Dedication Takes a Lifetime

It had been a little over six weeks since our band’s first practice, that night in my garage, with Jocelyn now among our ranks. In those six weeks, I would be lying if I said we didn’t lose ourselves in each other. It wasn’t a job for us; we weren’t simple, cordial coworkers that clocked in, did our thing, clocked out, and disappeared until the next shift. We were friends. Close friends. After all, we were all putting trust in each other’s “love and dedication” to music, and that bound us closer than anything. We practiced three nights a week, and those practiced always started and ended with the four of us in my living room, eating or doing homework or just talking. We talked almost every day. We knew each other’s families. Hell, we were family.

Jocelyn, we’d discovered, was really the badass she appeared to be that first day. Kicked out of three schools before finally dropping out and getting her GED by the time she was sixteen, littered with scars of midnight fence hopping and skate park brawls. Now she worked as a concierge at a well-regarded local Inn full-time and took online college courses online; she was a couple months younger than me and had already accomplished quite a bit for herself. On top of her work and school, she was also a sweet person. Her danger sparked from the fact that she was brutally honest and didn’t take any bullshit. She was strong, but once she realized that she didn’t have to keep that guard up with us, it wasn’t long before she became the life of the party.

Deveraux was not as deep a well, but still a fascinating person to be around. He’d graduated college the year before, when he was twenty-two, and was taking a few years off to try and get somewhere with his music before he went to graduate school to pursue a doctorate in Sociocultural Anthropology. He was the most happy-go-lucky person any of us had ever met, always smiling with a positive attitude. The only time we’d ever seen him look otherwise was that first day, when Kal had challenged him on his music.

Kal, as she’d confessed one night as we all shared a few beers and bowls of popcorn, was the daughter of famous novelist Katrina Lews and Philosophy professor Damion Aberman. She’d grown up in the richest gated community in Orono, Maine, with her four siblings. Apparently, she’d requested to be sent to Camellia Ridge to get away from her spoiled, stuck-up family; she “wanted to stay modest until she had reason to be smug.” Her words, not mine.

And even though they’d all divulged their life stories to me, I still couldn’t make myself give them more than my basics: I grew up well-off, with stylist mommy and ADA daddy, took a year off after Sophomore year, and now lived in my house, alone. I loved my family, loved my job, loved music. That was it.

They were family, but I couldn’t make myself vulnerable. Trusting people always seemed to blow up in my face.

And while we’re on the subject of Alex Gaskarth: We had also, somehow, managed to develop and maintain a close friendship with Jack Barakat. I’m not sure if he’d intended it to be that way, initially, because at the beginning it was just him calling Kal every-other-day. Since Kal was usually with us, however, and a huge fan of speakerphone, we’d all taken turns talking to the guitarist and now each had him programmed into our speed dials. We kept him updated on the band and he was always excited to hear about our progression; he was always excited in general. That’s why he and Deveraux, especially, seemed to have a special bond. When they started talking, Kal, Jocelyn, and I usually just left the room.

“Gueeeeess what?” Deveraux slid into the garage one afternoon, almost face planting when he stumbled over his shoes which, we now knew, were never tied. The girls and I were working on finishing up one of the original songs we’d taken to writing when our bassist started bouncing about, more hyper than usual.

We all sighed in unison, “What, Dev?”

He tapped his mobile, “Just got off the phone with Jack.” This wasn’t news, so we all waited in silence as he looped his bass over his shoulder and started tuning it. We were still using Lenny’s equipment, since her band was on the brink of splitting. Finally, Deveraux continued, “They’ve got another week-long break, and he’s coming to see us!”

My eyes immediately snapped to Kal, a crooked grin on my face, and laughed when she gasped and her hand fluttered up to her chest. I was almost positive that something dirty would ensue.

Jocelyn smiled, “That’s awesome.” Before joining the band, she’d never even heard of All Time Low. She wasn’t their biggest fan, but she liked them fine; I think she was just excited to meet the friend she only knew through the telephone.

I nodded in agreement, “When is he coming?”

“Flying in next Thursday and staying through the week-end. I, uh,” he blushed, “I told him he could stay here, Annette; I’m sorry, I hope that’s okay.”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled, “Yeah, I’ll make up the guest room.” I could feel Kal’s pleading eyes on me and I turned, “Yes, Kalila, I can make up the second guest room for you. Hell, you guys can stay too,” I added to our other two members, “He’s gonna need company while we’re in school, after all.” They all agreed to this.

Deveraux shifted again, “There’s more.”

I took a step back from my microphone and a few steps closer to him, “And what exactly is more, Deveraux?”

“Well, see, the thing is,” he stuttered, like a child in trouble. “See, Jack said that he wanted to see us but he was only going to make the trip if we tried our damnedest to book our first show for a night he’s here. I said I didn’t know about that and he said then he might not be able to make it. But we all want to see Jack, right? So me, trying to be a good friend and make everyone happy, try to salvage the situation and I say, ‘Oh wait, I’m stupid; I forgot we already booked our first gig that Saturday, so you’re in luck!’ And he was all excited and said he was confirming his flight right then and he would see us Thursday night.”

We were all silent for a long beat, letting ourselves catch up to his quick babble of an explanation. When it finally caught up to us, there was a communal, “What?!”

“Deveraux, we’re nowhere near ready for a gig yet,” I scolded him.

“Not to mention that it would be impossible to book and promote a show on such short notice,” Kal added, smacking her hand against the body of her guitar.

Jocelyn crossed her eyes and barked, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d shove a drumstick through your temple.”

I started to say something else but stopped, turning around to look at our drummer, “Wow, morbid much?” She shrugged.

“Guys,” Deveraux told us with pleading eyes, “We are ready. We know all our covers backwards and forwards, and we’ve got enough originals down to give people a taste of what we’re really about. This had to happen eventually.”

He was right. None of us wanted to admit it, but he was right. Then he continued, “And as for the booking and promoting, I had an idea. But it makes me feel like a jackass to suggest.”

“Hell, Aaron,” Jocelyn rolled her eyes; she was the only one that got away with calling him by his first name, “We already think you’re a jackass right now; might as well keep going.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Okay, well, this house is pretty big,” he gestured around, “And you guys are both still in high school…”

I picked up where he trailed off, catching on. “You want me to host a house party and advertise it at my school, don’t you?”

At my tone, he shrugged weekly and offered, “I’ll…pay for the booze?” I shot him a dirty look and he sighed, “I’m sorry, Annette, but I really want him to come see us, and I want us to move forward and start playing gigs. I would host it myself if I didn’t live in that shitty little shoebox apartment, and you know it.”

I looked at the other two band members, who were both shrugging at me like they agreed with the plan. I opened my mouth to protest when Deveraux interrupted with that unfamiliar look on his face; that absolutely serious, no-nonsense face. “Annette, we have to do this.”

Three to one. And we were a democracy. Dammit. I sighed, “You guys suck.” Without another word, but knowing they all had those goddamn smug smiles on, I counted us in, “One, two; one, two, three, four!”