Just Keep Your Head Above

"Motherfucker!”

“Oh not you again,” I half sighed, half yawned. “I thought I told you to stay out of my apartment whilst inebriated?”

Jack looked at me from his place on the floor, my feet positioned firmly on his back, Rian and Zack, the other members of All Time Low, snoring quietly (quietly being the operative word, of course) beside him. “Oops?” he attempted, giving me a half hearted, sleepy shrug.

I had woken up, rolled over, and pushed out of my bed, ready for a relatively relaxing morning, and, hopefully, some coffee. Except when I’d thrown my feet off the bed, instead of feeling the familiar wood flooring, I’d found myself standing on something strange: a human being. And even though Jack had screamed in surprise when he’d woken up and found himself being used as a human rug, Rian and Zack had not so much as moved.

“Where’s your fourth Musketeer?” I questioned, looking around for my least favorite familiar smirk and mussed hair. I knew the three-fourths of All Time Low that were currently residing on my floor were hungover as a direct result of the after-party they had thrown last night after a particularly good gig. Since their formation about two years before, All Time Low had gotten quite big, quite fast. I had yet to see them play, because, as much as I loved Jack and Zack and Rian, I couldn’t bring myself to watch Gaskarth prance around and milk the spotlight for an hour and a half. But I did know how much they liked to party. And when they partied, they partied altogether. Not once had I ever witnessed any of them opt out of a night of drunken revelry; or any kind of revelry, for that matter.

So where’s Gaskarth?

I knew he had gotten wasted last night, and I knew it had been with Jack, Rian, and Zack. So why wasn’t he here, sprawled out on my floor, snoring? It wasn’t like Gaskarth to turn down any chance to annoy the living shit out of me. Normally, he would’ve been here, complaining about his hangover and bragging about the number of girls he had made out with the night before.

“He didn’t go out with us last night.” Jack replied, eyeing me.

I snorted. “Lemme get this straight. Alex Gaskarth decided to abstain from a night of partying? Are you sure you’re not just fucking with me, and he’s like, hiding in my shower, waiting to scare the shit out of me or something?”

“Nope,” he shook his head earnestly, “he really didn’t go out last night. He said he ‘wasn’t up for it’.”

What the hell? This was not right. Something was wrong. He never stopped partying. And when I say never, I mean never.

Jack must’ve noticed my quizzical expression, because he began wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Why? Do you want him here?” he questioned slyly, smirking.

I flushed angrily.”Oh, not you too.” I sighed exasperatedly. And before he could so much open his mouth to make a retort about Alex and I’s “sexual tension”, I pushed myself off the bed, putting all of my body weight on Jack’s back and thereby constricting his airways. I hesitated a moment, pulsating slowly on his back while he groaned, before stepping off of him, over his slumbering bandmates, and into my living room.

“I don’t want to hear it. Seriously. If you’ve got commentary on my love-life, keep it to yourself, Jack-o.” I called to the still-groaning guitarist, walking past a dozing Mara, who was draped over my couch cushions, drooling.

I could hear him scuttling, a few feet back, trying to keep up with my fast pace. “Okay, okay, I’m done, promise.” He panted, jogging up to where I was, “it’s just, I think you guys could be something.”

“Alex and I?” I said, picking up my pace, “the only thing we could possibly ‘be’ is competitors in a boxing match.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t hate each other that much.” He said, struggling to keep up with me, as I walked down the hallway.

“Yes. We do.” I was almost jogging now. All I wanted was some coffee. Maybe then I’d be able to clear my head. Maybe then Jack’s words wouldn’t be so damn annoying. Maybe if I gave him some coffee, he’d shut up. All I wanted was some coffee, and to be as far away from this conversation (which I seemed to be having much too often for my liking). The entryway to the kitchen was fast approaching, and I couldn’t deny the feeling of relief the sight raised in me.

“No, you don’t. Look, ‘Lex was telling me the other day that he thought you were—Oh. My. God.” He froze, staring at the sight that lay before us.

I brushed past him nonchalantly, his body rigid in the doorway.

“Finally, you’re awake. I can’t figure out how to work your coffee machine. Why the hell do they make those things so damn complicated? Why can’t you just stumble into the kitchen, think, ‘Wow, I could really go for a nice, warm caffeinated beverage’ and BAM, it’s ready? What the fuck could anyone need to do with that many buttons? I mean, it’s so early, I’ve forgotten how to read, much less operate complex machinery. You’d think the idiots who designed the damn thing would’ve thought to make it hangover proof.”

“I take it you’re having a good morning then, Speiler?” I smiled, looking over at the boy sitting at my kitchen table, his long blonde hair flopping sloppily over his sparkly, albeit crusty from sleep, green eyes.

He groaned, throwing his head back down into his crossed arms. “I’m fucking dandy,” he mumbled.

I chuckled, pressing the ‘START’ button on the coffee machine. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Okay, I hate to interrupt this hilarious verbal spar,” Jack broke in, still frozen in place, “but am I the only one who sees the charmingly nude couple on Piper’s kitchen table?!”

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually,” said Rian, walking past Jack. Turning to me, he asked, “Pancakes?”

“Hell-to-the-fucking-yes.” Speiler mumbled into the glass paneling on the table.

“Anything for you, champ,” replied Rian, patting Speiler’s back.

The coffee machine finished, and out of pity, I poured Speiler the first cup.

“Two sugar, one cream, right?” I asked, sliding it over to him, as I reached for my tablecloth, which had been reduced to a small ball in the corner of the room, and covered the spooning couple lying in front of me.

“Pipe, if you had given me ground coffee beans, I would’ve been just as happy. Right now, I am less focused on the flavor, and more focused on preventing the small aneurism that I can feel building in my head.”

Jack, meanwhile, had retrieved the air freshener and had taken to spraying the entirety of my kitchen vigorously. “Goddammit, it smells like sex in here. I feel like I’m in some creepy porn.” He grumbled.

Speiler took a large gulp of coffee and settled back into his chair with a shiver, smiling. “Oh, god. I feel so much bet—OHMYGOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!” He pushed his chair back, and it toppled over, falling backwards onto the tile with a clatter.

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I SAID”, replied Jack, raising his voice to match Speiler’s high pitched shrill.

“HOW LONG HAS THAT—HAVE THEY BEEN THERE?!”

“THIS WHOLE TIME!”

“WHY DIDN’T ANYONE SAY ANYTHING?!”

“I THOUGHT YOU KNEW. I MEAN, THEY WERE SITTING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. NAKED PEOPLE TEND TO BE PRETTY HARD TO OVERLOOK.”

Speiler groaned in disgust, covering his eyes with his hands. “Oh god. Oh, god. I think I’m going to be sick.” He ran to the bathroom, where he immediately proceeded to unceremoniously retch up every ounce of the alcohol he had consumed the night before. Into my toilet.

“Charming.” I noted, picking up his coffee mug and taking a sip.

“Dude, if Alex were here, that shit would have been committed to film.” Rian commented, chuckling.

I snorted into my drink, causing droplets of the hot liquid to mist over my face.

“If Alex had been here,” I retorted, wiping caffeinated spray off with my sleeve, “he would have been the one lying on my kitchen table, not Carter and Ollie.”

Rian grabbed a spoon, mixing the contents of the bowl into a cream colored, smooth batter. “You’re lucky he volunteered to help Mac out before our slot at the Merry in Maryland festival. Otherwise, you would’ve had Gaskarthian puke all over your floor.”

“Because god knows he wouldn’t have had the class to at least regurgitate into my toilet.”

Rian laughed, a deep, hearty, Rian-y laugh, and his lips spread into a wide-grin, showing off his immaculate set of pearly whites. Out of all the members of All Time Low, Rian was probably my favorite. He was easy to talk to, funny, intelligent, and, given some sticks, a total badass at the drums. With his relatively short stature, love of magic tricks, and floppy, brown hair falling just past his eyebrows, he was the human embodiment of a teddy bear. Also, he gave fantastic hugs, which was always a plus in my book.

For a while, we all sat there peacefully. Rian hummed the Scooby Doo song as he tended to his pancakes, Jack remained silent, gazing in awe and disgust at Ollie and Carter, who would stir every so often, but didn’t awaken, and I sipped my coffee absently, nodding my head in time with Rian’s humming.

Finally, reality hit me.

Oh, fuck.

“Wait, Rian, where did you say Alex was?” I asked, my voice rising with panic.

“At the Merry in Maryland festival. We’re playing this afternoon, but he got roped into helping Mac run one of the booths beforehand. You should come by and watch us play. I know you don’t like Alex, but Speiler’s band will be playing too. It’ll be—“

“Shit.” I hissed, cutting him off.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I totally forgot!” I cried, slamming my cup down and running back down the hall to my bedroom.

“Forgot what?!” he called, following closely behind me.

I reached my bedroom, threw open the door, hopped over the still-sleeping Zack, ran to my dresser, and promptly began tearing through my drawers, looking for something to wear.

Rian arrived at the door, panting. “Piper. What the fuck is going on?”

“I forgot!” I hollered, grabbing a white v-neck and some skinny jeans and heading to my bathroom, closing the door.

“What did you forget?!” he shouted through the door, frustration building in his voice.

I threw on the clothes hastily, reaching for my tooth brush as I attempted to button my pants and clean my teeth simultaneously, a feat I overcame, although quite clumsily, I might add. Pah, who needs a comb?, I thought, piling my thick hair into a messy bun atop my head. Combs are for the weak.

“Hello?! Earth to Piper? What did you forget?!” he shouted again, knocking on the door.

I threw it open just as he reared his arm back in preparation for another round of knocking. “I forgot it was Saturday.” I wheezed, out of breath.

“Whatsgoingonguys?” mumbled a groggy, but slowly reviving Zack, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Nothing, sweetie,” I smiled at him, side-stepping Rian and making my way to the front door, “go back to sleep.” I called behind me, as I speed-walked down the hall. He grumbled something incoherent, before immediately flopping back down onto my carpet.

“You’re running around, frenzied, because you forgot it was Saturday?” Rian questioned skeptically, falling into step behind me. “Do you need to be institutionalized?”

I stopped, turning around to face the concerned drummer. “Rian, I’m running around, frenzied, because I forgot it was Saturday. Not just any Saturday. I’m running around, frenzied, because it is this particular Saturday. And on this particular Saturday, I am signed up as a volunteer at the Merry in Maryland festival.”

As I watched, the lightbulb went off in his head. “Ohhhhhh, okay. Why didn’t you just say that first, instead of running around like a psychopath?”

I shrugged, turning back around. “You know I can’t communicate properly when I’m panicked.” I grabbed my keys and threw on a light jacket, throwing the door open and running down the stairs, out the store, and into my car.

&&&&&&&

“Oof.” I grunted, as my face met someone’s chiseled chest. I bounced back, falling to the ground with a thud. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I apologized to the stranger, wiping some of the dirt up off of my jeans as I used the arm extended to me by my assailant as a crutch, leaning my weight on it and pushing myself off the grass I had landed ass-first in. I was mortified. I kept my eyes trained on my toes.

“S’Alright. Don’t worry about it.” I looked up sharply, no longer mortified, but angry. I knew I recognized that smug, self-important tone of voice. It was Gaskarth, and I wasn't sorry anymore.

“Yeah, because I was just the worry was just killing me.” I retorted sarcastically, brushing past him.

“Good to see you too, beautiful!” He called cheerfully as I stalked off, and I could practically see him winking at me coquettishly, his superior grin wide and chocolate colored eyes twinkling mischievously.

I walked, harried, past the merch booths and food stations and bands and guitar techs and kids and security guards and stages until it all became fuzzy and unfocused, like the hazy background of a focused picture. Every smell, sight, noise, and feeling faded, as I took a minute to examine the funny tugging at the pit of my stomach. For some reason, I was flushed. It’s out of anger, I assured myself, you’re flushing angrily. That’s just the way he makes you feel: angry. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.You’re worried Mac will be mad that you’re late. That’s all, nothing more, nothing less. The place where my hand had touched his felt like it was on fire. Anger, that’s all. Don’t think it’s anything more, ‘cause it’s not, not even clo—.

“Found her!” I voice called from the tent I was ambling past me, shaking me back to reality.

I looked over to see a man, around twenty-two years old, walking towards me, his feet bare, a Hawaiian, touristy shirt, which he had turned into a muscle shirt, hanging loosely from his skinny frame. His hair was such a deep, endless black, that in the sunlight, it looked almost navy blue. It fell down across his hazel eyes, contrasting sharply with his dense fringe of long, shiny eyelashes. His thick Ray-ban glasses weren’t the typical black, instead, they were covered in a comic book print, proudly advertising the various “BOOM”s and “POW”s that were being delivered to the villains by the tight-clad, cape sporting superheroes.

I looked at him, dazed. “Wha--?” I grunted intelligently.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the woman of the hour,” he bellowed, his theatrical voice easily encompassing the entire space around me. “We’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere. Where you been, gurh?”

“Goddamn, Montee,” I was grinning widely, “for someone so small, you sure as hell know how to put those vocal chords to good use.”

“I resent that!” he cried energetically, draping his arm over my shoulders and steering me toward the tent where the volunteers were supposed to gather, formally named “Home Base” by us regulars. “‘Small’ has such a negative connotation. I think the far-less-offensive, politically-correct term would be ‘lean’.”

I scrunched my face up and titled my head to the side, as if deliberating his words. “I think ‘lean’ is a little too generous for this,” I motioned to his skeletal figure. “Maybe ‘lanky’? Or ‘scraggy’?”

“Lanky’s got a nice ring to it!” He exclaimed, laughing.

The funny thing was, nobody paid any attention to his roars. This was strange, since you couldn’t take Montee anywhere. I was legitmally convinced that he was the loudest person on the planet. We didn’t know if maybe he was, like, half-deaf, or if maybe his mother was Fran Drescher. There were several theories, of course, but nobody knew for sure. In fact, nobody knew anything about Montee. At all. We didn’t know his last name, where he was from, what he had done before he had done before he had showed up at Linda’s doorstep about ten years ago. But I digress. My point was, in public places, Montee usually attracted so much attention that I couldn’t get him away from the public eye fast enough. Now, in this place, where kids from all over Baltimore had congregated to enjoy the music, nobody even flinched when his voice rang clearly across the wide expanse of the field. In fact, people seemed to be enjoying his presence, something that didn’t usually kick in until you’d known him for a while. Everyone here was accepting and kind, embracing weirdness instead of rejecting it, something I’d always appreciated about the punk-rock scene in Baltimore.

But for what it was worth, Montee’s super-human volume served him well. He was the vocal instructor for The Store Which Currently Has No Name, and damn did that boy have some pipes on him. He was an incredible talent, and it was widely known that no matter your skill, be you tone-deaf or vocally-trained, Montee would take your talent (or lack thereof) and increase it, tenfold. He was good at what he did, and he loved what he did, and in the end, that was all that Linda could ask from an employee. So even though he had remained an enigma for all these years, Linda hadn’t so much as breathed a complaint, and neither had anybody else. The rumor, though, was that he was a juvi-escapee. I examined him. He didn’t look like a juvenile delinquent. He looked like an extremely nerdy cartoon character.

“Mac’s been flipping a shit all morning, thinking you were dead or something.” He was saying, as we neared Home Base.

“Well where is he?” I replied, thinking of all the possible ways Mac could kill me (none of which were particularly enticing).

“Right here.” Answered a peeved-looking Mac, the sterness of his voice teeming with unreleased frustration.

“Heyyy there Mac,” I cooed, sidling up to him, “you’re looking dapper, as always.”

“Hey, Piper. I trust you had a good morning?” he said, his face breaking out into a suspiciously devilish grin.

“Uh, yeah, look, about that. I’m sorry. I totally forgot. Next time I’ll like, write it down or something—“

He waved a hand at me, cutting me off. “Not to worry. It’s all good.”

“Really? Are you sure?” I replied incredulously. It was unlike Mac to just let something like this go. Although he was relatively laid back, he did have some pet peeves, and tardiness was one of them.

He chuckled lightheartedly. “Of course, it’s totally fine. It’s not even a big deal.”

“Okayyyy, if you say so…” I said, my eyebrows raised. I wasn’t going to push this subject. There was a get-out-of-jail-free card being dangled in front of my nose, and I wasn’t going to just stand by and pass up an opportunity like this.

“I do.” He replied, giving me a firm nod. “Now, you see that pink tent?” He said, pointing to a fuchsia colored tent in the distance, by the main stage.

“Yeah?”

“That’s your assignment.”

“Alright.” I began walking in the direction he had pointed, but he stopped me.

“Oh, and, Pipe?”

“Yeah?”

“Have fun.” He finished, winking at me in a way that suggested that maybe I was not so off-the-hook after all.

I eyed him warily for a moment or two, before turning and walking to the tent anyway, determine to push my doubts aside and have a good day. I was not going to let the fear of a silly, childlike retribution keep me from enjoying myself. This was a day completely dedicated to the one thing in life I loved most: music. I was going to have fun, if it killed me. I wouldn’t waste a perfectly good Saturday.

I mean, maybe I had misinterpreted the message Mac was sending me. Maybe, I had just read too far into it. Maybe, in reality, there was no underlying meaning to his words. Maybe that glint in his eye was just the sun. Or maybe he had skipped four days of sleep again. That always made him act weird. Whatever it was, I was sure he hadn’t meant to be threatening—

Oh, fuck no.

Standing under the pink tent, dressed in a Sublime tank and a pair of skinny jeans, was the cockiest bastard I had ever had the displeasure of knowing.

Alex fucking Gaskarth.

“Fuck you, Mac, fuck you.” I cursed under my breath.

“Hey there, gorgeous. Ready for twelve hours of fun?” he winked at me as he walked by, smacking my ass lightly as he passed.

God help me.