That Girl

“Now I’m of consenting age, to be forgetting you-.” I cringed. It was my third morning with the Gaskarths, and Ryan had set his ringer on my Razor to one of his most risqué ideas. I whipped out the phone, hoping not to make a bad impression before I’d formally known them for half a week.

Ryan’s the kinky one, not me. Well, most of the time.

“George Ryan Ross the Third.” I huffed out the long name, “Why in Bill Gates’ name did you set my ringtone to that?”

He ignored my question, “How’s Baltimore?”

Fact number one about Ryan: he’s insufferably awkward.

“Oh, so Pete told you about that?” I asked rhetorically, shooting Mrs. Gaskarth an apologetic glance as I stepped away from the meal and onto the patio. “It’s going fine.”

“I hear you’re staying with the lead singer.” He prompted, trying to strike up some conversation.

“Yeah, his family’s pretty great. British, the lot of them; it almost reminds me of-.” I cut myself off as he finished for me knowingly.

“How life used to be?”

One drunken night and he knows my entire past from my birth until I met him. “Yeah.” I agreed, wanting to change the subject. “So how’s tour? Aren’t you in California? It’s like, four in the morning there!”

“It’s great, and we’re in New York right now, no big deal.” So close! “I got voted MVP last night.” I could tell he was smiling. I snickered.

“What for?”

“I threw the mallets for the bells at Spencer. Hard.” He laughed. I heard a protest in the background and I snorted.

“Ha, well, tell the guys I say hi.” I said, a smile making its way onto my face.

“Definitely.” He assured, “When we go by Baltimore, do you think you could make it to our show?”

“I might be able to. But I might be stuck in the studio. It depends on how long it takes to finish up the album.” I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me.

“Oh, right. Are you going to tour with… wait what was their name again?” I doubted he’d ever been informed, as I didn’t really care enough to mention it over our conversation via text last night.

“All Time Low, and yes.” I answered, “I’m pretty sure they named it after a lyric from New Found Glory’s Head on Collision.”

“Oh, so they’re that kind of band?” He asked, hinting at some blunt observations he’d made about bands exactly like All Time Low.

“Sort of.” I gave the guys a little slack, “They’re not much like their influences. They’re gravitating more towards the pop-punk direction. I liked their stuff.”

“Would we?” He asked cautiously.

“I don’t really know.” I shrugged again, “It could go either way, because while you’re more on the Pete side of Fall Out Boy, I think Alex revolves around the Patrick side.”

“I don’t really understand.” He said. I sat down on the side of a lounge chair. I picked at a loose string on the side of my jeans.

“Well, you write like Pete, Ry. Very unique. You use lots of figurative language and everything’s really intricate. The complexity of all of your songs is what caused us to argue. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just different. Alex looks like he throws one-liners in his lyrics, and he uses blunt, simple words to paint his pictures. Lots of repetition. Yours… They’re like extended metaphors.” I explained, for lack of better terms.

“I get it.” I could almost hear him nod, “So this one will be easier than ours?” He almost sounded like he felt guilty.

“Instrumentation-wise, I hope so.” I let out a breathy exhale, “Lyric-wise, I’m so used to trying to out-wit you that I’ll probably confuse them. They write songs about people, and emotions, so I’ll probably struggle a fair amount.”

He laughed, and the conversation continued. Ryan talked about tour, and the guys. It turns out that they finally picked up a good bassist: Jon Walker.

“That’s great!” I exclaimed, “I’m really sorry that you were stuck with Brent. I probably should have stayed with you guys for tour, but Pete insisted…”

“Yeah, yeah. We all kind of miss you, oddly enough.” He laughed nervously. I heard an exclamation on the other end it kind of sounded like “Ryan loves you!” He coughed, “Well, um,” See what I mean by awkward? “Brendon wants to talk you.”

So we talked, and I said a few words to Spencer and this Jon guy as well. He had a bit of a lisp. It was kind of cute. Ryan ended up with the phone again after about ten minutes, “Well, I’ve gotta go. We’ve got an interview with Rolling Stone-.”

“And Ryro has to do his make-up!” Brendon bellowed. I snorted, knowing that they were having fun. “We love you, Stella!”

“I miss you guys!” I knew Ryan had put me on speaker at this point. He was lazy, and hated holding phones to his ear. Something about brain cancer, and wanting to be productive. “Have fun with the make-up, Ry! See you in Baltimore!”

I hung up after we exchanged farewells, flipping my phone shut and sliding it back in my pocket. I turned.

Alex, like the irritating cliché he was, leaned against the doorway and gave me a once-over. “What?”

“Just thinking is all.” He replied nonchalantly, his gaze scrutinizing, “What did they do?”

“What are you talking about?”

“To get on your good side, what did they do?” He fluxed between accents. His British really came out when he was at home, and American with his friends.

He wanted to fit in.

I shrugged, filing away that bit of observation for later, “I spent eight weeks with them, and while Ryan’s a bit of a pain in the ass, just like you, he grows on you.”

He grimaced at my word choice, “Will I?”

“That’s open to interpretation.” I replied. “I’ll let the Fates decide.”

Not leaving room for any more conversation, I shouldered past him, grabbing my nearly-finished plate of breakfast and washing it in the sink. Mrs. Gaskarth had already departed for work, so I couldn't actually thank her for the meal. I grimaced, and Mr. Gaskarth caught my eye.

“Are you okay, dear?”

“Fine, thanks.” I sighed, “Just wondering, am I going to be tagging along with the boys at school?”

“If you’d like, I’m sure we could arrange it.” He said, glancing over his newspaper from above his wire-rimmed reading glasses, “It would make sense.” He took a sip from his coffee mug.

Stereotypical Morning Dad 101. I nearly laughed.

“Sounds like a plan, if it’s not too much trouble.” I nodded, leaning back against the counter, my shoulders jutting upwards. My collar bone protruded as my skin retracted. Immediately, I stood up to hide it.

“Easy, I’ll call them on my way to work.” He told me before checking his watch. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to run. Make sure Alexander doesn’t burn down the house.” I laughed. He grabbed his keys off of the island, his phone and wallet quickly following as he dialed the school’s number. He walked towards the door, lifting up his arm as a sort of wave before departing.

I started humming Jasey Rae, doing some of the dishes that Mrs. Gaskarth hadn’t the time to finish. As I approached the bridge of the song, I pondered what I should do in the case that I wouldn’t be tagging along with the boys at school. Perhaps I could review some of Gaskarth’s music and update my blog. I heard him step inside from the side patio. “What are your school’s hours?” I asked, drying a fork.

“Eight to three.” He frowned, “What’s it to you?”

I ignored his insolent, defensive question, “So that’s about eight hours.” I counted quickly, musing: “I should be able to write a bit as well.”

“What?”

“Well, if I don’t end up attending school with you guys, I’ll probably just work on some of my own lyrics in the meantime. Oh, right! Would it be okay for me to look at some of your lyrics?” I asked, knowing it was a sensitive subject with most songwriters. Lyrics were very personal while they were still in their rough drafts.

Especially Ryan’s. I had to take extra care handling his words.

He seemed slightly torn. Most songwriters had a troubled past that fueled their lyrics. I assumed Alex was the same; I just couldn’t put my finger on why it was just yet.

“I guess.” He tried to shrug it off. Masks go nowhere, Gaskarth. I raised an eyebrow, but decided not to push any potential buttons.

“Thanks.” I pursed my lips before inquiring, “Where do you keep them?”

He jogged up the stairs, and I followed him slowly. Vaguely, I heard him ruffling through a drawer before pulling out a tattered notebook, phrases and such written all over it. My lip twitched as he handed it to me.

It was just like Ryan’s: disorganized, with pieces of loose leaf notebook paper taped and stapled in, lots of eraser marks and white out abuse. Despite physically being light, I held it delicately, taking note of the clenched jaw Alex had. He was uncomfortable.

The guy had been for a while, to the extent that I’d taken my pride down a few notches to try and be nice. I hadn’t really said anything rude since the airport, save for the ‘pain in the ass’ comment this morning. Alex Gaskarth was difficult, though. He was trying to suck it up for the band, and deal with me so they could all use me to try and acquire success. To him, I was intruding on his most personal thing: his band. I almost felt bad.

“Maybe not.” I muttered, fingering the frayed cover. He seemed offended. But it was more of a respect gesture than anything. Obviously, he didn’t want me reading his unfinished words, so I wasn’t going to push it.

“Not good enough for you?” He sneered. My eyes widened, and oddly enough, my cheeks tinted pink with bottled frustration. I hadn’t even looked at them yet!

He was self-inflicting this, and still being a pain in the ass.

I was taken aback, “You obviously don’t want me reading them; I can tell by the look you’ve got.”

“What look?!” He defended, not wanting to admit it. Like a child refusing to do chores, then finally hauling their ass to the parent, and then when the parents yell at them to not do it, they scream back that they will, just to prove them wrong. “You should take them! It’s your job, isn’t it?”

He was so immature.

“Stop it, Gaskarth.” I set the lyrics down on the nightstand beside me.

“Stop what?!”

“I know exactly what you’re thinking! You think that I’m trying to intrude on your band’s relationship!” I said without thinking. I should have stopped right there, only knowing him for a few days and already pointing out my observations. I still didn’t go that far with Ryan or Brendon or Spencer. Rarely with Pete. “I’m here to ruin and criticize and change you! I’m not! I’m here to help you guys get big, here with Matt to make a good album because you guys have the potential!”

He was frozen. And there was silence. I cleared my throat, continuing in a softer voice.

“Any boundaries you have with anything musical, lyrical, personal, or anything like that, just say it. I’ll work with what I have. That’s my job.”

The phone rang. His phone, to be more precise. He flipped it open without checking the Caller ID. The voice from the other end spoke quickly, clearly male.

“Okay dad, thanks.” They muttered farewells before he ended the conversation. “My dad called the school, and they said that you’re welcome to come with us.”

I nodded, silent. He cleared his throat to try and break the tension, “You should, uh, probably get ready.” I nodded, still pursing my lips, not wanting to say anything more that could be hurtful. The facade he had gave me a guilt-fest to brood over.

I hated that feeling. Departing, I quickly changed into something casual, just a waistcoat print tee and a pair of tattered jeans with my high tops. I grabbed one of the beanies I’d stolen from Pete and put on some musical note jewelry. When I was finished with makeup and my flat iron, I stepped out of the guest room and grabbed my lyric book and IPod, jogging down the stairs as a car horn honked.

Rian sat in the driver’s seat, Jack seated next to him in the passenger’s. I slipped in, sitting next to a girl about my age. “You’re coming with us?” Rian asked. I nodded, “How long?”

I shrugged, “Don’t know, but I’ll probably tag along with you guys for about a week. Ooh, that reminds me. What are your classes?” I pulled out my notebook, fishing for a pencil between my beanie and hair

They told me their classrooms and teachers swiftly.

“What’s Zack’s?” I asked. Jack shrugged.

“He goes to school across town, so you’ll just be seeing him after school.” Rian told me. I nodded, slightly disappointed as I leaned back in the middle seat, buckling up. “Oh, by the way Kara, this is Stella Wentz.”

Kara smiled, “Aren’t you a little old to be his daughter?”

“Adopted.” I told her, before looking at the guys, “And my last name is Fazzah-Madison. Not Wentz.”

Jack grimaced, “But that’s how people will identify you as Pete’s kid. So we’ll just call you that.”

I narrowed my eyes, “Taylor Fazzah and Jacob Madison were my parents, not Pete, but fine.”

Alex slipped into the car moments later, setting his backpack in his lap. Still unzipped, I noticed he’d brought his lyric notebook with him. So he wrote during classes? That made sense, you could draw a surprising amount of inspiration from your school environment. I was surprised, though. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy that had the guts to write in public. I sure didn’t, and this morning’s events told me that he was the same.

I made a confused face, unable to devise a plausible reason for him to bring it with him. I pulled out my IPod, only to find that Rian’s CD player was in the mood for the same kind of music that I was.

From Under the Cork Tree was put into the empty player, and Jack and I sang along to Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year.

“We’re the therapists! Pumping through your speakers, delivering just what you need!” I sang, remembering watching Pete brood over the lyrics for ages just after he’d adopted me. The song itself was old, and it had taken him a while to fit it into one of their albums. That’s when I threw in a few quick words that I thought sounded nice and BOOM. Project Stella Fazzah-Madison the Epic Prodigy of Pete Wentz was born.

He titled it, not me.

“We’re well read and poised! We’re the best boys…” The song was fun to sing, especially harmonizing with Jack and Rian. They both had pretty decent voices.

“We’re here.” Rian declared as the next track came on. He shut off the engine, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

“Ready for Dulaney High, Stella?” Jack asked, wide-eyed and excited. He was beaming, and it startled me slightly.

“High school all over again,” I rolled my eyes with a smile, “I can’t wait.” I said sarcastically.