Someone out There Loves You

“Aw, c’mon Yoda, you know you want a hug!”
“Like hell! You smell like corn syrup!”
The show was over, and I was backstage with the band, covered in fake blood and sweat. Yoda always hated the fake blood, so now Monster and I were trying to corner him and get him covered in it.
“If you hug me,” Yoda said, “I am going to smell like Willy Wonka’s fucking chocolate factory all night!”
“Someone being chicken?” Monster teased. “I’m sure the red will nicely compliment that white tshirt of yours.”
Yoda looked down at his cotton-covered chest, and then back and forth between us in horror.
“You wouldn’t.”
I looked around to Monster, and we traded and evil grin. Then we charged at Yoda.
He let out a yelp and ran across the curtain hidden stage. We chased after him with manic laughter. Techinically, it wasn’t good for me to do a lot of running because of my heart condition, but this was too damn fun to pass up. (Then again, it wasn’t good to bounce around a stage and get “stabbed” by a Gibson either, but I hadn’t died yet!)
While Yoda screamed like a little girl as I chased him and Monster turned his run into a leaping skip, with the rest of the band and some of the techs howling on the sidelines, we heard someone clear their throat.
Yoda, Monster, and I froze. Which lead to all us crashing into each other. Which lead to the Domino Effect. Which lead to some slight embarassment aimed at the new fellow staring at us with a raised eyebrow.
Musicians. We’re all missing a few components.
Yoda got to his feet and smiled at the newcomer. The band and I traded looks (”Okay…? What the hell is he doing…?) as Yoda shook the dude’s hand.
He slung an arm around the stranger’s shoulder. “Guys, this is my old friend Brett. From when I first started in the biz.”
(Background info: Roughly two years beforehand, Yoda had earned his teaching degree when he finished college, and spent his days as a temp. Until his dad died. His dad had a pretty big job at The Firm Management, and when he died, Yoda came into the family business. Now you know.)
Yoda gave us all a knowing look. “Brett here is a rep for Reprise Records.”
You’ve seen that white cueball they use in billiards, right? Now picture them in five teenager’s eye sockets.
We dashed over and curved around the two men, each of us shaking his hand and introducing ourselves.
“That was an amazing set,” he drooled. The inside of me glowed with happiness. Some people thought our sets were totally weird, and when we got compliments on them, the self esteem boost radiated for weeks.
Brett continued. “I’ve never seen anything like that from kids your age. And-- other than your fan base -- I’m not the only one who thought it was awesome.” He crumpled his face in slight irritation and confusion. “I had a couple friends with me, and they loved it, but they just kinda disappeared…” He shook it off with his head. “Anyways, Pete here called me a few days back. We’d been bros since he came around with a band to Reprise. I knew his dad ten thousand years ago, so we clicked.” He grinned and elbowed Yoda. “And when he said he had an epic new band, I trusted him.” Now Brett grinned at us. “And I was right.”
Holyshitholyshitholyshit.
“So, uhm,” Levi said, his voice shaking with excitement, though he was trying to keep it professional. “How can we help you?”
Brett grinned wider. “Oh, guys, I’m here to help you.”
GOOD SIGN.
“Clayah, be serious,” my conscious said. "Your 14 for God’s sake. You’re not getting signed or anything. Shit like that just doesn’t happen.”
Shut up, you little shit.
“Is there anywhere we can all go and chat in private?” Brett said.
HA. Rot in hell, conscious.
“Yeah,” Drew jumped in. “My uncle’s office is just around the corner.”

Joey’s office had virtually no chairs. There was one behind his desk, a fake leather loveseat, and it’s twinner chair. It was sorta awkward cramming Levi, Mark, and me on the loveseat (I was in the middle-- yey…) and Drew and Monster in the chair as Brett looked at us from across the desk. But he smiled at us anyways. If we all hadn’t been so fried, we probably would’ve done what Yoda did and stood.
Oh, whatever.
“So I’d like to talk to all of you seriously,” Brett said. “For one, because I think you guys are amazing, and two, I think you can really help us out here.
“As you probably know, Reprise has had a difficult time lately, ever since this past summer. Did you guys hear about the Molly Iero… ‘scandal’?” Air quotes.
We all nodded. My Chemical Romance had gotten a few haters from our school and some had written nasty letters to Reprise. I thought it was dumb; life was life, get the fuck over it.
But was signing us (MAYBE) supposed to cover that all up? Was that the only reason?
“But to go back to one,” Brett continued. “I’d like to talk to you guys about a very serious decision.
“I’ve spoken to my superiors, and we’re all really interested in you guys.”
“Interested as in…?” Mark asked.
“Well, frankly, Reprise would like to sign you guys.”
Holy St. Jimmy. I could’ve passed out right then.
“Now, just to clarify,” Brett raised his hands in defense, “I’m not saying this because of the Molly Iero thing. That’s mostly me asking for a favor. We absolutely want you guys. Pleading, really. I just wanted to make that clear. We love you guys so much, and we really want to see you kids go miles.”
Well that answers that.
“Well, we’ll definitely have to think about it,” I said, “And speak to the parental units.”
“Of course,” Brett said. “There’s no way I would make you decide on the spot.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, withdrawing a small stack of business cards.
“Take your time. And when you’ve come to a decision, just call me.” He gave us another friendly smile; I liked this chap. “Reprise would really, really like to have you guys.”
We all shook his hand again and bid him goodbye. He walked out, leaving the band and Yoda in Joey’s office.
We all looked around at each other. Being signed to Reprise had been our dream from Day One. Signing to a label wasn’t super important to us, but still. Reprise was our top choice. Gaddammit, our idols were signed to them! Then we did our thing; we all stuck our arms out to the person next to us in the circle, pinching the arm toward us. Yepp, it hurt.
After some moments of staring, simultaneously…
We screamed at the top of our lungs.
Everyone starteed hugging. And leaping for joy.
Yeah, leaping. Let us alone, you would’ve done the same.
We ran at Yoda, and he hugged us in with open arms, laughing at our thank you’s.
“And Yoda?” Monster spoke up, looking at Yoda apologetically. “Clayah and I are sorry.” At first I was confused, then I caught on and laughed.
Yoda looked confused to. “What the hell for?”
“We’ll buy you bleach,” I smiled.
“What are you guys--”
Monster and I pulled back and pointed at Yoda’s tshirt. He looked down to find it covered in red corn syrup.

While we loaded up Mark and Levi’s vans, we were so beyond hyper. We wanted to celebrate, but those still in high school had curfews, even though it was Friday night. We all agreed to have quite the party when we signed. We all had cool parents-- they would totally agree.
I hopped shotgun in Mark’s van. All the way home we flipped shit.
“REPRISE, Mark, REPRISE.”
“We’ll be under the same label as The Used!”
“And Green Day!”
“And--”
In unison:
“MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE.”
We sounded like idiots, but we were happy idiots.
When we pulled up in front of the Demia house, Mark pulled into the garage. I helped him unload an amp and he swung his Fender over his shoulder.
“Hi honey!” Mark’s mom called from the living room. Susan was awesome-- only I never called her Susan. I called her Mom, and she either called me Clayah (durr) or Daughter. We’d been doing it for years, and it was never weird.
She walked into the mudroom by the garage door as Mark and I attempt to manuver the Marshall amp toward the basement door where Mark dwelled.
“Hi Daughter,” Susan smiled at me.
“Hi Mom!”
“Holy God, Mom,” Mark started to freak out all over again. “You’ll never guess--”
Mark lost his focus on moving the amp, and it slipped from his hands. I tried to hold it up, but the corner of it swung. It cut through his jeans and across his shin.
“OW!”
“Oh my God, Mark, are you okay?” I said. I set down the Marshall.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” he said, clutching his wound. “It’s nothing huge.”
“Sweetie, come into the kitchen,” my second mother said.
We helped Mark into a chair, and Susan ran to get some Neosporin and Band Aids. Mark winced as I helped roll up the leg of his jeans.
“Dude, that is a gash.”
“No, it’s just a cut.”
“Look at it, Mark.”
He leaned forward and stared. So did I. It was bleeding quite a bit-- a thick trickle of blood flowed down his leg toward his shoe, which he started to take off.
Maybe it was because my dad was a doctor, but blood always fascinated me. It could’ve been because mine didn’t pump normally because of my heart, but who knew. I was kind of clumsy when I was little-- always slipping on rocks and getting lots of little cuts of bruises. When I was going between the site of my injury and to Mom, for her to fix it, I would sweep up the blood on my finger and lick it all off. Totally twisted, I know. But I loved the taste. Metallic, sweet, thick as it skidded across my tongue and down my throat…
God I had issues.
I snapped away from staring at Mark’s wound when Susan came back in. I looked at my watch.
“Aw man. Dude, I’m sorry, but I gotta get home. My rents will have a field day, I’m already ten minutes late.”
“It’s cool. Talk to you later.”
I went out the patio door. Never the front. I just jumped the white picket fence to the back yard of my place and went in that way.
But tonight, I was a little perplexed at why the blinds were covering our patio doors. My parents never did that…