“I guess. It’s just . . . I don’t know, I’m worried that he’ll be upset. He’s never really been angry with me. I wasn’t lying to Howie before, I am a good kid. I do whatever my dad asks me to do, without complaining. Much. I don’t think he’s ever actually yelled at me.”
“Sounds boring.”
“It’s been a fairly quiet life,” I admitted.
We continued to make our way home in comfortable silence, the bland stretches of road melting into the familiar landscape of our loved and loathed hometown. JJ asked if I wanted to hang out at his place and I agreed. The thought of being alone with him behind closed doors made me feel a little queasy, but I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to say no.
I pulled out my phone to text Jess again, needing all the common sense I could get. After scrolling through a screen and a half of her excited squealing following the text I’d sent her about our first gig, I started to second guess my decision to turn to her for sensible advice.
Going to hang out at JJ’s, I typed, glancing at him when I was sure he wasn’t looking.
Just the two of you? ;)
I rolled my eyes, feeling a blush burning merrily at the back of my neck even though she wasn’t there to judge and or mock me. JJ tapped out a tune I vaguely recognized against the steering wheel, completely oblivious.
Yup—it’s no big deal
I believe you, thousands wouldn’t was her snarky response.
I could almost hear her rolling her eyes all the way across town.
“Who are you texting?” JJ asked as he turned onto his ridiculously long gravel driveway.
“Jess,” I replied, hugging as I shoved my phone back in my pocket.
“You can invite her over, if you want,” he offered as we got out the car.
I followed him to the front door, eyes fixed on the dip at the small of his back. He seemed tense, the languid confidence that he usually carried himself with replaced by stiff formality. I wondered why he was nervous, and then I wondered if I should be nervous, which led me to wondering why we’d be nervous. We were friends, right? Friends hang out at each other’s houses all the time.
“Nah, she’s got a physics test this week, probably shouldn’t give her an excuse to procrastinate,” I told him with a fond smile. Jess was the smartest, most easily distracted person I’d ever met.
“Cruel to be kind,” JJ agreed, grinning as he led me through the foyer to his living room.
We sat cross-legged on his giant marshmallow couches, channel surfing and talking about the gig. JJ went into the kitchen to get snacks, returning with a bowl of popcorn, a soda for me and a double vodka and coke for himself.
“Vodka huh?” I said, raising an eyebrow after he downed half the glass in one go.
“I’m out of beer,” he replied with a sad little shrug.
“Lesley slacking on the grocery run?” I asked, trying to keep the tone light. I didn’t want him to think I was judging him, but I was worried about him drinking so much in the middle of the week.
“She refuses to buy alcohol when my dad’s not here,” he explained with a knowing smile. “She’s sharp as a tack.”
Surprisingly, the alcohol didn’t seem to have much of an effect on him. I knew he’d been drinking for years—most of his stories, from as far back as his early teens, seemed to stem from the bottom of a bottle. I’d experimented with alcohol but still considered myself a lightweight. I liked beer, but I’d only drank it out of curiosity. I’d never been blackout drunk. I expected him to get a bit emotional or maybe a little dark, but he didn’t.
He seemed pretty steady until he got to his feet to walk me to the door, just before midnight and four doubles in. He swayed a little, a giggle escaping as he stumbled towards me.
“Woah,” I said, reaching out to steady him. I caught him by the elbow, holding tight so I could guide him around the coffee table to where I was standing.
“Everything’s gone a bit . . . upside down,” he told me, eyelashes fluttering against his sickly pink cheeks.
“I think I should take you upstairs,” I replied, leading him up the stairs to his wing of the house.
“I think you should,” he giggled to himself, nearly tripping over his feet.
It was pretty cold up there, so I stopped to adjust the thermostat, rolling my eyes as JJ tried—and failed—to say thermostat three times fast. I didn’t let go of him until we were in his room and his bed was in sight.
As soon as I let him go, he started swaying towards his bed. He was face down on the comforter within seconds, murmuring something about how much he loved his bed, or Lesley, or something equally endearing.
“Hey, JJ, are you gonna throw up?”
“No,” he mumbled, his mouth half full of pillow. “Why would I throw up?”
“You’re kinda drunk, buddy.”
“Jus-a-lil,” he responded, accompanied by another little laugh. “I don’t throw up much. Get headaches though, right behind my eyes.”
He rolled onto his back, gazing blankly at the ceiling for a minute while I frowned at him, arms crossed and concerned. He finally focused his eyes on me, gaze half-lidded and glittering.
“I’m going to get you some Aspirin and a glass of water, okay?”
“Okay.”
I nodded to myself, sure that was the best course of action. I flipped the light switch for his bathroom, the overhead light bouncing over the pristine white tiles. He hissed as it spilled into his darkened bedroom.
It was the sort of bathroom my aunt Rose cooed over when she saw it on TV, complete with a freestanding claw foot tub and walk-in shower. I thought it was a little ridiculous, but apparently, I have no flair for interior design.
The medicine cabinet had a sliding mirror door but no handle. I ignored my reflection and pulled my sleeve over my hand so I wouldn’t leave fingerprints on the glass. I was pretty sure Lesley had enough to deal with.
I don’t know why I was shocked to see so many pill bottles in the medicine cabinet. They were lined up perfectly. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure JJ was still sprawled out on his bed. I fought the urge to take a closer look at them, but that was one battle the suicidal-level curious cat was destined to lose.
All the labels had his name on them—typed as J. J. KESWICK. I huffed at the realization that his pharmacist didn’t even know his full name. The name of the medication was listed along with the condition they were prescribed for. Vyvanse, ADHD. Ambien, insomnia. Atavan (which I recognized from a Fall Out Boy song) and Xanax, anxiety.
Aventyl, depression.
I let out a low whistle as I took it all in. JJ whistled back from his bedroom, almost choking on the laugh that followed. So much of him was hidden away behind that little mirrored door, a whole complicated medical history that I hadn’t even guessed at. The queasiness returned as I pulled out the Aspirin, tucking the bottle into my pocket before filling a glass with water.
“You still with me, JJ?” I asked him as I placed the glass on the bedside table.
“Always,” he murmured as he reached out for the Aspirin bottle. He swallowed two of the pills without water before giving me a thumbs up.
“You gonna be alright?”
He smiled sleepily at me, his innocent expression miles away from everything I thought I knew about him.
“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding. “I’m gonna be all right.”
“The Kids Aren’t Alright”—Fall Out Boy
It was darker than I thought it would be in the hallway where we convened to psych ourselves up for our very first show.
“Howie’s gotta invest in some better lighting,” Ash grumbled as she spun her drum sticks in her hands, her polished nails flashing in the dark like the blade of a particularly sharp knife.
“I like it,” JJ said, shrugging.
I glanced in his general direction, his white toothed grin like a beacon in the low lighting.
“All the best things happen in the dark.”
Jessica snorted bu
t didn’t say anything as she continued to tune her bass. I turned to Dylan, half expecting some words of comfort before remembering that he didn’t really believe in comfort. Or speaking.
Howie’s was pretty packed, considering the size of Monroeville. Like my dad’s shop, it was a treasured location for kids who loved music—somewhere they could meet up, hang out and talk about the latest tour announcement or new album rumor. Not only was Howie’s the only club for miles around that ran an all ages night (complete with soda stocked bar), it was one of the few places nearby that had live entertainment.
I could hear the buzz of at least a hundred excited voices, kids just like me chattering about this new mystery band that Howie had lined up. It was pretty early, not even seven, but we were apparently exciting enough to draw a crowd.
“Hey, Jack, say something,” Jessica said, crystal eyes flashing when she fixed her gaze on me. “You’re unusually quiet. I expected a speech.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I murmured, my stomach cramping up right on cue. Yeah, I was definitely gonna be sick.
“Woah, splash zone,” Jess quipped as she started to step back. “These are new boots.”
“You’re so supportive,” I bit back before clapping a hand over my mouth. I really didn’t want to throw up on my guitar. My words felt thick in my throat, the prospect of finally playing for other people—a lot of other people—was apparently more prone to induce nausea than excitement.
“Come on,” JJ said, warm hand curling around my elbow. “Let’s go get some fresh air.”
He led me down the corridor to the fire exit, kicking it open with little regard for the door handle. Cool air rushed up to greet me, hitting me like a ton of bricks. A cold sweat trickled down the back of my neck, chilled by the breeze that whistled down the alley.
“Give me that.”
I shrugged out of my guitar and handed it to JJ. He swung the strap over his head and pulled the guitar to his left side, moving so fast it made my head spin. I mumbled a token protest, and he rolled his eyes. They were the same shade as the late summer sky above his head.
I may have been battling intense stage fright, (and let’s face it, denial) but even I had to admit he looked great. The jeans he was wearing looked as if they’d been made for him, the black denim cutting across his carved hips and clinging to his thighs like they were honored he’d chosen them and had no intention of letting him go. His boots were new, a pair of fourteen eye, black leather, 1914 Dr Martens that he’d had shipped in from England. They shone dully in the fading daylight. I idly wondered if he’d be super pissed if I threw up on them. They looked like they could take it.
“Hey, Jack, come on. It’s gonna be fine,” he told me, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
I retched in reply.
The long cotton shirt he was wearing was too big for him and cut right up the sides. It slipped from his shoulder and exposed the flawless lightly tanned skin that stretched across his ribs. Jessica had rolled her eyes at him when she first saw it, but he looked too good to argue with. Every inch of him screamed rock star, from the shattered halo of his hair to the conflict in his eyes, right down to the soles of his boots. I felt like a child playing dress up in comparison, faded jeans and a My Chemical Romance tee shirt no match for his high-fashion-meets-grunge-glamour.
“I’m an idiot,” I muttered as I leaned back against the grimy brick wall. I tilted my head back—it was easier to look at the sky than to look at him. My breath rattled in my chest.
“I was expecting stage fright, but this is another level,” JJ joked.
I could feel the soft, knowing smile in his words, even if I couldn’t bring myself to look at it.
“You can do this, Jack.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re scared. Anything life changing is scary in the beginning. That means this is important, and if it’s worth doing, then you can, and you will, fucking do it.”
I dragged in another breath, letting his words rattle around in my brain. He was right. I knew it, and he knew it. Yeah, it was just one small show, in one small club, in one small town, but all of my favorite bands had started out small. This was our start, the sort of show that people would talk about when we finally made it, the show people would lie about being at decades down the line.
“I’m scared,” I told him, finally meeting his eyes.
He shrugged as if it wasn’t exactly breaking news. I had admitted to Jess that I was nervous, had told Ash that I was anxious, but I hadn’t told anyone I was scared. I wasn’t surprised that he knew, though. There were lots of things about him that still surprised me, but the depth of his perception wasn’t one of them.
“Pretend that you’re not.”
“What?”
“If you don’t feel brave enough to go on, fake it. You fake it long enough, sooner or later it becomes real,” he explained, shrugging. There were splinters of gold in his eyes from the flickering street light overhead.
“Does that come from personal experience, JJ?” I asked as I shoved away from the wall. It was pretty good advice. I could play a rock star. I’d spent years watching them, playing along in my room with the volume up high and reality low, my head in the clouds.
“Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?” he asked, chuckling as he pulled his hip flask out from the back pocket of his jeans.
“How can you fit anything in those pockets?”
He unscrewed the lid and shrugged, his wicked smile hidden behind the flask as he took a long swig. He handed the bottle to me, and I took it, considering it for a moment before taking a sip of my own.
The whisky burned on the way down, clearing my throat. The fire in it splashed inside my stomach, turning the unease bubbling there into excitement. Everything seemed to glow in JJ’s presence (or maybe it was the alcohol), as if he lit up the alleyway just by standing there, looking as good as he did, smiling as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Let’s do this.”
***
Nothing could have prepared me for Forever Fading Echoes’ first live show.
I thought I had a pretty good idea on what it was like, playing a live show. I’d gone to hundreds of concerts. I’d seen bands play little dive bars and massive arenas. I’d spent whole shows in the pit and spent others at the side of the stage while my dad kept a watchful eye on the band. I thought I’d experienced every aspect of a live show, from every angle.
I had been an idiot.
The lights were warmer than I expected, their glow hot on my skin like summer sunshine. They were brighter than I’d imagined too, but I got used to that pretty quickly. I could see every smiling face, every confused expression. I watched, breathless, as we won the crowd over.
I could feel every time Ash hit her drums, the timing perfect, every hit rattling up my spine to shake any residual nerves loose. Dylan was smiling, catching my eye every now and then. Knowing he was enjoying it, that we were doing okay, was reassuring in a way I didn’t know I needed. Jess spun round the stage like a mad ballerina, her strong hands never failing. Everything I knew about her seemed to click into place as she played—her determination, her intelligence, her fierce talent—it all came together in a heady rush of realization.
JJ was . . . well, I was grateful that we’d decided he should handle the talking between songs, because I lost my words every time I looked at him.
He looked good at school, with his tamed hair, practiced grin and stupidly expensive clothes. He looked better at practice, the walls a little lower, hair a little wilder. He looked best when it was just the two of us, eyes glittering with something more than charm, a few layers lighter and infinitely younger.
On stage, he looked like a whole new person.
The front man of Forever Fading Echoes was as confident as JJ Keswick, but it was a quiet sort of confidence, the kind that comes from knowledge rather than good looks or too much money. He was as good looking as JJ Keswick too, but there was somet
hing softer about him—chest heaving and skin glistening. He sang as if the lyrics were knives, perfect but still deadly, cutting away at everything I thought I knew about him until he was bloody, beautiful and one hundred percent real.
“What’s your real name?” I demanded as we all flew off stage, dizzy. I was warm all over, the roar of the small crowd still echoing in my ears, drowning out his knowing laugh.
He kissed me as if no one was watching, calloused fingers gripping my arms hard enough to make my head spin. I was breathless, speechless, couldn’t care less, for just a split second. He tasted like the whiskey we’d downed in the back alley, the skin on his ribs slick with sweat when I reached for him. The small laugh he pressed to my mouth was wrecked. I had thought he’d sung his heart out on the stage, but I could feel it, hammering against my own.
My head was still spinning when he let me go, lips glittering in the low light of the hallway. Jessica had climbed up Dylan’s back and was laughing like crazy, while Ash smiled at us both with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised.
“You were fucking awesome,” JJ beamed at me, pushing his hair away from his flushed face. “Jack, that was fucking awesome!”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the show or the kiss, but he was right about both. Everything was so loud, I couldn’t think straight. It was as if my brain was tuned to a radio station that only played static. I felt weaker and stronger all at once. My stomach churned. Someone pretending to be JJ Keswick had kissed me, and it had been incredible, burning away every bad memory of every sloppy kiss I’d ever had.
“Yeah,” I murmured as I followed my grinning bandmates out to the van. “That was fucking awesome.”
***
We didn’t talk about it.
It was more my decision than JJ’s. When Jessica asked us about our post-show kiss at the next practice, I glanced at him with wide, panicked eyes and nodded along as he explained that it had just been a heat of the moment thing. He kissed people all the time. It was part of the reason why he got in so much trouble. She rolled her eyes at his explanation but didn’t question either of us further.
Fake It (The Keswick Chronicles Book 1) Page 9