That Girl

“Oh, well imagine, as I’m pacing the pews in the church corridor.” I still sang Panic!’s stuff even if they weren’t around, because I was just that proud of Ryan, as well as myself, in a selfish way.

I composed the strings, bass line, and the guitar riff, okay?

“Stella, you’re and awesome singer and all, but as if we don’t hear that enough at school.” Jack seemed slightly exhausted as he walked into the house, coming upon myself and a set of bells on the couch.

“But It’s Better if You Do!” I yelled in mock indignation. He groaned, falling onto the couch, his head barely missing the corner of the bells. I snatched it away just in time. “Ah, fine, Jackary. But I think I came up with a beginning to Holly.”

He perked up in interest, “Oh?”

I nodded, “I was thinking, kind of like a pop guitar feedback riff that’s really consistent and tenuto.” He nodded, although he clearly wasn’t aware of what I’d said. I waved my hand, “It fades in, blurry sound. I’ll show you in the studio. Alex’s voice will fade in-.”

“So you’re calling Gaskank by his first name?” Jack grinned, a really scary gleam in his eye. Was he… plotting?

“Yeah,” I said, tone cautious before I continued, “And then there’s a bells part-.”

“Is that what those are?” He asked, “The drumline calls them tenors…”

I shrugged, “These don’t have the same general sound, or the pipes below that project the sound, but that doesn’t really matter.” I shook my head to clear my thoughts, looking at the music book in front of me, where I’d written everything in the staff, “Can you play the riff when I cue you?”

It was quick, and I sang along with Alex’s part and cued Jack as he played my acoustic that had been leaning against the sofa. I nodded the tempo, playing my part with only a few mistakes in dynamics, and all in all, I thought it sounded very unique. Like All Time Low, but with a new touch. “That’s a nice addition.” He said.

I nodded, clearing my throat, “So where’s Alex?” I took a drink of the glass of water I’d left on the coffee table.

Jack shrugged, “Probably making out with Lisa.” I choked for a moment, before forcing myself to swallow. “Don’t worry, he won’t go that far with her while they’re in his car.”

“Jack, I didn’t need to know that.”

“What? You asked! I know you like him and all, but he’s probably just doing it to make you jeal-.”

“Jack,” My voice was dangerously calm, “I do not like Alex. He’s icky.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and the expression looked out of place on the guy I knew to be a jokester, “Sure, Stella. He’s icky.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust, “Jack, stop making this like some scene out of a stupid teen romance novel. Alex is gross, and we’re not even civil with each other.”

Jack slung an arm over my shoulder, “Oh, little Stella-.”

“HEY! I’m older than you, Barakat!”

“But like, a foot shorter.” I pursed my lips at his statement. Even Rian, 5’9” or whatever he was, towered over me. “Yeah, it’s okay to be fun size, though.” I really hated that term, because it sounded sexual, as Pete had pointed out several times. “But really, have you seen the way he acts around you?”

“He’s a total prick.” I stated flatly, crossing my arms as I leaned into his arm, “He makes my life hell.”

“Alex is really protective over you.” Jack corrected, “He’s never like that, not with Lisa, not even with that girl he almost married in Vegas.” I quirked an eyebrow. So that’s what he’d written Vegas about? Jack took that as though I’d experienced some sort of revelation, “He totally, like, freaked out when you disappeared that one time. And he gets really anxious, wanting your approval and stuff. That look he was giving you at band practice.”

“He wanted me dead for taking his part as lead singer.”

“No, he looked like he wanted to rip your clothes off.” Jack stated bluntly. Now I was getting uncomfortable. I stood up, “He’s damn lucky, too.”

I fidgeted, my fingers wanting some sort of occupation to keep from freaking out. “I’m going to… uh…”

Jack rolled his eyes, “I didn’t mean it like that, Stella. I don’t see you that way, you’re like, my sister or something cliché like that, but Alex is lucky because he found someone so damn gorgeous when he was seventeen.” I cringed.

“What are you insinuating exactly, Jack?” I asked, about ready to flee.

“When you two have your cute little kids, you are so naming one after me.” He shrugged. I shuddered. Me and Alex… gross.

Ew. Ew. Ew.

“You’re disgusting, Jack.” I shook my head, “I’m going to work on some other stuff right now.”

“Are those Alex’s lyrics?” He asked, gesturing to the two notebooks on the table.

“One’s mine, one’s his.” I shrugged, picking the two of them up.

“Can I read yours?” He asked, back into his joking character already. I snorted at the slightly ADHD way he was bouncing in his seat, eyes glimmering as he looked at the mass of stickers and writing on the front of mine. He resembled Brendon in a sense.

Ah, Brendon. I tossed him the notebook wordlessly, getting a good grip on Alex’s book before walking upstairs, the small bells set in hand.

I opened up to Vegas as I took my seat in the beanbag chair in Alex’s room. Leaning the notebook up against the wall, I stole his acoustic from its stand off to the side and started messing with some chords. Jack still had my acoustic, and Mrs. Gaskarth was doing something with my room, probably collecting laundry. Besides, this was comfortable.

I came up with a legit beat, and the chords came quickly after. Soon enough, after about a half hour, my voice could probably be heard from downstairs. I stumbled a little with a tempo for the bridge, but I regained my sense of rhythm after a little bit of experimenting.

This is what I really liked about Alex’s songs. He seemed to build his song around the bridge, not the chorus, and so it never got boring or too repetetive. If there was repetition, the listener had enough to listen to with the differing back-up vocals that sang something else. It was genius.

“The fuck?!” Jack bellowed up the stairs, I heard his loud footsteps, as Mrs. Gaskarth chided him for language from my room without much authority. Yeah, it was a pretty futile effort. “Stella, that was epic.”

He seemed so sincere as he plopped down next to me on the floor with his own guitar that I colored a little bit, “Uh, thanks.”

“I kinda thought of a lead part. Can you play that again?” He asked, positioning his guitar, “Sing it out.”

I nodded before starting again:

“Tonight, we lie awake
“Remember how the coffee made us shake on those long drives?
“One more long night” I sang, strumming the beat with unconfident fingers before he joined in with a lead part. He had a really consistent tempo before changing into a more complicated riff.

“Another seven days
“Heartbeat racing
“The interstate, my home tonight
“For one more long night
“I'm sure as hell the happiest I've ever been” I enunciated words as I saw appropriate, Jack improvising with an alternate riff I’d used for a different version of The Beach. I really liked how it was going. He added backup vocals now and then as he felt necessary. He probably laid back a bit because it sounded a bit unnatural, and Jack had some difficulties with harmonizing.

And it went like that. When either of our parts dropped off, we’d substitute tapping that would probably end up as drum beats, as well as some other things. “This song is turning out really good. I love it.”

He nodded excitedly, looking as though he’d remembered something. “Hey Stella?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to sing that duet with Alex?”

“What duet?” I asked, before he pulled my notebook from off his lap.

“This one. Alex wrote something that’s along these lines, and this could be like, the bridge.” He pointed to a verse I’d written down a few days ago while I was considering leaving. While I’d put it in different context, it still applied.

“Oh?”

“Remembering Sunday.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I stiffened. I was not singing a romantic duet, or a duet period. He’d be lucky to get me to duet Everything Is Alright by Motion City Soundtrack, and even then…

But I really loved that song…

Regardless, I was not going to sing that with him. “No.”

“But on tour-.”

“No.”

“Stella, stop cutting me off.” He said seriously, pausing before resuming what he wanted to say, “Stella, you’re practically like, part of the band. You have to sing something.”

“You’d be pushing it to get me to sing All The Small Things, let alone romantic shit.” I told his stubbornly, crossing my arms.

“How did Panic! get you to sing on their record?” He asked.

“I had one vocal section during But It’s Better if You Do.” I told him matter-of-factly, “It was practically a joke, all the kinky lyrics I had to sing for Ryan, but we made it fun. With Alex… it’s different. Everything’s different. Besides, he’d be pissed if I were on the record.”

“Well, for one thing, that’s a lie, and for another, since when do you care what Alex thinks?” Jack asked incredulously, taking a sip from a can of Cherry Coke. A small spark lit in his eyes before he set the glass down, “Are you scared?”

I shot him a look, “No.”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, jumping to his feet in an awkward, lanky, Jack Barakat way. His index finger was brandished before my nose. “You’re just scared that Alex will make a-.”

“Get your finger out of my face before I break it off and choke you with it.” I warned, glaring. He dropped the subject.

*.*.*

“I’ve got your picture, I’m coming with you, dear Maria, count me in!” I sang along to the strum of my acoustic guitar at four in the morning. Yeah, I was losing sleep, Mrs. G was right.

I was really enjoying my acoustic right now, despite being majorly disoriented. I heard a thump from Alex’s room, and footsteps before my door open, as I sang:

“There’s a story at the bottom of this bottle and I’m the pen!” Yeah, someone had probably drugged me at dinner. We’d had a barbecue at the Merrick’s to celebrate the Fourth of July and their sold out gig in Brooklyn tomorrow. Who knew, it was already summer! I guess I’d been here, for what, a month? I’d come in mid-June, around their last few weeks of school…

“What the fuck are you doing up this late?” He asked, hair a complete and utter rat’s nest. I giggled, it was almost as if I were… drunk?

Oh… That was Mike’s Hard Lemonade instead of the original. “Well…” I told him, vision unfocusing, “I think that something-.” Hiccup, “happened. Because it’s late, and I normally sing Panic! when I’m bored.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it reminds me of the guys.” I hiccupped, rubbing my eyes a bit before allowing my guitar to rest on my lap. “I’ve never been drunk before.” I mused.

He looked astounded, “Really? You seemed like a partier when we met.”

I shrugged, leaning back onto my pillows and grabbing my water bottle with shaky hands. I took a long draw, clearing my head a little. “I guess I was, but Pete warned me when I started touring, all the dangers and stuff. Guys take advantage of you, you end up having a kid that will live their whole life knowing they’re the product of a one-night stand.” She cringed at the statement, “I don’t want my kids to end up like me.”

“You?”

I glanced at him, “Taylor Fazzah knew Pete Wentz through nearly being signed to Island Records, she was a burlesque dancer in the late seventies until the mid-eighties that always needed a little extra cash. Jacob Madison, best friend of Pete Wentz in high school, became a successful businessman in the automotive industry. He slept with my mum to help her with her house payment.”

Alex didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told it all. Pity.

I didn’t like those who took pity on me under any circumstance. Ever.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. They got married so they could raise me together, but they fought a lot. Then they left via a one-way ticket to hell, and now I’m with Pete.” I shrugged, looking up at the ceiling and setting my guitar down next to me. My head was clearing up a lot more thanks to the water. Speaking of which, I gulped more down.

“That still sucks.”

“It does.”

“You should get to sleep.” He changed the subject, to which I shot him an incredulous look.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” The alcohol had pretty much worn off. I was like this at night in general, but alcohol kept me from sobering up enough to keep conversation. Now that it was gone, my loopiness went with it. “Do you think I’m trying to stay up? I’m not enjoying picking up my mum’s sleeping patterns and insomnia.”

“What helps you fall asleep?” He asked. The IPod I’d left in Rian’s car.

“Music.” I answered fairly. He ran a hand through his dark hair, exposing more of his face than I was used to seeing. And damn, that boy had gotten some looks.

… Maybe the loopiness had stayed after all.

He got up and retrieved my acoustic from the side of my bed, and I knew what he was planning. “Hell no, Alex. That’s just awkward on so many levels.”

Rolling his eyes, he sat back down in my desk chair and started strumming the intro to Lullabies, “You’re working yourself too hard. It’s unhealthy.”

“Is the Alex Gaskarth concerned about Stella Fazzah Madison’s well-being?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, you could say he is. Considering it’s an unholy hour in the morning and she’s still wide awake. I swear, you’ll fall in a grave you’ve been digging yourself.”

“But there’s room for two,” I told him, knowing I was incoherent this late. He started singing Lullabies, the emotion behind his voice was shocking, as if his motivation was extremely personal. Probably a death, which inspired my next line, “Six feet under the stars.”

He laughed, continuing as I slowly fell to sleep. When the song finished, I felt a weight over me, like that of a blanket, then there was a long pause, and a pressure to my forehead. “You’re so reckless, you moron. How do you expect me to not look at you that way when you’re dressed like that? Talk about Jasey being dressed to kill.” There was a brief pause, "See you tomorrow in Brooklyn."