The Shipped Gold Standard

“So, Peyton, you’re only eighteen years old and already famous…?”

“Nineteen, but in my last year of school and…not really.” I mumbled, looking down at my black and blue nike sneakers. “We’ve only been around about eight months or so, that’s nothing in the music scene…”

“No, I suppose not. So how are you completing school?”

I rolled my eyes, why did they ask the same questions in every interview? They should just read each others! “I’m still doing school by distance education.”

“So that’s a UK course?”

“Of course,” I said, “We are English, we have to do an English course.”

The brunette leaned back, crossing her legs. “I suppose you do. Now I’m sure everyone’s waiting for this question, but, what is your relationship with Oliver Sykes?”

I laughed, a little loud I suppose as she shot back unexpectedly. I saw our drummer Max giggle a little in the corner.

“We –haha—we don’t have a relationship.”

“You’re always commenting on each other during various interviews, are you saying this hasn’t stemmed from anything? A previous romantic relationship perhaps?”

I glared, “I’ve never met him in my life.”

“Then why—,”

“He’s a superficial little pansy who can’t sing for shit and should be locked up. You cannot call that racket he makes music.” I guess you could say I hated Oli Sykes. Why? Well I don’t really know, I suppose it’s just because he’s an asshole.

It started when I read in a magazine somewhere that he said ‘Newcastle’ was a shithole. As in, the city not my band. But it just so happens that Newcastle was my home city as well, so it didn’t go over too well for me. Regardless, since then we’ve been at each others throats constantly. And though we haven’t met before, eight months of bashing each other through the media does create a slight commotion.

“What do you have to say in reply to his ‘quote’ in the Degeneration Magazine Music Yearbook?” She said, handing me a magazine open to page…34.

Ahh yes, that was him there, Oliver Sykes. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find him good looking. I was a sucker for tattoos and piercings. Come to think of it, I liked a lot of scream-ish music as well, just not…Oliver Sykes.

So, underneath the picture of the gorgeous asshole himself, was written, “Peyton Everest is a skank.”
How can they even be allowed to publish this stuff?! I mean sure my quote said “I hope next time Oliver Sykes screams his lungs implode.” But honestly.

“I have one thing to say to that.” I stated, throwing the magazine down on the table. I glared into the camera. “I’ve never even been kissed you asshole!” I fumed.

Hearing Stef’s choked laugh behind me, my eyes widened, realising what I’d just said…live…on television. Well shit.

“Well, that’s a startling revelation, but our time here is almost up so I suppose we’ll see more from you guys at Warped tour?”

“Yeah,” Benny took over for me, “Warped 09 will be our first big collaborating tour, we can’t wait.”

We left the stage amongst scattering clapping and I ran off the side, jumping into waiting arms.

“Pete!” I whined. “That was awful!”

“He chuckled, “Sweetie, you need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” He choked, before starting to laugh hysterically.

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III! Get up and stop laughing at me!” I glared down at him, kicking him in the side before stomping off.

“Wait!” he yelled after me and I turned reluctantly.

“What?!” I snapped.

“I have something important to tell you guys. The bus company made a bit of a mistake and—okay all you really need to know is, because of a stuff up with the buses for Warped this year, you have to share a bus with another band.”

I blinked.

“Cool!” Stef explained, shaking his head. “So, who do we get?! Wait, there’s enough beds right?”

“Yeah,” Pete muttered, “They have like eight beds each. The band you’re touring with has five members though so one person will be sleeping on the back couch.”

“Oh, who is it?” I asked quietly, “Do we get to choose?”

“Well,” Pete started, “actually, I got to choose.”

“Oh!” Max grinned, “you got us some really awesome dudes right?”

“Ooh! Do we have Cobra?!” I asked excitedly.

“Not quite.” Pete mumbled, leading us out to the car. “They’re not of a different genre, though I suppose they’re a little more…hardcore than the screaming you do Peyton.” Well that couldn't be hard, I mean I did a tiny bit of screaming in one song and now everyone thinks I can? We're power pop all the way.

“Wait, where are we going?” I asked, seeing him pull out onto the freeway.

“We have another interview at MTV.”

“How come I didn’t know?” I pouted.

“Because,” Pete drew out the word, “it’s about Warped, and you haven’t found out yet.”

“Oh yeah! Ben started again, “Who is it?”

Ben and Max began to randomly guess names while Stefan and I stayed quiet, staring out the window. It couldn’t be anyone too bad right?

As we pulled into a car park I’d been in once before, I realised we were probably going to be on TRL. Pete turned to face me as I was in the passenger seat and began to speak.

“Now Peyt, I don’t want you to freak out about this band, you need to at least give them a chance.” He began to slowly unbuckle his seatbelt.

I snorted, “What’s up Pete? They can’t be that bad, I mean, it’s freaking Warped Tour! Any band would be okay as long as it isn’t Bring Me The—…”

I stopped. “No.”

He scratched his head sheepishly.

“NO! Why they HELL would you do that Peter?!” I glared, yanking the door open and jumping out of the SUV.

“Peyt, just listen, please—,”

“I don’t think so. Don’t ever try and talk to me again Peter Wentz! Ever!” I stomped across the parking lot, pushing past the security guards and slamming the door behind me. Assuming I’d be in the same dressing room as before, I went to tell the makeup and costume artists that I’d just be wearing the clothes I had on thanks. There was nothing wrong with my black skinny jeans and white shirt, with my purple Clandestine hoodie on over the top. It was the special VTINES one designed by Jensen!

When they were convinced, I exited the room again and my black and blue nikes made a heavy slapping noise as I stormed down the hallway. Looking at my watch, I decided to just go straight to the show, the band had been giving me time to cool off, of that much I was sure.

I first spied them leaning against the wall, preparing to go on stage, but then they surged forward, running out to greet the audience. I saw Pete standing by sheepishly and I ran out the side entry, making my late appearance seem purposeful.

“Peyton Everest.” The blonde woman smiled, and I smiled back, declining a seat and deigning to stand for a minute.

“That’s me.” I nodded.

“And never been kissed.” She said, and the crowd hummed with a strange amusement. My eyes widened a little. “Yes, we were watching that last interview from here with another band.” She said, noting my reaction.

“Uh, I suppose I haven’t; no.” My cheeks burned red. I mean, it’s not everyday you have an international superstar that’s never been kissed.

“I suppose it won’t be that way for long though.” She said, and as I wondered what she meant, the audience’s volume raised. I had the suspicion that I was missing something here and for a split second I wondered who the previous band were. Little did I know – they were still here.

She smirked, yes, smirked and I looked at the audience confusingly, who’s smiles were growing bigger.

“What?” I asked bewildered, before hearing a voice from behind me.

“Look up love.”

Startled, I tilted my head back just as an arm wrapped around my waist and lips attached themselves to mine. The boy standing over me was obviously taller than me, considering he managed to tilt my head back and attach our lips together without it being even a little awkward. I suppose you could say we were the perfect height.

It was sweet and simple, but to me it held the most significance.

Which was why, I totally freaked when I opened my eyes, to find that the boy pulling away from me (though I’d never seen him in person before) was clearly Oliver-fucking-Sykes.