She's With The Band
Chapter 1;
“Wait, I’m… what the hell?” Imelda Quinton asked, her light eyebrows crinkling together in confusion.
Her voice coach, David Wolfe, nodded and handed her an envelope. He crossed his arms over his chubby chest and grinned. She ripped open the envelope and read the following:
Dear Ms. Quinton,
Congrats! You’re the chosen one! Chosen, that is, to be the Merch Bitch of Warped. This means that you get to choose any band on our tour this year and travel with them to sell merch, record videos and be their personal slave. Sounds sick, right? Well the best part is that you get to perform a song of your choice at our finale stop on August 23rd in LA on Main Stage.
Because of your extreme musical talent, AP has decided that you are worthy of this honor. Your demo sent in by Mr. Wolfe was astounding and very creative.
Please email us with your choice of a band at contests@altpress.com by the end of this week.
Congrats again,
Alternative Press Magazine
Imelda dropped the letter and glared at David. She jabbed her index finger in his chest and growled.
“You freaking entered me in the Merch Bitch contest without asking me? What the hell, Dave?”
“Mel, You’ve been singing with me for two years. Since the second month you started taking lessons, there was nothing left to tweak. I was constantly trying to think of ways to keep you changing things up to challenge your range! You were born for this opportunity. You have to do this,” David explained, standing up and putting a hand on her shoulder.
Imelda stared out the window of their soundproofed practice Bob Marley themed room. She sighed and looked back at David.
“My mother is never going to let me,” she muttered.
“I already talked to her. She knew when I entered you for this.”
Imelda rolled her eyes. “Naturally…”
“They want your email in. So who are you going to sell for?” David asked, a big smile spreading across his pale face and hitting his fuzzy brown sideburns.
A rush of excitement shot through her and she grinned. “All Time Low. Definitely.”
“Are you sure? That’s a bunch of guys! Why don’t you go with Paramore?” he suggested. Imelda shook her head stubbornly.
“Nope. I’ve done two of ATL's songs already for demos in the studio here. I need to meet the men behind the music.”
David shrugged and waved goodbye as their time was up. She skipped past the reception desk on her way out of Bach 2 Rock, America’s Music School.
“Bye Kev!” she called back to the bored looking twenty-something year old who sat behind the desk.
“Later, Mel.”
She slid into her mom’s Audi and started the car. She sat there for a moment, thinking about the entire situation. She shook her head sharply and pulled out of the parking space and drove ten minutes to her house.
“Mother!” she growled as she entered the side door. Imelda always loved dramatics.
Her mother, a beautiful young-looking woman came around the corner with a big smile on her face, accentuating the crow’s feet around her eyes.
“So he told you?”
Imelda nodded and crossed her arms over her nearly nonexistent breasts. “Yup.”
“Why aren’t you excited?” her mother asked, her dark brows pushing together in confusion.
“Because you did this without my permission! What if I didn’t want to go? What if I had decided to do that snowboarding camp in Canada?” Imelda cried.
Her mother raised and eyebrow and smirked. So that was where she inherited that look from!
“Ok, so fine. I do want to go. But you should have checked with me anyways.” She began to walk up the stairs and Ms. Holly Quinton followed until they reached Imelda’s room.
“I didn’t want you to get nervous, especially now during exam time. But which band are you going to choose?” she asked excitedly, sitting down on Imelda’s bed and crossing her dark denim-covered legs over one another.
Imelda had dragged Holly to a number of concerts for bands like Paramore, Phantom Planet, Jack’s Mannequin and New Found Glory and found that her mother greatly enjoyed their music, much to the shock of her teenaged daughter.
“All Time Low.”
“But they have no girls! Won’t you get lonely?” Holly whined.
“Nah. I’ve always suspected that Zack has a vagina anyways,” Imelda shrugged.
Holly shot her a warning look but Imelda just smirked.
“Well, I want you to email them right now so any potential confusion can be cleared up, huh?”
Imelda nodded and pushed open her silver MacBook Pro. She typed up a polite, short email to AP Magazine confirming her choice in ATL and sent it. She flopped back on her bed and took a sip from a room temperature coffee cup that sat on her nightstand.
All. Time. Low’s. Merch. Bitch.
Yeah, that sounds like me.
Her voice coach, David Wolfe, nodded and handed her an envelope. He crossed his arms over his chubby chest and grinned. She ripped open the envelope and read the following:
Dear Ms. Quinton,
Congrats! You’re the chosen one! Chosen, that is, to be the Merch Bitch of Warped. This means that you get to choose any band on our tour this year and travel with them to sell merch, record videos and be their personal slave. Sounds sick, right? Well the best part is that you get to perform a song of your choice at our finale stop on August 23rd in LA on Main Stage.
Because of your extreme musical talent, AP has decided that you are worthy of this honor. Your demo sent in by Mr. Wolfe was astounding and very creative.
Please email us with your choice of a band at contests@altpress.com by the end of this week.
Congrats again,
Alternative Press Magazine
Imelda dropped the letter and glared at David. She jabbed her index finger in his chest and growled.
“You freaking entered me in the Merch Bitch contest without asking me? What the hell, Dave?”
“Mel, You’ve been singing with me for two years. Since the second month you started taking lessons, there was nothing left to tweak. I was constantly trying to think of ways to keep you changing things up to challenge your range! You were born for this opportunity. You have to do this,” David explained, standing up and putting a hand on her shoulder.
Imelda stared out the window of their soundproofed practice Bob Marley themed room. She sighed and looked back at David.
“My mother is never going to let me,” she muttered.
“I already talked to her. She knew when I entered you for this.”
Imelda rolled her eyes. “Naturally…”
“They want your email in. So who are you going to sell for?” David asked, a big smile spreading across his pale face and hitting his fuzzy brown sideburns.
A rush of excitement shot through her and she grinned. “All Time Low. Definitely.”
“Are you sure? That’s a bunch of guys! Why don’t you go with Paramore?” he suggested. Imelda shook her head stubbornly.
“Nope. I’ve done two of ATL's songs already for demos in the studio here. I need to meet the men behind the music.”
David shrugged and waved goodbye as their time was up. She skipped past the reception desk on her way out of Bach 2 Rock, America’s Music School.
“Bye Kev!” she called back to the bored looking twenty-something year old who sat behind the desk.
“Later, Mel.”
She slid into her mom’s Audi and started the car. She sat there for a moment, thinking about the entire situation. She shook her head sharply and pulled out of the parking space and drove ten minutes to her house.
“Mother!” she growled as she entered the side door. Imelda always loved dramatics.
Her mother, a beautiful young-looking woman came around the corner with a big smile on her face, accentuating the crow’s feet around her eyes.
“So he told you?”
Imelda nodded and crossed her arms over her nearly nonexistent breasts. “Yup.”
“Why aren’t you excited?” her mother asked, her dark brows pushing together in confusion.
“Because you did this without my permission! What if I didn’t want to go? What if I had decided to do that snowboarding camp in Canada?” Imelda cried.
Her mother raised and eyebrow and smirked. So that was where she inherited that look from!
“Ok, so fine. I do want to go. But you should have checked with me anyways.” She began to walk up the stairs and Ms. Holly Quinton followed until they reached Imelda’s room.
“I didn’t want you to get nervous, especially now during exam time. But which band are you going to choose?” she asked excitedly, sitting down on Imelda’s bed and crossing her dark denim-covered legs over one another.
Imelda had dragged Holly to a number of concerts for bands like Paramore, Phantom Planet, Jack’s Mannequin and New Found Glory and found that her mother greatly enjoyed their music, much to the shock of her teenaged daughter.
“All Time Low.”
“But they have no girls! Won’t you get lonely?” Holly whined.
“Nah. I’ve always suspected that Zack has a vagina anyways,” Imelda shrugged.
Holly shot her a warning look but Imelda just smirked.
“Well, I want you to email them right now so any potential confusion can be cleared up, huh?”
Imelda nodded and pushed open her silver MacBook Pro. She typed up a polite, short email to AP Magazine confirming her choice in ATL and sent it. She flopped back on her bed and took a sip from a room temperature coffee cup that sat on her nightstand.
All. Time. Low’s. Merch. Bitch.
Yeah, that sounds like me.