The Matchmaker of Decaydance

"Come on, Alana. You're such a slowpoke."

"Two seconds, Gabriel. Sheesh." I finished climbing the ladder to the top of the bus. "You're not so patient, are you?"

"When did I ever give you that impression?" He pulled on his hoodie, then looked down at my feet. "Where are your Nike's?"

We were wearing almost identical outfits, with purple hoodies, black jeans, and electric blue t-shirts with Blues Brothers sunglasses.

"Didn't feel like wearing shoes."

Gabe probably rolled his eyes behind the shades.

"Is it time yet?"

"Nope. Five more minutes."

The people at the merch booth had been telling fans that at 4:00, there would be a special performance by Gabe and me at the fence by the buses. There were already a few people gathered, but as we were standing on the top with a view of the area, I saw a bunch of people making their way over to us.

"Ready?"

"Yeah.

Uh huh,
Holy shit!
It's about time you got off my dick!
A few times you been around that track
But your ass is still fat, it's gonna stay like that
'Cause I ain't your hollaback boy
I ain't your hollaback boy

(Ooh oo) This is my shit, this is my shit

You damn right I was talking shit
I told your man so you would hear it
What you doin' acting like that
Now people know what's up
So you came to my place
Saw the look on your face
I hit a home run then I kicked you out
But first I broke my pom-pom out
And now you know what's up

A few times you been around that track
But your ass is still fat, it's gonna stay like that
'Cause I ain't your hollaback boy
I ain't your hollaback boy

(Ooh oo) This is my shit, this is my shit

So last night girl, saw you under the bleachers
Giving head to a substitute teacher
Perfect grades didn't make no sense
But now it's all cleared up
And it's comin' right back
'Cause I'm telling your pack
So don't freak out when your secret's out
That's right girl, you can't deny this
Your knees is all scratched up

A few times you been around that track
But your ass is still fat, it's gonna stay like that
'Cause I ain't your hollaback boy
I ain't your hollaback boy

(Ooh oo) This is my shit, this is my shit

Let me hear you say this shit is
SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS.
S-U-P-E-R-C-A-L-A-F-R-A-G-A...um...
..WHAT!

A few times you been around that track
But your ass is still fat, it's gonna stay like that
'Cause I ain't your hollaback boy
I ain't your hollaback boy!

All of the people in front of us were cheering and laughing when we finished. I saw a couple photographers hidden among the small crowd.

"I saw we hang out up here for a while," Gabe suggested.

"Sure. I'm going down to get a Dew. You want one?"

"Yeah." He sat down on the roof, adjusting his Yankees hat.

I slid down the ladder and was making my way to the door when I heard my name.

"Miss Wentz?"

I turned around and saw a guy with a press tag around his neck and a high-class camera in his hand. "My name's Scott Heisel, I'm from AP Mag."

My tense expression immediately changed. "Oh, hey. What's up?"

"Not much. Question for you: do you and Gabe mind if we do a thing in the Warped issue about that performance?"

"I don't. I'm sure he will too, but just as a formality. Hold on a sec." I walked backwards until I could see the sunbathing Gabe. "Gabriel!"

"What, chica?"

"Do you care if Scott writes about the thing?"

"What thing?"

"The song we just did, you dork."

"Oh. No, go for it."

I nodded back at Scott. “Fire away.”