That Girl

I’d missed band practice that night, busy brooding over a six second voicemail that Alex had left me, after putting my phone on the counter and departing in his small Sloppy Jalopy. I was supposed to leave in a day, but I was starting to question my decision. I walked through the streets, even though it was late. Brass knuckles from the airport in hand, I wasn’t really fearful of anything or anyone, I’d already punched a guy in the nose without the brass knuckles. The idea or any sign of possible rapists freaked me out and made me paranoid, okay?

“Look, I know we argue a lot and stuff, Stella, but call me after you get this.”

And I did, unfortunately.

“Stella.” He answered, almost sounding relieved.

“You told me to call you.” I said, tonelessly, for lack of a suitable reaction. I didn’t really understand what he wanted exactly.

“Where are you?”

“I’m not at the house.” I told him vaguely.

“Are you close? Could you meet me on the patio?”

“That would take a while. I’m not even close to the house.”

“Where are you then?”

I didn’t want to admit I was lost, so I looked at the nearest street signs, “Ginger and El Caballo.”

There was a brief silence on his end, “Stella?” I hummed a response, “What the hell are you doing that deep in the ghetto?”

I snorted, “I live in Los Angeles, Gaskarth. This is nothing.” I saw a movement in the shadows and stiffened.

“Whatever, we can argue about it later. I’ll come pick you up.” He sounded a bit reluctant; someone on the other end was probably forcing him to do all of this. “Meet me on Thames Street.”

“Okay.” I remembered walking past the street sign, so I turned in that direction and made my way towards the street sign, trying not to look lost. The major street was a few blocks away.

“I’ll be there in ten, and Stella?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be trying to commit suicide on me, I’ll kick your ass.”

While it was probably meant as a joke, he sounded dead serious. There was a tense silence, in which I heard an engine start on his end.

“Okay.”

The line went dead, and only then did I hear a rustling in the bushes and the sound of footsteps. I pulled the brass knuckles from my back pocket as the shadow came into view, walking a little bit faster. Phone in hand, I practically sprinted towards the street before turning to face whoever it was. Nothing. My eyes flickered downwards. Yeah, still nothing.

“Stella.” A voice said from behind me, to which I turned. The window rolled down on the passenger side, Alex shot me an odd look. “That road is crawling with creeps, get in the car.”

The adrenaline I had racing through my veins at the slightly terrifying experience rendered me silent as I got into the passenger seat without protest. Alex was silent, and there was a tense atmosphere in the small care. I felt a bit claustrophobic.

“So.”

Well that didn’t make it more awkward, thank you Alex.

“So.” I replied, “How was practice?”

“I tried what you said.” He said, not fully answering my question. I perked up in surprise.

“Which thing?”

“I showed them,” He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Poppin’ Champagne.”

My lip twitched. It wasn’t the most personal song, but I suppose it had some sentimental meaning and was a start. “I see. How was their reaction?”

“They liked it.” He said, still not supplying much information. Clearing his throat, he added, “Zack wrote this song, too, and he showed it to us. Did he ever show you The Beach?”

Surprisingly, he’d shown me one verse he’d written, but I hadn’t heard or seen The Beach. I wasn’t very shocked by the topic he’d written it on though… Surfers, the lot of them. “No.” I replied honestly.

I felt his eyes on me, but didn’t feel like returning his gaze. “You sound disappointed.” I shrugged before continuing:

“I suppose I am, but not with any of you. There were things the guys in Panic! would only share with me at first, and I guess it made me feel special. Even though it’s frustrating that I had to teach the guys how to fully communicate what they were feeling so that no problems would swell and lead to a pointless breakup. I never said my feelings were rational.”

He was silent, as if he were processing what I was saying, “So you really do do it all for the bands, huh?”

I nodded slowly, “My job is to help your relationships, as well as your music. I’m mainly focusing on the former right now, because lyrically, you’ve stumped me.”

He seemed surprised and somewhat hopeful, “So you’re staying?”

I nodded with a slight smirk, “Seems like I’ll be bullying you for another five months, Gaskank.”

“If you’re staying that long, you’re not calling me that.” He replied quickly, half joking, half serious.

“Oh?”

“First names. I call you yours, you call me mine.” He was definitely determined, I could tell that much.

“But you already call me by my first name,” I pointed out, “what motivation is there?”

“Fine, Wentz.” He said with a smile in his voice. I wrinkled my nose. As much as I loved Pete like a brother, or even a really twisted dad, I hated his last name.

Let’s not even mention the first.

“But Gaskarth-.” I protested, turning in my seat to face him.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He chided. Who did he think he was? I was older than him, for the sake of Mount Rushmore! “What’s my name?” Alex asked rhetorically.

“That’s a stupid question, Alex.” I grumbled while crossing my arms; the sentence so incoherent that it sounded foreign to even my ears. I cursed in Japanese.

Oh, the wonders of anime.

“What did you say?” Alex asked rhetorically. He was starting to get on my nerves.

But here I was, being immature about calling him by his first name when we’d just had a semi-heart-to-heart.

“That was a stupid question,” I told him smartly before adding onto the end, albeit reluctantly, “Alex.”

“That’s more like it.”

"So where are we going?"

"Have you had dinner?" I hated it when he answered my questions with questions.

"No." But of course I still answered him.

"Then I'll take you out to dinner."