The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

I watch the slowly growing crowd from the side of the Hurley stage.

I can’t help but feel excited for the band about the upgrade from last summer.

I mean, last year, we were virtually nobodies, and this year the Hurley stage is waiting for us. Just as good as main stage in our eyes; and besides, there’s always next year to hope for a headlining spot...

“Adie!” Trevor whines, breaking my seemingly endless chain of thoughts. “What are we going to do?” he asks, tugging on me for attention.

I turn to see what the problem is, and groan at the sight of his snare drum in his hands, a gash ripped wide into the top. He visibly winces at my reaction.

“…how?” I barely manage to ask. “Honestly, just…how?” He can only look at me helplessly while offering no coherent explanation, and I snap back into tour manager mode. “Where did John go?” I ask immediately, glancing around. “He can fix it, right? Somehow…?”

“Back to the bus. He got sick after sound check,” he explains, fidgeting. “I, uh…forgot to tell you.” I start to bite at my already short nails nervously.

“Adie…” he whines again, panicking.

“Ssh. Wait. I’m thinking,” I shrug him off, and he taps his foot anxiously, adding to my nerves.

“We’re on in fifteen minutes!” he exclaims frantically, as if I don’t know.

“Trevor,” I state, placing my hands on his shoulders to reassure him. “Calm down, alright? I have an idea. Come with me,” I shake my head in exasperation, grabbing his wrist and dragging him off the stage after telling everyone else to continue what they’re doing. He trails behind me through the maze of tents and then towards the busses.

And I’m just hoping, praying they’re there, because, both being Hurley Stage bands, they’re the only we’ve managed to get close enough to know their general set time on Warped so far -

“Is Rian here?” I ask quickly, after someone I don’t know answers the bus door I’m pounding on.

The unnamed person lets us inside, where to my relief, Rian is sitting, calmly eating a bowl of Apple Jacks.

“Is there any chance at all that you have an extra snare drum lying around?” I ask immediately. Trevor hovers behind me, silently anxious and checking his watch for the time every ten seconds or so.

“Umm…” He pauses to think for a few seconds, then beckons me to follow him towards the bunks. “I do have an old one…” Trevor closely trails us, still silently panicking. Rian yanks open the curtain of the very bottom bunk on the right side, the one packed with so much junk, and miraculously crammed into the center is –

A standard-sized snare drum.

“Good enough?” Rian asks.

“Perfect,” Trevor replies in relief, looking as if he might hug Rian or maybe just burst into tears of pure joy.

“You’re a lifesaver, Rian,” I sigh, checking my watch to see there’s ten minutes left to get Trevor and the replacement snare back to the Hurley stage. “Thanks!” I call, dragging Trevor back out.

We race back to the stage as fast as we can, with Trevor cradling the snare in his arms like it’s his firstborn child. We draw looks from random crew and band members as well as packs of fans as we sprint past.

“I still don’t understand how you managed to bust a hole in yours without even playing it. And twenty minutes before your set! It’s barely the second week of Warped…” I mutter, rolling my eyes, wondering what else I’ll have to put up with this summer.

Luckily, we’re all side-stage with four minutes to spare, and the set begins smoothly.

My eyes unintentionally wander to Ian, strumming his guitar with intense concentration while Ari sings and Leo smirks characteristically as he plucks his bass from the opposite end. Trevor, as always, is atypically calm behind the drum kit, pounding out steady beats.

I smile and relax while the set goes on without problems.