Just Keep Your Head Above

I squinted, willing my eyes to adjust to the glare of the lights. It seemed as if every light blub in the whole venue was being pointed directly at my face, temporarily blinding me, and sending my brain into a frenzy.

This has got to be a dream. A very, very bad, surprise!-now-you-have-to-sing-in-front-of-six-hundred-people kind of dream.

I could feel my feet, suddenly disconnected from the part of my brain that controlled my balance and coordination, stumble awkwardly across the stage. They were stuttering, stunted movements, and I began to feel very much like a small child, taking her first, shaky steps. Each forward movement was more hesitant, more uncertain, than the last. As I moved further and further from the familiar warmth and soft lighting of the backstage area, I felt more and more exposed, naked. Everything around me, the stage, the people, the sounds, the smells, was faded, hazy. My legs felt like Jello, ready to give out from under me at any moment.

Inexplicably, my knees buckled. I had stopped, I realized. For what reason, I wasn’t sure, as I was still in the midst of a dazed trance, the world around me foggy and faded, like a memory from long ago, pressed in the back of my mind, just out of reach. I could feel my feet inverting, pointing towards each other, and I crossed my arms, grasping my upper-arms in fear. Fear of what, I wasn’t sure. In fact, to be honest, I didn’t even know what I was doing, or for that matter, where I was. It was like everything had stopped, and I had begun looking at my surroundings like I’d look at a picture taken through an out of focus lens. Everything was blurred, hazy, the lines undefined and the objects and people melding together to form hazy shapes and colors.

Suddenly, all at once, I felt a whoosh of air burst through the imaginary earplugs that had been turning the sounds around me into muddled, indefinable murmurs, and my eyes focused quickly, too quickly, on the scene before me. I was standing, directly in front of the microphone, looking out into the crowd, who were collectively eyeing me, whispering to one another. Abruptly, I became very aware of myself. It seemed as though there was not an eye in the whole place that was not fixated on me, the awkward creature who had just stumbled, gracelessly, onto the stage. They were all waiting, watching. I began to feel the full effect of the lighting that was aimed at me, and I tugged at the collar of my t-shirt. In a very short amount of time, I had gone from feeling cold and exposed, to feeling much, much too warm, and a little over-dressed. A bead of sweat broke out on my forehead as I watched the crowd as they watched me. Time seemed to pass achingly slowly, my frightened, nervous eyes connecting with their confused, tentative ones, one by one.

I knew I was supposed to be doing something, I was supposed to be taking action, “saving the day”, so to speak, moving past this bout of awkward tension and bring them the hour of entertainment they’d been promised. But I couldn’t do anything but stare. All these people, watching me, expecting me to be amazing and talented and brave and unperturbed. Expecting me to know exactly what to do, to be a seemingly bottomless pool of talent, unfazed by their gawking stares. I wasn’t. I couldn’t be that for these people, these strangers. The crowd slowly morphed, as I looked on nervously, from a group of confused people who had come here to be entertained, to a conglomerate of people who, in my eyes, wanted to watch me fail. I began to empathize with Cassie. Now that the full weight of the situation had been presented to me, vomiting was no longer out of the question. I rubbed my palms, now slicked with sweat against my jean-clad thighs, just standing there, shifting nervously, watching the crowd watch me. My throat felt so unbelievably dry, scratchy, that, in that moment, it seemed as though I’d never make another noise again. My eyes scanned the expectant crowd. I could feel my new “bandmates” eyeing me, nervously awaiting the cue that I was ready, but I wasn’t. I didn’t think I’d ever be. As my eyes made their way across the faces in the crowd, scanning each confused expression and eager look, something caught my eye. Something that made me double take. Something that made my heart rate increase tenfold, although I couldn’t, for the life of me, tell you why.

Alex.

Alex Gaskarth.

He was standing there, in the dead center of the crowd, watching me. Arms crossed, lips tugged into a bemused smirk, eyebrow cocked mockingly, eyes bright, caramel colored jewels, dancing and twinkling in the dim lighting.

My eyes narrowed. That fucker thinks this is funny.

Here I was, standing onstage in front of everyone, having a full-fledged, unadulterated panic attack, and he was sitting there, mocking me? He was watching on, as I made a fool of myself in front of hundreds of people, for his own amusement? Was this some sort of sick joke? What the hell was wrong with him? My jaw tightened. I was being mocked, I was the butt of the joke, and all I could do was stand there and allow it to happen.

Then, all at once, it hit me. Why I was here, what I was doing, who I was doing it for. This was for Mac. For the Underground. For Jodi. For the volunteers who had worked their asses off all morning to make sure this thing went off without a hitch. That’s why I was here, that’s why I was doing this. And nothing, no crowd, no bright lights, no nerves, no cocky asshole, was going to stop me.

I balled my fists, focusing my stare on the douche-bag in front of me. He thought this was funny? He thought I was going to get up here and choke, all for his personal entertainment? That wasn’t going to happen. He caught my harsh, withering glare, and his smirk widened. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes shining with a fire I’d seen before. He was challenging me. He was telling me, silently, that I couldn’t do this. That I couldn’t do what he did, that I would never be as good as him. A wave of defiance ricocheted through me. Who said? Who said I couldn’t get up here, who said I couldn’t do this? I felt my face settle into a defiant glare, and I kept him in my peripheral as I turned to Carter, giving him a slow, deliberate nod. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “are you sure?” and I bit my lip, nodding again. He turned back to Mara, giving her a nod, and shot August a look.

The song began, and the crowd warmed instantly, recognizing the familiar tune. Since we obviously hadn’t had the time to write any original songs, we were playing an hour long cover set, and this particular song was the textbook definition of a crowd favorite: loud, energetic, and well-known. And yet, as Mara rolled the opening drum line, and Carter came in on bass, my eyes didn’t travel across the over-excited crowd, who seemed to have all but forgotten the awkward tension that had hung in the air, heavily, for the past five minutes. Nope, my eyes held steady, trained on one person in particular. One who wasn’t jumping, or head-banging, or moving at all. He was just standing there, watching me contemptuously, eyes blazing, posture challenging. I pulled the microphone closer to me, inhaling deeply, my eyes still on locked on his.

Everything has fallen to pieces,
Earth is dying; help me Jesus,
We need guidance, we’ve been misled,
Young and hostile, but not stupid.

Corporate leaders, politicians,
Kids can’t vote, adults elect them,
Laws that rule the school and workplace,
Signs that caution: sixteen’s unsafe

I broke away from Alex’s gaze, my eyes washing over the sight before me. The audience, the crowd, however rowdy and out of control they’d been before, was nothing compared to what they were now. They were all singing, in unison, an anthem-ic chant, moving together, no longer a group of individual people, all amassed in one place, but now a mass of bodies, all jumping, all chanting, all having a good time. The sight of it, six hundred people, all joined into one, giant, collective chant, in response to something we were doing, was the most overwhelming, exciting thing I’d ever experienced in my entire life. I had never thought I’d feel as comfortable and completely at home on a stage as I did now. A grin broke out on my face, and I forgot about Alex, if only temporarily, grabbing the microphone out of its stand and pulling it with me, as I ran across the stage, jumping up on one of the speakers.

We really need to, see this through,
We never wanted, to be abused,
We’ll never give up, it’s no use,
If we’re fucked up, you’re to blame.

Let this train wreck burn more slowly,
Kids are victims in this story,
Drown the youth with useless warnings,
Teenage rules, they’re fucked and boring.

We really need to, see this through
We never wanted, to be abused,
We’ll never give up, it’s no use,
If we’re fucked up, you’re to blame.

I hopped off the speaker, skipping across the stage, watching my “band” lose themselves in the music, feeding off the energy of the over-enthused crowd. August was hopping all over the place, doing crazy jumps and kicks. Carter had one foot on the speaker in front of him, and he was engaged in a vicious who-can-sing-louder contest with the crowd. Mara was bashing away at the drums, hair flying wildly, arms moving quickly, head bobbing, her eyes fiery and passionate, and her face more serious than I had ever seen it before, focused intently on the drum set before her. Approaching my mic stand, I leaned over the edge of the stage, sticking a commanding hand out to the crowd, waving at them, ushering them to sing louder. The bass and guitar faded a bit, and the drums disappeared. I shoved the mic out towards the crowd, handing them the reigns.

Everything has fallen to pieces,
Everything has fallen to pieces,
Everything has fallen to pieces,
Everything has fallen to pieces,
Everything has fallen to…

I retracted the mic, bringing it back to my lips, a seemingly-permanent grin etched into my face. The drums came back with full force, bringing the audience to a jump once again. The room felt like it was charged with electricity, the energy bouncing from the stage to the audience and back, like some sort of never -nding, ridiculously fast-paced, vicious circle.

We really need to see this through,
We never wanted, to be abused,
We’ll never give up, it’s no use,
If we’re fucked up, you’re to blame!

I punctuated the last word, finishing with a resounding bang. Once it was over, the crowd cheered, loudly, screaming and clapping excitedly as we looked at each other, unable to fully understand what had just happened. Maybe it was because the crowd was so excited, or that this was our first time at this, but whatever it was, we were staggered. Nothing, not once, in my whole life, had ever made me feel as incredibly, undeniably, alive as I felt now. I stepped back, catching my breath, my pulse racing.

When I looked up again, I was met by the shining, shimmering, chocolate-colored eyes of someone whose infuriating smirk had gotten this ball rolling in the first place. Alex. I’d avoided his harsh, judgmental gaze from the second I’d felt myself lose it to the music. I didn’t want to see the mocking sneer, the ever-amused-at-my-expense expression, the “At least you tried” pitying look that was sure to follow my total and blatant loss of control onstage.

But when I met his eyes, they weren’t mocking, or scornful, or judgmental. Not in the least. They were twinkling happily, his lips twisted into a huge, dimpled grin. I squinted, eyeing him disbelievingly. What the fuck? Was he—was that…was he seriously clapping? I looked around, confused. Was I being Punk’d? What the hell was going on? A second ago, he and I had been waging a silent war, and he’d told me, wordlessly, that I couldn’t do it, that it was too hard for me, that he’d love to see me try to do what he did. I’d read all of that, all of those harsh judgments and snarky criticisms, in the same eyes that were currently shining, smiling happily and praising me. Why, now, had he chosen to be supportive, smiling at me, clapping for me? I looked away, too confused to even begin processing what had just happened.

I gave a quick shake of my head, willing myself to forget everything I had just seen, and push all of the questions it had raised to the back of my mind. I looked out at the crowd, the cheering, rowdy crowd, their screams and claps directed at us. It was overwhelming to say the least, to have a room full of people watching your every move, telling you they approve of what you’ve done, of what you’ve preformed, of what you’ve braved through the insecurities and fear to show them.

I cleared my throat, speaking into the mic, my voice suddenly loud, sure, steady. “Hello, you sexual creatures, you,” I said, smiling as the crowd cheered again. “I don’t know if you were aware, but we are not, unfortunately, The Tinks. We apologize. Tonight, The Tinks weren’t exactly feeling up to playing for you.”

“Because we poisoned them.” August stage-whispered into his mic, and our audience laughed, amused by our stage banter.

“Yep,” I nodded seriously, “We couldn’t help ourselves.”

“Easy targets.” Carter interjected, shrugging nonchalantly.

“And, not to mention, we were just dying to play this fabulous crowd that they managed to rope in.” August picked up, winking at the crowd playfully. Another wave of cheering ensued, enthused and zealous.

“Anywhore,” I spoke, grinning widely. This was fun. Like, really fun. I hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed myself this much since, well, ever. “These two whores are August and Carter, your eye-candy for the night.” I pointed at each boy, respectively, and a gaggle of girls in the front row let out a chorus of squeals and giggles. “That badass behind me,” I jabbed a thumb behind me, “Is Mara, and I’m Piper. We’re in a band called The Embers, and we’ve been instructed to show you guys a good-ass time. Do you guys think you can handle it?!” A deafening roar of approval came in reply, and I nodded. “Alright then. Mara?” I turned to look at the petite girl, shooting her a curt nod.

She, in turn, replied with a nod of her own, grinning widely. “A one! A two! A one, two three, four!” She called, clapping her drumsticks together, over her head, in time with her words.

And with that, we launched into our next song.

*

I bounced offstage, my back to the still cheering, frenzied crowd, adrenaline coursing through my veins, my heart beating at a million miles an hour. I was sweatier than I’d ever been before, my long hair slightly damp and sticking to my neck, and my face, along with every other part of my body, was slicked with my own perspiration. I’d never been this dirty in my life. I felt like I’d just run twenty miles in the Sahara desert, wearing a fully padded, thick jogging suit. My clothes clung to my body in ways that clothes should never cling to anybody’s body. Also, about three songs into our set, I had begun to catch whiffs of my, erm, unpleasant, body odor. Now, as I padded off the stage, shoe-less and drenched in my own body fluids, the smell had gotten so bad, that I physically cringed, my face contracting into a nauseated grimace, every time I so much as moved. I pitied anyone down-wind of me.

To summarize, I was in desperate need of a nice, long, shower.

I moved slowly towards the back, towards the stairs, still in the midst of a stunned daze. I was shocked at how incredibly, exceedingly well that had gone. I mean, I hadn’t really expected to be booed off the stage or anything, but I definitely had not anticipated the level of enthusiasm we had been received with. It all seemed like some big practical joke, some long-winded, exciting dream. I mean, I didn’t sing. Not for massive crowds of people, at least. This was all too weird to process. I shook my head, trying, desperately, to rid myself of the jumble of thoughts that were clouding my mind, pressing themselves against my skull, making my head pound. Too much had happened, too fast. I couldn’t possibly even begin to attempt to understand what I’d just been through. From the rambunctious crowd, to the unprecedented surge of pure adrenalin I’d felt up there, to the, to be quite frank, weird change of heart Alex had had, everything was too much to handle. My pace quickened incrementally with every step I took towards the stairs. I wanted nothing more than to hop in the shower, rid myself of any and all thoughts of the strange day I’d had, and wake up tomorrow, hopefully with a clearer head, and some perspective on the situation I’d suddenly, unexpectedly found myself in. Unfortunately, as with most things in my life, my steady trek towards the stairs, and, hopefully, my apartment, was cut short.

A tattoo laden arm loped itself around my shoulder, strong and demanding, giving me a firm, not-so-gentle tug in the direction of its owner. “Just the closet-vocalist I was looking for.” Mac grinned, and I stumbled forward, into the waiting circle of people who, by the looks on their faces, had also been attacked and roped into the circle against their will.

“Mac.” I nodded tersely, my mind flashing back to the awkward moments before I’d caught Alex’s challenging gaze, how uncomfortable I’d felt, how alone, how exposed. How I’d been shoved out into the waiting, expectant gaze of hundreds of onlookers, without so much as a warning. His plan may have worked out well, but that didn’t mean that his methods of execution were anywhere near praise-worthy.

“Don’t be mad, Piper.” He pleaded, pouting. “I was under a lot of pressure. I don’t articulate well under pressure. You know this. In my head, it was just ‘Go, go go.’ I didn’t feel like I had the time to explain it to you, make sure you’d processed it, and then, when you refused, beg for your help.”

I could feel my expression softening. I knew he was right. We hadn’t had the time to go through all the motions: me, awakening from my from my dazed state, processing what Mac was proposing, refusing Mac’s proposal, arguing with Mac, and finally, reluctantly agreeing. What he had done hadn’t been the most courteous option in the situation, but it certainly was smart. I crossed my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t like being shoved under the bus.”

“Yes, well,” he defended, his expression still sheepish, “it worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes, well,” I replied, mockingly, “it could’ve failed just as easily, couldn’t it have? In fact, for a while there, it almost did fail, and pretty miserably, might I add.”

He shrugged, smiling coquettishly. “I’m just livin’ on a hope and a prayer, baby.” I rolled my eyes, scoffing. I’d given in, forgiven him. Just like that. I couldn’t stay mad at him, and we both knew it. “Anyways,” he continued, now addressing the rest of the circle, which consisted of my “bandmates”, all looking as, if not more, exhausted and sweaty than me, “we need to discuss this.” He gestured at us, looking expectant.

We looked at one another, sweaty, smelly, and confused. “What?” Mara asked, voicing the exact same question that had been running through my head at that very moment.

He looked us, seemingly taken aback. “This.” He waved a hand at us, gesturing between us, as if that were some sort of decipherable explanation. I frowned. What the hell was he talking about? “You guys.” He said, watching our befuddled expressions. “What happened up there. We need to talk about how to proceed from here.”

“Proceed?” Carter asked, looking thoroughly perplexed.

“Yes.” Mac sighed, exasperated. “We need to talk about what the next step is.”

“A shower?” I offered.

He ran a hand across his face, frustration, about what I wasn’t sure, evident. “No.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, like a kindergarten teacher trying to communicate with a particularly dense breed of student. “I mean, what you’re going to do about the future of your band. How you’re going to continue from here on out.”

We exchanged glances. We weren’t a band. We were the product of a well-executed, relatively successful plan. We had all planned this as a one-time affair, a quick-fix to a big problem. Sure, we’d had fun, but that didn’t mean we had to keep this going. None of us were ready to commit to this. Don’t mess with a good thing, right? “We’re not.” I replied slowly, my brows knitting together.

He looked back and forth between each of us, bewildered. “You’re-- not?” We gave a collective shake of our heads, eyes downcast, avoiding his baffled gaze. His brows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed. “Well, why the hell not?”

“Because,” I replied, averting my gaze from his harsh, probing glare. “This,” I nodded at my fellow “bandmates”, who were shifting nervously, “wasn’t real. None of it. We’re not—it was temporary, okay?”

He watched me, eyes flashing. “Temporary? Did you see that crowd? Those people?”

“Yeah, but that was just—“

He cut me off, shaking his head. “That was not ‘just’ anything. They weren’t clapping because they were feeling exceptionally generous. You guys were good. Really, really, good.”

Mara shook her head. “No, we were entertaining. We were decent, and we were having fun. That’s all it takes to give an already pumped crowd a little bit of energy to feed off of each other.”

Mac looked at her, growing more and more agitated by the second. “That crowd was not ‘pumped’ when you stared playing. If anything, they were the exact opposite.” He looked at us expectantly, as if he were waiting for us to begin nodding feverishly in agreement. Seeing that we weren’t going to budge on this issue, he sighed, aggravated. “Look, I’ve seen a lot of bands play in my time. More than you possibly ever imagine. Hundreds, maybe even thousands. And among those thousands, I’ve seen a shitload of really, really bad bands, and really, really mediocre bands. But out of all of those bands, I’ve only seen a handful with real potential. You, my friends, have an ass-full of potential. A lot of people would kill to have the amount of raw, unbridled talent you do. Don’t tell me you’re going to let all that go to waste.” I blinked, taken aback. Mac was not one to sugarcoat the truth. He was an in-your-face, total-honesty-is-my-policy kinda guy. If he said something, it wasn’t to make you feel good. It was because he really, whole-heartedly meant every word of it. I could see my “bandmates” considering his words carefully, their expressions slowly changing from incredulous and resolved to thoughtful and pensive. “Look,” he said, his tone softening, “I’m not going to be able to force you into anything you’re not willing to do. But I want you to think about it. Think about what I said, and what this could lead to. Don’t let this go because you’re scared. It’d be such a waste.” We looked at one another, surprised. Suddenly, Mac’s pleas didn’t seem as far-fetched and ridiculous.

“I mean,” August began tentatively, watching us all, his expression hesitant. “I guess the least we could do is think about it.”

We all nodded in assent, our brows furrowed pensively. “Fantastic!” Mac exclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly. “That’s what I like to hear. Let me know if you’ve made a decision. I’d love to book you guys.” He smiled warmly, his harsh wince-inducing expression gone, replaced by his usual, amicable, inviting grin. “Anyways. Now that that’s been resolved, I’m going to need you guys to scram. You’ve turned into one big, walking, talking bio-hazard. Clean yourselves up, you crazy little punks.” He clapped me on the back, sending the rest of the group a playful wink, and turned, ambling over to the backstage area.

“Well he’s definitely right about the showering thing.” August commented, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “We smell like a group of sewer rats.”

“Amen.” I replied, grimacing. “Look,” I picked up, looking around at the group of people who sat before me, “I—I think we should think long and hard about this. It’s important that we know that this what we want, definitively, before we even begin thinking about playing together again.” They all nodded, somberly. “So,” I finished, taking a step back, my eyes still trained on them, “I’m going to go upstairs and take about ten showers. Uhm, we’ll keep in touch about the ‘situation’, okay? I’ll let you know if I make up my mind. You do the same.” I shot them all one last smile, turning on my heels and heading up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I forced myself to focus on my feet, and not the millions of questions running through my mind. If I thought about any of today’s events, I’d probably die of an aneurism. It was all too much right now. I couldn’t handle giving any serious thought to well, anything, right now. My mind was a muddled, frenzied mess, and I wasn’t feeling determined enough to sort through all of the turmoil going on up there just yet. I focused on my feet, rounding a corner and hopping the next flight of stairs. All of my attentions were zeroed in on getting up the stairs, into my apartment, and into my shower.

Closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, I thought, as I approached my door, internally debating how much soap I’d have to use to scrub all the filth off of my body.

I jabbed the key into the lock roughly, twisting my hand until I heard the familiar “click”. I grabbed the handle, flinging the door open. I moved towards the threshold, taking the key out of the lock and shoving the key in my pocket excitedly. I whipped my head up, prepared to rush straight towards my bathroom, but stopped short. “Uhm—hi?”

“Oh, hey Piper.” Jack said, from his place on my couch, where he had a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, and a shot glass in the other. “Nice of you to join us.”

“S’about time.” Zack mumbled, his voice muffled by the cup of mysterious looking, violet-colored liquid that was firmly attached to his lips.

I looked at Rian, who was sitting on the floor, his back against my couch, facing the television, which was blaring loudly, raising an eyebrow, my eyes flashing. He turned to me, shamefaced. “Surprise?” He attempted lamely, shrugging sheepishly.

“Say,” I heard Alex call from his place in my kitchen, his head buried in my fridge, “Is that a new perfume you’re trying out, Colins? It’s very nice. What’s it called? Rotting horse carcass?”

I shot him a glare, but he didn’t catch it, because he had now moved on from the fridge, and had taken to rummaging feverishly through my freezer, pulling out about seven gallon-sized containers of ice cream. “I don’t know, actually.” I retorted. “I borrowed it from your mom.”

“Hey!” He shouted, whirling around, pointing a box of frozen waffles at me accusingly. “Personal foul! Illegal mother-bashing!”

“He’s right,” Zack commented from his place on my love-seat, his legs strewn out in front of him, slouched, contently sipping on his glass of Mystery Booze. “That’s no way to treat a guest in your home, Piper.” I scowled, and he shot me a bemused smirk.

My brain was already jam-packed with things I didn’t want to think about, I certainly was in no mental shape to engage in a let’s-see-who’s-wittier war with the idiots who had shamelessly invaded my home. Instead, I focused on the things that I was able to process. “How the hell do even you get in here?” I demanded, putting my hands on my hips. “To the best of my knowledge, none of you have keys. And yet, every few days, like clockwork, you’re all in my house, strewn across the floor, hungover and demanding food like you own the place.”

“Oh, please,” Jack replied, waving a dismissive hand at me. “We don’t need keys.”

“Yeah, your lock is like, every burglar’s dream.” Interjected Alex from my pantry, where he was grabbing packets of Ramen like they were some sort of rare commodity. “Just a few seconds of coaxing with a bobby pin, and—“

“Bam! It opens like charm.” Jack finished, pouring himself another shot.

“It’s actually very convenient.” Zack shot me another smirk, which, I, in turn, replied with my best withering look.

“Fantastic.” I grumbled, raking a hand through my damp hair, “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We’re here to celebrate, motherfucka!” Shouted Jack, raising a shot-glass at me, its liquid sloshing out of the cup and running down his arm.

“Celebrate what, exactly?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

“Oh, come on, don’t be modest.” The Lebanese guitarist downed the shot, and then turned back to me, already pouring himself another. “Alex called me, talking my ear off about how great this new band was, so we drive down, and what-ho? What’s this I’m seeing? Piper Colins totally killing it onstage?”

Rian spoke up for the first time since his half-hearted attempt at an apology earlier. “Where the hell have you been hiding that voice, Pipes?”

“More importantly, why have you been hiding it?” Jack asked, eyeing me. “God, I think I almost peed, I was so surprised. Do you hear me, Colins? I almost urinated, that’s how unprecedentedly fantastic you were. I cannot even believe you’d hide something like that from me.”

“Uhm, I’m—sorry?”

He brushed my comment aside with his hand, his usual goofy grin reappearing on his face. “Forgiven. But, anyways. We rushed straight over, like the good besties we are, booze in hand, to help you celebrate your legendary performance.”

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up in a slight smile. “That’s very, erm, thoughtful, Jack-o. But I don’t really like drinking.”

“I know, so I decided that if you weren’t going to drink to your success, like every normal damn American, which is totally fucking lame, by the way, I’d do it for you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Let me get this straight.” I said slowly, “You’re going to get drunk—“

“Totally shit-faced.” He affirmed, nodding.

“—for me? In my own house?”

“Right. I’ll be giving a toast in your honor with every drink I have. That way, your subconscious badass won’t feel bad about missing out on this fantastic opportunity to get wasted.”

“God knows you never do.” I replied, rolling my eyes.

He smirked. “Piper, I am an opportunity-seizer. Also, I’m a great best friend. I saw this awesome opportunity to be a great best friend, and I seized it. I couldn’t let you down.”

“Yes, because I’d be so disappointed if you finally decided to stop beating the shit out of your liver.”

“I figured as much.” He replied with a playful grin, pouring himself another glassful. He held up the tiny cup of liquid, nodding at me. “To Piper.”

“To Piper!” his bandmates echoed, each downing their own alcoholic beverage.

I watched them, astonished by the level of sheer idiocy that was taking place in my household. This day had just become too much to handle. I couldn’t deal with anymore of it, the good or the bad, the confusing or the clear. It was all beginning to seem like a very, very weird acid trip. “I’m going to go shower. Nobody puke on my floor.”

“Hallelujah! Did you hear that guys? She’s going to shower!” I heard Alex call elatedly, but I was too focused to reply, moving towards my bathroom, a woman on a mission.

“To Piper’s impending cleanliness!” I heard Jack shout, his voice growing quieter as I moved farther and farther away from the group.

*

When I emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, a cloud of steam following me, I was ready. Somewhere between the multiple scrubs I’d given my body and the thorough, if not outright aggressive, lathering of my hair, I’d finally allowed the entirety of today’s events, from the under-caffeinated kid-napping I’d preformed earlier that morning, to stressing with Jodi, to fixing things with my master plan, to the tumultuous formation of The Embers, to my now puke-laden shoes, to losing myself onstage, to Mac’s request, and finally, to the inebriated intruders in my home. Everything was laid out clearly in my mind, nothing was confusing or overwhelming anymore. Now, however, I was faced with a decision to make. A fairly big, fairly stress-inducing decision.

And as a frozen waffle whizzed past my face, followed by a drunken giggle and the distinct sound of a very heavy object clattering to the floor, I realized that right now, my apartment was the exact wrong place to be trying to make important, possibly life-altering decisions. I headed over to my fridge, stepping over a long-since passed out Rian, who was clutching a wooden spoon in each hand, a metal pasta-strainer sitting squarely atop his head, hunched over a make-shift drum-set, one that had been fashioned out of possibly every pot in my house, snoring. I pulled out a liter-sized bottle of Mountain Dew, wincing as the sound of someone unzipping the fly of their pants, followed by a few slurred attempts at a wolf-whistle. I grabbed a straw, barely side-stepping a now very, very minimally clothed Zackary Steven Merrick as he flung another frozen waffle at his invisible target. I made my way to the living room, stepping over empty cups of god-knows-what alcoholic beverage, emptied pizza boxes, and rolls of unraveled toilet paper. Jesus, guys, it’s only been half an hour, I thought, looking at Jack. His long, skinny legs were clinging to the back of the sofa, his head hanging off its edge, his face turning from red to purple as he fixated on the TV before him, which I could only assume was much funnier if you were watching it upside down, seeing as he was emitting a steady flow of hiccup-ey, drunken giggles.

I moved across the living room, making my way over to the large window on the wall opposite me. I unlocked it, rolling my eyes and turning around as Zack yelled my name, his voice a loud, obnoxious slur, “No, Pipes, don’t leave! You can play Frisbee with me. See?” He shot me a sloppy grin, chunking another waffle at its imaginary target. “It’s sooo much fun.”

“I’ll take a rain check on that one, Merrick.” I replied, sliding out of the window and into the warm summer night air. My feet pressed into the hard, metal ridges of the fire-escape beneath them, and I turned, grabbing onto the railing to the stairs that led from my window to the roof above me, climbing up, slowly but surely.

When I reached the top, I swung my leg over the concrete barrier and hopped onto the roof, the Mountain Dew still in hand.

I walked across the warm, cement ground, heading for the large, beat-up sofa placed at the center of the expansive, flat rooftop. It was old, and, except for the occasional patch of gray cloth, most of its stuffing was exposed, so it looked more like a big, yellow, disfigured cotton ball than a place to sit. In fact, it looked more like a safety hazard than a place to relax. Someone had spray-painted the words “For people who want a place to sit, smoke, and contemplate the meaning of the universe ONLY. All others will be shot.” on it in red, messy scrawl. I plopped down onto it, unscrewing the cap to the large bottle in my hands, and plopping the straw into its bubbling solution. I took a sip, placing it snugly between each of my thighs, and reaching a hand down between the fluffy seat cushions, rummaging around before pulling out a half-empty box of cigarettes, along with a hot-pink, lighter in the shape of a Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty’s face had long-since disappeared, the effect of many, many years of wear and tear, but she retained her classic shape. I took another sip of the Mountain Dew, pulling a stick from the box, and lit it, watching as the tip, the only light on the whole roof, illuminated a small space in front of me, bathing my feet in a warm, glowing, flickering orange color. I pressed it to my lips, taking a small puff. I exhaled, allowing the smoke to circle around my head for a moment, watching as it quickly faded into a wispy nothing, before taking another sip of the fizzing beverage nestled between my thighs.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” A familiar voice sounded from across the roof, its owner slowly loping over to me, his steps sure and steady.

“It’s practically a mandate.” I replied, gesturing at the messy red scrawl beneath me.

“Good point.” He acknowledged, plopping down on the couch, and stretching out a waiting palm in my direction. I tossed him the box and the lighter, and he caught them between his calloused fingers, smirking. “So,” he continued, lighting the cigarette and pressing it to his lips. “What part of the vast, expansive universe are you contemplating tonight, Colins?”

I pressed my lips to the straw, pondering my answer for a moment. “The suddenly very weird, very fast-paced part of it that encompasses my life.”

He nodded thoughtfully, gaze fixed on the burning ember in between his fingers. “It’s certainly been a very sudden-plot-twist kinda day in Piper land.”

“You have no idea.” I murmured, taking a long, slow drag of the cigarette in between my fingers.

“You handled it well, though.” I glanced at him, raising my eyebrows incredulously. “No seriously. If you hadn’t nearly choked at first,” I snorted, a thin stream of smoke escaping my lips. “I would’ve assumed you’d been doing that for a long, long time.”

I took another sip of the bubbly liquid, looking out into the shroud of darkness that surrounded us. “I just—lost it, I guess.” I admitted quietly, looking down at the flickering orange light between the tips of my fingers. “It felt really right, ya know? Like, in that moment, nothing else mattered.” I sighed, flicking the butt of the cigarette, its ashes flying off into the darkness. “But, I don’t think I could do it for real. Not the way they’re expecting me to be able to, anyways.”

He let another long, soft stream of smoke out from between his lips. “Once in a while, Piper, someone will come along, who’s so talented, so shockingly good at something, that it brings people to their feet, inspiring them, touching them. Most people strive their whole goddamn lives to be that person. They work their asses off, and hope that someday, they’ll get a shot at being that star, that person that makes people stop and stare. Most people will never get that shot. Most people will never know what it’s like to be that person. And the people who have it, who are it, shouldn’t waste the talent they’ve been given, wallowing in fear and millions of ‘what if?”s that come between them and greatness. Because that’d just be a shame, now wouldn’t it?” He looked at me, his brown eyes twinkling.

I watched him for a moment, slightly taken aback, a hint of a smile creeping up my face. “You know, Gaskarth, you spend so much time being a giant asswipe, I’d never have guessed that you had ever had a deep thought in your entire life. “

“Hey,” he replied, gesturing at the messy handwriting we were sitting on. “It’s practically a mandate.” He took a drag of the cigarette, his lips turned into a half smile. “Don’t you dare breathe a word of this conversation to anyone, Colins. It’ll ruin my street-cred.”

I chuckled, flicking another smattering of ashes into the darkness. ”My lips are sealed.”

*

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