The Now or Never Kind

My head hummed the next morning—not from alcohol, but because my hearing still hadn't returned. It never ceased to amaze me that I could play through a set without earplugs and not have any issue at all, but stick me in a club for a few hours and I'd be deaf for a day and a half.

It certainly didn't help that there was giggling from the next room, as well as the buzz of the television. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and the lump beside me groaned. "Tell them to shut the fuck up," Beth grumbled, huddling deeper into the blankets.

"Serioushly," the form one my other side agreed. I frowned slightly, blinking at the head of purple and maroon hair. I had to think for a good thirty seconds before remembering that I'd invited Didi back to our hotel (mostly because she'd gone from half-sober to slightly stumbly).

So I crawled out to the foot of the bed and shuffled into the living room area, where my three boys were laughing at what seemed to be a perfect model of the cliché 90s teen romantic-comedy. Dressed in a pair of Sean's boxers and one of Matt's t-shirts, I wandered over and curled into an armchair. "Beth and Didi want you to shut the fuck up," I informed them sleepily.

"Good morning," Matt laughed as Jesse turned down the volume on the television. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

"Technic'ly yeste'day was," Sean corrected, yawning. "So t'day is th'first day o' th'rest o' your week."

I imitated him, yawning widely myself. "Well, it had a great start. Beth kicked me in the ribs."

"Why do you think I always have bruises?" Jesse said, rolling his eyes lightly.

"Hot sex," Matt and I said simultaneously.

We spent the rest of the weekend running around New York City, being young and wild and generally ill behaved by the standards of most of the adults I knew. I didn't get laid on the night of my senior prom; I spent it in Long Island Sound on a boat, freezing my ass off and watching the stars and lights and world with my best friends. It's not like I wanted to go to prom; I couldn't bring my boyfriend because he was on tour, and even if he wasn't, having a famous person as a date topped that lacrosse player the year before bringing a stripper.

I stared out at the runway, smiling slightly at the blinking lights. It wasn't fully dark, though it'd be around midnight by the time we got back to California. The boys were off buying gum and magazines and other assorted items for the flight, while Charlie, Aero, and Beth were gods-know where. I didn't try to keep a track on them. I was alone, thinking about Ryan.

He and I seemed to have a psychic connection, because this wasn't the first time one of us had called while the other was thinking about them. "I was just missing you," I said, not even looking away from the window.

"I was just wondering why there were pictures of you and Bill grinding on the dance floor, him with a drink in one hand, with the caption 'Beckett Hooks Mystery Beauty' and a proceeding paragraph speculating how long you've been going out based on other pictures of the two of you."

I blinked, brow furrowing in perplexity. "Are you stalking me through Buzznet?" I asked, slightly incredulous.

"It was one of the featured stories on the sidebar," Ryan explained.

"You're on Buzznet," I laughed. "This is one short step from ego-tripping." I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Ryan, you know what the gossipmongers of the internet are like, and you know that William and I are just friends. Besides, it draws attention away from the fact that you and I are together."

He sighed, annoyed that my reason shone true (as it usually did). "Yeah, I know. It just kind of bothers me, looking through these, that there aren't any pictures of you and me."

I turned and sprawled across two seats, legs hanging over the side. "Do you want to have a public relationship?" I asked. Because I didn't. I liked the anonymity of my personal life, despite it being a popular topic of conversation.

"Not particularly," he admitted, "But it'd be better than everyone thinking you're dating someone else."

I chewed my lip, mulling over the ideas swirling in my brain as I swung my feet. I'd mostly gotten used to the occasional random person asking me for pictures when I went out, but if the masses of the great unwashed knew I was dating Ryan Ross... that could be more haters than I could deal with.

But it would make Ryan happy, so fuck it.

"Okay," I said after a while. "When you come to California we'll go out and not hide anything. I dunno, go shopping or something."

Ryan chuckled. "Hooray appeasing paparazzi. I'll talk to you later, Rhi."

"Bye, love." I put my phone back in my pocket just as Charlie sat down beside my head. He gently pushed the hair off my forehead, smiling down at me. I put on a sceptical face. "My boyfriend wants to out us to the public."

"He should learn, like mine, that it might not be the best idea for you," he replied. My laugh got swallowed in a hiccough as Matt bent me up, sat in the second chair I was occupying, and let me down against his lap again. "Excuse me, but I was placating that."

"By all means, continue," Matt said, combing his fingers through my hair. "But I—"

"But he likes having a girl's head in his lap at all times," Beth cut in, curling into Jesse's shoulder. Matt made a snarky face at her, which Beth combated by taking the 'high road' and rolling her eyes at his immaturity.

I tilted my head back at Charlie and Aero, who had joined us on his lover's other side. "I love our friends."

The week before graduation crawled by more slowly than any period of time I’d ever experienced, including waiting for hear from the execs at record companies to see if we had a label or not; although, the band had spent most of that time in their respective classes, texting each other about how bored we all were.

I didn’t have any classes, per se, but I had to sit through the tedium of “senior days”, which were a sad attempt at educating 352 eighteen-year-olds who couldn’t give less of a shit on how to do laundry and cook and all the other things we need to know for college life. It was worse for me, since I knew I wouldn’t be going to college and I already knew how to do all these things from tour. I also knew how to live with multiple boys who couldn’t shower every day. Or every few days.

Since it had slowly—very slowly—leaked that I was in a successful band (with hot guys) my popularity had gone up. Not that most of the people who felt the need to attempt befriending me had listened to a single song. But during that last week I got invited to more parties than I could keep track of; and of course, whoever was inviting me would say, I just had to bring my band.

If the person was female the invitation was because Sean, Jesse, and Matt were sexy and older. If they were male, it was because Sean could legally buy alcohol. None of them seemed to care that Sean didn’t drink socially and none of my boys was interested in going back to high school and reliving the drama involved in house parties.

The “popular kids”—though really, at my prestigious Jesuit college preparatory, they worked to rid us of cliques; they failed pretty miserably, even though basically everyone had money—almost caused a riot when Matt picked me up from the graduation rehearsal; I was one of the last people out of the church and found Matt swarmed by girls, all of whom were a head shorter than he.

It was probably the only time I’d ever seen him not ecstatic with having a vast female fan base. I was highly tempted to just let him stew, but his green eyes flashed desperately when they landed on mine. So then I decided to just fuck with people.

“Mattie!” I exclaimed girlishly, shoving people out of the way. I threw my arms around his neck and heartily kissed his cheek.

Matt, recognising instantly my actions, chuckled as he snaked a hand around my waist. “Hey, sugar,” he greeted. “Everything go okay?” I nodded happily, beaming up at him. “So, uh,” he winked, “My place?’

It was hard to keep from gagging as I winked back and strolled off with him, waving to my friends and not to the people trying to get Matt’s attention. Once we turned the corner, I shoved him. “You ass. I don’t know why I bothered saving you.”

“Because you looooooooove me, Rhiannon Banannon!” he cooed, nuzzling my neck. I squeaked in surprise, pushing him off me again.

Ryan called me the morning before graduation and said the flight was delayed, but he didn’t tell me how delayed or when he would be in the city. I shrugged it off, knowing that the ceremony would be boring as hell anyway.

I didn’t know how right I was. After processing in, smirking to myself like the deans told me not to do, I sat down in my blue gown amongst my classmates, all of whom were in blue gowns, and listened to the speech. And then another speech. And then some more. By the time our principal was winding down, half the people around me were whispering jokes, fidgeting, and snickering at the fact that some of the faculty, all sitting facing us on the stage, had fallen asleep.

But eventually came to time to receive our diplomas. I moved restlessly in my seat, waiting for my row’s turn, and could help grinning the entire time I waited in line. It didn’t even bother me that the principle completely butchered my name, something that my father was quick to point out as he hugged me. And then I had to wait through the other twenty-three letters of the alphabet.

Everyone in the church cheered after “Zanadi, Alessandros” and we all stood. I looked around at my friends; all of them had the biggest shit-eating grins on their faces. We began walking out, and my reserved smile broadened when I spotted Ryan standing in the aisle seat in the row with my family. The guy behind me nearly ran me over when I grabbed my boyfriend and kissed him hard in passing. I laughed when I looked back at Ryan a few feet later and saw him pleasantly stunned.

Out on the quad—I know, what church has a quad, but it was part of a college—there were many, many pictures taken. Every second that I wasn’t taking a picture (and some that I was) I was latched onto Ryan like a LARPer on his foam-and-duct-tape sword. None of my friends had ever met Ryan—most of them didn’t like music—and luckily none of them were star-struck; mostly they were just annoyed that zohmigawd! Angie’s really cutesy-in-love with her boyfriend! Or that I even had a boyfriend.

Apparently it was assumed he was my Canadian cliché.

This feeling seemed to continue through the grad parties we hopped around to. Even at the party for the guy none of us were really even friends with anymore, Ryan and I seemed completely separated from the select few of us that traipsed into the woods. We sat on the bench we found, clasped hands hidden between our legs, and laughed at the reminiscent stories. But no one really tried to include us, which kind of hurt; these were supposed to be my best friends—don’t treat me different because I know other musicians.

Even Bianca, one of my best friends, was sick of us by the time she dropped us off at my dad’s house. She’d lusted after Ryan like I had before I’d met him, way back when Panic was still relatively small-time and had an exclamation point. She’d since moved onto paler, though just as skinny, goth boys; she could have them in my opinion.

“I just want to sleep,” I murmured into his shoulder. We’d planted ourselves on the couch in the family room and turned on “Kill Bill” upon coming back to the house.

Ryan rested his cheek on the top of my head. “Maybe you should,” he said, eyes fixed on Uma Thurman and the huge room of limbless or dead members of the Crazy 88. “After all, you’re going to be up all night.”

I groaned, shutting my eyes. “I don’t want to spend any more time with those assholes. I’ll end up killing someone.”

“You seem to have managed this long,” he chuckled, kissing my forehead. “One more night won’t kill you.”

I tilted my head up, pouting. “But instead I could be with you. Alone.” I trailed my index finger down the row of buttons on his shirt. “In your hotel room. Where it’s quiet and private…” He shivered and licked his lips as my hand slid lower. I sighed lightly and straightened up. “But oh well. Instead I’m going to be surrounded by wasted and stoned teenagers.”

Ryan pushed me back onto the couch. “How about I give you something to think about if you get bored?”

I let Ryan borrow my car (technically the one I shared with my brother) when I drove us both to my former school; he’d be bored in a hotel while I was bored… elsewhere. I hated not knowing where I’d end up. I tugged Ryan against me, leaning against the driver’s side door, and kissed him fiercely. “In case I don’t survive,” I explained, making him laugh.

Joining my friends, classmates, and companions for the night, I looked back at the car. Ryan rested his chin on his arms, half-kneeling on the seat with the door open; he smiled and wiggled his fingers. I waved weakly as climbed aboard the bus.

Luckily I was able to plant myself next to my artist friend Adele, though neither of us could do much about the mass of loud, boisterous already-drunks at the back of the bus. Both amateur photographers, we talked about our respective art forms and screwed around with my camera; I planned on having plenty of blackmail by night’s end.

Our first stop was a country club a few counties south; obviously the school had the feeling we’d be banned from future use. Everyone took off in different directions once we got inside: some shot off to the pool, others to the various bouncy activities, others still to the dance area. And then of course there was a huge line of boys for food. A group of my friends snagged a table as a base; we were all planning on being the Sober Club so we wouldn’t miss any insanity.

It was around eleven that I realised I wasn’t having fun at all. Sure, watching drunken idiots lose their clothes and make jackasses of themselves was entertaining, but I could only think about all the things I could be doing. I could be with Ryan, doing whatever we wanted in the city. I could be with Sundance, Trill, and Butch Cassidy playing a show, painting the town black and white—red is overrated—or simply hanging out. I could be in Chicago, running amuck with Beth. I could be any number of large cities…

I snapped out of my trance at the sound of my name. Nathan Silver, a member of the crew and football teams and a fellow Latin scholar, waved a hand in front of my face. “Come back from your home planet,” he said, grinning. “Even though I’m sure Neptune is nice this time of year.”

“Actually the methane in the atmosphere always gives me a cold,” I said, rolling my eyes. I blinked, noticing that he had his guitar. “They let you bring that?”

“Yeah. That’s why I came over here, to see if you wanted to duet something.” I tilted my head at him. Nate was surprisingly comforting at times and he knew when you needed it, better than most people. “Or, you know, I could just let you sit here and not have fun.”

And he was also a smartass to boot.

The last hour at the country club was far more enjoyable, sitting on one of the tables outside with Nate and Bianca—he was her latest “hopeless crush,” as she put it; it was the kind of thing that opposed all stereotypes yet adhered to them perfectly, the jock and the goth/emo/“outcast”—as well as whoever happened to stop by. We sang some real classics, like “Hotel California” and “American Pie”, and some fake classics, like Tenacious D’s “Wonderboy.”

Sadly Nate and Bianca were on another bus to our next destination, and I got stuck between the same drunks from before (only this time more drunk) and the group of hysterical people blazed out of their minds. Adele had paired up with one of her guy friends, someone less depressed than I without a doubt, so I stretched my legs out into the aisle and flipped my hood up.

“Hey, Angie.” I opened one eye to find a flask of vodka in front of my face. The bus had stopped and we were waiting to be let off to get on a yacht. The guy in the seat behind me, Brian Sheridan, grinned hazily. “Want a hit?” I considered him a moment before taking the bottle and a large gulp. I coughed and handed it back. “Damn, girl. I didn’t know you were so hardcore.”

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “Consider it catching up,” I half-croaked before pulling myself to my feet. Fifteen minutes later, as we were just leaving the dock, I felt it hit my system. Cursing Sheridan and all the other drunken teenagers around, now taken with gambling for prizes, I half-stumbled outside (we were on a fucking boat, give me a break) for some air.

I like air, but not when it’s pervaded by people.

Roger Aln and his girlfriend Chloe were outside, the latter sprawled across the padded bench. Roger slung his arm around my shoulder and started talking about how we should put aside our differences and be friends. We’d been in several classes over the years, and his friends had always influenced him into being an ass to me; Roger wasn’t what you’d call dumb—he was actually quite bright—but he was… naïve. Having sexuality class with him made my day hilarious.

I swayed with the boat and lurched into him. Roger grinned down at me, glassy-eyed. “How much have you had to drink?” he asked. I raised my hand, index and thumb about an inch and a half apart. He laughed, hugging me tightly, somehow forgetting (or ignoring) that his girlfriend was right there. “Yeah right. You’re completely drunk.”

“I am not,” I protested, voice rising. He kept repeating it, saying it was okay and there was no need to deny it. He’s the one who’s off his tits, I thought as Chloe pulled him inside. I flinched, something flying by my face; looking up, I saw a row of Roger’s friends up on the top deck, slurring things I couldn’t understand. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the bay.

A few seconds later something hit my back; I glared down at the penny and up into the dark.

Another coin.

Another.

I turned around and stared up at them all laughing. “If you sons of bitches have a problem with me, you come down here and tell me,” I declared in a loud, icy voice. “But if you want to continue being fucking cowards, you can go fuck yourselves.”

They yowled, yelling more indistinguishable nonsense and throwing more coins. Fuck this, I decided, heading inside. I should throw myself off this damn boat.

As the hours crawled by, the energy of the boat, sans downstairs where some people were still dancing, dwindled and I found myself curled up in a pile with Bianca, Loraine, and Loraine’s boyfriend Trace on one of the benches upstairs. The four of us had stolen blankets won by Caroline—the friend nobody liked—and proceeded to ignore her and make ourselves comfortable.

By the time dawn rolled around I had gotten my energy back and decided to watch the pale orange and purple sky creep up from the East. I thought it apropos that I end the night just as I started: quietly pensive, pleased as Punch to get away from high school and its demons, and looking forward to what waited for me outside this tiny microcosm of reality.

The bus taking us back to school was filled with the sounds of sleeping teenagers and yells at those awake to shut the fuck up.

I strolled off the bus, yawning, and smiled tiredly when I saw Ryan sitting in my car, head leaned back against the headrest. After retrieving my few possessions from under the bus, I wandered across the street and tapped gently on the window. He opened his eyes and smiled before unlocking the door.

“Good morning,” he said as I buckled my seatbelt. I shot him a half-hearted glare as he started the car. “Where am I going?”

I stared out the windshield, mind blank. I could only sit there, eternally thankful that it was over. Whatever “it” decided to be. “To your hotel,” I said after a long moment. Ryan looked at me. “I… need to be away from everything.” I rolled my head to the side. “With an exception or two.”