She's With The Band
Chapter 2;
Imelda fell asleep that night with a smug smile on her face, only to be woken up the next morning with a buzzing coming from her phone. It was an unknown number.
“Speak your peace.”
“Imelda Quinton?” a voice asked.
“Yo?”
“Hey, I'm Matt Flyzik, All Time Low’s tour manager. We’re really excited to have you coming,” the man replied.
Imelda’s stomach performed a gymnastic routine inside her. “Oh, Matt. Hey man, I’m really stoked to see you guys, too!”
“Good. We want you to drive up to Baltimore on the 21st so we can get ready for tour. Is that cool?”
“Yeah. Sounds good. See ya, Matt!”
“Later, Imelda.”
Imelda hung up the phone and immediately fell back asleep in preparation for her exam the following day.
As quickly as exams went, Imelda found herself counting down days, hours, minutes and seconds until she arrived in Baltimore to meet the band. Her friends often had to hide any clocks or calendars from her because she was getting out of control.
*FLASHBACK*
“James, give me the fucking watch!” Imelda shrieked, jumping on his back and sending them both flying into the pool in her best friend’s backyard.
“Great. Shit, Mel! I could’ve had my phone in my pocket!” James growled, stepping out of his pool and shaking his short black hair out. Imelda followed after him, her black and white Fox dress clinging to her tall and leggy frame. Her corn silk hair fell sopping down her back, nearly to her waist.
“But I knew you didn’t! Gimme some credit, Yah-mez.”
James rolled his eyes and pulled off his black polo in one swift motion and slapped it against the ground. Imelda rolled her nearly black eyes at her half naked best friend, whom she had seen much more naked than that. Accidentally, of course.
“So, you leave tomorrow, huh? All packed and ready to get raped by a bunch of eighteen year old band whores?” James spat bitterly.
“Yeah. I brought condoms just in case,” Imelda sighed, picking at her yellow nail polish. James made a strangled sort of noise of annoyance and Imelda snickered.
“Honey, I’ll be fine. Warped Tour wouldn’t have had this contest for sixteen-year-old girls if they didn’t have faith in their bands. It’s all good in the hood.”
James nodded abruptly, signaling the end of the conversation. He loved that Imelda was branching out and was very proud of her for winning this contest, but he didn’t like the idea that he wouldn’t be around to take care of her. He was extraordinarily protective. Imelda knew that and liked to tease him occasionally but she really did appreciate his concern.
“Alright sweetie, you got everything?” Holly Quinton asked as she tucked Imelda’s last piece of luggage into James Deveraux’s car. James was ready to drive Imelda to Baltimore, although reluctantly.
“Yup. Tampons, birth control, XXL condoms. I’m good,” Imelda laughed, her zebra striped Ray Bans nearly sliding off her little ski slope nose.
Holly rolled her eyes and allowed her daughter to get in the car. “I love you sweetheart! I’ll see you soon! Call me!” she cried after James’ retreating Jeep Wrangler.
As soon as Imelda settled in, she turned on the radio to Hot 99.5 and made a face at the obnoxious Katy Perry song pounding through the speakers. She quickly slid in a CD and smiled innocently at James.
“I made you a mixtape, Devs,” she murmured, handing him the song list.
“This is perfect. Thanks. I’ll never forget you, Imelda Louise!” He threw his hand over his forehead dramatically and began to fake sob over the steering wheel.
“If you crash this car, Deveraux, I will slice off your dick and make you blow yourself,” Imelda warned him, shooting the sixteen year old a death glare while the car careened toward the sewer. James rolled his eyes and placed both hands on the steering wheel and continued on through the neighborhood.
“Speak your peace.”
“Imelda Quinton?” a voice asked.
“Yo?”
“Hey, I'm Matt Flyzik, All Time Low’s tour manager. We’re really excited to have you coming,” the man replied.
Imelda’s stomach performed a gymnastic routine inside her. “Oh, Matt. Hey man, I’m really stoked to see you guys, too!”
“Good. We want you to drive up to Baltimore on the 21st so we can get ready for tour. Is that cool?”
“Yeah. Sounds good. See ya, Matt!”
“Later, Imelda.”
Imelda hung up the phone and immediately fell back asleep in preparation for her exam the following day.
As quickly as exams went, Imelda found herself counting down days, hours, minutes and seconds until she arrived in Baltimore to meet the band. Her friends often had to hide any clocks or calendars from her because she was getting out of control.
*FLASHBACK*
“James, give me the fucking watch!” Imelda shrieked, jumping on his back and sending them both flying into the pool in her best friend’s backyard.
“Great. Shit, Mel! I could’ve had my phone in my pocket!” James growled, stepping out of his pool and shaking his short black hair out. Imelda followed after him, her black and white Fox dress clinging to her tall and leggy frame. Her corn silk hair fell sopping down her back, nearly to her waist.
“But I knew you didn’t! Gimme some credit, Yah-mez.”
James rolled his eyes and pulled off his black polo in one swift motion and slapped it against the ground. Imelda rolled her nearly black eyes at her half naked best friend, whom she had seen much more naked than that. Accidentally, of course.
“So, you leave tomorrow, huh? All packed and ready to get raped by a bunch of eighteen year old band whores?” James spat bitterly.
“Yeah. I brought condoms just in case,” Imelda sighed, picking at her yellow nail polish. James made a strangled sort of noise of annoyance and Imelda snickered.
“Honey, I’ll be fine. Warped Tour wouldn’t have had this contest for sixteen-year-old girls if they didn’t have faith in their bands. It’s all good in the hood.”
James nodded abruptly, signaling the end of the conversation. He loved that Imelda was branching out and was very proud of her for winning this contest, but he didn’t like the idea that he wouldn’t be around to take care of her. He was extraordinarily protective. Imelda knew that and liked to tease him occasionally but she really did appreciate his concern.
“Alright sweetie, you got everything?” Holly Quinton asked as she tucked Imelda’s last piece of luggage into James Deveraux’s car. James was ready to drive Imelda to Baltimore, although reluctantly.
“Yup. Tampons, birth control, XXL condoms. I’m good,” Imelda laughed, her zebra striped Ray Bans nearly sliding off her little ski slope nose.
Holly rolled her eyes and allowed her daughter to get in the car. “I love you sweetheart! I’ll see you soon! Call me!” she cried after James’ retreating Jeep Wrangler.
As soon as Imelda settled in, she turned on the radio to Hot 99.5 and made a face at the obnoxious Katy Perry song pounding through the speakers. She quickly slid in a CD and smiled innocently at James.
“I made you a mixtape, Devs,” she murmured, handing him the song list.
“This is perfect. Thanks. I’ll never forget you, Imelda Louise!” He threw his hand over his forehead dramatically and began to fake sob over the steering wheel.
“If you crash this car, Deveraux, I will slice off your dick and make you blow yourself,” Imelda warned him, shooting the sixteen year old a death glare while the car careened toward the sewer. James rolled his eyes and placed both hands on the steering wheel and continued on through the neighborhood.