Just Keep Your Head Above

“This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Don’t complain. A little cardio might do you some good.”

“I cannot believe you actually thought it would be a good idea to give your car keys to some slut—“

“She wasn’t just any slut. She was my date.”

“She’s still a slut.” I mumbled, kicking a few pebbles from my path. “And it was still a shitty idea.”

We were walking down one of the dusty roads into town: tired, hungry, and under-caffeinated. Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling exceptionally chipper.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, sweet, little, naïve Pipeypoo. It’s actually a fantastic idea.” His lips slid up into a self-satisfied grin.

“No, you’re right. Giving your car keys to your slutty, dimwitted date, aka One Night Stand Number 567, is absolutely genius. So genius, in fact, that I’m unable to grasp the complexities behind your oh-so-intelligent plan.” I shot him a glare, kicking another pebble in his direction.

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I tried to shrug him off, but he held steady. “Don’t be sarcastic. It’s very unbecoming in a lady.” He shot me a sleazy wink, and I could feel the bile rising in my throat. “You can mock, but I know a thing or two about people. Especially those of the female persuasion. I know how you think.” I rolled my eyes, giving him an incredulous look. “Really. I do. And even though you’re all undeniably attracted to me,” I scoffed, “it seems as though you’re all keenly aware of my previous transgressions.” He proclaimed all of this with gusto, as if it was something to be proud of. There was not even an ounce of remorse in his voice. “And for some reason, that seems to be a turn off—“

“Yeah. This may be news to you, since the company you keep obviously has a different viewpoint on this whole situation, but some of us do not take pride in acquiring the thousands upon thousands of STDs that have turned your Mini Gaskarth into a breeding ground.”

“I know!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock indignation. “It’s absolutely ridiculous.” His usual I’m-so-clever-it’s-unbelievable smirk appeared again, and I braced myself for the wave of idiocy that was sure to follow. “But I’ve got it all figured out.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “You do?”

He nodded, his smirk broadening into his cheeks, puckering the flesh into dimples. “I do.” He affirmed. “Women don’t care about how many other girls you’ve slept with.” I rolled my eyes. “No, seriously. They don’t. All they care about is being ‘special’. Which essentially just means that you’re not going to use them for a quick fuck and then never talk to ‘em again. Right? Right. So if you give a girl your car keys, it’s like an insurance policy. In her head she’s thinking,” he pressed his pointer finger to is temple, “‘Wow, okay, he can’t possibly leave me tomorrow morning and vanish without a trace if I have his car keys. Then he needs me.’ and then they don’t really have any reservations when it comes to hooking up. Smart, I know.” He shrugged in with mock-humility, his eyes twinkling delightedly.

“Except that here we are, the next morning, car-less and walking to work. Looks like your plan backfired. Turns out you’re not so smart after all.”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, well, as it turns out, it’s not too smart to give your date your car keys if you’re planning on hooking up with someone else.”

“Oh. My. God.” I gasped, trying to stifle the bubble of laughter that was rising in my throat. “Only you. Only you would be stupid enough to do something like that.” I couldn’t handle it any longer. I let out a peel of laughter. And then another, and another. Soon I was doubled over, clutching my stomach and emitting a steady flow of giggles, punctuated by the occasional labored gasp.

He chuckled nervously, gauging my reaction warily. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t really thinking with my head.”

“Oh, I know exactly what head you were thinking with.” I chortled, shooting him a smirk of my own.

*

“Hey there sweethearts.” Rita welcomed us, smiling warmly at us as we approached the counter. As usual, the aroma in the diner was over-poweringly homey, and the place was bustling with its regulars. The steady buzz of muddled conversation was like an atmospheric background noise, and the sunny yellow paper seemed to wrap itself around me, holding me close, like a blanket. I inhaled softly, letting the warm, familiar smells seep into my pores. Suddenly, my day didn’t feel like it was going to be so awful. “What can I get you two?” She wiped her elbows on her apron, soft, worn and faded, its blue coloring slowly graying.

“I’ll have three cappuccinos, with a shot of espresso in each.”

Alex turned to me slowly, an incredulous look on his face. “For you and who and who?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For me and me and me.” I replied, not bothering to look over at him.

He studied me, awed. “There is no way that that is healthy.” He stated, watching Rita pour the caffeinated version of ambrosia into three separate cups, unfazed by Alex’s daunted stare.

She passed me the cups, sliding them across the counter skillfully, and then turned to Alex, shooting him a sympathetic smile. “Oh, kid. You have so much to learn.”

I ignored the ongoing conversation about the possible health risks of my caffeine addiction, instead focusing on pouring the burning liquid down my throat as quickly as possible.

“And what about you, Mr. Rockstar? What’ll you have?”

“Uhm,” He scratched his head, squinting at the menu boards above us. “Gimme a Hangover Cure please, with a side of extra bacon and an Irish coffee.”

Rita raised an eyebrow, her lips pursing. “I’m going to go ahead and assume that you really like pancakes wrapped in bacon and are not, in any way, hungover. Also, I’m going to assume that you were joking about the Irish part of that coffee.”

“But—“ Alex protested, but Rita ignored him, calling out his order, sans Irish coffee, to the kitchen staff.

“Oh, kid.” I mocked, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “You have so much to learn.”

“Don’t patronize me.” He grumbled, shaking my hand off his shoulder.

Rita walked over to the register, punching at the buttons swiftly. “Will you be paying separately or together?”

“Separ—“

“Together.” I said loudly, cutting Alex off.

He shot me a befuddled look, and I smiled my best I’m-oh-so-innocent smile. “I wasn’t kidding about you buying me coffee, sweetie.” I said, patting his cheek condescendingly.

He pulled out his wallet, letting out a loud huff. “Bitch.” He mumbled, handing Rita a twenty.

“Don’t be rude, Alex. It’s very unbecoming in a lady.” I smirked.

*

“You’re late.” It was five minutes after we’d left Rita’s, and I was shifting nervously on the dark floorboards in the Underground, face to face with a not-so-happy Mac.

I glanced at Alex, searching his face for any sign of a game plan, any way to get out of this. We couldn’t very well tell Mac that I’d had to play truancy officer and haul Alex down here against his will. That explanation would not bode well for either of us. I widened my eyes, silently begging him for a solution. Nothing. Of course. I turned back to Mac, trying to look as innocent as possible. “Right. Well, you know how much time Alex takes with his hair. Such a diva.”

Mac looked between us, searching for any sign of guilt. Alex just shrugged, looking surprisingly nonchalant for someone who was playing it by ear. “You think my hair does this naturally?” He asked, tousling his messy locks. “Scientists estimate that the amount of hairspray that goes into this look is single handedly destroying the ozone layer.”

Mac rolled his eyes, too stressed to smile, and walked away, calling, “Find Jodi. She’ll give you your assignment.”

“I’m being serious!” Alex yelled after him, as I dragged him away by his arm. “They call it The Gaskarthian Effect!”

He gave up, and turned away from Mac’s retreating figure, falling into step with me. “You think he bought it?”

“Nope.” I responded without hesitation, weaving my way through the wave of volunteers that were bustling around the dimly lit expanse of the Underground. “I think he’s smart, and figured if I didn’t tell him, then he didn’t want to know.” I ducked, narrowly avoiding a chair that someone had flung through the air.

“Sorry!” a voice called from across the floor area, but I couldn’t see them through the sea of people separating us.

“S’alright!” I called back, brushing myself off and turning back to Alex. “But you sure caught on quick.”

Alex smirked, leap-frogging over a girl who was squatted down, hammering something into the ground. “It’s a talent. Impressed?”

“Frightened.” I retorted, and Alex laughed. “Now where is this Jodi girl?”

“Did someone say my name?” a nervous-sounding voice came from directly behind me. I squeaked, jumping about ten feet in the air. I could hear Alex laughing, but I was too busy whirling around in search of the person who had just spoken. “S-s-orry.” The voice came again, but this time from a clear, tangible source. A girl had popped up from behind the stack of boxes near me, holding a very Mac-esque clipboard. She was tattooed, with giant blue eyes that were only magnified by her wire-framed glasses. So magnified, in fact, that her entire head appeared to be nothing but two huge, aqua colored eyes. Her navy blue hair was cut right below her ears, pin straight and shining in the soft lighting of our surroundings. She pushed her glasses further up her nose with trembling hands. It seemed, after further inspection, that there was not a part of this girl that was not trembling. She was a quaking, quivering mess from head to toe. It was like she was stuck in a perpetual state of nervousness, her body shaking incessantly, and her wide eyes watering slightly, full of apprehension. “I- I- didn’t mean to scare you.” She stuttered, eyeing me nervously, as if I was going to start screaming any second.

“Oh, no, that’s fine! I just didn’t see you, that’s all.” I assured her, giving her my best warm smile.

“S-s-orry.” She repeated, looking at the ground.

“Don’t be!” I said, still smiling, hoping she would calm down quickly so I could get my assignment and get out of this awkward conversation as quickly as possible. After a beat of silence, I realized she was still examining the floorboards nervously. “Anyway,” I attempted to segue-way, “I’m Piper, and this is Alex, and you’re obviously Jodi.” Her gaze remained fixated on the ground. I sighed, trying again. “And, Mac said that,” at the mention of Mac’s name, her head shot up, and even though she was still shaking, her eyes had lost all trace of apprehension, instead, she appeared to be completely focused, her stare harsh and unwavering. “uhm, that we had to look for a Jodi to get our assignments from. You wouldn’t happen to be the Jodi in question, would you?”

“Y-y-e,” she cleared her throat, giving a slight shake of her head, as if to rid herself of her nerves, and attempted again. “I mean, yes. That’s me.” Her voice was strong this time, firm, as if she had something to prove. She held the clipboard up to her face once again, tracing a quaking finger down the paper and pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “Alex and Piper, Alex and Piper” she mumbled, squinting. “Ah, uhm, yes. You guys are going to be assisting the tech crew today.” She looked at us, as if to make sure we’d received the proper information, and then she gave me a slight nod, satisfied, and turned away, moving back into the mass of boxes, mumbling to herself.

I turned to Alex, my eyes widening. “I guess we’re assisting the tech crew.” I turned, walking towards the soundboard, Alex right next to me.

“That girl,” he observed, nodding back towards the pile of boxes. “Is the human manifestation of an over-excited Chihuahua. You know, when they get really excited and do that uncontrollable shaking and peeing thing? Yep. That’s her.” I smacked his chest, giving him a withering glare. “Ow! What the fuck?!” He cried, rubbing his chest.

“I know it’ll be quite a challenge for you, but when you’re talking to me, try to stifle the asshole inside of you, okay?” I turned on my heel and stalked away from him. Obviously, I wasn’t all that upset that he’d insulted Jodi, seeing as I’d just met her and our relationship had been, so far, at best, awkward. But this whole thing was becoming a little too weird for me. I had been dreading this day all week long, fearing it’s events like a supermodel feared carbs. I’d been expecting to contemplate suicide, or to fly into a homicidal rage. I’d even brought earplugs in the event that Alex’s incessant douchebag remarks became too much to handle. But today had not gone as I’d expected it to. Not by a long shot. First we were having breakfast with each other, exchanging banter that wasn’t biting or malicious, and walking, side by side, with one another for more that a few minutes at a time, and now he was joking with me? What the hell was going on here? What was he after? Surely, he wasn’t being friendly. There was no way he was being friendly. If there was one thing I had learned about Alex Gaskarth, it was that he was never friendly. Not to me, at least. I wasn’t falling for that whole charade this time. He was a dick, and he and I would never be anything close to amicable. I wasn’t going to be that stupid again. We were working together. That meant we had to be civil, not friendly.

“As long as you promise to take your Midol before you talk to me!” He called after me, his voicing teeming with frustration.

*

“Bob, those lights go over there, where Cindy is. No, I don’t care if you two are fighting, go give her the lights.” I gave the Bob in question an amicable slap on the back, “Man up, buddy.”

It was three hours after we had been given our assignments, and my job had kind of evolved from assisting the tech crew to directing the tech crew. And thankfully, I hadn’t had any unusually unpleasant run-ins with Gaskarth since our spat earlier that morning.

The crackling of the incoming feed from my walkie-talkie had become a steady background noise to all of my movements in the past few hours, so I didn’t realize the noise was directed at me until a few moments after it had begun.

“Colins!” the invisible voice barked through the small, blue box on my hip.

I jumped, looking around for the voice for a moment, before I realized that it wasn’t coming from a person at all, in fact, it had come from a machine. Right I thought, smacking myself lightly on the forehead and grabbing the small device.

“This is Commander Colins speaking,” I replied in my deepest, most suave, man-ish voice, a smile appearing on my face.

I could practically feel Mac rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna need you to come fix the electrical box, it’s jammed again.”

“Roger that. 10-4.” I chuckled in reply.

“Colins…” he groaned, his voice strained and tense.

“I’ll be there in a second,” I replied, dropping the gruff, man tone and returning to my usual voice. I began the trek backstage, walkie-talkie still in hand. “Oh, and Mac, do me a favor?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “sure, Piper. What is it?”

“Untwist your panties before I get there. You’re doing that over-anxious, over-edgy thing again. And let me tell you, it is not a good fit for you. Relax.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “You got it, Commander Colins.”

When I arrived to the backstage area, I was hit, full force by a wall of heat that would’ve made the people down in Texas cringe. The sheer amount of people who were working backstage, bands, volunteers, handymen, tech guys, was suffocating all of the air out of the small, enclosed space. As I wove through the throngs of people backstage, I could feel a bead of sweat roll down my face, sliding down my forehead, flowing past my cheek, and dropping off my chin and into the black linoleum below.

I slid around a couple who were in the midst of a heated debate about set-lists, and a boy who was carrying a box full of multicolored guitar picks, before finally reaching my destination: the electrical box.

The electrical box is an old, rusty metal box that’s been around for almost as long as the Underground itself (and let me tell you, that’s a long-ass time). The Underground’s, erm-- antiquity, is part of its charm. The fact that it has history and character is a big part of its appeal. But the electric box is neither charming nor appealing in any way. It’s rusty, and old, and extremely uncooperative. If the Underground were a nursing home, full of sweet, loving senior citizens that you wanted to listen to, each brimming with interesting stories and experiences, the electrical box would be that one, cranky old man, who does nothing but moan and yell and argue. It’s the bane of my (and many of my co-worker’s) existence. It does this awesome thing where it stops working, which of course, is a problem, seeing as it is the sole control-center of all light in the whole venue. And of course, there isn’t an easy way to fix it, because as soon as it stops working, it jams its door shut, which is fucking fantastic, because then, you have to keep jimmying it until it decides to open.

Currently, there was approximately 20 people gathered around the box in question, each trying their hand at opening the damn thing. The electrical box, though, remained obstinate, its door holding steady, regardless of the efforts that had been made to open it. I pushed through the crowd of people, arriving at the box. There was a boy tugging on the handle, his muscles taut and sweat rolling down his face. He was putting everything he had into tugging on its flimsy, thin metal handle. I tapped his shoulder lightly. “Can I try?” I asked calmly, nodding my head towards the box.

He looked me up and down, uncertain. “Uhm, yeah, sure. You can try. I don’t know how much luck you’ll have. This thing is like, super glued or something.”

I smiled. He moved aside and I stepped up to the box. I faced it, my eyes narrowing, zeroing in on its rusty paint job.

Its just me and you, you little shit. Mano a mano.

I grabbed the handle, expertly jimmying it, moving it around, shaking it. Finally, I heard the familiar click! from inside the box. “Screwdriver.” I said, sticking my hand out, waiting for the tool to land in my palm.

There was a scrambling noise from behind me, and I felt something metal land in my hand. I wedged the screw driver between the door and the box, smiling victoriously. With one quick flick of my wrist, the door opened. A cheer sounded from the crowd behind me. I turned around, throwing my hands up in triumph.

When the crowd had cleared, there was still one person left standing there: Jodi. She looked nervous as ever, her hands intertwined awkwardly and her foot tapping the floor with a vicious speed that one usually reserves for heroin addicts, and steroid-injected athletes.

I tilted my head to the side, looking at her questioningly. “Can I help you with something, Jodi?” I asked, shooting her what I hoped was a friendly, approachable smile.

She looked at me, as if realizing I was still there, her daze broken. She looked like she wanted to say something, and she opened her mouth, hesitantly. “I, uhm—could you…” she broke off, shaking her head quickly, and looked at her fingers, which she had begun to twiddle nervously. “Uhm, no… nevermind. Forget it.”

I gave her an inquisitive look, but chose not to push it; I didn’t want to scare her off by being too pushy. I wanted her to be comfortable around me, and I didn’t think that being overly-aggressive and relentless was the way to this girl’s good side. So instead of pursuing the subject, I just smiled again, giving her a slight nod, and turned on my heel, making my way through the crowd once again.

As I began my journey through the crowd, weaving around groups of people and in-between conversations, I allowed my senses to fade out, once again allowing the steady hum of conversation to become the background music to my hard passage across the stage area. I had become so skilled at allowing the noises around me to fade to a steady buzzing, that I didn’t even notice someone calling my name until I was well across the stage area.

“Piper! Piper!” The voice was nervous, urgent, determined. I turned to see Jodi charging at me, full speed, through the crowd, her eyes focused and movements, though slightly shaky, resolute. I stopped, turning to wait for her, as she parted the sea of people, urgently trying to make her way over to where I was. As she approached, I noticed that she was shaking, sweating, and breathing heavily. She had been running. My senses suddenly perked up. Whatever she was going to say, it was important. “I—“she stopped to take another heaving gulp of air, “I—need your help.”

I looked at her: a trembling, perspirating, gasping mess. Everything about her was messy, unplanned: chaos. And yet, in the midst of her messiness, her eyes were shining, focused. Her jaw was set. She was determined. There was something that needed to be fixed, and she really needed my help. “Sure. Anything you need.”

*

“Okay, I know I agreed to help you and all, but what do you want me to do here?” I looked around the dimly lit hallway, looking for something that needed fixing, a situation whose urgency matched that of the look in Jodi’s eyes, but all I could see was a long, dark hallway with a men’s bathroom at its end. She didn’t reply, instead gulping, and pointing a shaky finger at the bathroom.

What the fuck?

I made my way down the dark hallway, taking slow, tentative steps toward the suddenly ominous-looking door. As I approached the male stick figure plastered on the wooden door, I hesitated, and I could hear a squeak of fear come from Jodi. I felt like I was about to walk in on something terrifying. What could possibly have made Jodi such a wreck? What was going on here? What was behind that door. Judging by the way she’s acting, I thought it’s a dead body or something.

As the door neared, I began hearing noises. Strange, guttural groans. I looked back at Jodi, who made pantomimed ushering me forward from her place at the end of the hallway. I took another few steps, and then grasped the brass handle of the door. Slowly, hesitantly, I pushed it open.

I peered inside cautiously, still expecting to see a body lying in a pool of blood, or maybe even like, a mutated animal, or something. Instead, I found a group of three boys, all curled in fetal position, faces blanched and sweating, shivers racking their bodies. And the most charming detail of the whole, pathetic picture? They were each surrounded by a pool of their own vomit. The whole room smelled like a sewer system, and they were each groaning and retching and clutching their stomachs.

As soon as the realization of what I was looking hit me, I jumped back, slamming the door shut behind me. “Uhm,” I squeaked, turning to look at Jodi, who was still standing a few feet behind me, “what the hell is that?”

She cleared her throat, shaking harder than ever, “That,” she replied, “is the headlining band for tonight.”

I looked back to the door, where the retching noises were increasing in both frequency and volume, something that was neither promising nor assuring. “Oh, shit.” I said, turning back to her, where I met her nervous, wide-eyed gaze with a frightened look of my own.

“Oh shit is right.” She whispered, eyeing the men’s room door anxiously.

I looked between her and the door. Jodi. The door. Jodi. The door. Jodi. The door. Jodi. The door. Jodi. The door. Jodi. The door. Jodi. The door. I racked my brain frantically for any quick solutions I could think of.

Think, Piper, think.

“Aha! Okay, there are plenty of other local bands that could—“ I began but Jodi cut me off with a nervous shake of her head.

“I’ve called every single one of them. Nobody’s willing to come down tonight. Either they’re haven’t had enough practice or they’re busy.”

“You’re sure you called everybody?”

“I called everyone in The Book.”

I ran a hand over my face in frustration. The Book was a small, black, leather -bound book, a notebook of sorts, that Mac had bought a few years back. Inside, he kept a running list of every contact he had in the music industry, including all the local bands he had ever booked, or ever wanted to book. Every phone number, email address, and actual address Mac had at his disposal was in that book. If Jodi had called all of the bands in the book, and none of them had been available, then we were officially out of options.

Time to call in the big guns.

“Alright, alright. Uhm, where’s Mac? He’ll know exactly what to do.” I asked, moving towards the threshold that separated the hallway from the floor area of the Underground. Jodi moved to block my path, holding up a hand to stop me.

“He’s out.”

“Out? Mac? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. He said we had everything under control,” she gulped, her huge blue eyes swimming, “and that since I was the assistant manager, I could ‘run the show for a little bit.’. He mentioned going out for coffee, to ‘relax’ or something.”

I could tell she was beginning to panic, and for good reason. This was not a good situation to be in. Her foot was bouncing again, and her slight quivers had morphed into full-fledged, un-restrained tremors.

I pulled out my phone, flipping it open and scrolling through my list of contacts quickly. “Alright, well, we have to call him.” It was the only option we had left. I couldn’t bear to cancel the show. The amount of work that had gone into this show was unbelievable, and to cancel this late in the game would be a major disappointment to everybody who had worked their asses off today (including me).

But Jodi placed her trembling hand on top of mine quickly, effectively impairing my ability to press any buttons on my phone. I studied her hand for a moment, confused. Then, I looked up at her quizzically. “Don’t. Please.” She must have noticed how incredibly confused I looked, but she cleared her throat, pressing on. “Look, I know it’s silly, but today’s supposed to be the day that I prove to Mac that I can run one of these things. If I can handle this, he’ll let me start running a few of the smaller shows. And I’ve been working my ass off for months to get an opportunity to prove myself, and this is perfect. I was hoping you’d have some idea of how to handle this, since you seemed so calm back there at the electrical box. But I don’t want to involve Mac. I want him to know that I can handle these things on my own.” Gone was the hesitant, stuttering voice that Jodi had displayed so prominently when I’d first met her. Instead, her voice was clear and strong, her words coming fast and loud, her tone pleading and desperate. “Look, I don’t expect you to be a miracle worker or anything, but if you have any ideas, anything at all, that doesn’t involve telling Mac, I’d be forever grateful.”

I looked at her, frowning. I really wanted to help her, honestly. But I couldn’t, for the life of me, think of anything that could possibly make this situation better. I pressed my thumb flat against the space between my eyebrows, trying to focus. My vision blurred as I thought, long and hard. How to fix this, how to fix this, how to fix this. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at my ends. My brain had never felt so empty.

I wished Carter was here. He would know exactly what to—

“That’s it!” I cried suddenly, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over both of us. Jodi jumped, a small, frightened squeak escaping her lips.

She clutched her chest, panting. “What?”

I grinned, my eyes twinkling with excitement. “I think I have a plan.”

She let out an excited giggle. “Seriously?!” She squealed.

“Seriously,” I affirmed with a slight nod of my head, scrolling through my contacts again. I scrolled past name after name until, finally, I came to the one I was looking for. I pressed the call button, listening to the soft ringing for a moment.

“You are currently interrupting my Telanovela Time, which is a sacred time. You better be on death’s door or some shit, cause—“

“Carter. I need your help.”

*

Thirty minutes and five phone calls later, I was sitting in one of the practice rooms of The Store Which Currently Has No Name, checking my watch.

“Mara, when did your friends say they’d be here?” I asked anxiously, looking over at the petite girl, who was situated against the wall opposite from me, picking at a hole in her tattered jeans.

She groaned, throwing her head into the wall behind her exasperatedly. “I’m not even going to bother answering that.”

“You know, maybe if you’d stop asking the same question every two seconds, the time wouldn’t pass so slowly.” Carter remarked from his place on the floor, where he was sprawled out, spread-eagle style.

“I can’t help it. This is a long-shot idea, and it’ll only work if you guys have as much time together as possible.” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Just then, the door opened, and out from behind it stepped two people. The first: a girl, with long, almost white-blonde hair, and an aura of superiority surrounding her. She was tight lipped, unsmiling, and as soon as she caught sight of us, her immaculately tweezed eyebrows furrowed into a frown. Needless to say, I was not too excited at the prospect of having to work with her. But I smiled anyways, motioning for her to sit, which she did not. Instead, she looked at the ground, wrinkled her nose, and walked over to the wall opposite the door, leaning against it. And she remained standing. Carter and I exchanged a look, but said nothing.

“Hey there, stranger,” a voice said from beside me. I turned, momentarily taken aback. I’d been so busy watching Snobby Blonde; that I hadn’t even noticed the second person walk in and immediately plop down next to me. I also hadn’t noticed who the second person was. So imagine my surprise, when I turned my head to the source of the voice, to find myself staring directly into a pair of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

“Uhm, hi!” I said, looking at him, staggered. “August, right?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, and I was once again privy to the white gate of glory that was his teeth. “You’re Piper, right? The chick with the possessive boyfriend?”

“Uhm, yeah. But he’s not my—“

“Woah, woah there.” Mara interrupted, looking between us. “How do you two fuckers know each other?”

“We met at Merry in Maryland.” I said, shooting August a look. I hoped he wouldn’t relay the exact circumstances of our meeting, because that seemed like a little bit too much drama to divulge right now, especially since Mara would definitely want to talk about it, and I was almost positive that that conversation would lead to the “Piper and Alex sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G” conversation, which was a conversation I’d made my mission to avoid like the plague. Besides, we were pressed for time. We couldn’t afford to waste time arguing about meaningless, ridiculous ideas.

August caught my look. “Yeah, she was working a booth I bought a shirt from.” I sighed, relieved, as he steered the subject out of dangerous waters skillfully and quickly. “Anyways, Mara sounded so frantic on the phone, I didn’t really manage to get a good grasp on what was going on. Why were you so desperate for our services again?”

“Okay,” Carter answered, rolling over on his stomach and propping himself up onto his elbows. “Here’s the situation. We have a local show scheduled tonight, a pretty big show. We’re expected to have a full house, and our volunteers have been working all day to make the Underground spiffy and presentable. Unfortunately, the headliners for tonight, The Tinks, had some really bad sushi last night, and are currently in no condition to play a show.” August opened his mouth to interject, but Carter quickly cut him off. “We checked for replacements. Turns out the Baltimore area is fresh out of local bands that are willing to give up their Saturday night plans for a replacement slot at a tiny local venue.”

“So instead of giving up and canceling,” I began, picking up after Carter.

“Which would be the smart thing to do.” Mara interjected, throwing me a look. I knew what that look meant. Mara wasn’t exactly on board with this whole idea, but I’d managed to convince her to do it, in exchange for a cookie cake and a large pepperoni pizza, no less.

“We decided to form our own replacement band!” I finished with a flourish, ignoring Mara’s comment.

“A replacement band?” Snobby Blonde spoke for the first time, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was going to be difficult to convince, I could tell.

I gave her my best car-salesman smile. “Yeah, you know, Carter’s fantastic on the bass,” I pointed to the blonde hair boy in question, and he gave her a modest shrug, “and Mara’s a total badass on the drums,” she gave a slight nod, a half-grin appearing on her face, “and from what I hear, August is a beast on the guitar. And you’re an unbelievably talented singer. So you just have to practice a few songs, make up a band name, and you’ll be good to go!” I gave her an enthusiastic smile, which she in turn rolled her eyes at.

Well, this is going swimmingly.

“So, let me get this straight,” August cut in, looking at me, “In this imaginary band, should it come fruition, I am the guitarist, Cassie is the singer,” So, Snobby Blonde did have a name. “Mara is the drummer, and Carter is the bassist.” He looked at me, as if waiting for confirmation, and I nodded. “So what are you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know.” I said uncertainly. It had been my idea, but what did that make my imaginary title? Creative Director? No, that didn’t sound right. “I’m, uhm, the manager, I guess?”

He shot me a disbelieving look. “The manager?” He shook his head in disgust. ”Girl, I’ve heard you sing. There is no way that we are forming a fake band without your vocals.”

I smiled shyly. I knew I could sing. I had always been able to. And I did. Often. Loudly. But not for any other purpose then to entertain myself. I had never even dreamed of singing for other people. It seemed like a ridiculous idea. Just because I didn’t sing badly, didn’t mean I sang exceptionally well, either. I wasn’t vocalist materials, and I wasn’t naive enough to delude myself into thinking I was. “Actually, there is. Sorry, kid. These pipes are for recreational purposes only.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by the previously nameless Cassie (aka Snobby Blonde). “This is a dumb idea.” She stated stiffly, her nose in the air.

My eyes widened, but I chose not to be offended by her choice of words. “Well, I’m sure you’ll feel better after you’ve practiced a bit—“

“No.” she interrupted, her eyes icy and her mouth pulled into a thin line. “It’s dumb. It’ll never work. You’re all idiots for thinking you could pull this off.”

This bitch wants to get slapped.

I shook my head, internally battling my anger. Now was not the time, nor was it the place to begin any sort of argument. I was here to sell her this idea, not punch her in the face. I had to do this. For Mac, for Jodi, for the Underground. This was not about her. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to release the tension and anger building inside of me. When my lids fluttered open moments later, I felt much calmer.

Carter, on the other hand, had not tried to regain any of his composure. “Excuse me?” he barked, his eyes flashing.

Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “This. Is. Dumb.” She spat looking down at us. “I refuse to be a part of this train wreck.”

I grimaced. Wrong move, Blondie. Carter shot up, now nose to nose with her. “If you’re so above all of this, how about you leave?”

My eyes widened. We could not have a band without a vocalist. This was not a good direction to be moving in.

“Maybe I w—“ she stopped, looking past Carter and to the door, which had just been swung open, revealing the only person on the planet who could’ve possibly made this situation worse for me: Mr. Alex Gaskarth. Just as I felt my face fall into a frown, I watched Cassie’s face lift into a conniving smirk. Her eyes lit up, and one of her eyebrows lifted into a text book “come hither” look.

“Uhm, hi.” He said, sending us one of his infamous, suave grins. “Sorry to interrupt.” Like hell you are. “But I was wondering if one of you had the key to the sound booth?”

“Here.” I spat, taking it out of my pocket and lobbing it at him, secretly aiming for his face

No such luck. He caught it, stuck it in his pocket, and sent me the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that he reserved especially for me, and me alone. “Thanks, doll.” He winked, blowing me a gag-inducing kiss, and then, just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.

“On second thought,” said Cassie, her eyebrow still raised, and her gaze focused on the door Alex had just left through. “This might not be such a bad idea after all.”

*

“What did I miss?” Mac asked, sidling up to me. We were sitting side-stage, watching the third band of the night, about four songs from premiering our faux-replacement band The Embers (don’t ask me how we came up with the name. After Cassie had agreed to help, albeit for all the wrong reasons, it had all become a muddled, chaotic blur). Everyone looked pretty nervous. They had every right to be. With only an hour and half of rushed practice as a band under their belts, The Embers were definitely at a disadvantage. Nerves were to be expected. But still, there was no one who was more nervous than (surprisingly) Cassie. I had seen her hunched over the toilet bowl, puking, way too often for my liking in the past hour and a half. Currently, she was breathing into a paper bag in the corner of the room, shaking and sweating.

“Not much.” I replied nonchalantly, my eyes still on the band onstage. “Your headliner had to be taken to the emergency room.”

Mac turned to me, checking to see if I was joking. When he realized that I was serious, he paled, his eyes widening. “What?” he hissed.

“Yeah. Bad sushi or something. You should’ve seen it, it was gruesome.”

He eyed me, bewildered. I could see lines of worry etching themselves into his face. “But you found a replacement from The Book, right?”

Unperturbed by his frantic expression, I continued watching the stage, unfazed. “Nope.” I replied easily, growing more and more amused by the second. I was going to milk this for all it was worth.

”WHAT?” He shouted, his forehead breaking out with beads of sweat.

I chuckled, finally turning to face him. “Calm down, Big Mac. It’s all good.”

“It’s all goo—“ he muttered, his voice shaking, “IT’S ALL GOOD?!” I nodded, smiling calmly. “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMN MIND? WE HAVE A SOLD OUT SHOW AND NO HEADLINER. HOW ON EARTH COULD THAT POSSIBLY BE GOOD?”

I put a hand on his shoulder, a friendly, comforting hand. “Jodi handled it.” I assured him with a warm smile, finally relenting. I didn’t want to give the poor guy a heart attack, after all.

His face began to regain some of its color. “Jodi handled it?” He asked, looking dazed, like he had just gone on a rollercoaster and experienced some terrible whiplash.

“Yep,” I reassured him, “she was absolutely fantastic, like some sort of fucking super-hero.”

“Super hero?” He repeated, looking a little less confounded than he had before.

“Uh-huh.” I said smiling. “She came up with this awesome plan. Now everything’s fine.”

His face returned to it’s usual color, and he shook himself out of his cloud of confusion. He looked alert, awake, Mac-ish again. “Tell me about this awesome plan.” He said, raising an eyebrow and wrapping a conspiratorial arm around me.

And so I told him everything, from the call to Carter, to seeing August again, to Cassie’s bitchiness, to Alex’s interruption, to Cassie’s agreement. “Meet The Embers, aka The Dream Team.” I said, pointing to each member of our temporary band with an exaggerated flourish. “Carter, Cassie, Mara andddddd, last but most certainly not least, August!” I finished, my words punctuated with game-show-host like excitement.

“Well,” he said, with a grin, clapping his hands together, “it certainly seems as though Jodi is on top of things.”

“She’s a total rockstar.” I replied, shooting Jodi, who was standing a few feet away, a wink.

“Thank you! This is our last song.” The lead singer of the band onstage shouted into his mic, smiling. There were various pools of sweat accumulating across the ridges and pockets of his body, and he was out of breath and exhausted, but, in all honesty, I’d never seen anyone look happier.

I turned back to our group, ushering the “band” forward. “Alright guys. Everyone ready?” Mara, Carter and August each nodded nervously. Cassie however, did not reply, instead continuing to breathe into the brown paper bag she had clamped over her mouth. I chose to ignore her worrisome silence, instead, I pressed on, smiling. “Okay then. You know what they say: break a leg!”

The band onstage was wrapping up, their song winding down, and the audience cheering happily. The Embers lined up by the side-stage, anxiously awaiting their turn. I watched as the band waved at the still-cheering crowd, smiling and slowly making their way offstage, bouncing with excitement. After a moment, the noise from the crowd died down. Carter looked at me, and I nodded. He shook his head quickly, as if to rid himself of his nerves, and, bass in hand, ran onstage, waving at the crowd. They cheered loudly, even though most of them had no idea who he was.

Mara watched him go on, waited a beat, and then let out a deep breath, running onstage as well, giving the audience a mock-curtsey, drumsticks in hand, and making her way over to the stool behind the drum-set, twirling her sticks nervously.

August shook himself out, loosening himself up, bouncing on his toes anxiously, before hopping onstage, waving at the raucous crowd, and assuming his position onstage, pink guitar at his side.

After a beat, the crowd calmed to semi-chaotic, and I nodded at Cassie, giving her the go-ahead to approach the stage. She didn’t budge.

Shitshitshit.

I looked over at Mac, who was watching the situation unfold, wide-eyed. “Cassie,” I hissed, motioning for her to step forward onto the stage. She just stared at me, wild eyed, from over the top of her ever inflating and deflating paper bag.

The audience had begun to quiet down, and the three-fourths of The Embers that were onstage looked on, horrified, as their lead singer stood, frozen, side-stage, her eyes wide with fear. The audience began to look around at one another, confused. This situation had quickly escalated from slightly worrisome to total shit-storm, and it was getting worse by the second. I had to do something, and fast.

I scampered over to the petrified vocalist, honing in on all of my persuasive skills, determined to make her go onstage. “Cassie,” I whispered, once I’d neared her, “I know you’re scared out of your mind right now, but you have to do this, okay? There’s no one else with enough talent to pull this off, do you understand?” She nodded slightly, taking a shaky step torward me, her cheeks puffing out a bit. Progress. “I know you think you’re gonna fuck up, or they won’t like you, or whatever. But you need to listen to me. You’re a fantastic singer, I just listened to you for an hour and a half, and I assure you, you’re talented, okay?” She nodded stiffly, giving another unsteady lurch forward. Her face was turning a weird shade of green, but I ignored it, pressing on. She was close to me now, so I grabbed her shoulders, giving her a slight shake. “You’ve got to believe in yourself, girl. Everybody else already doe—“ I stopped, midsentence, because the recipient of my inspirational monologue was no longer looking at me. Instead, she was looking at my shoes. The same shoes that she had just puked on. She had physically ripped the paper bag away from her mouth, hunched over, and puked on my shoes. She remained hunched over for a minute, regaining her breath, before standing up, wiping off her mouth, and walking away. She disappeared into the back, moving slowly, with purpose, as if nothing had even happened, as if she had not just sprayed her half-digested lunch all over my bright red, brand new Converse.

Seriously, Universe?

Just then, a figure appeared by my side. It was Mac, and he looked focused. He was moving purposefully. He had a plan. He had moved into Damage Control mode, which was reassuring, since I was currently experiencing a someone-vomited-on-my-shoes-while-I-was-trying-to-give-them-a-confidence-boosting-speech induced daze, and was in no shape to come up with another solution. “Hand me your shoes.” He said, putting out a waiting palm. I slipped my feet out of my shoes, thankfully managing to avoid the vomit, grabbed them by the heels, and handed them to him. “Hold this,” he instructed, handing me the microphone Cassie had previously been clutching. I took it, looking at it confusedly.

Then, he put my shoes down on the ground, and turned to me, a resolute look crossing his face. Grabbing my shoulders, he looked me dead in the eyes. He sighed, his tone more serious than I had ever heard it before. “Knock ‘em dead, kid.”

And with that, he whirled me around so that I was facing the stage, and shoved me out into the harsh glare of the bright lights.