That Girl

After I fled from the awkward silence of the dinner table, I called Pete in the washroom. Bathroom, restroom, whatever. I told my oh-so lovely guardian that I wouldn’t be coming home after all and to cancel my ticket for tomorrow afternoon. He’d been relieved. The contract was still on, and I was still gone. Well, his wording might not have said that exactly, but I knew he was glad to still have all that alone time with his girlfriend.

Ashlee.

It was gross, knowing he was doing that. But I needed to stay, because Alex and I had unfinished business. Literally.

Jack called me Just after.

“Hey Jackary.” I greeted.

“What the hell happened?!” He asked urgently.

Well, damn. I guess that there wasn’t enough drama everywhere else in Baltimore, so the Fates had slung it on me. “I’m sorry?”

“What the hell happened? Alex was… he wasn’t himself.” Jack was worried.

“How so?” I asked.

“He’s actually talking to us, as in, about his lyrics.” He said. My eyes brightened, even if it was old news.

“That, my dear, is progress. I’ve gotta go, though. I’ll call you back later tonight?” I suggested, disheveling my hair in the mirror. Even if I didn’t want to go back to Alex, I didn’t want to piss him off by taking too long and being suspicious.

After all, this whole ordeal could be interpreted as somewhat… Ew. Romantic. Bleh.

I skipped out of the room, looking unnaturally peppy, by the look he gave me when I stopped in front of the large booth. Lying easily about the nonexistent long line, he seemed to buy it, albeit skeptically. I took a glance at the menu before my jaw, as Marry Poppins would put it, was dropped and I looked like a codfish.

Yeah, I never understood aristocratic London, either. Cherry Tree Lane, Cherry Tree Lane…

“Alex!” The name still felt unnatural on my tongue. Oddly enough, I’d never actually met an Alex before… “What the hell is this?!”

“What? You don’t like Italian?”

“It’s my favorite, but-!”

“Sit down, Stella.” He was unnaturally calm, and oddly authoritative. Weird, because I listened. Then I understood. Alex, while he loved attention from girls and things like that, hated attention attracted by all the wrong reasons, and I’d practically screamed Satan’s crib throughout the whole restaurant.

I slid in next to him, hissing, “Pete doesn’t even spend this much on me on my birthday.” Well, because I didn’t let him. I preferred chilling out on the bus with the rest of Fall Out Boy (or this year, in the eight weeks I’d spent with Panic!, my birthday had taken place.)

“Consider it an apology.” He told me with a shrug.

“I’m not getting anything.” I said, putting down the menu. He glared, to which I grumbled.

“Yes you are. I haven’t seen you eat a proper meal since that morning when you talked to your boyfriend or whoever he was.”

I gritted my teeth, “Stop being insufferable, Alex. I’m not dating Ryan.”

He rolled his eyes, “Just order something, okay? I owe you anyways.” Yes, he did, but not in the sense that he had to buy me dinner. I shut my mouth in irritation as the waiter came towards us.

A waiter that looked to be about nineteen or twenty took our orders, giving me this weird look. Alex’s arm slung around my shoulders, and I felt extremely uncomfortable, but decided to save my complaints for a more appropriate time. I wasn’t a bitch, I was a well-timed bitch. I chose the cheapest thing on the menu: nice ol’ ravioli and water. Such a love.

“So what the fuck is happening?” Well I guess he beat me to the punch.

“Huh?”

“Is it stress or something, or do we literally make you want to rip your hair out?” Alex asked, looking slightly angry. What, he wanted to talk about that now?

Of all times. Bad Timing 101, Alexander.

“Do we really have to discuss this in a public place?” I hissed.

“When would we discuss it?” He was right. I’d probably avoid him to keep from bringing it up again. I crossed my arms stubbornly, to which he muttered, “Like father, like daughter.”

“So now you’re bringing my dad into this now?” As big of a pain in the ass as he could be, Pete was my dad. He’d raised me, in his own way. I’d helped him through a lot of tough shit, as he had helped me as well. It was a sensitive subject. “Regardless of us being in public, I will not hesitate to send a stinging slap across your face right now, Alex.”

He backed off a little, “I know he went through lots of rancid bullshit-.”

“You know nothing.” I stiffened as his hand rested on my shoulder, pushing slightly to aim my torso towards his.

“I know plenty enough.” He said, repeating my words from a week and a half ago. Prick. “I’ve been through it myself. The question is, have you?”

I laughed bitterly, traitorous tears welling up in my eyes. “I really think you should just stop right there, Alex.” I slid away from him as the waiter came with our drinks.

“Hey, bro, can you cancel our order?”

So all in all, dinner was a disaster.

And I forgot to call Jack.

*.*.*

I made it through a week of band practice, composing the majority of The Beach with Rian and Zack, while Jack and Alex were discussing something or another. I didn’t really care to listen.

“Stella, this is brilliant.” Rian told me, “I can’t wait until we get to the studio next week.”

Yeah, and there was that, too.

All this drama the past few weeks had distracted me from my main job. The music, not just the guys behind it.

Alex stayed a wallflower as Zack stole Jack from their conversation and played it. I took Alex’s guitar and vocal part, so I wouldn’t confuse Zack with all the harmonizing and notes he’d have to change between lead and back-ups. The same went for guitar reasons. I tried to give it a bit of a masculine edge, since I was singing in Alex’s key, and damn, was it hard on my vocal chords trying to mimic his way of singing.

As we finished, I absently bridged into the beginning of Camisado as I heard applause. Mrs. Gaskarth walked down the steps, into Rian’s basement.

Funny, I didn’t know she lived here.

“Well done! Oh my goodness, that sounded great! Stella, you sure have a way to recreate Alex’s voice! For a second I thought he was going through reverse puberty-.” The guys broke out into snickers and I chuckled along with them as Alex protested. “What? That is how you sounded when you sang All The Small Things when you were eleven.”

I wasn’t sure if it was an insult to have unconsciously picked up Mark Hoppus’s… unique singing characteristics or a compliment. I took it as the latter, since, well, Blink was a-freakin’-mazing.

“Stella, what the hell are you playing?” Alex looked a bit astounded as my fingers formed my version of the Camisado chorus. Looks like he’d forgotten about dinner last Friday night.

“Can’t take the kid from the fight-.” I sang before he cut me off.

“Fuck no, that’s Holly’s riff.” He shook his head, picking up his guitar. He took over, leaving me standing off to the side to examine as the boys… synchronized.

And this is why I was here, because they had the talent, and it was perfect, because they improvised a whole damn song right then and there, with only Alex and Jack knowing the lyrics, let alone the original beat.

And it was fucking perfect.

“I do believe you are smiling, despite my son’s dirty mouth.” Mrs. Gaskarth smiled with some kind of all-knowing tone. I shrugged, stuffing my hands in my pockets and keeping my gaze on the band. This is what I wished I had with Time After Twelve. With them, it was business. It was work. But here, and on the Panic! Tour bus, wherever that was, there was companionship.

Because music is the most powerful language out there, and once you speak it, it doesn’t matter the tongue you have. You synchronize with both strangers and your friends on a deeper level, and they become your family.

This was why I liked my job. “It’s beautiful, Mrs. Gaskarth. They know each other so well; it’s astounding how well they can play together like this.”

She nodded from my peripheral vision, “You could join them, you know.”

I shook my head, “It’s their band, it’s their family.”

“But you could easily be adopted into it, Stella. After all, you’re the reason they’re like this.” And that is the first time I actually cried in front of Alex Gaskarth.

Not tears of sorrow, like I nearly had at the restaurant, or tears of anger and frustration, like the time where he’d refused whatever I suggested without even fully hearing me out.

Cliché, yes, but they were tears of happiness.

Because I’d like to believe in all the possibilities, even if Pete had told me the best part of believe was the lie. I shook the thought out of my head. Nothing could ruin this.

"Yeah, I guess I am."