The Young and Lost Club

There were a lot of sucky things about being the opening band, don’t get me wrong. People don’t really come to see us, they come to see the main show, and so, even as we are playing, the theatre can be anywhere from 50% full to 100% full, a lot of the audience doesn’t pay attention, too busy looking for friends, buying merch, screaming for Panic to come on. The first couple shows were probably the worst in that aspect: no one had heard of us, and so no one really cared. Word gets around though, and by the time we were hitting the 7th and 8th show of tour, we noticed an increase in our own merch sales, an increase of talk on message boards and traffic on our website, the tech crews making an effort to watch our show from the sidelines, more and more people waiting after the show for us to dutifully come out and sign and meet people.
It was unbelievable. To have a girl come up to me and tell me I was her hero, or that I was amazing. To have a guy come up and tell me that I kicked ass. To have a young woman approach me about Wishes Are Weeds, and telling me that she listened to it on her iPod on repeat, that that song changed her life. The four of us would get on our bus after the show, speechless with cramped hands from signing and just stare at each other in shock. We had expected something from this tour, but never in our wildest dreams did we expect this.
I was in love with it. Everything, from the crowds to meeting fans to living on the bus; practically everything about tour was magical and perfect.
Except for interviews.
I learned, by the 6th show, during our first interview for some music internet blog that interviews were not my forte. I could jump around and scream myself hoarse onstage in front of thousands of people, but ask me a question and stick a microphone in front of me and I clammed up. I had always been a private person, and always got annoyed when people who had no business to pry pried, and so I’d sit there with my arms crossed, biting my lip while the guys joked around and made the interviewers laugh. Jon and Spencer thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen, making it a point to lurk in the background of any of our interviews and then tease me mercilessly about my answers later. It was the questions they always asked me, the demeaning and annoying ones: “What’s it like being the only girl on tour?” “Have any crushes on anyone?” to which my eyes would always narrow and I’d spit out one word answers while Spencer and Jon howled in the background. “They treat me like a stupid school girl!” I complained one night, while all of us, sans Brendon and Zack Hall, where hanging out drinking beer. “They don’t respect me, or my skills, they only want to ask me about my clothes and boys. It’s insulting.”
“Talk to Vicky T from Cobra about that,” Ryan said. “She gets that at least twice a day.”
I turned to Taylor and Max. “I’m never doing an interview without you all. Ever. Understand me?”
Max laughed. “Sure, sure.”
Spencer stood up and stretched. “All right gang, I’m headed back, I promised Bren-“ he shot a quick look at me. “-don that I’d watch some shit movie with him. See ya,” he waved to us all while I quickly looked up and finished off the rest of my drink.
Brendon and I hadn’t exactly spoken since the airport. We acknowledged each other when we passed by, we said sorry if we accidentally ran into each other backstage, and that was about it. We took turns staying in when a group got together to hang out, and if by accident we both showed up, or the rest of the group wouldn’t take no for an answer and we both had to come, we sat on opposite ends of the room and talked to people around us and never each other. It wasn’t that I was scared of what would happen if we did talk, it’s just that every time we were close enough to exchange words, I could see the hurt in his eyes, could see the physical wear and tear and it was like a shot to the stomach knowing that the intimacy we had once had, the time when I could have held him in my arms and let him tell me all his problems was gone, and that our collateral damage was far too great for repair. There was also the rage I had in me. Whenever I got a clear look of him, I was sad, yes, but I was also furious at him: he had broken us, he was the cause for this. I couldn’t forgive him for what he did, and I was almost afraid that any conversation we had, I wouldn’t be able to hold my tongue, so I steered clear.

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We finally got to stay in a hotel and have a day off when we got to Milwaukie, and Jon demanded that that evening I spend time with him, getting dinner and then maybe seeing a movie. He was still mad that I had showed Ryan our CD first and that I had yet to spend quality time with just him, so I agreed easily. I didn’t really bother making myself look nice, I took a nice long and hot shower, and threw on some jeans and a shirt, grabbing my bag and stuffing my cell phone in my back pocket and heading off to his hotel room, right down the hall from our room.
I knocked on the door, and there was a long pause, before it was finally wrenched open to reveal Brendon, looking like a mess: his shirt crumpled, his hair in every which direction, his eyes dark and hooded. “Oh,” I said breathlessly. “I…I uh, was looking for Jon?” I twisted my hands nervously together before stuffing them in my pant pockets, trying to look calm and collected.
“He said he was stepping out for a minute,” Brendon said, his voice rough, like he had just woken up. “He should be back soon.”
“Right. Um…well if you could just tell him…I’m in my room,” I said just as he said, “You can come in and wait for him.”
I swallowed, wanting to refuse, but I couldn’t think of an excuse in time before he stood aside to let me in. “Okay, um, sure,” I said, mentally kicking myself as I followed him inside and sat on the bed, as he leaned against the small table, looking out the open window.
“So what are you and Jon doing tonight?” He said, still not looking at me.
“Just a movie and dinner, you know, hanging out, I guess.”
“Oh.”
I coughed nervously. “So are you enjoying tour?” I said finally. “I mean, I feel like it’s been just crazy, you know? The crowds are-“
“You’re dating Alex?” He interrupted suddenly, his voice was low and dangerous, and I was absolutely terrified.
It was too soon to be doing this, we were barely into tour. I wasn’t so stupid to think that Brendon and I wouldn’t have to rehash our past at some point; that we would have to talk eventually, no matter how much I did not want to. But this was far too soon; it was never supposed to be this soon. I needed to heal, I needed more time, more time getting used to being around him. I wasn’t ready to answer his questions about Alex, or what he’d done to me.
A pack of cigarettes on the opposite bed caught my eyes. “Do…do you smoke now?” I said, leaning over and picking up the pack, avoiding his question. I hadn’t meant for it to come out judgmental, but this was so un-Brendon like, smoking, being sour and rude, this was a stranger to me, and it scared the shit out of me.
“Don’t fucking judge me,” he snapped, snatching them from me, carefully avoiding touching me, just the pack. He irritably pulled one out and lit it with a lighter, then shoved both in his back pocket. He took a long drag and released it out by the open window.
“But you always said it was disgusting,” I said in a small voice.
“Things change,” he spat, and then looked down at me. “Obviously.”
I was becoming angry: at him, at him fucking smoking that cigarette like he’d been doing it for his whole life, at the way he was speaking to me, like this was all on me. “What do you want with me Brendon?” I snapped.
“I want to know if you’re dating Alex Fucking Gaskarth.” He said it with such venom I could hardly believe it, and it raised a huge wave of horror and anger within me.
I didn’t say anything, but he must have been able to see the pain in my face.
He let out a snort, flicking ashes onto the window sill. “Really, Clark? How long did it take you to move on to him?”
I was seeing red. “Excuse me?” I hissed.
“Please,” he said. “You’ve always liked him.”
“Yeah?” I shot back, my hands curled in fists. “And how long did it take you to move on with fucking Lydia, Brendon? How long did it take you to move on to Katie? Huh? Oh wait, that’s while we were still dating!”
He seemed flustered for the first time. “I’m not dating Lydia!”
“Fuck you, Brendon. You’ve always been a horrible liar, don’t start now!”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” He yelled back, taking an angry step towards me.
I forced myself to calm down. “You’re being ridiculous,” I said quietly.
“I…? I’m being ridiculous?” He said incredulously. “You’re in love with Alex Gaskarth! And here I thought I meant something to you!”
I almost said it. I almost told him he had meant more to me than anyone else ever had, or ever would. I wanted to tell him I did not love Alex, nor would I ever love Alex, that Alex was being cruelly used as a pawn to get over him. But I didn’t say anything, and a look of true horror crossed Brendon’s face.
“You…” he swallowed hard. “You don’t actually love him…right?” And that’s when I understood. He wanted to make sure, he wanted to know if I was still hurt over him. It didn’t soften me towards him, instead it made me even more angry.
So I didn’t confirm or deny it. It wasn’t his business. Instead I took the cigarette out his hand, and stubbed it out on the ash tray next to me. “Things change,” I said, quietly repeating his taunting words back to him. “Obviously.”
And I left.

I sat in my room, trembling from head to foot, trying to convince myself not to burst into tears, when Jon texted me: “Where are you? We were supposed to meet in the lobby 5 minutes ago.”
I shook my head, quickly wiping a hand under both eyes to wipe away any tears that may have leaked out despite my best efforts, and made my way to the lobby, where Jon was standing.
“Clark?” He said, looking instantly concerned when he saw me head on.
“I…tell me you didn’t do that on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“I could have sworn you said to meet at your room…I…Bren…he said you just stepped out for a minute.”
Jon’s eyebrows furrowed, as he placed his hands on my shoulders. “What did he say to you?”
“It…it’s nothing,” I said shakily.
“Clark, what did he say?”
“Nothing, Jon, it’s fine. Let’s just go and have a good time, okay? Forget about it.” I forced a smile.
Jon simply nodded, but for the rest of the night he kept a comforting arm around my shoulder, and sneaked glances to make sure I was okay.

Sometimes you don’t realize how blissful it is to sleep in a real bed. Even if that real bed is being hogged by your skinny, 6 foot tall, best friend, and in the bed next to it, your drummer is snoring loud enough to wake the dead. By 10am though, the guys were up and ready for a day of exploring the city, but I opted to stay in bed, wanting to actually claim a few hours of sleep on my own, agreeing to meet them for a band meeting over dinner.
After they left though, I couldn’t sleep. Without Brian’s snores and Taylor’s kicking, I had nothing to distract me from thinking about Brendon and mine’s argument from last night. I lay there for an hour, staring at the white bumpy ceiling over me, before I finally rolled over and grabbed my cell phone and called Alex.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” I said quietly.
“Clark!” He exclaimed. “Hey how’s it going? What are you up to?”
“Just lying in the first real bed I’ve been in since I left.” I said, forcing a laugh. “What about you?”
“Jack’s apparently got some hot date tonight. I’m trying to talk him down.”
“Ooh,” I said. “What’s her name?”
“Emma Saint something or other, I dunno, he’s being all weird about it.”
“He must really like her,” I mused.
“He must really want to sleep with her,” Alex corrected. “You know Jack doesn’t do serious dating.”
“Yeah, I guess not.” I agreed.
“What’s the matter?” He said suddenly. “You sound down.”
“Just tired,” I lied. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Oh, okay. Oh my God, Clark, so yesterday Rian and I went to Target, right…” And I smiled as Alex went off on some elaborate story, entertaining me enough to not make me think of a certain someone else just a couple doors down the hall.