The Punchline to the Joke Is Asking

I was on a park bench, playing my guitar, letting my plain-jane brown, just-past-shoulder-length hair screen my face from sight. I was in a loose, signed My Chemical Romance tee, and baggy, faded jeans with holes in the knees. My guitar was an old, abused acoustic, nothing special. I had a black 'X' tattooed on the back of each hand, screaming that I was straight edge.
The open guitar case was on the bench next to me, with a cardboard sign that read 'Starving Artist/Musician'. There was a stack of scenery paintings I'd done of the park, in different places and seasons.
I wasn't really playing to impress, I was playing 'cause I liked it. If someone wanted to get me food 'cause they liked me, that worked for me.
I was playing 'Polly' by Nirvana, ignoring the people who'd stopped to watch. That was normal. After the song, they'd either drop some cash or just walk away. I wasn't going to beg them for money- not my style.
After 'Polly', I slid into 'I Swear This Time I Mean It' by Mayday Parade.
The people standing there hadn't moved, and stuck around for my version of 'Cancer' by My Chemical Romance.
When they were still there at the end of 'Cancer', I turned my head up to face them, not bothering to shake my hair out of the way- it was a mess, anyway.
"C'n I help you?" I asked, not exactly coldly.
"We're just listening." Said one of the men. They seemed a couple years older than me, and there were two of them.
"Cool." I said, then went back to my guitar. My fingers had been tooling around with random chords as I talked- I was completely addicted to my guitar- if I was awake, I was playing.
"Know anything by Fall Out Boy?" Asked the other man.
I didn't answer, I just automatically started 'It's Not A Side Effect Of The Cocaine, So I Am Thinking It Must Be Love'. I heard the guys murmur to each other and just kept playing, slipping into 'Northern Downpour' by Panic! At The Disco.
"Can you play anything faster?" Asked the second man.
"Yeah, but it sounds funky on an acoustic." I shrugged.
"Try it." He said mildly, but I heard the challenge in his voice.
I played 'Black Mamba' by The Academy Is... .
"I like you, kid, what's your name?" He asked, when I was done with the song.
"Cyn." I said, nodding. I was looking up at them again, my fingers plunking out random chords. I shook my hair away from one eye this time, sizing them up.
Joe Trohman and Pete Wentz were looking at me the same way.
"How old are you, anyway?" Asked Joe. He was the first guy.
"19." I lied easily, flipping the rest of my hair out of my face.
Pete gave me a look that said he knew I was lying, but he didn't call me on it.
"If we wanted you on a plane to Chicago to see about a recording contract, how soon could you be ready?" Pete asked.
I dropped my guitar in the case on top of the art and the sign. "All packed." I raised my eyebrow, thinking I was calling his bluff.
"Good job." Pete grinned, and Joe smirked like I'd passed some kind of test. Then Pete grabbed my wrist and pulled me off the bench. I instinctively grabbed my case and pulled it along with me.
"Can you write anything on your own?" Pete asked, towing me along quickly as Joe walked on my other side, hands in his pockets.
"Yeah. I write a lot, but I don't tell anybody- I'm nobody, which means anybody could steal it."
Pete grinned at me. "Smart kid."
"I'm not a kid." I protested, but Pete ignored that.
He pulled me into a ritzy hotel, and I earned tons of dirty looks from the doormen and receptionists- they'd all seen me in the park. I glared right back at them, defiant. Look at me now.
I got pulled all the way up to a suite on the top floor, and pushed down on the couch.
There were Patrick Stump and Andy Hurley on the other couch, giving Pete a look that said they weren't too surprised.
Pete and Joe sat down with their band mates and stared at me.
I stared back, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because you can sing and play the guitar." Pete answered.
"Many people can." I reminded him.
"But you're better than many people." Pete grinned as if he'd just won a bet.
"Thanks." I smiled sarcastically. "But why am I here, being stared at?"
"Because you're getting signed to Decaydance, and we're asking you questions." Joe piped up.
"I find that an acceptable explanation." I nodded.
"So, who are you?" Andy chimed in.
"Cyn." I answered simply.
"Where're you from?" Pete continued in a sing-song voice.
"The park." I answered casually, noting the reactions.
Joe tilted his head to the side, and Andy and Patrick looked surprised. Pete was hard to read, but seemed pleased. I would have fun trying to figure him out- I was a fan of mind games.
"You're a hobo? But you're not gross." Patrick said.
"I shower and do laundry pretty often. There's a shelter on Fifth." I shrugged.
"Have you ever high jacked a car?" Pete asked, and I stared at him, then laughed.
"Nah, man, I can't even drive. I wouldn't know how to put it in gear!" I shook my head. "I can hotwire 'em just fine, but I'm no car jack."
"Ever break into a house or anything? Try illegal drugs?" Pete continued, and the guys looked embarrassed by Pete's probing.
"I can pick locks but I've never broken in anywhere, and I'm straight edge. Can you not see these?" I held up my hands, showing the tattoos.
Pete grinned apologetically. "They could've been just an alibi so people would give you cash."
"Dude, if there's one thing I try for, it's honesty." I shook my head.
"So how old are you?" Pete asked again, and Joe looked at him, then me.
"19." I said defiantly, staring Pete down. "I said 'try', remember?"
*
*
Wyatt just stared at me for a minute, then Pete, then me. Then he sighed and sat down in his seat. That made Pete grin.
"Do what you want. You always do." Wyatt said tiredly, waving his hand at Pete and turning his computer towards him. "Just... where'd you dig this one up?" He eyed me again, and I glared at him.
"Central Park." Pete answered cheerfully, typing away at the laptop.
Soon, he had a contract for me to look at. I skimmed it quickly, looking it over. Pete had taken care of me pretty well, I got creative freedom and the last word on everything, then I spotted what I'd be making, and I was pretty sure my eyes glazed over because my brain pretty much stopped working.
"What, don't like it?" Pete asked, glancing at it again, as if a problem would highlight itself for him.
"No, it's great... that's just a lot of money for a street kid to make." I blinked, the gears in my head starting to roll again.
Pete laughed. "You'll get used to it, kid."

"Alright kid, show us what you've got." Pete commanded, as I sat down with him and Patrick and my beat-up acoustic.
"Well, d'ya wanna hear the stuff I wrote that I like, or the stuff that sounds nice and cookie-cutter?" I asked, tuning my guitar.
"Which do you want to show us?" Patrick cut in, before Pete could say something.
I regarded them for a moment, then played a nice, punk pop song.
"That was decent. I like the riff- what key are you in?" Patrick asked, but Pete cut me off when I responded.
"That was good, but there's no feeling." Pete interrupted, studying his fingernails in boredom. Like I’d failed my first test.
"I dunno, man. My head's pretty screwed when I start spitting out the stuff I like." I was toying with my guitar strings, not looking at him.
"Screwed how?" Pete asked, and I could feel that he meant something else. I knew this was a test, too.
I set my shoulders and started to play.
"Walk past my grave in the dark tonight, saw the stone and the note you left for me. To answer your question, I just had to leave, I just had to leave. But that's not why I'm here..." ('The Truth About Heaven' Armor For Sleep) I played the whole song, then looked at the guys.
Pete looked satisfied. "Brilliant."
"How did you learn to play the guitar?" Patrick asked.
I grinned crookedly. "I didn't. I traded for this," I ran my hand down the stings "And just started messing around. I figured out what sounded good, and played around with it. I just know how to make my guitar sing."
"That's phenomenal." Patrick said, impressed.
"I have a new protégée." Pete grinned, ecstatic.

I went back to my tiny apartment. The record company had paid me up front, so I'd gotten this tiny place, new clothes, and a simple cell phone. I also got an electric guitar, which I kept right next to my acoustic.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I found a text from Joe.
Come chill w us :p
I rolled my eyes, grinning.
Ugh, ur so demanding ;p fine
I waltzed out the door, sauntering down the sidewalk to the Pete's place. That's where they always were.
I went right inside and was immediately tackled by the Pete and Joe, as well as two guys I hadn't met before.
"A simple 'hi' would suffice, guys." I sat up, dislodging the guys, who were laughing. Then I poked one of the tall guys I didn't know. "And you, do you always gang rape girls you just met?" I teased.
"Only the pretty ones." He said innocently, with a wicked grin.
"Only the very pretty ones." Corrected the guy with longer hair.
I recognized them from posters I'd seen- Brendan Urie and William Beckett.
"I'm Bill, and this is Brendon." William said, grinning.
"Cyn." I grinned back.
"Aw, look, the new kid made friends." Pete teased, and I smacked him.
"Stop calling me 'kid', man."
"Why, would you rather be squirt?" asked Bill, helping me up. He was almost a whole foot taller than me.
I pouted. "No. But now I feel like one."
Just as all the guys got up, another insanely tall guy tackled me. "Hi! I love you!" He yelled, and I sat up and hugged him.
"I love you, too!" I yelled back, then I looked at the guys. "He said 'hi', why can't you?"
"Because they're not cool enough to speak our hip lingo." Said my new lover. "I'm Gabe."
"She's Cyn!" Yelled Brendon and Joe.
"Who gave them a Monster?" I asked Pete, and he pointed at Brendon.
"They supply themselves."
I tackled Brendon. "Monster?" I asked hopefully.
"Purple or green?" He grinned, and I grinned back.
"Purple!"
"Yay!" Then he took off, carrying me piggy-back to the kitchen, where we found Monsters- the giant kind.
We each cracked one open, then Brendon looked at me. "Can you even finish that?"
I made a face. Just because I was 5' 4" and painfully thin didn't mean I couldn't pack down a Monster. I pounded it, then stuck my tongue out at him.
"You. Are. My. Hero." Brendon said, his eyes wide. "Spencer can't even do that."
Then he scooped me up and ran with me to Pete's living room, diving over the back of the couch and landing in Ryan Ross' lap, with me still in Brendon’s arms.
"RYRO! Meet Cyn." Brendon smiled at his shy friend, who I waved at.
"I'm sorry, he had a Monster." Ryan apologized, grinning.
"So did she! She CHUGGED it!" Brendon crowed, delighted.
That got the guys to stare at me. I just smiled back innocently, humming to myself.
Then Pete and Joe ducked behind the couch Andy and Patrick were sitting on, looking like I was going to explode.
"You gave her caffeine?" Andy asked, looking nervous.
"Is that a bad thing?" Gabe asked from the floor, where he was sitting with Bill, petting Hemingway.
"We've been trying to keep her away from it." Patrick replied, still staring at me. I just stuck my tongue out at him, tilting my head so I was looking at him upside down.
Bill and Brendon giggled at my face, then decided they were on my side.
"Don't worry, we'll be your suppliers." Gabe said, pretending to look around shiftily. Joe tackled him.
"I thought you were my supplier! Do you not love me anymore?" He wailed.
"I've moved on." Gabe said, sticking his nose in the air, then pulled me out of Brendon’s arms and onto his lap. "My love for Cyn far surpasses whatever insignificant feelings I may have had for you."
Joe looked crushed, so I hugged him. "It's ok, I still love you, Joe."
"YAY!" Joe yelled, hugging me back and sticking his tongue out at Gabe.
Gabe gave me an injured look. "But... I thought what we had was special!"
"Gabe! What about me?!" Bill yelped, pretending to burst into tears. He dumped me off his lap and hugged Bill instead.
"You have a special place in my heart." Gabe said, trying to keep a straight face as Bill cracked up.
"Then who loves me?" I pouted, looking at the floor.
"Sorry, I've moved on." Brendon said, cuddling up to Ryan and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Ryan's eyes widened and he shoved Brendon off his lap, right onto the floor.
"I love you, Cyn." Bill said sweetly, then Gabe smacked him. "Never mind."
"Ryan, why don't you love Cyn?" Suggested Andy.
"She's your n00b." Ryan grinned.
"Yeah, I'm your- hey!" I said, giving Ryan an offended look. "N00b." I muttered, sticking my tongue out at him.
"She had caffeine. We're too scared to love her." Pete grinned, hopping over the back of the couch to sit between Patrick and Andy.
"Thanks." I said, rolling my eyes.
Ryan sighed. "Fine. I guess I love you, Cyn."
My face lit up and I leaped onto his lap on the couch, cuddling right up to him. "I love you, too." I grinned at him, and he wrapped an arm around my waist.
"Hey, he stole our Cyn." Joe frowned from the floor, where Brendon had tackled him.
Brendon, Gabe, and Bill all looked at Ryan and I.
We both blinked at the caffeine-high men who were obviously going to tackle us, then Ryan held me closer.