Dedication Takes a Lifetime

No sooner had Matt jotted down our new name that Jack and all of the members of Hey Monday and The Cab exited the green room down the hall and spotted us. “Hey,” Cass waved at us excitedly, “We’re going to stand side stage for the show; want to come?”

“Most definitely,” Kal said, putting her hand in mine as we started toward the group. “I like the name, by the way,” she told me quietly along the way, “It’s very fitting for us, even for people that don’t know the story behind it.”

I smiled at her gratefully, “Thanks. I was afraid you might think it was stupid.”

“Stupid?” Deveraux demanded, coming up behind us, “It’s brilliant, actually.” I craned my neck to see Jocelyn nodding in agreement. I stopped right there in the middle of the hallway and pulled them all into a group hug. “This is going to be great; I love you guys so much.”

Jocelyn laughed, and I was glad that she wasn’t still acting so pissy toward me. “We love you, too, Annette. You know,” she pulled out of the hug and touched her index finger to her chin, “None of us would have this opportunity if it wasn’t for you, come to think of it.” Kal and Deveraux nodded in agreement and I could feel my face heating up. I was even worse at taking praise than I was at taking criticism, so I turned on my heel and crossed the few feet that separated us from the other musicians in the hall.

“Ready to see what a real audience looks like?” Lipshaw asked softly, putting one hand on the center of my back. I smiled and nodded, letting him lead me through a set of double doors and up a stack of stairs that took us to the side of the stage, where we could see An Experience With Molly Ringwald introducing themselves to the audience…

Oh, my god; the audience.

We’d been in the back since our arrival, so this was the first time I’d laid eyes on the actual performance part of the venue. It was a huge floor with two other levels of viewing balconies, and five bars situated around the area. And every single inch of the levels was filled with people. Hundreds upon hundreds of bodies pressed in tight against each other, making the air thick and hot, the smell of sweat and anticipation wafting through. The biggest show we’d played to date was maybe 120 people. Maybe. And…and…hello, eyelids.

“Whoa!” Two arms wrapped around my waist from behind, pressing my back against a solid stomach as my knees gave out and my eyes fluttered shut, then quickly reopened. “Net? Net!”

I let out a shaky laugh and attempted to right myself, but my knees buckled again and the arms stayed around me to hold me up. I quick glance over my shoulder told me it was Lipshaw holding me up, and DeLeon’s hands were on my shoulders also, just in case. “Sorry,” I turned red when I realized how shaky my voice sounded, “I think I, uh, passed out a little bit just now.”

“I think you did, too,” Lipshaw said soothingly, laughing a little bit. “You gonna be okay to perform?”

I swallowed, but nodded, “Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Just had to get my bearings, and I’m fine now!” He looked at me hesitantly, but I pulled away from his embrace, brushing DeLeon off as well, and smiled confidently, “Really, I’m okay.” He shrugged and turned back to watch the band that had just begun playing.

The rest of my band showed up just seconds later with Jack and Cassadee, and the sodas in their hands told me they’d stopped at the vending machines. Kal handed me a Diet Coke and I thanked her, feeling no need to retell what had just happened. Instead, I just stepped back and let them take a look at the crowd, and have their own reactions. Kal’s eyes bugged a bit, but she said nothing, simply sipping her Dr. Pepper and tapping her foot to the music. Deveraux took one look and smiled widely, bouncing around on his tip-toes. Jocelyn’s expression didn’t change at all. She simply zipped up her hoodie and flipped her hair.

“You know what?” She said suddenly, causing us all to look at her, “I’m over this bullshit. I don’t even know what I’m doing here; nothing about this is me. I’m out.” She threw up the deuces in typical Jocelyn fashion and then shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, turning and walking back down the stairs.

We all stood perfectly still, stunned. That was not our Jocelyn; that was the crude, abrasive Jocelyn that had walked into my garage all those months ago, with the tough exterior and the walls built up to her eyeballs. Our Jocelyn didn’t judge; our Jocelyn didn’t bail.

“Oh my god,” I finally breathed, then began to panic, “Oh my god, oh my GOD.”

Kal snapped out of her shock too, whipping her head up and narrowing her eyes. “That bitch had better be joking; I’m going to kick her tiny, PMSing ass all the way back to Spain.” She started to follow our drummer, but Deveraux stepped in front of her with his hands up.

“Wait, wait,” he said in a rush, “I’ll go talk to her; I’ll make her come back. We’ve still got five and a half hours until our slot anyway.” With that, he took off down the stairs after her, leaving Kal and I to stare at each other stupidly, matching wary expressions adorning our faces.

Jersey was the one that brought us back to the here-and-now. “Guys,” he hissed, bouncing a little, “You’re missing it; these guys are great!” He waved us over and we rejoined the group, watching as An Experience With Molly Ringwald segued into their second number. They were good. It was sort of like listening to the lovechild of Duran Duran, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, and The Shins. Weird, but pretty awesome at the same time.

By the time the band got to their final song, our bassist and drummer still hadn’t returned, but we didn’t really take notice. We were too busy participating in the absolutely ludicrous sing-along number about cattle prodding Dick Cheney.

“When I say ‘cattle prod,’” the lead singer, David Mikel, chanted to the crowd, “You say ‘Cheney.’ Cattle prod!”

“Cheney!” The audience (and all of us on side stage) shouted back dutifully.

“Cattle prod!”

“Cheney!”

“Viva la revolution,” David sang into the microphone, slamming the final chords into his acoustic guitar and then throwing his hands into the air with what could only be described as a “rebel yell.” Billy Idol would be so proud. “Thank you everyone! We’re An Experience With Molly Ringwald, and you’ve been great! Stick around for Kolkata Damsel, and we look forward to hanging with all of you later!” On that note, the three members of the band filed offstage, where our group, now joined by practically all of the other bands, lined up to congratulate and praise them as Kolkata Damsel took the stage.

I shook hands with the band that had just played, “You guys were absolutely amazing,” I told them sincerely. “Hook me up with your album?”

“Most definitely,” the bassist, Arturo, told me with a breathless grin, sweat still dripping into his eyes. “Find us after we’ve cleaned up a bit and I’ll get you a CD and a complimentary t-shirt.”

“Pinch me; I’m dreaming,” I told him playfully, and he laughed as his bandmates tugged him down the stairs, toward the dressing rooms.

Kolkata Damsel ended up being pretty decent too, but their lead singer--a woman even smaller than Jocelyn, and nowhere near as tough--was obviously nervous and her voice shook when she sang, breaking at a few high notes. After they finished, Throw the Good Book At ‘Em, Bobby Joe! took the stage and had us all successfully cracking up by the middle of the first song. There was nothing particularly impressive about their music, but their lyrics were so intentionally ridiculous and playful that it was impossible to not love them. They were like a musical Mitch Hedberg act.

Finally, at eight o’clock, it was time for the first big band to go up. “Hey,” I said, catching Jake Bundrick by the back of the shirt as he headed out to stage, drumsticks in hand. “Kick some ass out there, all right? Don’t make my insane Mayday Parade fandom be all for nothing.” He just winked at me and trotted out to stage, twirling his sticks and flashing his smile at the crowd. I laughed and turned to Kal, who had been arguing with Alex DeLeon about politics for the past fifteen minutes, and tapped her on the shoulder.

“What?” She snapped, then corrected herself when she saw who I was, “Sorry. I mean, what’s up?”

“Deveraux and Jocelyn still aren’t back,” I pointed out.

Her eyes widened, “Shit, you’re right.” She flipped out her Sidekick and began texting rapidly. She sent one off and then waited, getting a reply back just a minute later. “Uhh…hm.” She turned thephone for me to read the text: --she’ll play. c u closr to 1130. shutup til then k?

I raised an eyebrow, but Kal simply shrugged, “They’re probably bumping nasties in a coat closet somewhere.”

“Huh?!”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes as if I was naïve, “There’s so much sexual tension between them that it makes even me uncomfortable.” Huh. So it wasn’t just me that had noticed; Kal saw it too.

“The words are coming; I feel terrible
Is it typical to act like this?
Am I just another scene from a movie that you’ve seen
One hundred times?”

As the words to “When I Get Home, You’re So Dead” started streaming through, I noticed a nervous tingling starting in my stomach. In less than four hours, we would be onstage. We would be following All Time Low, playing to hundreds and hundreds of people. And…and…hello, toilet.

I missed half of Mayday Parade’s set due to violent vomiting. At some point, someone ducked in to put a bottle of water and a package of Ritz crackers next to the toilet, but I was too…ahem…preoccupied to see who it was. All I saw was a pair of black and lime-green dunks with bright orange shoelaces walked away from me. “Thankyou,” I managed to croak, but received no response.

I pulled myself together and made it back in time to wish Lipshaw good luck on his set, to which he responded by pulling me into a tight hug and pressing a little kiss to my cheek. There was no way I’d only known this man for a day; everything about him was familiar and comfortable. And the entire time he was playing, he kept glancing at me from his side of the stage, with this goofy grin on his face, and I had a feeling he was playing his best to impress me tonight.

It felt good to have someone put forth that kind of effort just to make me smile.

-- -- --

At 10:15, when The Cab went on, Kal’s nerves had started to show slightly. Most of the other musicians didn’t notice the way she tugged at the ends of her hair or the way she shifted her weight from her left hip to her right every few minutes. But to people who knew her well knew that she was starting to freak. People like me. People like Jack. So he’d put a hand between her shoulder blades and whispered something into her ear, to which she nodded and followed him around the curtain and backstage. I was left alone with a group of people I barely knew, watching Alex DeLeon joke around with the audience about his cover of “Disturbia.”

I hate being alone in crowds period, but throw Alex Gaskarth and his snotty glances into the mix, and I was literally twitching. The shocker was that someone actually said something to him about it, and it wasn’t who I thought. Normally, I would chalk things like that up to the boldness of Kal or Jocelyn, and maybe even Lipshaw, since we’d grown so close already. But no, it was Jeremy Lenzo of Mayday Parade that piped up.

“Dude,” he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “You’re making me want to punch you in the face and I’m not even the one you’re looking at! Put your eyes back in your head and watch the show or I’m gonna shove a bass neck up your ass.” Everyone laughed at this, and I was very aware of Brianna Schumacher adding a little “burn!” into the mix.

Alex glared at Jeremy for a moment before huffing, “Whatever,” and turning away. I leaned against the bassist, wrapping him in a side hug and thanking him numerous times before he finally laughed and pushed me away playfully. I then took a seat next to Lipshaw, moving mine so I could still see the stage, and kicked up another conversation with him about black and white movies and Chris Crutcher novels.

Then Kal joined us as All Time Low took the stage. Alex, still agitated, immediately lit up as soon as he was in view of his audience and started skipping around the stage like he was part of Dorothy’s posse, freshly escaped from the wonderful land of Oz. I hated him so much.

“Good evening, fuckers!” He shouted into his mic, and the crowd cheered. He laughed, “All right, all right, calm yourselves! Well, as you may or may not know, our band--along with our manager, the amazing Matt Flyzik--organized this little shindig tonight.” A nervous looking tech brought Alex his guitar, then quickly scampered away; I wondered if the front man was verbally abusive to him as well. “All of the ticket proceeds are going to Doctors Without Borders, which is just this…fantastic little organization that we all support. So thank you for contributing!” The band cheered again.

Jack adjusted the strap on his own guitar and spoke into his microphone, “Stop hogging all the glory, Gaskarth. Get to the ‘and none of this would have been possible without’ part. Bitch.”

Alex flipped him the bird playfully and laughed. “Yeah, he’s right. None of this would have been possible without the selfless help of our friends from Mayday Parade, Hey Monday, Boys Like Girls, and The Cab. We’re also very lucky to have newly signed artists such as An Experience With Molly Ringwald, Kolkata Damsel, and Throw the Good Book at ‘Em, Bobby Joe!” He laughed when someone shouted “cattle prod Cheney!” from the audience.

“Aaaaand,” Zack drew the word out into his mic.

“Aaaaand,” Alex mocked with a smile, “We’ve also got the musical stylings of unsigned but undeniably amazing bands coming up after our set. Thanks to Come Ascendancy, The Romantic Disaster, and This Is Urgent.” My jaw hit the floor; he skipped us? He was taking assholery to a brand new level.

Jack opened his mouth, presumably to add our name to the credit, but Alex cut him off. It was obviously intentional, too, because he sped his words up. “Anyway, thanks for coming out and this one is called ‘Weightless.’” He started in on the song and Jack had no choice but to pick up the beat.

Any confidence Lipshaw had managed to rebuild immediately fell back to the floor. I sat in silence the entire time; I couldn’t even enjoy my favorite band’s music anymore. Alex Gaskarth was breaking me down in a million different ways.

-- -- --

“You’re a saint, you’re a queen
And I’m just another boy without a crown
Tell me why you sell me out
Everywhere you go, I just wanna know
What your best friend knows”

All Time Low was just finishing what was meant to be the last song in their set when Deveraux and Jocelyn finally reappeared. Jocelyn mumbled a quick apology for her freak out, explaining that something rare had occurred and her nerves had gotten the best of her. But Deveraux had talked her down and they’d spent the past few hours in the green room, duking it out in computer pinball. Now they were ready to go. We all were.

Alex smiled to his audience, “All right, guys; that’s the end of our set! Thankyou!”

“One more song!” An audience member demanded.

“Yeah, one more!”

Alex looked to the opposite side of the stage, where Matt stood next to the soundboard. The manager shook his head and pointed to his watch, but then Alex glanced to our side and gave me, specifically, a cocky little smile. “Well, if you insist,” he said into his mic, “Here’s ‘Vegas’ for ya!”

Onstage, we could see Jack giving Alex an incredulous and irritated look. Offstage wasn’t much better. Kal had taken to kicking things, while Jocelyn swore under her breath and Deveraux whined like a starving puppy. I, however, could only stand perfectly still, unblinking, unmoving, completely blank on how I should react. It wasn’t until Jeremy put a hand on my shoulder and glared out at the band that I felt my stomach turn and my anger begin to burn so fiercely that my eyes watered.

“I can’t believe he’s being such a prick,” Jeremy spat. “He’s usually such a cool dude; one of my
favorites. But this? What the hell did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do a goddamn thing,” I told him honestly, seething. “He’s just the SPAWN OF SATAN!” I shouted the last part, and Alex turned to look at me, obviously having heard my outburst over the music. Beside me, Jeremy had dissolved into a puddle of laughter, literally on his knees on the floor and holding his stomach.

I think it was because of this that, when he finished “Vegas,” Alex accepted the request for yet another encore, launching straight into “The Girl’s A Straight-Up Hustler.” This time, Jeremy and Lipshaw had to literally hold me back from charging onto stage and beating the singer to death with a mic stand.

“Net,” Lipshaw said loudly, jerking me around so roughly that I thought I had whiplash. “Seriously, you need to calm down, hon.” I could barely hear him through my rage-clouded mind. “ANNETTE!” I finally focused, and he was staring at me harshly, “Seriously, if you go out there with all of this shit in your head, you’re going to suck.”

“So I’ll suck,” I snapped at him.

He let go of me abruptly, which almost made me fall over. “Fine. Go out there and suck. It should be amusing to see the look on Alex Gaskarth’s face when you prove him right.”

And that was all it took.

When Matt came up behind me a few seconds later, I faced him with a calm and collected attitude. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said with utmost sincerity, “I will drag him offstage myself after this song, if I have to. But,” he sighed, “I can’t extend your set. You’ll just have to make due with four songs; you should probably figure out which two you’re going to cut. Again,” he sighed, “I really am sorry.”

I put a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. You can’t control what Gaskarth does any more than I can control Oprah’s weight fluctuations. We’ll make due; four songs is all we need to make them love us.”

He sighed again, this time in relief, and gave me a quick hug as the boys finished their final song. “Gaskarth!” He shouted loud enough to get the singer’s attention, “Off the stage now, or there are going to be naked pictures of you online tomorrow!” He waved his iPhone around threateningly, “I’ll do it; I swear to god.” Gaskarth flipped him off, but said goodbye to the crowd and walked offstage regardless. When he passed me, he offered a small shrug and a smirk.

“Sorry, kid.”

I ignored him.

I was the only one.

Matt immediately grabbed him in a headlock and Jack slapped him in the crotch, causing him to fall to the ground, taking Matt down with him. Soon, All Time Low had turned into a dog pile on the floor, everyone smacking Alex when they got the chance. I simply stepped over them, Lipshaw’s words in my ear, and took the stage.

Behind me, I heard Jack disentangle himself and say to Kal, “Remember what I told you, okay? You’ll be great. You could never be anything but great.”

We filed out, one by one, and faced the massive audience.

“Hello, Baltimore,” I smiled into the microphone. “We didn’t get a proper mention before, but don’t count us out yet! We’re from Grey Valley, Wisconsin, and we are,” I looked to side stage, happy to find Alex staring at me as I announced pointedly, “Defy the Omniscient.”

-- -- --

“So tonight, I’ll be in love with you
For tonight, I’ll really care
Tomorrow, the world will fade back in
We’ll never mention it again
None of this will have to be real
But for tonight
You’re the only one here”

I smiled at Deveraux as he mimicked making love to his microphone, harmonizing perfectly with me. We’d written this song together, the two of us, after an interesting discussion about how one-night-stands should be more socially acceptable. The song ended and I couldn’t help but laugh into my mic, “Ladies and gentlemen, what do you think?” I gestured to our bassist, “Should he give up his life of music making to work the pole and Chip-n-Dale’s?”

“No!”

“Hell yes!”

“Take your pants off!”

Deveraux pushed his bass aside and fingered the button of his jeans seductively, then stopped and waggled his finger, laughing. “Fuckin’ perves.”

Kal made a whoop noise, “That was a little too hot for me; anyone got a change of panties?”

I raised an eyebrow at her, “You actually wore panties today?” She shrugged, then tossed her head back in laughter. “All right,” I told the audience, “Here’s ‘Getting Away.’” We started into our second song, then followed it up with “Along With Me,” which I’m happy to say we nailed, thanks to our extra hallway practice.

When we finished our third, I glanced at Matt, who sighed and shook his head, holding up one finger. “Well, folks,” I sighed, “Thanks to your overenthusiasm for All Time Low, we only have time for one more song.” There was a chorus of displeasure from the audience, which made me smile; they didn’t want us to stop! Then I had a bright idea. “So we’re going to leave you with a cover tonight, and I would like to dedicate it to a very special someone. He knows who he is.”

Kal gave me a confused look, and I gestured her and Deveraux over to the drum set, where I filled all three bandmates in on my plan. They agreed, and I went back to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is ‘Black Mamba,’ by The Academy Is…” Jocelyn began banging on the cymbals, “2, 3, 4!”

“We’ve got one chance to break out; we need it now
‘Cause I’m sick and tired of waiting; sick of this fucking apartment
Love me, or leave me, or rip me apart
This is the voice that I was given, and if you don’t like it
Take a long walk off of the shortest peer you can find
And I’ll be singing it out; I’ll be singing

Oh, Mister Magazine
I never wrote one single thing for you
Or your so-called ‘music scene’
You don’t mean a thing to me

Pick it up, pick it up; what you wanted
Pick it up, pick it up; you need it, too
Pick it up, pick it up; what you wanted
Pick it up, pick it up”

I caught Alex’s eye, and I could tell he was intercepting my musical “fuck you” just as I’d planned. His eyes were narrowed, his arms crossed, his jaw set. But he was still watching.

“When they review the debut, what if they critics hate you?
Don’t worry, ‘cause they might just catch somebody off their feet
Well they can love it, or leave it, or rip it apart
We’re living what we’re singing
So I guess that’s a step in the right direction
Clever composition and the honesty, honesty

Oh, Mister Magazine
I never wrote one single thing for you
Or your so-called ‘music scene’
You both mean shit to me

Pick it up, pick it up; what you wanted
Pick it up, pick it up; you need it, too
Pick it up, pick it up; what you wanted
Pick it up, pick it up”

We continued into the bridge, and my eyes stayed locked on Alex the entire time. He never stopped looking at me, either. And while his gaze stayed mostly pissed off the entire time, I thought I saw something else there. He almost looked…

Impressed.

“Thank you, Baltimore!” Kal shouted as soon as the song was over, and we all threw our arms in the air. Deveraux swung his bass over his back ran to the drums to hug Jocelyn and spin her around. She, in turn, seemed too excited to even care. She clung to him, eyes bright and mouth open in a wide, happy smile. I’m sure we all looked about the same; we were living on pure elation right now.

“This was the most amazing thing ever!” Kal shouted at me, and while Deveraux, Jocelyn, and I took our time walking offstage, Kal ran as fast as she could and launched herself into Jack’s opened arms. If anything, I would have expected one of their usual, meaningful hugs. But she hooked her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, kissing him with what looked like the full force of her body.

“Holy…” Deveraux started, then ran back to one of the microphones. “Okay, you guys can’t see it, but something amazing is happening. So I wanna hear a big, loud AAW from everyone!” Obediently, hundreds of people let out the coo at the same time, and we made it to side stage just as Kal pulled away from a wide-eyed Jack slowly, ducking her head, cheeks stained wine-red.

“Sorry,” she murmured, “I just…got excited.”

Instead of replying, Jack put a finger under her chin and tilted her head back up, catching her lips with his once more. I felt bad for watching like some kind of voyeur, so I turned my attention to Alex, who was still staring at me relentlessly.

“What?” I demanded, but all he did was shrug and walk away, disappearing down the stairs and through the double doors.

Alex Lipshaw, on the other had, swooped in and lifted me off the ground. “Annette, that was fantastic! Good god, you can sing like nobody’s business!” Cass stood behind him, nodding in agreement, and took her turn to hug me when he was done.

“Hey, Defy,” Jacob from This Is Urgent called with a smile as his band headed for the stage, “That’s gonna be a tough one to follow; the word ‘epic’ falls short of how great that was.” I blushed and buried my head against Lipshaw’s chest, smacking him when I heard laughter rumble beneath his sternum.

A bunch of us stuck around to watch This Is Urgent, The Romantic Disaster, and Come Ascendancy in awe; they were all equally amazing, and I wondered why they weren’t famous yet. Then I was glad that we went first, so we wouldn’t have to top any of them. Afterward, all twelve of the bands squeezed into the green room, some people spilling out into the hallway, talking animatedly about how wonderfully the show had gone. Us unsigned bands grouped together and most of our talk consisted of squeals and profanities. This was like nothing any of us had ever experienced before.

“Hundreds of people,” Jacob gasped.

“Oh, my god, the way they cheered?!” Brianna added, eyes fluttering shut.

“Thought I was going to barf,” Wade confessed.

“A-FUCKING-MAZING,” Deveraux announced, with which we all agreed.

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and we looked to see Matt standing on the couch again, a smile on his face. “Guys, that was great; it went off mostly without a hitch, and I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow night. Give yourselves a round of applause.” We all broke out in cheers and claps until he raised a hand to stop us. “Okay, so I’m going to have you take the floor and do signings, pictures, and any merch or promo you want for the next half hour, at least, and then you’re free to go!” He hopped down off of the couch and we all followed him out to meet-n-great the audience members that had stuck around.

“Hey,” DeLeon and Rian approached our group of unsigned bands as we walked, “We’re all hitting up Denny’s after this; who’s down?”

-- -- --

“Ugh, my hand hurts,” I whined, and Lipshaw gave me a sympathetic smile, lifting my right hand and massaging between my knuckles. I couldn’t help but let out a soft moan; his fingers were magic.

We’d ended up staying at the venue for almost two hours, signing autographs, taking pictures, and explaining why we didn’t have any merch or albums to sell. It was definitely something we needed to get done. And I’d signed so many autographs that my hand was literally twisted and cramping. “Lipshaw,” I pouted, leaning against him, “I’m so sleepy.”

He chuckled, “I’ll bet, kiddo; it’s three in the morning.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes lazily as he draped an arm behind me and ran his fingers through my hair, still matted from sweating earlier. We were sitting at a large round booth; Kal and Jack, Deveraux and Jocelyn, Lipshaw and I, as well as Cass and Jeremy. DeLeon, Martin, and Jersey had pulled up chairs to join us while other bands and their members were clumped at nearby tables and booths.

“Tonight was unreal,” Jocelyn mumbled, stirring sugar into her coffee. Kal nodded in agreement, giving Jack a meaningful look. They’d only kissed the one time (well, technically two) and now it seemed to be back to the previous sexual tension, but the looks they’d been giving each other made it clear that it was only a matter of time now before we caught them sneaking away to make out in poorly lit corners.

I yawned against Lipshaw’s shoulders, his fingers in my hair making me even more relaxed and, as a consequence, even more sleepy. “Eggs with a side of mashed potatoes, please.”

“Our waitress hasn’t come yet, sweetheart,” Lipshaw said quietly while the others laughed.

I frowned, grumbling, “I’m so tired. Yet…so alive.” My eyes snapped open. “That was an accident,” I snapped before any of my friends could point anything out, and I knew they’d been ready to do just that. “I did not mean to do that.”

They all nodded, but as soon as I closed my eyes again, I heard Kal and Deveraux start humming together, “Wrapped up in lies like sheets of another one night stand.”

“Fuck you guys,” I growled, flipping them off. But Alex had not joined us at Denny’s--no one had seen him since our set, actually--and I couldn’t help but laugh.

God, did I ever prove him wrong.