Dedication Takes a Lifetime

You have got to be kidding me. I pressed my thumb flat against the space of skin between my two eyebrows and pushed, eyes closed tight beneath my wire-framed glasses, sighing deeply. It’s not as if I’d expected the crowd to be any different--logically, a large portion of people trying to get backstage at any given concert had to be large-breasted bimbo groupies--but jesus, did they have to be so damn obvious? I was convinced I’d heard the words “Alex Gaskarth” and “gonna ride him so hard he’ll have no choice but to take me on tour with him” at least a dozen times thus far. I was beginning to picture tomorrow’s headline in the local newspaper: Crazed All Time Low Fan Rampages Backstage, Fifty-Seven Hookers Dead, Countless Others Maimed Beyond Recognition. Oh yeah, it was going to happen.

“Nauseating, isn’t it?” I turned to see a young woman--my age, give or take a year--wiping her own glasses with the bottom of her green v-neck Henley. She positioned them back on her face and rolled her eyes in annoyance, “You’d think they’d try to tone down the ‘desperate, overly-made-up, quite-possibly-Grade-A-jailbait’ thing just a little.”

I allowed my eyes to trail over one of the girls standing close-by, the neck of her shirt plunging so drastically that people would probably be recruiting her for porn soon enough. “I don’t think ‘modesty’ is in their dictionaries.” This was understandable. It was the last leg of All Time Low’s latest tour, and who knew when the teeny-boppers would get another chance to throw their v-cards at Alex, Jack, Rian, and Zack? They’d have to settle for the sub-par, pimply faced boys from homeroom, and we all know that wasn’t an option. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce the future of our country.

The young woman behind me laughed and shook her head, “It’s funny ‘cause it’s true. Ugh,” she groaned, catching sight of a three-inch skirt/eight-inch stiletto combo, “They make the rest of us look bad.” I nodded in agreement and she extended her hand with a smirk, “Kalila Aberman.”

“Annette Vader. Yes,” I said as she opened her mouth to make the same comment everyone made when I introduced myself, “Like Darth.” She laughed again--a light, carefree laugh that most people no longer possessed--and I couldn’t help but smile myself. She obviously wasn’t like the other girls in line, with her dirty blonde hair pushed back in a simple ponytail and outfit choice of as single-colored Henley and a pair of skinny jeans. Under her thick black plastic frames, she wore simple eyeliner and mascara, and had just the slightest hint of pink lip-gloss. She seemed to be like me; she was here because she actually loved the music.

Her blue eyes twinkled happily, as if relieved to have found someone to talk to in the Sea of Sleaze. “So how long have you been an All Time Low fan?”

“Hm,” I tapped my index finger against my bottom lip, “Two years, I guess. Since So Wrong, It’s Right came out. How about you?”

Her lips pulled to the side of her face and she raised her eyebrows in a comical way, “Since The Party Scene. So, four years. I know it sounds cheesy and cliché, but their music helped me through a really bad time in my life. Made me the woman I am now!” It did sound cheesy and cliché, but I knew exactly what she meant; they’d done the same for me. “Oh, hey,” her face was suddenly very serious, “You’re not going in there with any intention of hitting on Jack Barakat, are you?”

I had to laugh at the intensity in her eyes and the way she set her jaw. “No, no,” I assured her, “I’ve always been more of an Alex girl myself, even though that’s just so incredibly predictable.”

She shrugged, seeming to relax back into her chipper persona. “Alex is delectable, no doubt, but Jack is just…insane. And makes me come in my panties, when I‘m wearing them,” she nodded matter-of-factly, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to confess to a total stranger.

“O-kay,” I coughed, “That was weird. So, um,” I attempted to change the subject, “Where are you from, Kalila?”

“Kal, please,” she insisted, “And I’m from Maine.”

Did she just say Maine? “Whoa,” I felt my eyes widen, “That’s quite a roadtrip to Grey Valley, Wisconsin just for a concert. Oh man,” I shook my head, disgusted with the thought, “You’re not one of those crazies that caravans across the country, following the tour bus, are you?”

“Totally,” she nodded seriously, “And when they stop for food, I sneak onto the bus and sniff Jack’s boxers, and roll around naked in his bunk.” I stared at her for a long beat before she finally broke down in a fit of laughter, “I go to Camellia Ridge Academy.” That was impressive. Camellia Ridge was a prestigious boarding school, with an emphasis on art, on the outskirts of town.

“Really? I used to go there, and my brother is a Junior there still; Tomas Vader.”

Kal tilted her head to the side for a moment in thought, then nodded, “Right, right! I thought the name sounded familiar; he’s the theatre prodigy, right?” I nodded, and she copied the motion, “He’s really popular. How come you don’t go there anymore?” It’s funny how you never realize how much a person talks when they’re entertaining you, but if they bring up a topic you don’t like, it’s like sitting through a lecture from Gilbert Gottfried.

I shrugged, using my default answer, “It was just better for me to transfer to GVH. Oh my god!” I was appalled by what I was seeing, but also immensely grateful for the distraction, especially because Kal had opened her mouth to question me further. “Look,” I whispered, pointing at the girl who’d just pushed her way right between me and the backstage bouncer.

Kal raised her shoulders like it was nothing, “So? She looks like every other groupie.”

I shook my head furiously. “She’s wearing a wig,” I hissed. I’m the first to admit that I’ll talk shit, but I’m usually too mild-mannered to step up and do anything, so I try to be as quiet as possible. “That blonde thing on her head is not her hair.” My new friend eyed me doubtfully and I sighed in exasperation, “My mother is the best hairdresser in Wisconsin; I know synthetic hair when I see it. And,” I pointed again as the girl turned slightly, her profile to us, “Lumpy tits. What do lumpy tits say to you?”

Kal’s eyes widened, “No way! Toilet paper? People still do that?!”

I shrugged, still wide-eyed and enraged, “And the fucked up thing? That is going to get backstage, instead of us.”

But apparently, I was wrong. “Oh, hell no.” As Wig Girl leaned forward to flaunt her fake breasts to the doorman, Kal walked up behind her and grabbed a fistful of the blonde “hair,” pulling with what appeared to be all the strength in her body. The wig detached from the wig tape and Kal waved it in the doorman’s face. “There is no way,” she said throw gritted teeth, shamelessly reaching down the girl’s shirt to pull out what could only be a full roll of toilet paper, “In hell,” she threw it down with the fake hair, “That this bitch is getting in before us. Hey, Stan,” she said, reading his nametag, “How’s about letting some of the real fans back for once, huh? You know, ones that are actually thinking about the music, and not about whose got the biggest cock? Make a good fucking decision for once, and remember…god is watching you.”

Stan stared at her for what felt like forever. I have to admit, I was staring too. That was not how people I knew acted; most people weren’t that bold. But it worked; Stan grunted lowly and pulled back the velvet rope. Before I knew it, Kal was grabbing my arm and pulling me through the doorway. My last thought, before I entered the band room, was that of, Down the rabbit hole we go, Alice.