Alex Gaskarth Must Die

‘Jesus Christ!’ I yell, pushing him away and resisting the temptation to leap back- back and into the pile of vomit awaiting me there.

‘Oh my God!’ he screams, just as loudly. ‘I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that-’ He cuts off with a nauseous expression on his face, turns around, and throws up again.

‘Jesus,’ I groan. I step gingerly out of the line of fire and grab a roll of napkins off the porch. After a moment of debate, I take two bottles of water to go with it. ‘Here,’ I say, shoving them at him. He mumbles a thanks and sets to cleaning himself up, before collapsing on the grass, mere centimeters away from his puke.

‘Rebecca?’ he mumbles, looking up at me. He reaches his hands up, but seems to decide that it’s too much work, and flops them back down on the ground. One arm lands in the vomit with a sick splat and my stomach makes an odd sound in response.

‘Oh, God.’ I look around to see that the house is pretty much empty now, Brittany and the rest of the cheerleaders cleaning up as much as they can through their intoxication. I force down the gag that’s coming up and look back down at Alex.

‘Hey, Rebecca?’

‘What?’

‘Will you take me home?’

I stare at him for a minute, weighing my options out. On one hand, I could just leave him here… But that wouldn’t be good for Ashley- or anyone, for that matter. On the other, I could take him back to his place… Which would involve a drunk Alex, a sober me, and an endless number of things that could go wrong. ‘Jesus,’ I mutter, bending down and patting the top of Alex’s head. He looks dangerously close to rolling around in the two puddles of vomit, so I should probably get him somewhere safe before figuring out what to do with him.

‘Come on, Alex,’ I say. ‘Up. Get up.’ He groans and lifts a hand for me to help him up, so I do, pulling him up and supporting him when he stumbles. ‘Let’s get you to the porch,’ I say. I sling his vomit-free arm around my neck and we stagger to the door together where I deposit him heavily on the steps. ‘Hoodie off,’ I command.

‘Ooh, is this going where I think it’s going?’ He wiggles his eyebrows at me and smirks, albeit while looking really sick, as he takes off his grey hoodie and tosses it to the grass.

‘Intoxicated and barely able to stand up, yet still capable of being as pervy as possible. Mr Gaskarth, I am impressed,’ I say with a laugh. He laughs with me and it sets him off hiccupping, which just makes him laugh even more. Despite myself, I laugh too, and then pull him up by his t-shirt as I make up my decision. ‘Come on, Gaskarth. We’re getting you home.’

‘Yay!’ He throws his arms in the air and gets up, stumbling onto me as he laughs, still not over his hiccups.

‘Where’s your car?’ I shift his weight so he’s not crushing me and start down towards the sidewalk in my heels. As skinny as the boy looks, he definitely weighs a lot more than I had pegged him for. I can practically feel my heels snapping in protest. Alex blinks blankly at me. ‘Your car?’ I prompt.

He motions vaguely in one direction with his car keys, which he drops on the sidewalk almost immediately. ‘M’ keys,’ he says, as if surprised as to how they got from his hands to the ground. ‘On the ground.’

‘Yes, Alex, they’re on the ground.’ I let go of him, sighing, as I bend down to pick them up. Taking care of a drunk person is a little like taking care of an overgrown baby, I decide, which is hilarious and frustrating all at once. Mostly the latter, though, when you’re the person doing it. ‘The car, Alex?’ He nods and stumbles towards a car parked around the corner, patting – hitting, more like – it when we get there. I click it open and coax Alex into the passenger seat, bending down and taking my heels off after. I’ve hurt my ankles enough stumbling around underneath him tonight, so I just can’t be bothered with them right now.

‘You’re wearing slut panties!’ Alex crows as I bend back up. I flush immediately, feeling the heat rise to my face, and pretend not to have heard as I round the car. ‘Slut panties!’ Alex repeats, once I’m strapped in. I reach over and buckle his seatbelt for him, staying silent and blushing furiously all the while. ‘Don’ be embarrassed,’ he says loudly, looking at me as if I’m stupid. ‘Your cheeks look really nice in ‘em.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ I mutter, before I turn to him. ‘For the rest of this car ride, you are going to stay silent. Silent,’ I insist sternly. ‘One word, and I’m kicking you out onto the side of the road, are we clear?’

‘Yes,’ he answers, looking slightly scared.

‘Good.’ I sit back, satisfied, and start the car. The radio blares on immediately, a pounding mix of New Found Glory that, I have to admit, I fall a little in love with. Alex groans though, so I hit the off button quickly and start towards his house. It’s kind of weird that I know where he lives already, seeing as we’ve only started being nice to each other in science class all of a week ago, but Jack’s brought me over enough that I consider myself pretty familiar with it. I’ve even had a couple of run-ins with Mr and Mrs Gaskarth, which left me suitably tongue-tied for anything to say. They were nice, don’t get me wrong, just… not quite was I was expecting, given, well, Alex Gaskarth.

‘God, my parents are going to kill me if they see I’m this drunk,’ he says. He gasps almost as soon as the words are out and claps a hand to his mouth. ‘I’m sorry! Please don’t kick me out!’

‘Nah, it’s alright,’ I say, trying to make up for how harsh I was a minute ago. ‘Just- No more “I’d like to motorboat your boobs” or “I have a condom, let’s do it on the sidewalk!” Okay?’

Alex nods, seemingly placated for a minute. And then he opens his mouth again. ‘I wish I wasn’t such a dick,’ he says. I look at him, and furrow my brows. Is it normal for Alex to be like this? Or, more accurately, is it normal for drunk Alex to be like this?

‘Then don’t be a dick,’ I say gently.

‘But I have to,’ he says, turning over to face me. ‘Or else you’d get to me.’

‘Or else I’d get to you?’ I repeat. ‘What does that even mean?’

‘Girls like you,’ he amends.

‘Girls like me?’

‘You’re starting to sound like an echo.’ He chuckles but stops when I give him a look. ‘Girls like you…’ he continues. ‘Smart, sexy, gorgeous, great girls. Girls you just want to know, you know? Read their lives like a book.’ I make a noncommittal mm sound as I listen to him, unsure of what to say. Jack’s showed me his lyrics before and, once I got over my initial astonishment that Alex Gaskarth writes original songs, I moved onto the astonishment of Alex Gaskarth writes good original songs. So, yeah, I knew that when he wanted to, the boy had a way with words. But he’s drunk right now, seven shots, a Bloody Mary, and three beers down the hatch, so it’s surely not normal that he sounds like a pensive boy in an indie romance.

‘And they won’t give you the time of day,’ he continues morosely, dangling his head.

‘Alex, you have the pick of the school,’ I say, thoroughly confused as to what he’s getting at.

‘No, but not like that,’ he says. ‘I can get them into my pants, but I can’t get them into my head.’ I toss him a concerned look again as he looks up at the roof of his car. ‘I want to fall in love.’

‘Then fall in love,’ I say, smiling softly at him. He looks so vulnerable right now, so pleading, just wishing for a girl to come along. He looks back at me as if I’m stupid.

‘It’s not that simple,’ he says. ‘You can’t just…choose who you fall in love with. It’s love.’

‘Yeah,’ I say quietly, looking straight ahead. ‘Yeah, I guess.’ We stay silent after that, a comfortable, companionable silence. It’s a nice feeling, but I’m the one to break it. ‘We’ll hit South Broadway in a minute,’ I say. ‘I can never remember which street to turn at.’

‘Right to Bank,’ he replies. I nod and turn accordingly, as he pipes up again. ‘Have you ever gotten that feeling?’

‘What feeling?’

‘That you just want to fall in love.’

‘No,’ I say, laughing a little.

‘No?’ He sounds completely incredulous, as if anyone in their right mind would want to fall in love as soon as possible.

‘Well, I’ve kind of wished I had a boyfriend or something sometimes, but nothing serious, so no.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m seventeen, Alex. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me; that stuff can wait.’

‘Wouldn’t everything be so much nicer if you had someone you loved with you, though?’

‘I guess,’ I say. ‘But it’s kind of unnecessary.’

He snorts. ‘I see now. You’re one of those people who doesn’t believe in love.’

I hesitate, but nod an affirmative. ‘Kind of.’ Love- It sounds great, but I think it’s all fake in the end. Just a fantasy; something like God, something that people need to convince themselves that life really isn’t that empty. Love, in the end, is just a lie that the entertainment industry has fed to us that we’re trying to replicate.

Alex is silent, but his expression is clearer than day. He can’t believe me, but he doesn’t have to. ‘Turn right up ahead,’ he says.

‘I know.’

‘You know?’ Alex gives me a thoroughly weirded out look, as if I’ve been climbing in his windows and snatching his people up or something. ‘How do you know?’

After a pause, where I consider how best to condense my story, I say, ‘It’s, um, a long and very weird story, but mainly Jack.’

‘Hm. Okay.’ He nods as I pull up next to his house and practically falls on me when I try and get him up.

‘Jesus Christ, you were so sober in the car,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Which key?’ I ask, louder. He grabs one and shows me, making a loud clanking noise with them and then, after a brief fumble, we’re in his house. I don’t have much time to look around, but from what I can see, it looks rather… English, for lack of a better word. Alex Gaskarth may have left his English roots behind, but his parents sure haven’t. There are doilies and Agatha Christie novels everywhere, and a small statue of an English Terrier sitting on the kitchen counter.

‘Your parents are so stereotypically English,’ I whisper. ‘It’s hilarious.’

‘My parents will kill me – and you – if they find us,’ he whispers back.

‘Point taken,’ I whisper, and start pulling him up the stairs, stopping every two steps to make sure we’re not waking his parents up. Three quarters of the way up, Alex decides it’s too much for him and sits down, putting his head in his hands. ‘It’s a flight of stairs, not Mount Everest,’ I say, more than a little frustrated at how difficult he’s being. You know, I take back my overgrown baby comparison from earlier. Taking care of a drunk person is worse than taking care of a baby, because at least you can just carry a baby wherever you want them to go. Drunks, on the other hand, still have to move by themselves.

‘Headache,’ Alex says through gritted teeth. ‘Over in a minute.’ I wait until he gets up and we creep down the corridor until we’re at the last room on the right. ‘Welcome to the mansion,’ he says as he flips the light on and winces immediately. I laugh and shut it off, turning the lamp next to his bed on and adjusting it so it’s as dim as possible. He mumbles a little thanks and flops down on his bed.

Alex’s bedroom is everything I expected and nothing I expected all at once. The walls are still the same slightly off-white shade all houses are, and his bed is a dark navy blue with simple blue-and-white striped sheets. There’s a desk pushed up against the wall with an ancient looking laptop on it and a chair next to it with a pile of clothes on top. Most of all, there are CDs everywhere; piles taking over his bedside table, his desk, his chair, the floor. His bookshelf doesn’t even deserve the title of ‘bookshelf’, seeing as the only things on its shelves are CDs.

‘You have a lot of CDs,’ I observe, wandering over to take a look at a few of them.

‘Yeah,’ he groans. ‘Hey, Rebecca?’

‘Mm?’

‘Will you take off my pants?’ I hold down a snort as I put down Blink-182’s greatest hits album and look over to see him struggling with his belt. ‘Please?’ He lifts his head just enough so he can see me and pokes his waist. ‘I can’t do it.’ I sigh, but he’s clearly in no position to do anything at all, so I walk over and help him out of his jeans, leaving him in his boxers. He kicks off his shoes and lies back on his bed, breathing deeply.

‘Anything else?’ I ask, lining up the shoes neatly with my feet to look down at him.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Advil? It’s on the table. Get the water too?’ I nod and walk over to get it, accidentally knocking it off in the process. When I walk back to him, he’s staring blankly up at the ceiling.

‘Look what I found,’ I chuckle, pinching a red lace thong between my thumb and index finger and waving it in front of his face.

‘Nice,’ he says appreciatively. ‘Looks kind of like yours.’ I flush immediately and throw the Advil, water, and underwear at him, huffing as he laughs at me.

‘I’m taking a shirt,’ I say. ‘And some shorts.’ The mini-dress and thong are even more comfortable now than before, if that’s even possible. Brittany had told me it was like a tampon: at first, it feels weird, but then you get used to it and you realize it’s all for the better. Well, she was wrong. It just feels like someone stuck a piece of string up your ass.

‘Yeah, take whatever you want.’ He waves a hand towards his closet as he sits up and tries to open the Advil. ‘And, Rebecca? Can you help me take the cap off when you’re done?’ I sigh and laugh to myself, but of course I’ll help him when I get back. I close the door and quickly strip everything off except for my bra, pulling on a tank top and a pair of basketball shorts. It’s surprising how well they fit, but Alex is absurdly skinny, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised there.

‘Here,’ I say once I’m out, holding out a hand for his Advil. I unscrew the lid quickly and tap out two tablets, dropping them in his hand. He gulps them down and sinks back down to his bed, turning to watch me as I sit on the edge of his bed.

‘You took your thong off, didn’t you?’ he asks quietly with a small smile on his face.

I blush, but nod. ‘Guilty as charged. How’d you know?’

He shrugs. ‘It looked pretty uncomfortable to me.’

‘Count yourself lucky you’re a dude and you don’t have to wear those things.’

‘Well,’ Alex says after a small pause. ‘I could if you’re into that.’

‘Alex!’ I push him over and we’re both laughing, until we hear a creak from the hallway and the faint click of the light being turned on.

‘Shit,’ he mutters.

‘Shit,’ I agree, diving under his covers. I pull a pillow down beside me and try to make myself as flat as possible as I hear Alex’s mom say blearily, Alex? I thought you were at Jack’s. He makes up some excuse about feeling sick and heading home and after what feels like forever, with my heart pounding in my ears, she leaves. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, resurfacing up out of the covers. ‘That was close.’

‘Yeah. She’s going to go down and drink a glass of milk now and read yesterday’s paper. It’ll take, like, an hour,’ he says, rolling his eyes. When I give him a confused look, he says, ‘My mom has… habits.’

‘That’s a nice way of putting it.’ I shove the pillow up under my head and lie back, looking up at the ceiling. Guess I’m not going to be getting out of here for a while now. ‘Now what?’

‘You could climb out the window,’ he suggests.

‘I’m barefoot.’

‘We could, like, do a conspiracy plan and sneak you out,’ he yawns.

‘Thanks,’ I say, relieved. I guess I thought I’d gotten past all the worrying-to-the-point-of-panic-attacks, but this is the closest I’ve come to asking someone out on a date. It’s terrifying and I remind myself again, this is why you don’t slut yourself out all the time; because things like these make you have an aneurysm at the age of seventeen. I turn onto the side so I’m facing away from Alex and close my eyes, breathing in and out deeply as I feel my heart beat.

‘Mm, I guess,’ he mumbles. ‘We’ll sneak you out in the morning.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, relieved. I turn onto the side so I’m facing away from Alex and close my eyes, getting ready to go to sleep.

‘Rebecca?’ Alex says quietly.

‘Hm?’

‘Thanks. For tonight.’

He sounds just like a little boy for a minute, a scared, lost little boy in the supermarket, that I smile to myself. ‘No problem, Alex. Now go to sleep.’

- - -

From Kara D. to Rian D. (CC) on 12/17/05
one last thing: last call is 1:45AM. we meet at the bushes out front at 1:45, at 1:50 we’re leaving and i don’t care who we leave behind.

Matt F. to Kara D. (CC)
you scare me sometimes. rian, this one’s a keeper

Kara D. to Matt F. (CC)
aw matt, i’m flattered

Jack B. to Kara D. (CC)
as you should be, woman, as you should be