Vogue
Two.
‘Manpris? God John, take those off right now!’ was probably not what the lanky singer wanted to hear first thing early Thursday morning as he walked off of his bus at Pomona. The awkward horny part of his brain that remained in permanent “teenage status” screamed at him “Fuck! A female is telling you to strip, take your pants off John Oh! Off! Off! Sex!” but rationale won as John turned to his left to see Arabella leaning up against The Maine’s tour bus. Smiling he looked down to his cropped jeans before returning his gaze to the grinning brunette.
‘What? You didn’t see these in Paris last month?’ He laughed as he walked towards her. She nodded her head sarcastically before pushing off and opening her arms to embrace John.
‘They’re disgusting but you’re the only one who could pull them off – so I’ll let it slide. I’ve missed you Cornelius’ her words were muffled by his chest but he understood nonetheless. There was something about Arabella Richards that made John tick. She was beautiful, that was a given, but it was something in her personality that intrigued him – the way she easily slipped into the music scene and then effortlessly transitioned across onto the runway. She had this sarcastic sense of humour and twisted logic that meant she understood the babble that John came out with most of the time. She was calm and collective and loud and outgoing at the same time - a one-of-a-kind, unique girl that was so far out of John’s league he convinced himself not to even go for it.
It had been during some downtime in Arizona when Justin had first introduced Arabella to John, not specifically but to all the guys in Tempe. She had finished a photo shoot on-location somewhere in Phoenix and had arrived at Moose’s house in vans, tights, a ratty Journey tee and a face full of makeup and a head full of curls. No matter how many pictures Justin had pointed his baby sister out in, seeing her in the flesh was a whole other experience. He remembered the looks on the other guys’ faces as she entered the house and Justin’s whack to the back of Vito’s head as he hi-fived Jared. No self-respecting male wouldn’t appreciate Arabella’s looks and no full-blooded male wouldn’t flirt with the idea of at least attempting to impress her. But John, yeah – he wasn’t the most ‘extroverted’ guy when it came to the opposite sex, and as he saw it; Arabella was the caviar to his cheese.
And yet, there was something addictive about Arabella. She was John’s vice; no matter how much he knew he couldn’t get her, he tortured himself by remaining friends with her – good friends at that.
‘Missed you too model’.
***
‘Arab Ella? Get your Middle Eastern vagina the fuck over here’ the shout rung out through the relatively quite lot. Whilst buses where still pulling in to the fair grounds every now and then – the early hour and the intense heat meant most bands were still hold up in their air-conditioned vehicles or at the food tent. Looking to her left after leaving The Maine’s bus, Arabella saw Jack Barakat standing on the steps of what she assumed was All Time Low’s mobile home. She smiled as she changed directions and slowly walked over to the dancing guitarist. The first few days of a new tour was always fun for Arabella – the reunions with old friends and meeting new ones was exciting, people were here energy. She had met Jack and the rest of ATL on her second tour - Brighten, All Time Low, Cute is What We Aim For and This Providence had toured in early 2007 and the times she had spent in ATL’s van had provided her with some of the most memorable touring experiences she had so far – from pirate parties to Milano fights that resulted in Rian being abandoned on the side of Highway 41, it was all good fun.
Whilst the boys had become some of her closest friends, nothing came comparable to the bond she shared with Jack. It had been forged upon the discovery that both Arabella and the musician were of Middle Eastern descent. Despite Israel and Lebanon’s none too friendly disposition in reality, Arabella and Jack’s friendship became the closest link to her biological ancestry she was willing to be associated with. There was just something inherant about their friendship, and if anyone asked; Jack Bassam Barakat was Arabella’s third brother.
As Arabella trudged through the dusty gravel towards the bus, Jack’s excited dancing reached fever pitch and turned into an impatient jig. ‘Hurry up! Why are you walking so slow, you’re a model for fucks’ sake – you should have the gait of a horse!’
‘Dude, it’s supposed to be a fucking gazelle’ Looking up Arabella spotted a glimpse of a beanie clad head behind Jack in the doorway of the bus. Quickening her pace she reached the steps and as Jack collapsed on top of her, Alex Gaskarth’s face was revealed.
Alex was, uncharted territory. To Arabella, even as a naive seventeen-year old when she first met him – Gaskarth was dangerous. He was everything a band boy should be, rolled into one ridiculously good looking package: unashamed about public nudity, deviously humorous, a lyrical mastermind, a serial flirter with all ages and completely taken but frequently liked to disregard monogamy. At seventeen, Arabella had kidded herself with the idea that Alex Gaskarth was the type of boy that would ground her, be there waiting for her when she got home and make her chicken soup when she got sick. And then he told her he had gotten the Clap from a groupie and she knew he was the type of trouble that your Mother warned you about. Despite the flashing ‘STOP’ neon light that followed him, Arabella had to admit that Alex Gaskarth was the sort of boy that had enough charm to make you do just about anything. In the years they had known eachother, Arabella's dignity - not to mention her protective brother - had halted any progress between them, but as she stood in the arms of her best friend looking up at Alex, she thought that this year her resolve might be tested, hell she wanted it to be tested.
Moving from Jacks’ embrace, she walked up the step to stand in front of Alex. Much like all her reunions this morning, he bundled her up in his arms.
‘Missed your face Gaskarth’
‘I’d say long time no see, but your Agent Provocateur campaign went viral yesterday.’
‘What? You didn’t see these in Paris last month?’ He laughed as he walked towards her. She nodded her head sarcastically before pushing off and opening her arms to embrace John.
‘They’re disgusting but you’re the only one who could pull them off – so I’ll let it slide. I’ve missed you Cornelius’ her words were muffled by his chest but he understood nonetheless. There was something about Arabella Richards that made John tick. She was beautiful, that was a given, but it was something in her personality that intrigued him – the way she easily slipped into the music scene and then effortlessly transitioned across onto the runway. She had this sarcastic sense of humour and twisted logic that meant she understood the babble that John came out with most of the time. She was calm and collective and loud and outgoing at the same time - a one-of-a-kind, unique girl that was so far out of John’s league he convinced himself not to even go for it.
It had been during some downtime in Arizona when Justin had first introduced Arabella to John, not specifically but to all the guys in Tempe. She had finished a photo shoot on-location somewhere in Phoenix and had arrived at Moose’s house in vans, tights, a ratty Journey tee and a face full of makeup and a head full of curls. No matter how many pictures Justin had pointed his baby sister out in, seeing her in the flesh was a whole other experience. He remembered the looks on the other guys’ faces as she entered the house and Justin’s whack to the back of Vito’s head as he hi-fived Jared. No self-respecting male wouldn’t appreciate Arabella’s looks and no full-blooded male wouldn’t flirt with the idea of at least attempting to impress her. But John, yeah – he wasn’t the most ‘extroverted’ guy when it came to the opposite sex, and as he saw it; Arabella was the caviar to his cheese.
And yet, there was something addictive about Arabella. She was John’s vice; no matter how much he knew he couldn’t get her, he tortured himself by remaining friends with her – good friends at that.
‘Missed you too model’.
***
‘Arab Ella? Get your Middle Eastern vagina the fuck over here’ the shout rung out through the relatively quite lot. Whilst buses where still pulling in to the fair grounds every now and then – the early hour and the intense heat meant most bands were still hold up in their air-conditioned vehicles or at the food tent. Looking to her left after leaving The Maine’s bus, Arabella saw Jack Barakat standing on the steps of what she assumed was All Time Low’s mobile home. She smiled as she changed directions and slowly walked over to the dancing guitarist. The first few days of a new tour was always fun for Arabella – the reunions with old friends and meeting new ones was exciting, people were here energy. She had met Jack and the rest of ATL on her second tour - Brighten, All Time Low, Cute is What We Aim For and This Providence had toured in early 2007 and the times she had spent in ATL’s van had provided her with some of the most memorable touring experiences she had so far – from pirate parties to Milano fights that resulted in Rian being abandoned on the side of Highway 41, it was all good fun.
Whilst the boys had become some of her closest friends, nothing came comparable to the bond she shared with Jack. It had been forged upon the discovery that both Arabella and the musician were of Middle Eastern descent. Despite Israel and Lebanon’s none too friendly disposition in reality, Arabella and Jack’s friendship became the closest link to her biological ancestry she was willing to be associated with. There was just something inherant about their friendship, and if anyone asked; Jack Bassam Barakat was Arabella’s third brother.
As Arabella trudged through the dusty gravel towards the bus, Jack’s excited dancing reached fever pitch and turned into an impatient jig. ‘Hurry up! Why are you walking so slow, you’re a model for fucks’ sake – you should have the gait of a horse!’
‘Dude, it’s supposed to be a fucking gazelle’ Looking up Arabella spotted a glimpse of a beanie clad head behind Jack in the doorway of the bus. Quickening her pace she reached the steps and as Jack collapsed on top of her, Alex Gaskarth’s face was revealed.
Alex was, uncharted territory. To Arabella, even as a naive seventeen-year old when she first met him – Gaskarth was dangerous. He was everything a band boy should be, rolled into one ridiculously good looking package: unashamed about public nudity, deviously humorous, a lyrical mastermind, a serial flirter with all ages and completely taken but frequently liked to disregard monogamy. At seventeen, Arabella had kidded herself with the idea that Alex Gaskarth was the type of boy that would ground her, be there waiting for her when she got home and make her chicken soup when she got sick. And then he told her he had gotten the Clap from a groupie and she knew he was the type of trouble that your Mother warned you about. Despite the flashing ‘STOP’ neon light that followed him, Arabella had to admit that Alex Gaskarth was the sort of boy that had enough charm to make you do just about anything. In the years they had known eachother, Arabella's dignity - not to mention her protective brother - had halted any progress between them, but as she stood in the arms of her best friend looking up at Alex, she thought that this year her resolve might be tested, hell she wanted it to be tested.
Moving from Jacks’ embrace, she walked up the step to stand in front of Alex. Much like all her reunions this morning, he bundled her up in his arms.
‘Missed your face Gaskarth’
‘I’d say long time no see, but your Agent Provocateur campaign went viral yesterday.’
♠ ♠ ♠
For those of you who don’t know – Agent Provocateur make some seriously sexy lingerie with amazing (and risqué) print-ads. Check out the latest 'Pirate’ collection (WARNING: 18+ though).Instead of passing university, I’m writing this for some unknown reason but yeah – take note of the different ways people see each other in this chapter – physically, emotionally. And whilst most things will be kept as realistic as possible, I know that ATL join Warped 09 after Rocket leaves but I'm God in this story and taking poetic license.