If Only Until Morning

When you get used to living on tour, especially with the guys that I did, you learn to wake up at the slightest hint of tomfoolery. Like whispering. Particularly if it sounds like a monologue into a video camera.

"Hey, Penelope," Matt said teasingly. I opened one eye and closed it: he was grinning behind his camera lens.

"Go away, Sundance," I muttered, burying my face in my pillow. I was in no mood for this today.

"Aww," he cooed. "Poor little Princess."

"Call me that again and I'll bite your ear off."

Matt laughed. "C'mon, Pen, we're filming our next video today and showing all the viewers on teh intarwebs how we roll."

I turned my face away. "Not today," I murmured.

Matt pulled his eye away from the camera and leaned on the side of my bed. "You've been looking forward to this forever. What's up?"

After a moment, I looked back at him, blinking every few seconds. Then I rolled over to face the wall. "It isn't worth getting out of bed today."

Matt sighed. "You've been doing this for almost a week," he said. "You can't just hide in your bunk and expect your problems to go away."

I shook my hair out of my face and replied with as much dignity as I could muster, "I can convince myself of anything so long as-- EEK!"

In my state of being half-asleep and obstinate about changing so, I failed to notice Jesse enter the bunkroom, and as the proverb goes: Bros before hos.

I struggled against his arms, holding me a good four and a half feet above the ground, and at the same time tried to keep myself decent, as Matt had the camera running again. After a minute of them laughing, I gave up and settled for glaring. "You both suck."

Half an hour later, Jesse was doing his best impression of the Crocodile Hunter--rest his soul-- while Sean and I pushed Matt, who was filming, on a shopping cart we'd manage to, uh, borrow from a local supermarket. We were surreptitiously (somehow) stalking our prey: the flashy Wentz, the laid-back Walker, and the elusive Beckett.

Elusive, because for a tall guy who's frequently in web videos, he sure is hard to find when you want him.

"Righ'," Jesse whispered loudly to the camera, creeping along beside the cart. "These creature come native t'Chicago, but they often c'n be found migratin' 'round the country, particularly in Las Vegas or Las Angeles. Crikey, we've bin spotted!"

"What the hell are you four doing?" Jon called back, stopping for us to catch up.

Jesse grinned at the camera. "'E seems to be particularly aggressive t'day. Maybe if we're lucky we can get a closer gander."

"When did you suddenly become Australian?" Pete asked. "And where the fuck did you get a shopping cart?"

"They're inquisitive and find our vehicle of particular interest."

Jon jumped onto the front of the cart and leaned into the camera lens. "Rawr," he said flatly, cracking us all up.

As Jesse rambled on about the dangers of these "ferocious beasts," I noticed that we'd caught the attention of two more people, and both of them looked confused and more than slightly insulted.

"Are you s'posed to be Australian?" James asked, striding up with Michael Guy Chislett. "That has got t'be the worst impression I've ever 'eard."

"Could've at least gotten the English bloke t'do it," Michael said, walking in step with me and Sean. "Least 'e understands the vowels."

I leaned onto the bar of the cart, watching Matt review our footage so far. "Could'a been worse," I said, imitating his accent. "Matt's bloody awful at impressions. Can't make out th'difference b'tween JFK and Jimmy Cagney."

The guys who hadn't spent almost 24 hours a day with me seemed impressed. "You're pretty good at that," Pete observed.

Jesse hopped in beside Matt, and Sean and I both had to actually exert force in pushing. "She's got a hundred of 'em," he informed him. "Uses them to get out us out of trouble."

Matt grinned. "In Soviet Russia," he declared, rolling his r's. "Trouble gets you!"

"Travesty," I said, affecting a Glasgow brogue and shaking my head. "Y'r family would be ashamed of ye, Matt." I thought for a second and switched to Italian. "But it's better than Jesse trying to be British, so i's'alright."

"Princess, you need a hobby," Bill laughed, ruffling my hair.

I glared, straightening my hair and screwing up his. Meanwhile the rest of our group was laughing. "Careful, man," Matt cautioned him. "She already threatened to bite my ear off for calling her that."

"Well," he replied with a shrug, "I'm special. Ain't that right, Princess?"

"Shut up, Lamppost."

We spent a few more hours shooting footage-- including piggyback races and dance competitions-- before people got hungry and started wandering off. An arm appeared around my neck and I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to reprimand him. William stopped listening to me once I started being nice to him.

"So what's up with Ryan?" he asked casually.

I blinked up at him before glancing around; no one who didn't know about us was around, even though everyone was now listening. Apparently gossip isn't just a girl thing.

"He's..."being an untrusting bitch "He and I arent... We're in the middle of an argument," I decided to phrase it.

"So that's why he's grumpier than Brendon without Red Bull?" Jon asked. "Must be one hell of a fight."

I shrugged, moving my eyes to the ground ahead of us. "We... aren't really talking at the moment," I said quietly.

Bill's arm tightened and he smiled down at me. "Don't worry too much about it," he advised. "Ryan's kind of temperamental when it comes to girls."

"Could be worse," Sean commented. "Least you're not Dido and Aeneas. Terrible ending to a relationship, tha' was."

I scoffed. "At this point, I'm thinking Dido had it good."

Matt, now pushing Jesse in the cart, rolled his eyes at me. "You need to stop making life comparisons to classical literature."

Pete turned around and cocked his head at us. "You've lost me."

"Same here," Bill put in.

"Honestly, don't you people read?" I sighed, shaking my head. "Future leaders of America, right here."

"Alright, Miss Smarty Pants," Sisky said, prodding my arm. "Enlighten us."

I laughed, ducking out from under Beckett's arm to line up for food. "I don't have an hour to give you my synopsis and analysis of three and a half books of the Aeneid. I'll have to do that next May for the AP test, and I don't want to do it until then."

"Can't you just take your GED?" Pete suggested, piling up his plate.

"I could," I admitted, taking some salad. "But any eleven year old could pass the GED, and I'd prefer to have an actual diploma from a prestigious college preparatory school. It'll look better if I choose to go to college."

"Eat more than salad," William ordered, pointing at my plate. "You don't eat enough."

"Says the man whose waist is as big around as my thigh."

"...You don't know that for sure."

"Wait, wait," Sisky interjected our prattle. After a second, he grinned. "You go to a prep school?"

I looked around. Now all of my companions were staring, including those who'd gone to school with me; Matt and Jesse were smirking, waiting to hear me talk my way out of it. I sighed. "Yes, Sisky, I go to a prep school." Everyone listening laughed, and I shot Matt a look. "They did, too!" I said, pointing at my band. "Jesse was valedictorian!"

Now the laughter was turned on them. "I'm never going to live that down!" Jesse groaned.