Fall Out Boy Is Family

Want to know what one of the best things about being Andrew Hurley’s cousin is?

FREE CONCERT TICKETS!!

Yeah, yeah, I can go to Fall Out Boy almost an time I want—I’ve been more times than I can count—but right now I’m screaming my lungs raw, yelling my throat dry, waving my arms into extinction and pouring out tears of joy for the one and only…

George Ryan Ross III of Panic at the Disco.

He was jamming out to Pas de Cheval, sending the guitar strings up in flames…

JK.

My camera was going to fizzle up and die from the hot-beyond-all-reason pictures I took of RyRo. Yeah, we were seven years apart, but I really didn’t care. He’s still gorgeous!

My friend next to me, Felice Stump, was the cousin of Patrick Stump from Fall Out Boy. Felice and I basically met through the band. Sick, right?

Well, I forgot to mention one more very important detail:

WE WERE IN THE FRONT ROW!

When the end of the concert came, Brendon yelled, “WE LOVE YOU GUYS!” into the mic, and Felice went positively wild, claiming that—in a way—Brendon Boyd Urie had said that he loved her.

My eyes were fixed on a certain Ryan Ross, whose eyes were unmistakably on me. I snapped a picture, but before I could press the shutter button, he posed for it by doing the “peace” sign or “rock on” or whatever it is with his index and pinky fingers.

And I got a PICTURE of it!!

“C’mon!” Felice yelled to me. “Let’s get OUT of here!”

There was only one reason for why we were so excited to leave the screaming crowd of Panic fans behind.

We had backstage passes.

BOOOOYYAAHHH!!

Felice led me by the hand through the still-screaming mob of people. And it really wasn’t that hard to follow her. She had hair that naturally looked like it was crimped, and it was this cross between dirty blonde and strawberry blonde. She also wore rectangular glasses and hated the feel of contacts.

And, well, technically we didn’t have backstage passes, but we were going to be “part of Fall Out Boy” and hang with the bands for a while. We stumbled around to this parking lot, right when Andy and Joe Trohman were getting out of a car.

“Hey, Sam!” Andy called when he saw me. I ran the rest of the way to him and hugged him, then began to feel the toll of freaking out for the last few hours.

“Samantha Royce, don’t you dare fall asleep right now,” Andy said. He had frizzy long hair and glasses, sort of like Felice. I looked remarkably unlike my cousin and best friend. My hair went about halfway down my back and was this sleek black color. When it caught the light in certain ways it looked like it was tinted blue or purple. And I never had to straighten it. It was already straight as pins. I had pale skin, but no freckles Felice actually had a bit of a tan… And I was thin as a twig. Or a dime, as RyRo would put it. I actually tried to become chubby, but couldn’t. In fifth and sixth grade I was teased for being anorexic, even though I never actually was.

My eyes were this medium sky blue color with a random gold stripe down the middle of my left eye, and my teeth had never needed braces. I didn’t have glasses either. I liked my body. Don’t comment on that.

“Okay, girls,” Joe said. “Let’s get you backstage. Ready to meet Panic?”

“Where’s Pat?” Felice pouted.

“And Pete,” I added, crossing my arms for effect.

“They’re coming,” And said crossly, taking one of my arms and pulling me with him. “Probably had to wait for Pete to finish getting his outfit just right.”

“Well, you could have taken some more time on your outfit,” I pointed out.

Felice and I were both wearing black. She had black Etnies (I didn’t know they sold those in that color), black sweatpants, a black tank top, black sweatshirt and black-rimmed glasses. I had my hair pulled back on the right side with a black clip, a black sort of mini dress with black leggings, then black flats. Not too dressy, but I didn’t want to look like Felice when I met Ryan Ross.

Don’t tell her I said that.

“When will Pat get here?” Felice pleaded with Joe, who was dragging her like Andy was dragging me.

Joe shrugged. “Five, ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Felice and I both said, then bounded forward eagerly to get closer to Panic.

Then, I noticed my camera wasn’t swinging from my wrist anymore.

I turned around and crossed my arms at Andy, who was browsing through my pictures like it was nothing.

“Give it here,” I said impatiently, tapping my foot on the pavement.

Andy smirked. “Haha! You got ol’ Ross to pose for you!”

“Watch who you call ‘old’, bud,” I shot back, grabbing my camera and catching back up with Felice. I forget how old Andy is… Oh well! I just know that I’m sixteen, Felice is seventeen, and “ol’ Ross” is twenty-three. And Andy is older.

I feel so young.

Joe opened this door, and Andy led us in.

“Hey, guys!” Andy called once he set eyes on the four men sitting around the room.

“Andy!” Brendon Urie yelled, and bounced over to hug Andy, then Joe, then me, then Felice. When he looked up and saw who he was hugging, he frowned at Felice and asked, “Who the hell are you?”

“Bren,” Joe said carefully to him, “that’s Patrick’s cousin, Felice Stump.”

“Oh…” Brendon said, then hugged her again. “Hiya!”

“Hey…” Felice said quietly, staring up at Brendon with obvious adoration in her eyes.

“And this is Sam, my little cousin,” Andy said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

Brendon blinked. “Really?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “You two look nothing alike. But, hiya!”

Then he hugged me again.

He smelled like Red Bull, makeup, plastic and sweat.

“I’m Brendon Urie, Bren, Bden or just Brendon!” He managed to sound excited even when he was just telling me his name.

“And I’m Samantha Royce, Sam, or just Samantha,” I said back. “Nice to meet you.”

He smiled.

“No. Go away,” Jon Walker, bass guitarist for Panic, groaned as Andy tried to roll him over. Jon was facedown on this random couch. Spencer Smith was standing by an
open fridge, drowning himself in energy drinks.

And Ryan Ross was walking toward us.

He looked so much better in person than as that life-size cardboard stand-up thing in my room.

“Hi Felice. I’m Ryan Ross,” he said, holding out a hand.

Felice nodded happily.

Brendon was joining Spencer, already halfway through a Monster.

“And you’re…Sam? Is that short for Samantha?” Ryan asked, shaking my hand. His was rough and calloused. I guess that's what you get for playing guitar your whole life.

I nodded. “You didn’t hear when I told Brendon?”

He shook his head. “Hey, can you come here for a second?”

I nodded happily and followed him. He was wearing one of his awesome scarves. I love those.

He stopped when we neared this wall, and he said to me quietly, “Just between you and me, if I didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d definitely fake you my number one fan.”

My mouth fell open. “Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!”

He shrugged, smiling beautifully. Then, out of the blue, he pulled off his scarf.

“Hey Bren?” he yelled.

“What?” Brendon yelled back from where he was sitting on a stool and talking to Joe and Felice.

“Toss me a Sharpie.”

Bden pulled a Sharpie out of some pocket I couldn’t see and Ryan caught it as it flew through the air.

“Okay,” he muttered, and spread the scarf out on the wall.

Then he wrote, To my #2 fan RR

He wrote the R’s in this really fancy calligraphy sort of script.

“Here.” He handed me the scarf.

“No way,” I said, eyes wide, taking the article of clothing. “I can’t take this.”

“Yes you can,” he said back, smirking in a way that made him look more delicious than ever. “There are more scarves in the world—and in my closet. Go ahead.
Take it. I need to go to the bathroom…”

He shuffled off, leaving me to stare at the scarf a little while longer.

I’m his number two fan.

I reverently tied the scarf around my waist.

“Hey!”

Suddenly there were tons of cries of welcome, and—finally—Patrick emerged from the group hug Bren, Felice, Spencer, Joe and Andy had trapped him in.

“Hey Pat,” I said to him and gave the guy a quick hug.

He smirked at me. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks ever so much,” I said back sarcastically, then hurried forward, through the small throng of people blocking my way, straight into the arms of Pete Wentz.

“Hey Sam,” he said, smiling kindly right at me. We were both five foot five.

“Hey yourself,” I said back, then quickly pecked him on the lips before hugging him.

Pete and I were wicked close. He was like the older brother I never had. We only did the kissing thing every once and a while, even though he was married to Ashlee and had little Bronx to take care of. Ashlee didn’t care. Either that or she had never seen…

“I want a turn!” Brendon complained.

I laughed and pulled away from Pete, letting Brendon basically pounce on him as he yelled, “Hiya, buddy!”

“Um, hi,” Pete said back with difficulty.

I heard a very nice-sounding laugh and turned to see that Ryan had joined the ranks again.

“Brendon, let the guy breathe,” he advised, then my view of RyRo was obstructed by a certain twosome that consisted of a certain Spencer Smith and Jon Walker. Spencer looked sort of high. Jon looked bushed.

“Hi,” they both said at the same time.

“Hey…” I said back uncertainly.

“We didn’t get to introduce ourselves,” Spencer explained. “I’m Spencer Smith, drummer.”

“Jon Walker, bass guitarist.”

“Nice to meet you both,” I said sincerely, shaking both of their hands. “And I’m Sam Royce.”

Then we separated. Spencer went to the bathroom—makes sense; he just drank half the fridge—and Jon got back to the couch. He looked like he had done five concerts in a row.

“I missed you.”

A pair of strong hands rested on my shoulders.

“Pe-ete…” I said, elongating his name into two syllables. “I missed you too, but we saw each other last week.”

“It’s been the longest week of my life,” he said seriously. I knew because I was now looking into his face.

I smirked. “What would Ashlee say?” I mused.

A smirk appeared on his face too. “She’s not here.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re, like, twice as old as me.”

And I walked toward where Spencer was sitting on the stool Brendon had occupied before, when RyRo had asked him for the Sharpie that had signed the scarf
around my waist.

I was never going to forget today.

“I’m not thirty-two!” Pete cried defiantly, starting to follow me. “I’m thirty! As of tomorrow…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Same difference,” I said back, plopping down on this armchair that didn’t match the couch.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!”

My eyes darted around, searching for whoever had made that noise.

I stopped, realizing something. There had been two voices making that sound. One high, one medium.

And I knew only one male with a voice like the lower one.

I found Brendon staring wide-eyed at Felice, who was doing the same back. They both looked ecstatic. They were standing, facing each other, a few feet away from the couch.

“What’s up with them?”

I turned to see Ryan leaning on my chair, frowning at Brendon.

I shrugged. “No idea.”

“You’ve beaten Lou on Hard?” Bren asked Felice, who nodded.

“You?”

“Yes!” Brendon exclaimed back, then they both started jumping for joy.

To the same rhythm.

Something clicked in my head and I said, “Oh…”

“You know what’s going on?” Ryan asked, leaning a bit closer.

I nodded. “They found a solid thing in common.”

“And that is?”

“Guitar Hero.”

“Should’ve guessed… I forgot the devil was named Lou.”

I let out a little laugh.

They were still jumping and “EEP!”ing. It was starting to get freaky.

I stood up, started walking, and realized when I was halfway across the room that Ryan was right behind me.

He slid a hand onto Brendon’s shoulder while I slung an arm around Felice’s neck.

“Calm down,” he said soothingly.

“Don’t worry,” I said in the same manner. “We’re just going to call in some very nice people in white. They’ll help you out, and take you to-”

“I’m not mental!” Bden protested with a pout on his face. “I was just happy that Fi-
Fi likes Guitar Hero, too.”

I blinked. “Fi-Fi.”

“Yeah, it’s my nickname!” Felice told me excitedly.

I slapped a hand to my forehead, then let it slip down my face.

When my eyes opened again, I was looking straight into Ryan’s light brown
ones.

I quirked an eyebrow. I wasn’t the type to get all mushy just because a (famous!) guy was looking at me. No way José.

He just smiled a little before turning to Bren and saying, “Dude, it’s just a game. You can play it tomorrow.”

“But I want to play with Fi-Fi,” Brendon insisted, pouting again.

“So…call her tomorrow. Or something,” Ryan randomly thought up.

“Pete’s birthday party is tomorrow,” I reminded them. “You could meet up there. Maybe one of you could bring the stuff to play-”

“Or I could have it as a possible activity,” Pete put in. “Well, it’s not going to be anything huge. Just Panic, Sam, Felice, other relatives and Fall Out Boy. Originally, Panic
wasn’t going to be there either…” He trailed off, looking thoughtfully up at Ryan. “But, I changed my mind.”

“Oh! Will Fallen be there?”

Leave it to Felice to bring up my ridiculously hot cousin. He’s eighteen, and one of the three cousins in the Hurley/Royce family. Yep, it’s just me, Andy and Fallen.

And I’m the only girl.

Feel bad for me.

So, the rest of our little time went by, and I got Panic’s cell phone numbers and e-mail addresses and stuff. Oh yes, I’m so connected.

When I was saying goodbye to everyone, I hugged Bden—AGAIN!—gave Jon a half-hug and tousled Spencer’s hair. Their bodyguard, Zack, almost killed me with his demented form of a bear hug.

Ryan pulled me to the side right before I left and whispered, “See you later, Fan Number Two.”

I smiled at him. “Bye, Ryan.”

My arms seemed to—of their own accord—go around his neck, but he didn’t stop me. In fact, he hugged me back.

“See you at Pete’s,” he promised as we pulled away.

“Can you be there by…two?” I asked.

“How about twelve?”

I smiled. “Even better. Hey, can I get a quick picture of us?”

“I’ll take it.”

Pete stole my camera, then held it up to get the us in view. “Smile!”

Ryan and I slung one arm each around the other and smiled. His arm felt exceptionally warm when he pressed it against my shoulder.

The flash went off, and we both protested.

“Pete, you could have turned it off! We’re inside with all these lights on!” I reminded him while taking my camera back.

“Let’s go. You must be tired.” Pete put his arm where Ryan’s had just been and steered me toward the door.

I glanced back and waved to Panic one last time.

Ryan, Bren and Spencer waved back. Jon was snoring on the couch.

Once Pete and I went out the first of two sets of doors, I saw Pete’s reflected face as he threw a last glance back at Panic. He looked hostile and even slightly disgusted.

And it was unmistakably meant for Ryan.

Had I done something to cause this? I didn’t want there to be problems between Fall Out Boy and Panic.

Pete and I walked to where Patrick was waiting in his car, engine running. I joined Felice in the back and Pete clambered into the passenger seat.

“No radio,” Pete ordered as soon as he sat down.

“Why not?” I asked.

“He’s gotten into the habit of listening to classical,” Pete accused, pointing at Pat as the latter laughed and pulled out of the parking space. “And singing harmony to it.”

Felice and I giggled.

“So, what’d you girls think of Panic?” Pat asked.

“I just…clicked, I guess, with Brendon,” Felice said—unnecessarily. “But the rest of them seemed nice enough.”

I smiled. “Jon was too tired to really make a fair judgment on, but Spencer was nice and friendly, if a bit impulsive. Brendon was positively crazy. They need to stop feeding the guy Red Bull. And Ryan was a sweetheart.”

I carefully gauged Pete’s reaction to this.

He just frowned slightly but kept his eyes on the road ahead. Even though he wasn’t driving.

I’d ask him about his Ryan issues later.

We talked about random things for the rest of the ride, and came out of the doors onto the parking lot of the hotel Fall Out Boy was staying at singing Thnks fr th Mmrs. Don’t ask how we got started.

“Get me out of my mind… And get you out of those clo-o-o-othes!” Pet belted out, attracting the attention of many people. Ones with flashy cameras and pens and notebooks included.

By the time we started the chorus again, paparazzi were all over the place. I was used to cameras. I had a job. I was a model for all different pictures and advertisements. I worked for my Aunt Lydia’s company, and her son, Fallen, worked there too. Once, when Lydia wasn’t able to help—she was home sick—and Fallen and I were at the hands of some dude, he made us do all these…couply…lovey…romantic scenes together.

That was the most awkward day of my life. But Fallen and I are still good friends.

“We got this huge suite,” Pat told me and Felice over the yells of paparazzi asking Pete and Pat to “look to the left”, “smile” and etcetera.

“You and Sam can share a room.”

Pat’s voice started to fade, but I didn’t notice. I was slowly coming to a standstill.

Was that…Ryan?

I squinted into the darkness by some trees at the figure I thought I was seeing. It was distinctly masculine, and it had seriously looked like Ryan for a moment.

A flashing camera suddenly blocked my view, and a heartbeat after, I got my line of sight back.

The figure was gone.

Well, that was freaky.

I jolted back to reality as a strong hand gripped my arm. I looked up to see Pete staring with an unreadable expression at the exact spot I had just seen “Ryan”.

“Move,” Pete commanded, tugging at my arm, never moving his gaze from that one moonlit space.

I obeyed. Pete had never really ordered me around before. And he sounded deadly serious.

I ducked my head and caught up with Felice, paparazzi yelling at us all the while.

Okay, incase anyone's wondering, Andy does NOT actually have Sam and Fallen as cousins. And if he does, I'm extremely odd. I'm not sure if Panic's bodyguard is Zack, but I think that might be his name. If you know, tell me. Also, if anyone knows how old Pete's kid Bronx is, I would love to know! Thanks!
ALSO! The italics doesn't work on this! It's horrible and demented, but live with it!