You're Beautiful to Me

I’d never had an excuse to wear a black ski mask before. Not even when we went skiing, because the stupid MTV camera guys insisted that they had to see our faces. But now, I totally had the opportunity, and I was milking it.
Everyone else thought I looked fucking stupid.
“You’re gonna suffocate in that thing, Clayah,” Ray told me. “Just take it off.”
“SHH! Whisper, they’ll wake up.”
“Isn’t that the idea?”
“You are being a real killjoy right now.” Everyone snickered and I stuck my tongue out.
“Tre, you actually have to hold the flashlight where I can see the lock,” Frank snapped. “Stop holding it under your chin.”
“But the light turns my cheeks all red!” Tre gave a ridiculous smile and inflated his glowing cheeks. “I can see it in my eyes, too. Turn and look, it’s awesome.”
“Oh fuck this.” Frank snatched the flashlight from Tre’s hand and held it between his teeth, sifting through Yoda’s key ring. “Ow menny fupking plashes as ziss doo ben t need all shees keysh?” Frank grumbled around the handle.
Jayce walked up behind Frank and sniffed around his ankles, watching him fiddle with the key ring. Jayce kept jumping up on his hind legs to try and get at them; I’d learned he had a thing for shiny things that make noise.
Just like his mommy.
“GOT IT!” Frank gave a tug on the handle of the bus door as quietly as possible. The whole gang snuck inside the darkness.
The tech’s bus was exactly like ours, only a lot cleaner and smelled far better. Lucky for us they didn’t have extra shit lying all over the floor for us to trip over, because we were too busy doing just that over each others feet.
“Oh my God, Ray” I hissed. “I am five five, you are seven fucking feet tall. You cannot slip and crush me, because I will not be able to hold you up!”
“Chill out, ski mask, I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“Could’ve fooled me with how much it seems to be happening.”
“Quit it, guys!” I could hear Jayce’s claws against the door to the bunk room, letting us know that he’d found it and giving a quiet ‘woof’ to make everything completely clear. Tre digging in his pockets around his wallet chain probably didn’t help with Jayce’s barking.
“I can’t find the blindfolds!” Tre said in dismay.
“YOU MUST BE KIDDING.”
“Do I sound like I am?”
“Will you all quit bitching?” Frank said. “I can’t concentrate. This is all for nothing if I can’t let my eyes adjust to find the door.” Suddenly there was a thump and Frank squeaked in pain. “Nevermind,” he said in a nasally voice.
“You just walked into it and hit your nose, didn’t you?”
“Shut up.”
We took a minute for the three of us to awkwardly grope Tre in the dark and find the blindfolds in his jeans pocket. We eventually found them in his hoodie pocket, and I gave Tre hell about it because I had to touch his ass due to his idiocy. He promised to buy me Starbuck’s in the morning and I got over it.
Frank quietly slid the door to the bunks open and we all strained to see. The silent snores and heavy breathing associated with sleep echoed through the tiny room. Our quintet moved carefully around and tried to figure out who’s bunk was who’s; I would have to handle tiny little Bristol and her alone, considering I wasn’t as strong as the guys, but I was just happy I wouldn’t have to worry about a sleepy Desiree clawing my eyes out.
When I found Bristol, Tre passed me a blindfold, and we all prepared to attack. When Ray whispered “three” I reached out and covered Bristol’s eyes with the cloth.
Her scream was even louder than her speaking voice.
We could hear the rest of the tech kids jolt awake and scramble about, and the guys moved quickly to cover their eyes and mouths. I pulled Bristol from her bunk. Of course, she did not go quietly, and swore profusely (albeit creatively) the entire way.

We sat the six techs down on the grassy hill and couldn’t help but be amused by their panicked faces. Mollers kept it classy when she called herself cruel as she took a snapshot of the techs with her phone. Dear God, we were mean.
“The fuck is going on?” Gloria said. Her head snapped back and forth, as if the more she went through the motions of looking around, the more she could see.
“Think we should take the blindfolds off now, guys?” I said.
“Might as well,” Bert said back. “They’re going to have heart attacks in a minute if we don’t.”
“Aw, but this is funny!” Drew said.
“Wow, you’re not sadistic,” Mark said flatly. Drew gave him a shove.
“BY FUCKING GEORGE TAKE THIS FUCKING THING OFF RIGHT NOW!” Bristol screamed. She thrashed around and tried to untie her hands, elbowing Harvey and Desiree in the sides along the way.
We listened to her, though; Gerard, Dan, Levi, Billie, Molly, and Mike untied the cloths from the tech’s heads. They were exposed wearing shocked faces.
“What is going on?” Desiree said.
I pulled my ski mask up off my face. “Welcome to your initiation, kiddies,” I grinned.
“What is this?” Sean gazed around at the group of bands, confused.
“This is pretty much the coolest night of your life is what it is.” I bent down and picked up the ball between my feet. “You can’t become part of The Big Happy Family until you prove yourself. Through a brutal game of kickball.”
Devin tilted her head. “Are you serious? What time is it?”
“About three fifteen in the morning,” Mikey smirked. “Clayah only gave half the story—you have to play kickball like the vampires do.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, whatever.”
I saw Sean grin. “Well I’m all for it.”
Bristol frowned. “Do we have to play in our sleepwear?”
“Well good luck finding your bus to change,” Mike said. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Mike was a convincing liar; we were actually only through a small brush of woods at the edge of the lot here the buses were parked. All the more fun for us to know, we’d tell them at the end.
“Alright then. Anything so I can stand up from this wet grass—my arse is about to freeze from the rain on it.” Harvey stood and brushed his hand over the seat of his pants to get the water off.
We split up into ridiculously sized teams. Mollers and the Green Day guys sat out to referee for the first game. My Chemical Romance, Sean, Desiree, Devin, Bert, and Quinn were one team; Rush And Ruin, Gloria, Bristol, Harvey, Jeph, and Dan were the other. Our team was up first to kick.
Bert did a stupid little hop skip dance at first base (a rather large rock that was probably pretty dangerous to use as a marker but we obviously didn’t care) in an attempt to distract me while I waited for Gerard to pitch.
“Hey! Hey Clayah HEY look over here I has COFFEE.”
“How stupid do you think I am, McCraken?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
Everybody “ooo”-d at the burn, including me. “When I get there you’re so fucked, man,” I chortled.
“Come at me, Clayah,” Bert said, arms spanned in a challenge position.
“I would if Gerard would stop kicking his toe in the dirt like a poseur and would just THROW THE DAMN BALL.”
“Hey, now, hey.” Gerard licked a finger and held it up in the wind. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, kid, and you are going to calm yourself while I get the MECHANICS of this right.” The rest of the group snorted and/or giggled.
I grinned falsely. “Take your time. But we haven’t got all night, so LOOK ALIVE, SUNSHINE.” I heard Molly holler and clap for me with a ghetto-style “WHAT” tied to it. I screamed out to her that I loved her more than cupcakes. Meant it, too.
Gerard finally cleared his throat and prepared to pitch; I adjusted myself into my fast position, ready to kick and run. My brother gave me a wink behind the red rubber ball, and gave it a good hurl.
I hadn’t played kickball since long before the tour started—probably not since my fourteenth birthday party the previous May (that’s right, I played kickball for my birthday, and you know you’re jealous). I was also really tired, dizzy, and most likely dehydrated, as all musicians tend to be. As Gerard’s pitch sped towards me, bouncing a little along the way, I had a sinking feeling I was about to make an asshole of myself and totally miss.
What I actually did was pretty boss.
I swung my foot and collided with the ball, giving a satisfying hollow ‘pt-thunk’ against the rubber. It flew high over Gerard’s head and back toward Quinn in center field. I ran toward Bert for my life.
“FUCKING CATCH IT, QUINN!”
“OH, REALLY BERT?” Quinn hollered back, positioning himself under the kickball, ready to catch. “I TOTALLY FORGOT HOW TO PLAY KICKBALL. THANKS FOR THE TIP.”
“I’M GAY FOR YOU, QUINN, BUT I WILL NOT LOSE TO A KID.”
“Hey!”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, sorry; Gerard I’m gay for you too, and Clayah I’m sorry I—DAMMIT.”
Bert had been too distracted yelling at Quinn to notice me step up behind him and touch my foot on the rock. “Don’t be a micromanaging bossy boots and you won’t lose to ‘kids.’ ”
Bert made an amused face. “ ‘Bossy boots’ ?”
“It works.”
Gloria was up next to kick. I understood just watching her prepare herself why she and Molly had gotten so close so fast; she had that same aggressive badass attitude that Molly brought out only when she really wanted to. But Gloria wore it all the time. She didn’t really care about appearances—we’d dragged her out of bed half an hour beforehand and she hadn’t bothered to fix the ponytail that was half massacred during her sleep. And the way she was staring down Gerard was enough to make him raise his eyebrows, smile, and totally take it on.
When Gloria kicked the ball it flew far toward third base and Sean. I plowed my way to second, where Frank hopped up and down and yelled at Sean. But by the time Sean was able to catch the ball, Gloria and I were long safe.
“What is it with you guys and yelling at each other?” Tre called out from the sidelines. “THAT’S NOT VERY GOOD TEAM SPIRIT.”
“You’re not on a team, Tre,” Gerard yelled from his place in the center. “You don’t have team spirit for anything.”
Tre gave a faux scoff. “I beg to differ. I’m a wonderful cheerleader.” To prove it, Tre stood up and began to prance around his band mates and Molly, shouting, “We’ve got spirit, yes we do, and to our enemies, nut up to lose!” Levi whipped out his FlipVideo when Mollers had curled in laughter around her phone.
“Tre which team are you even cheering for?” Mikey said from left field, nearest to the refs.
Tre stopped skipping and thought a minute. “Who’s winning?”
“The team kicking.”
“Then I’m for them.”
“RUDE.” Billie stood up and jumped a couple times to loosen his muscles. “I’m cheering for the other team. To be fair. And because they’re just cooler.”
“Uhm, ow! Untrue!” Drew said, watching the entire conversation by leaning to see the viewfinder screen on Levi’s camera. “How are they cooler than us?”
“For one, Ray’s hair.”
“Our team has the Ginger Danger.”
“Touche…. Ah! They have a dwarf.”
“Thanks bro, self esteem shot sky-high right now.”
“AND the leprechaun.”
“Mate, I’m not short,”
“But you are Irish.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Americans. Hear the word ‘Irish’ and only think of shamrocks and Lucky Charms.” I laughed and Sean shot that great smile of his at me.
“Whatever Billie,” Drew concluded. “At the end of the game, we’ll know which team is really the best.”
Tre was shell shocked for a minute. “But I can still cheer, right?”
“Herkey your little heart out.”
Tre and Billie stood on either side of the still seated Mike and Molly, each of them alternating the sassiest cheers they could come up with while our team continued to kick.
Monster was up next. For what he thought would be ‘the fun of it’ he came out and played in his pajamas, too—baggy flannel pants, a brutalized tshirt, and a hat for warmth. But of course, even though the hat was smart, Monster was still clinically unstable, and came out without shoes on (he claimed it was no problem because he was part Native American, and “well calloused feet are genetic”). I watched Monster pop his neck and stand perfectly straight, arms behind his back, waiting for Gerard’s pitch.
“Don’t you want to get ready to run or something?” Gerard asked.
“I am,” Monster responded. “This is my running position.”
Gerard just shrugged, giving up, which was probably smart since Monster tended never to make sense anyways. Speaking of, the cheering squad sounded pretty much the same.
“GIVE ME A B-L-A-K-E! THE RUSH AND RUIN PRODIGY! HE’LL KICK YOUR ASSES, YOU FUCKING NINNYS, PWN YOU EVEN THOUGH HE’S SKINNY!”
Billie looked at his opponent. “Did you seriously just rhyme ‘ninny’ and ‘skinny’?” He tisked. “Watch how the pros do it, Cool.” Billie took a step forward and adjusted the collar on his hoodie, clearing his throat and closing his eyes as if entering some sort of Zen meditation. He clapped his hands and slapped on an overly-peppy smile.
“READY, OKAY!” Billie made a ‘Y’ with his arms and proceeded through spontaneous choreography. “EVERYONE IS COUNTING ON THE CHERRY-HAIRED SASS QUEEN, WHO’S GONNA THROW THE PITCH THAT’S GONNA WIN IT FOR OUR TEAM. GERARD, YOU THROW IT BAD, AND YOU’RE SHIT OUTTA LUCK, BECAUSE IF THIS TEAM LOSES WE’LL ALL FUCK YOU UP!” Billie ended it by jumping down into splits—the poor bastard only got half way before his face contorted in pain and his widespread arms grabbed his junk in hope to stop the agony. He tipped over and began to wince.
Tre put his hands on his hips and nodded slowly. “Well if that’s how the pros do it then I like my way better.”
“Fuck you, man,” Billie squeaked.
“Now that that pep talk is over,” Gerard said flatly, “Can we get back to the game?”
Gerard threw the ball to Monster. Monster tried to flip his skinny leg out and kick it way out past Ray in right field, but his other foot trapped the hem of his flannels, and Monster flopped back onto his ass. Luckily, somehow, the kickball flew up and Monster was able to butt it with his head. Gloria and I ran for it (Monster did more of a clumsy run-tumble to first) and I slid into third just as the ball landed in Quinn’s hand.
“Ah ah ah,” Mike scolded. “Doesn’t count.”
“What?” I whipped around and threw my arms up in disapproval. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s called kickball for a reason, Nom Muffin,” Molly said. “Feet are allowed. Foreheads are not.”
I huffed. “Picky, picky.”
“Therefore,” Mike took over again, “All three of you are out.”
“CUNT!” Gloria screeched. “Call Monster out, fine, but—“
“No buts,” Molly said. “Switch teams.”
Begrudgingly we all listened. I stayed at third base so I could glare at Mollers whenever I damn well pleased, have her flip me off, and make a heart with my hands to bother her. Meanwhile, Mikey went up to the plate.
Our lovely, overly-competitive Drew stood as pitcher, grinning at my brother. “Well are you ready Mike-ay?”
“WILL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE ABOUT THAT ALREADY?” Gerard hollered.
Mikey grinned. “Fuckin’ ready.”
“I’m going to tweet your deaths right now, you watch.” Gerard whipped out his phone.
Bert tilted his head to look over Gerard’s shoulder. “Hey , what’s that?”
“The menu button—hey!”
Bert slid Gerard’s phone closed and placed it in his own pocket. “Thou shalt not tweet during kickball.”
Mikey didn’t have a fast position either. He stood somewhat awkwardly in his tight pants and shifted a bit when Drew kept faking him out of pitches. When she finally threw it, for the first time ever I saw someone kick with their legs stark straight. Still loved him.
Mikey jogged as quickly as he could, but his gigantic key ring on his belt loop seemed to be weighing down his 130 pound body. The kick had made it toward me, rolling by the time I grab it. I chucked it at Drew, and she tossed it to Dan. Which didn’t go so well.
“DAN!” Drew yelled before throwing. He turned, hands on his hips, to see what was summoning him. The kickball hit him square in the face and knocked him back just as Mikey’s foot touched the rock.
“Safe!” Mike called.
“Dude,” I said behind me, “Dan just lost his face.”
“Not much to look at anyway!” Bert called, and everyone made burn noises.
Of course sweet little Mikey shifted from foot to foot, unsure if he should be proud that he made it to first or not. He squatted down to Dan. “Hey man, you alright?”
“Oh I e’m jus’ dandy,” Dan said through a pinched nose. “But Drew o’viously has some s’rious ang’r issues.”
“Uh, pardon me, not my fault,” Drew said with raised hands. “Why weren’t you paying attention?”
Dan shrugged as Mikey helped him to his feet. “Saw a crow.”
The whole field went silent as we all stared in disbelief at Dan.
“A crow?” Ray said.
“Well… yeah. But I was only staring because I swear to God I saw it talking to a squirrel.”
I scoffed. “And you guys think I’m the crazy one.”
“Lay off the hallucinogens, bro,” Quinn called out.
“Moving right along,” Molly snapped at us. “I’m sorry but I’m gonna get really tired soon.”
“M-O-L-L-Y, Molly’s getting bleary eyed! Bitch, you ain’t the only one, so don’t go ruin all our fun!” Billie jumped and did the same mid-air splits he was accustomed to doing with his guitar.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call my daughter a bitch, Billie Joe Armstrong,” Frank threatened.
“It’s cool, Dad,” Molly said. “Takes one to know one.”
The rest of us turned away from Billie and Molly’s wrestling match as Devin stepped up to the plate. She was giggling at how ridiculous all of us were but still seemed a little too shy to come out of her shell. Pff, after a week with us, her shell would be shattered anyways.
Devin pretty much blew everyone away when the ball went soaring over Gloria’s head in center field. Mikey was able to make it all the way around the bases (slow as he ‘ran’) and so was Devin. Our team groaned.
“Why do we fucking suck so much?” Bristol kicked the stick that was second base and shook her head.
“Because Dan there is a schizophrenic,” Harvey deadpanned.
“Hey man, we sleep in the same…. parking lot,” Dan failed to warn. “Be nice.”
“STEP ASIDE, BITCHES.” Gerard strolled up to the plate and extended his arm, waving his fingers to Drew. “Bring it.”
Billie—now a little rumpled from more than sleep, thank you, Molly—started into a clapping pattern, stepping back and forth with a stupid smile on his face. “Who’s got the sass queen? We got the sass queen! Who is the best team? We are the best team! Coffee and cigarettes and too much ADHD, we’re gonna win this game because WE GOT THE SASS QUEEN.”
Mark and Levi started clapping in the outfield.
“Wrong cheerleader,” Harvey told them.
“I don’t care, that was good,” Mark said.
“Well thank you Mark,” Billie beamed.
“ ‘Well thank you Mark’ meh meh meh!” Tre mimicked. “I’m a good cheerleader too you know.”
“I think you’re a fabulous cheerleader, Tre,” Bristol smiled.
“You get presents now, Fireball.”
Gerard clapped twice like a total chick. “Pardon; my shining moment now.” (Someone shouted out a couple sparkling lines from Vampire Money and Gerard looked like he wanted to drink blood.)
Drew chucked the ball and Gerard made to kick, but he went too soon and the ball rolled beneath his leg. His momentum was too much and his other foot slipped in the mud, making him fall hard on his back. Everybody started laughing, but I could see Gerard’s face from my position and it was… not good.
Bert picked up the kickball and held it up over the fallen Gerard. “Looking for this? Whoa… dude, are you okay?”
Mikey dashed forward just as I started running to home from third base. Mikes was already bent over our brother, trying to lift Gee’s head up on his knees. I knelt next to him and grabbed Gerard’s hand. His eyes were far off and his face was panicked; you could tell he kept trying to swallow but his mouth just flapped open and shut.
“Gerard?” I said, gripping his hand in mine. “Can you hear me? Squeeze if you can hear me.” I felt a light pressure on my hand. “Someone, quick, who’s got their cell on them?”
“Here.” Bert tapped my shoulder and handed me his—well, Gerard’s. At this point everyone had gravitated toward us, trying to get close to see but not wanted to suffocate Gerard.
I flipped the phone open. I bright light shone and I let Gerard’s hand go, leaning forward so I was over his face. With one hand I covered his left eye, holding the phone over his right. Luckily he blinked at the shine, but his pupils didn’t dilate enough. Same with the other eye.
“What is she doing?” I heard Gloria whisper to Molly.
“Being a damn good sister, that’s for sure.” I prayed none of the new techs heard that.
“My dad’s a doctor,” I said to Gloria. “I learned this shit when I was, like, six.”
I put my hand on Gerard’s forehead, which was growing more and more pale by the second. “He’s sweating a little and he’s kind of warm, but I’m sure that’s from the movement. He’s cooling off… who’s got a jacket?” Mikey unzipped his hoodie and held it out to me. I had him ball it up and put it beneath Gerard’s neck while I zipped Gerard’s leather jacket up all the way. When I tucked one of his hands in his pocket I found his hat and praised God, making Mikey put it on him. I put my hand on Gerard’s face again and could already feel him start to warm up.
“Do we need an ambulance or something?” Harvey asked.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so, not yet. He’s coming around.”
I took Gerard’s free hand again. “Alright, again, squeeze if you can hear me.” Gerard did, more pressure this time. “Can you breathe alright? Once for yes, twice for no.” Gerard gave three squeezes. “Does that mean ‘sort of’?” One squeeze.
I noticed Mikey’s lips being gnawed between his teeth—his nervous habit. “Mikey,” I said softly, “Chill out. He’ll be fine.” Mikey nodded obediently.
“Gerard, does my voice sound like it’s down a tunnel?” One squeeze. “Can you see okay?” Three squeezes. “Just silhouettes mostly?” One squeeze. “Do all your muscles hurt?” Two squeezes.
I leaned back and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, he’s not going to be paralyzed. Wobbly for a few hours and sore like a bitch in the chest tomorrow, but he’ll be able to move.”
Everyone collectively exhaled. We decided to go on with the game, only after Gerard got his voice back and told us to. Molly stepped in for him and Gerard went to sit with the Green Day guys, lying down sideways to see the game. As I was carrying him under one arm and Mikey under his other one, Gerard whispered in my ear, “Thanks. Sorry I ruined it.”
“You’re my brother,” I whispered back, “It’d be practically a sin if I didn’t help you. Just don’t be such a cocky bastard next time we play kickball.” He grinned as I settled him in with Mike and I kissed his cheek as subtly as possible so the techs wouldn’t see. I literally had to pull Mikey away to get him back in the game.
I went back to third and watched out of the corner of my eye for Gerard as Sean stepped up to bat.
“TOP OF THE MORNING! SEAN’S GONNA SCORE… ING!”
“Worst. Cheer. Ever.” Tre rolled his eyes at Billie.
“Are you kidding? It’s only the best cheer ever.” Bille flapped his hand stupidly to disregard Tre. “You’re just jealous that I can herkey better than you.”
“What?! That is so not true, my herkeys are amazing.”
“It really was a bad cheer,” Sean called. “The last Irish person I heard say ‘top of the morning’ was my grandfather. He died at 93. You sound like an idiot.”
“See? Worst cheer.”
“Girls, girls, calm down,” Drew attempted to mediate. Drew chucked the kickball and Sean blew it to far right toward Jeph, running fast enough that he made it to Bristol at second. For about a minute I was jealous of how fast he did it all, strong muscled and just how flattering sweat could be on a person as it was lightly frosted across his forehead and his almost-bangs and how his biceps just plain didn’t match his scrawny chest but it was still adorable—
’What the actual fuck, Clayah Callisto Shier. Focus on kickball.’
Right.
But that idea was broken when Mark made a gnarly catch of Bert’s kick that was expected to fly far. Sean should’ve made it home. Instead he ended up with me.
He tapped his toe on the etching of a diamond in the dirt, panting. “Christ, I feel disgusting,” he laughed. “I have to sleep in this now?”
I laughed too. “Well, maybe only for a month, if you’re lucky.”
“Brilliant.” He paused and watched the game for a minute before turning back to me. “Speaking of brilliant, that was pretty fantastic what you did back there. With Gerard and all.”
The pride and flattery almost exploded in my chest with those smoky grey-and-emerald eyes smiling down at me. Honestly what happened with Gerard’s fall wasn’t that big a deal. I’d done it before, just the same as my adoptive father had told me. But something about the way Sean put it, looking down four inches of admiration, made me feel so much more special than it should have.
I hated that.
I tried not to let that happiness show and just shrugged. “It wasn’t really a huge deal.”
“Maybe not to you, but if you hadn’t been here I think the rest of us would’ve panicked. Plus I’m sure Gerard appreciates it. You’re a good friend to him.”
‘You poor ignorant bastard.’
I just smiled and thanked Sean and we watched the game again. Well, I pretended to. In all honesty I was just fixing my eyes forward and absorbing whatever aura Sean was putting out; warmth. Sean felt like warmth just standing next to him. And I don’t mean in a sweaty kind of way. I mean in a happy way, like being home somewhere, and in my case at the moment I was confused about where my home was: the road, Barrington, Jersey. Who was I? Home is where the heart is, but my heart is in all those places. And I despised the idea that Sean gave of that vibe—if there was one place I refused to ever let my heart be again it was in a guy’s hands. It had been strangled once and nearly killed me. I wouldn’t let it happen ever again.
My reverie was broken by Tre.
“Sean is good at kickball and he really is a play-a! Getting lucky like the Irish, Sean’s at third base with Clayah!” Billie ended Tre’s cheer with an “ow OW” that made Gerard look as if he wanted to kill him. My face turned the color of a plum and Sean rubbed the back of his neck while all our friends laughed.
Bitches.
Mollers stepped up to kick in Gerard’s place (we decided to call it a foul ball to make things easier). Drew threw it to her and Molly sent it sailing just over Drew’s head.
“See ya,” Sean grinned, and he dashed for home. He clapped me goodbye on the shoulder and that warmth went threw me, and hours later I still felt aware of the ghost of his hand on my shoulder.
Mollers flew toward first as Bristol caught the ball at second.
“I’VE GOT IT THIS TIME.” Dan turned to Bristol, his back to the oncoming Molly, in a sumo wrestler pose. But Bristol chucked the damn thing and nailed Dan in the stomach. He fell back just as Molly was coming; she tried to jump over his falling body to hit the base, but instead tripped over the rock marker and fell.
“Fuck!” she cried out, grabbing her ankle. Frank came running and so did I. If I had to play doctor again…
Mollers had twisted her ankle and broken nothing. Except Dan’s face if we weren’t careful.
“HOW AM I GOING TO MOSH NOW?” she screamed at him.
“Mollers, just hang backstage for a few shows,” Ray stepped in.
“You must be kidding,” she snarled.
“I’m not.” Frank put his hands on his hips and tried to look all parental. Didn’t work. “Until you can walk without help I refuse to let you go into the crowd at a show.”
Mollers wanted to argue but knew it was smart. Not argue so much as complain and wring Dan’s neck.
“Dan, are you alright?” In a way I hoped he had some sort of injury to even things out. If there wasn’t mediation… well, I can’t cure murder.
Dan had the same idea as me. He stood up and checked his body up and down as Mollers glared up at him. “I…uh… oh, I hit my elbow!” He threw his arm up in the air and winced dramatically. “Oh shit, that hurts.”
Mollers rolled her eyes. “Yeah right.” Stubborn as she was she tried to stand on her own, and would have fallen on her ass had I not been there to catch her. She made some sort of grumble that counted as a ‘thank you.’
“Okay, so we have a Way and an Iero down,” Frank said.
“Don’t forget me and my elbow!” Dan took a step forward and his knee gave out from under him.
“Cut the crap,” Molly snapped.
“Oh dude, he’s not kidding—Dan your jeans are all bloody.” Ray knelt down to take a look. “I think you really did gash it… Clay—“
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I passed Mollers off to her dad and checked out Dan’s knee. “Uhm… ew, yeah, he’s got a nasty gash in his knee you guys. Dan if you go up on stage you’re gonna have to be really careful or that can tear even worse.”
“But why can’t I feel it?” Dan tried to sit up and look at it but I pushed his head back down.
“Epinephrene, probably.”
“English, please.”
“Andrenaline. One because of playing, two because you’re scared shitless of Molly.”
“That’s English I can understand.”
“Twenty minutes and you’ll feel it.”
“Peachy.”
“Alright then, rephrase,” Frank said. “A Way, an Iero, and a Whitesides. Do we play on?”
After some mumbling we all decided to postpone the game. We started to walk back to the buses and Harvey tisked.
“Blimey, hat is it with you lot and getting hurt all the time?” He shook his head. “I’m terrified I’m gonna die out here.”
“Chill out,” Mark said. “It’s just part of touring. After Clayah’s little fiasco—“
“Let’s not delve into that.”
“Sorry. Point is: no more major harm is coming to anyone.”
“Except Dan. I’m mounting his head on the wall.”
“Sorry Molly, I can’t hear you over the sound of my epidorpen.”
“Epinephrine, Dan.”
“Whomever.”
“I hate to interrupt, but can someone help me carry my brother?” I turned to see Mikey’s knees practically shaking beneath him. “I’m not that muscular.”
Quinn took Dan off my hands and I took Gerard’s other side. Again.
“You know, Gee,” I said, “You’re probably not going to be able to move around much onstage for a couple weeks.”
“You’re funny, you really are.”
“I mean it. You’ve probably got contusions all up your back—“
“Okay, House, you’re done now.”
“I’m just saying—“
“DONE.”
It’s lovely to be appreciated by family.