If Only Until Morning

"Tell me you're not serious," I groaned, gazing up at the pattern on my ceiling as I paced.

"Would I lie?" the voice laughed through my cell phone.

I threw myself onto my bed with a whimper. "You were supposed to be finished with it already!"

"Well, we kind of scrapped the whole thing." I rolled my eyes and rested a foot on the windowsill. "Trust me, it'll be better this way."

"Sure it will, sugar," I relayed flatly. "And Sundance will give up drums for a career in accounting."

"Okay, now you're just being ridiculous," he retorted shortly.

His tone surprised me. Male PMS moment anyone? But that wasn't fair of me. I lifted my feet into the air and watched them waver over me. "Well, aren't we tetchy? Are you still mad because I wouldn't let you fly out for my prom?"

His silence told me everything. "No," he replied guardedly.

I snorted. "Liar. I don't get why you're so hung up on that. Woo, a night of bad music played far too loud on a terrible sound system and stupid prep school brats engaging in almost-lewd acts in tacky formal wear. You didn't miss much."

"Well, shit, Rhi. I haven't seen you in months, and with summer tours coming up, I probably won't for a while." He paused. "Is it so wrong to miss my girlfriend?"

See? It wasn't fair. He was lonely, and not in the way that can be solved by bandmates.

I could help but smile. Letting my legs fall to the floor, I sat up. "I miss you too, Ry," I said softly. Determined not to get into a mushy I-miss-my-boyfriend mood, I grinned and changed the subject. "But hey, I've got good news."

"You just saved a bunch of money on your car insurance by switching to Geiko? Ryan suggested casually.

I laughed. "I don't even have a car."

"So? You could get one. What about that one you showed me?"

"Eh, I don't-- wait, I'm getting off track," I realised, sweeping my hair back. After a second, I started bouncing. "We're going on Warped Tour!"

Ryan paused, and I stopped bouncing suspiciously. "Are you really?" he asked thoughtfully. Seeming to realise I was listening intently for tones in his voice, Ryan covered, "I mean, that's great!" I narrowed my eyes at my guitar in the corner. "You're glaring at something, aren't you?"

"Maaaaaaybe," I teased, imitating his tone. Ryan laughed, and I smiled, standing up. "I should go; I'm supposed to write an introductory bio thing for the band's blog." I rolled my eyes. "Naturally they dumped it on me."

"You can get back at them by writing hilarious evil things," he suggested lazily.

I laughed. "And people think you're the responsible one." He chuckled, and I suddenly felt that girlish impulse of fluttering again. I won't say it first, I swore. He has to.

"I love you, Ange."

My entire body just became a puddle of putty.

"Love you too, George Ryan Ross the third," I cooed, trying not to crack up.

Ryan groaned good-naturedly. "Always with the name." I laughed and after a goodbye, hung up. Sweet boy, but I had business to attend to.

Stashing my phone in my pocket, I left my room in search of my laptop. If Danielle borrowed it again, I am not going to be nice, I thought to myself. Luckily for her, I found it charging--exactly where I left it-- in the family room. Picking it up, I sat in the armchair and put my feet up on the table. My stepmother would yell at me for that, but was she here? No? Then did I give a damn? Hell no.

I cracked my knuckles and stared at the screen in thought. Where to begin? Stream of consciousness, I thought, would probably be most informative. And entertaining. So with a grin and a mild idea of what I was doing, I began typing.

"Hello, Internet. Fancy meeting you here. It appears I must reveal my secrets to you, rather than vise versa. These secrets, though, are not so covert as one might believe. I speak, of course, about the band known as Penny Dreadful, a four-part musical ensemble of the rock and roll soul.

"The beginning of our history is a not unheard one: three guys meet in high school and form a band, band plays a while, guys find girl who fits well in the group, new band forms. At a now infamous show at the infamous Slim's of San Francisco, Penny Dreadful's music was experienced by several higher-ups in the business, and the next thing we knew, we were on tour.

"Our music is some to which hopefully all can relate and all can rock out. We take influence from a plethora of styles and artists, and coddle and form it with love into something new and unique."

I skipped a few lines and opened up an internet browser. "But enough of that. Let me introduce the members, starting with its founders." Logging into my Photobucket account, I grabbed the link for a picture and plastered it in.


"This charming Englishman is Sean Vanderpol (alias Butch Cassidy). Don't worry, he doesn't actually smoke; this is a shot from a movie we made a while back. Sean put together the original band, The Puzzlemen, with Jesse and is our lead guitarist and contributing lyricist. He favours Rickenbacker and Gibson; Sean also loves rowing crew and mystery novels.



"For those of you who have not seen the band as of recently, no, we did not change our line-up. Jesse Christopher (alias Trill) looks quite different since he changed his hair, we know. In the same class in high school, he and Butch Cassidy founded a band together with their good friend Matt, and originally played the bass. Now primarily our rhythm guitarist, Jesse patronises Epiphone and owns a wide collection of martial arts movies.



"Although appearing docile in this photograph, Matt Lawrie (alias Sundance) is far from introverted in person, nor does he dress like this any longer. Probably the most verbal and sociable of the group, he puts as much passion into drumming as everything else, especially jokes and pranks. (Of course, being "sociable" earned him his other nickname of Manwhore.) Matt has a penchant for Pearl drum sets, going through drumsticks like tissues, and playing shirtless."

I mulled over what I'd written and sighed. "They know I hate this," I muttered, searching for a good picture of myself. Unfortunately, I am of the opinion that all pictures of me are terrible, so I settled for halfway decent.



"Above you see Angie Callaghan (alias Penelope), Penny Dreadful's bassist, lead singer, primary lyricist, and website mistress. For those of you wondering, no, the nickname is not related to the band's name; it existed beforehand. Angie, who speaks sometimes in third person, has a long list of aliases by which she is known and likes to use that as an excuse to have many personalities onstage. She likes Traben basses, Greg Bennett guitars, and photography."

I gave a half-smile. That was about as good as I was going to get.

"Random trivia about the band:

The average height of us four is six foot one or 185 centimetres, depending on your location.
Sean emigrated from England when he was 14.
Jesse has a twin sister.
Matt is adorned with five tattoos and counting.
Angela is her middle name.
Half the band is currently single (but I refuse to reveal which half.)

I think that's about enough for now, Internet. If you want more, meet us at a show. We're friendly people.

Be seeing you.
A"

I sent the bio to each of the guys, who by that time had come online, and ignored the ensuing bitch-and-moan-- mainly from Matt for "being objectified as a sex toy" Silly boy. I swear, sometimes they're worse than teenage girls. And I should know.

Once I posted up the bio and made a few adjustments to the layout of the page, Matt sent me an instant message asking if I had everything packed. I grinned sheepishly; we were flying down to Los Angeles in four days to meet up with the herd of bands and buses. I'd yet to even put my bass in its case. We'd be gone for almost two months.

Two months away from home. Two months away from the boring 17-year-old's summer. Two months largely outnumbered in terms of gender.

"Sounds like an adventure," I muttered with a smirk, typing a reply. "I can dig it."