mind, Hector.”
“Come on, man. It’s not a big deal.” Hector talks to me like I’m some sort of kid, but the way I cross my arms and dig my heels into the ground, I may as well be.
“It’s a big deal to me,” I reply, remembering that folder at home tucked away safely in the drawer of my brother’s desk. I got that letter a few months after Christmas. My brother pounced on my back, punching me in the arm while telling me how proud he was. I played along for a while, even believing it might be a viable option for me, and then I quietly put the folder in the drawer and left it there. I haven’t told anyone about it since. Not even Annie. I was pissed. Pissed that Hector would do that behind my back.
“Seriously though, Jordie. Think about it. You’re better than half of those pretentious jackasses.”
“And completely not interested.” My knee shakes as Hector searches for cracks in my resolve. When he doesn’t find any, he sighs.
“We’re going to be in London recording for the summer. We leave after our US tour is over in June and could use your pen, man. By the time we’re done, it will be almost time for the fall semester...” His voice trails off as my scowl deepens, and he hits my chest with both hands. “Fine, you stubborn bastard. Go. Get out of here; we have a concert to finish.”
I gladly turn and leave without any further prompting, and Sarah calls after me to make sure I’ll go for breakfast at midnight. I salute and step through the door, but I don’t move toward the club. I stand in the middle of the black hallway, letting the darkness inhale me.
Thoughts of ducking out the back door and disappearing swirl through my head, but then I remember the brightness of Evan’s eyes when she saw the band. The brightness of her eyes like stars in my eternally midnight mind. I head out to the club and spot her immediately, standing with Nat, her hand on her chest, and I wonder why she does that, like she’s physically covering her heart for no one else to see. She has this morose every time she places her palm against her hoodie, and I’m struck with the need to find out why. I have until sunrise to figure her out, and I’m determined to do it, which means I have to suck up my own problems and focus on her.
When I’m close enough, she punches my shoulder. “I can’t believe you writes songs for Lemming Garden.” She’s teasing me, and I have to search for my smile.
“Used to,” I correct her. “Used to write songs. And even then, not really. I was more like their phrase consultant.”
Evan and Nat eye me with heads cocked to the side, and their silence is uncomfortable. Nat snorts. “Has anyone ever told you you’re such an egomaniac?”
My amusement feels more genuine as the moments pass and the girls giggle uncontrollably at me. “Why is this funny?” I ask.
“What songs did you write for them? Seriously. We have to know.” The clock ticks by as I toss around options in my head.
“You’ve probably never heard it,” I say, because I don’t like the way Evan is looking at me. Like something has changed. Like she sees me differently now.
“Try me.” Nat taps her foot.
“Sugar Coated Highway,” I mumble, and they both gasp like it means something big.
“You wrote that?” Evan’s eyes are huge, and I can see her opinion of me changing. I can see her expectations shift and morph into the reason why I don’t tell strangers who I am. Why I refuse to work with Hector, why I was so pissed when he sent my work to the producer at their London studio. Why I lost it when I found out he forged my application to a poetry program there.
“That’s the first song I ever heard of theirs, like two years ago. I am in love with that song.” Evan’s expression morphs yet again into something sad, something distant, and it throws off my practiced reaction to people finding out what I’ve done.
“Then I’ve already succeeded in making you fall in love with me,” I tease her. Her nose wrinkles, and I want to kiss every squished freckle. “They must really be your favorite band because that was their demo song. I haven’t written anything for them since they signed.”
“Yeah, what’s your deal with labels anyway?” Evan takes a sip of her water as her purse starts singing. It’s a Lemming Garden song, and I laugh. She glares at me. “Shut up.”
She fishes her phone out and curses at the screen. “It’s my dad,” she says then picks up. “Hey, Dad. How was your flight...yeah, totally...I did already... promise... yes, Dad, lots of water... yep, at the hotel... oh... we were getting ice probably... yeah, Nat came with me... hotels are creepy, and they always keep those machines in dark corners... yes, Dad...uh huh... It's the TV... yup... It’s my glue. Bye.” Evan sighs, and I’m thoroughly confused.
“Glue?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.
“Nothing, it’s dumb.” Evan spins to Nat leaving me more determined to figure her out. “Nat, bathroom?”
They both act like I’m a complete intruder on their silent conversation.
“Find me?” I slowly study Evan’s face as a thousand things pass across it, but her eyes are steady on mine. She nods and turns. I grab her hand. She spins into me, and I stop her with my hands on her hips. “This doesn’t change anything, does it? There’s nothing special about me. I’m still exactly who I was before I took you back there to meet them. They’re my friends, but I’m still me. I need you to know that.”
Evan looks at my hands on her body then at my face. She leans forward and kisses me, soft and sweet, before stepping back and pinching her lips together tightly. She shakes her head so slightly I almost don’t notice it before she turns and follows Nat to the bathroom.
10:05 PM
The band has started again, and I’m leaning against the wall next to Rick who has managed to find himself a fangirl. One of the mini-skirt girls from earlier is attached to him with arms like a vice around his waist. His arms hang loose, one draped over her shoulders like he doesn’t give a shit about her. Which he doesn’t. Why does this have to be the way in relationships? The less you care, the more they cling to you. The more disinterested you act, the easier it is to get what you want.
This never used to be on my mind. Not until a few months before Annie cheated on me. We were sitting on my brother’s dusty old couch, and she sat as far away from me as possible.
“You okay?” I said, and she shrugged.
“I’m fine.” She stuck her finger in her mouth, clicking her fingernail against her teeth and hugging her knees to her chest. That was the first time I felt the coldness that would become synonymous with Annie pulling away. I didn’t worry about it at first because everyone gets in bad moods. Sometimes I wanted to disappear into nothingness and be left alone. But days of distance made me frantic for her to touch me like she used to. To kiss me hard like she used to. I was desperate to satisfy her. So desperate I got angry.
“I feel like you don’t give a shit, Annie. Why are you even with me if you can’t stand to be around me? D
o me a favor and leave!” I yelled on the cold street outside of my apartment. I turned to walk away. She stopped me. She touched me. She clung to me, and I forgot everything—the weeks of fights. I forgot the threat I’d made as she whispered I love you between kisses. I forgot what strength was as she gave me what I wanted.
Connection.
We had sex that night. My first time. She cheated on me a couple weeks later.
“So did the girls run away or what?” Rick nudges me, and I lower my head, not even realizing I was staring up at the ceiling. “Or now that you introduced them to the band they have no need for you anymore?” Rick jokes, and the girl he has his arm around traps me in laser focus.
“You know that band?” Her eyes become greedy, embodying my every reason for not staying on with Lemming Garden.
I push off the wall and nod at Rick. “Rick knows the band, too. He didn’t tell you?” I flip off my friend as soon as the girl has turned away from me, and Rick glares. He’ll never get rid of her now.
I wander across the bar to stand at the edge of the crowd. The music weaves through the bodies packed into the tight space and washes over me. It’s a slow tune, one that deserves the stillness of the crowd. I do miss songwriting a bit when I stand still and absorb. To have sounds put to my words to enhance their meaning is pretty surreal. I was pumped when Hector told me the producer liked their demo. He told me at a show, in some dive-bar filled with college kids who had no idea they were idolizing a bunch of high-schoolers. Hector and I were barely sixteen. Nate was seventeen. Sarah, Steve, and John were eighteen. But I’m not sixteen anymore, and I don’t get that puffy-chest pride in telling people what I write.
But Hector’s right; I am a purist. I love words alone. I love the sound of them, the feel of them, the way they roll around inside my head and fall from my tongue like a gumball machine. The way they press through my teeth, leak through the black ink of my pen. They’re mine. The words. I own them and mold them and live through them. I don’t like sharing them with anyone I don’t love. I don’t trust the world to understand them. I don’t trust—