Collision

“Seriously, Alex? You got trashed last night, again?”

I was sat in the back of a small, cosy coffee shop, nursing a cup of black coffee. My younger sister, on the other hand, was nursing a hangover. Her black and blue-streaked hair was hanging limply over her green eyes, heavily lined as usual with black eyeliner, and even the thick amounts of concealer she’d applied couldn’t hide the bags under her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept for weeks, but she was always that pale. Strange, considering I was tanned and freckled, and so was my mother — Alex had got the vampire genes in our family, apparently. It was an ongoing joke in our house that Alex had been swapped at birth by the fae folk.

“Aw come on,” she said brightly. I knew from experience that she would act overly-happy as an attempt to disguise the fact she was suffering — I did that too, especially with hangovers. “We had a gig; we had to celebrate.”

“You have college tomorrow,” I said, ever the responsible one. She was nine years younger than me at seventeen, and I felt quite protective over her. She always said that got on her nerves, and that she was an adult now so I didn’t need to mother her.

She smiled. “No, I don’t. I got myself the day off. Red and I have arranged to practice then.”

There was a pause whilst I stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t do that!” I said finally, outraged. “Your A levels are the most important thing in your life at the moment you’re just throwing it away for your silly little band?”

“Hey, wait a second here. ’Susie Ain’t Your Friend’ is not just some silly little band, it’s my baby. And I’ve already completed my coursework so why do I need to worry? I’ve got three more weeks to finish it.”

“You’re being reckless.”

“You’re being annoying,” she retorted.

Instead of continuing the argument (I knew it was a waste anyway. We had this argument about every week), I took a sip of my coffee and winced when it burned the roof of my mouth. I put it down on the table and looked at my sister across it, disapproval written all over my face. She, however, had a smile on hers, but it didn’t meet her eyes. Her chipped, neon-yellow painted nails dug into the cup she was holding, and I couldn’t help but feel she was imagining strangling me for being over-protective.

She leant back into the heavily-cushioned seat. “Anyway, you’re one to talk — you’re meant to be in work today, Camcam.”

“I have the day off! And don’t call me ’Camcam’. It’s Cameron or Cam, okay?”

“Camcam, cammycam, camelot.” She grinned at me.

“Shut up,” I said as I stood up, grabbing my shoulder-bag from under the table. It was a battered grey thing, and literally falling apart at the seams.

She stood up with me and started gathering up the rubbish to throw in the bin. “Do you want to join me for a little bit of shopping?” she asked, and I paused, pretending to think about it.

“Only if you stop doing that annoying thing you always do,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“Talking.”

“Ouch.”

~*~

My sister and I made our way through the shopping centre, popping into a few shops where we mostly browsed and didn’t buy anything. Well, I browsed, and Alex tried things on and bought too much. Eventually, Alex noticed the time. “Aw shit, let’s go, I need to get to Loudmouse before it closes.” She hurried us out of New Look, and set a brutal pace to the other side of the shopping centre where Loudmouse, a tiny second-hand record store, was located.

I stopped to look at a few window displays, and after the second one she made an exasperated sigh: “Come on, Cam.” She was trying to hurry but I was happy ambling, knowing Loudmouse wouldn’t close for another couple of hours and wondering what had her so anxious.

However, once we were inside the music store, I realized why she was so excited. The shop was like normal, more like a jumble-sale than a major retailer, with band merchandise, posters and CD’s stacked precariously towards the ceiling. The walls were covered in scribbled signatures, so many that it was hard to make most of them out, and the places without signatures had instruments, vinyl’s, posters and other music related decorations hung up.

However, what caught my eye was a life-sized poster of a group of interesting looking guys, dressed head to toe in black, hung up on the far wall proclaiming the release their new album, and before it piles of shiny new CD’s and t-shirts. I couldn’t see the name on the poster but it didn’t matter because there was no chance I’d know who they were, anyway; despite Alex’s desperate attempts to teach me I was still completely ’cool music’ illiterate. The only songs she liked I knew were the ones she’d play at max volume to piss me off when I was trying to work.

She’d bolted to the back as soon as she’d seen the poster, leaving me standing in the entrance and wondering what I should check out. Finally, I decided on heading up to the second floor, which meant venturing up the creaky old stairs, worn out from the twenty-years of abuse they’d endured from careless customers. I tip-toed up them, afraid a too heavy foot could mean I ended up going through the wood — surely it was a health risk to have stairs like this?

Once at the top, I found myself heading towards the older releases section, tucked right at the back of the store — it was even more haphazard here, piles and piles of CD’s, some sorted, others just laid there. There was only one other person there, a dark figure in a hoodie and a leather jacket, but I ignored them except for my first quick glance, put my bag on the floor and started to flick through the selection.

I found a battered second-hand Smashing Pumpkins album after about fifteen minutes of browsing, and went to grab it as another hand landed on mine. I glanced up, annoyed, and found myself face to face with the dark figure — although less dark now he was about five inches from my nose.

He had hazel eyes. That was the first thing I noticed about him. And that his hand was really warm against mine.

“I saw it first,” I said, ready to fight.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then glanced at the album and shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back and letting go of the album. I’d expected a bit more of a fight (there usually was over the popular second-hand albums from my experience), but he seemed to have already forgotten all about it and started browsing again. Curious, I looked him over. He was the sort of guy my sister would be into — messy dark hair and messy dark clothes. I felt a bit bad now – it wasn’t fun if they didn’t fight back, it just made me feel rude.

“Er, excuse me?” He looked up at me, waiting for me to continue. “You can have it if you want,” I said uncertainly, offering him the album. He chuckled quietly.

“Already have it anyway,” he replied. “Nice to meet a fellow fan, though. I’m Gerard, you are?”

“Cameron,” I said quickly, offering my hand. He didn’t take it, so I let it drop to my side limply. When I looked up, he was looking at me as if he was waiting for something. A puzzled look crossed my face — did I know him from somewhere? And why was he giving me that look?

“You don’t recognize me?” He asked finally, his brow furrowed lightly.

I thought about lying — perhaps I’d met him before, and my memory was just playing up. Maybe at the work Christmas party? I had been rather drunk at that. Or had I interviewed him for some article? Situations like that were always embarrassing. But I settled on just shaking my head. “No, should I?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then just smiled. “No, don’t worry about it,” he said.

At that moment I heard my sister shouting something, so I put the album back as well, knowing full well that I didn’t really have the money to waste on it today. I found my sister waiting by the stairs, clutching a new shopping bag and practically buzzing with happiness.

“Hey there,” I said, grinning. “Did’ya get what you wanted, then?”

She was smiling so widely it must surely hurt, her eyes bright. “Yes, I did,” she squeaked, nodded vigorously. I rarely saw her lose her cool like this — must be some damn important album for her.

“Great, can we go home, then?” I asked. She shook her head vigorously this time.

“No, I wanna get some food.”

I gave her a look. “We had cake and coffee less than two hours ago, why do you need more food now? Can’t it wait until we get home?”

She gave me a sulky glare. “No.”

“I’ll make you pancakes,” I offered as a bribe.

The sulky glare didn’t go away. She could really be stubborn sometimes.

I sighed. “Fine, let’s grab some food — but then we’re going home, okay?”

So we found a McDonald’s close by, grabbed a table and dumped the shopping bags on the floor. It was only when I sat down that I realized I was missing my shoulder-bag — where had I put it? I glanced around quickly, then started panicking. My purse, ID, diary, notepad, everything, was in that bag.

“Alex, have you seen my bag?” I asked, hesitatingly.

She looked up from her nails, which she’d been picking at. “No, why?”

“I can’t find it — I think I left it somewhere...”

“You and losing things, Cam. Did it have anything important in it?”

“Er, yes, all my stuff?” I said indignantly.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and then stood up. “I guess food can wait,” she said, gathering up all the bags again and sliding out of the booth. I followed her out of the door, frantically trying to remember when I’d last had my bag. I shoved my hands in my pocket, relieved at least that I still had my phone with me. That was one thing, at least.

“Shall we check New Look or Loudmouse first?” Alex asked, talking over her shoulder.

I paused, thinking. “I do remember having it when I left New Look — I had to pay, remember?”

She laughed. “You offered!”

I was about to retort that I hadn’t offered, she just abandoned me there, but my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I stopped and pulled it out, confused to see ’1 new message from Unknown’ on the screen. Strange. I hardly ever got text messages and when I did they were usually from my mother, or my only girl friend Janey. I opened it, and felt relief as I read the message.

Hey it’s gerard... you left your bag here. found your number in your notepad. i’m @ loudmouse still.

I hit reply and typed a text back, telling him I’d get there as soon as I can. Then I jogged over to my sister.

“Somebody found my bag,” I said, touching her on her arm to get her attention. “They got my number from my notepad and texted me. So we need to go back to Loudmouse.”

She nodded, grinning. “I told you writing your details in there would come in handy someday,” she said knowingly, changing directions and matching my pace as I walked quickly back to the music store. I didn’t reply, but I was kind of glad she’d told me to do that when I’d first got the notepad — as unlikely as this scenario was, Alex had always been a bit obsessive like that.

I jumped up the creaky stairs two at a time, no longer scared I’d go straight through, more worried about getting a hold of my bag again than anything. I darted towards the back as soon as my foot touched the second floor, looking around quickly. I couldn’t see him anywhere, but as I sighed and turned around again, I came face-to-face with him. I’m pretty sure I looked as startled as a deer in the headlights — how did he manage to sneak up on me like that?

There was an amused twist to his mouth, and on an extended arm he was holding my bag, dangling off one finger.

“Lost something?” He said.

I grabbed it, hugging it close to my body. “Thank you,” I said, smiling at him. I slid the bag on my shoulder, and then hugged him, quickly. It was barely more than a few seconds but he looked pretty bewildered when I pulled away. Oops. Perhaps he wasn’t as touchy-feely as me. I’d always been a rather... clingy person, as Alex always complained.

“You have good music taste,” he said after a few awkward seconds, nodding towards the many badges my bag was decorated with. A handful were funny quote ones, but most of them were music related. I laughed, fiddling with them, reading the names — Green Day, MCR, The Academy Is...

“Not really, I don’t know who any of these bands are,” I said, shaking my head. “It was my sister who put them on there — she’s trying to make me look cooler.”

“Well, tell your sister she has good taste, then,” he said, nodding emphatically. “Although I think—”

He was cut off by my sister herself, yelling from the end of the aisle. I looked over, smiled apologetically at him, and squeezed past. “Yeah?” I asked, making my way towards her.

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing at Gerard. I shrugged.

“He was the one who found my bag. I was talking to him earlier,” I said. I watched as she looked him over, and a small smile found its way onto her face. I knew that smile — it never meant good things. “Nuh-uh, Alex. Too old for you,” I said, warningly. She gave me an innocent look.

“I at least gotta thank him,” she said. “Perhaps invite him to eat with us,” she added, rolling her eyes at my look. “I was kidding. What did you say his name was, again?”

“I didn’t. It’s Gerard,” I said, following her as she walked over. She let out a small ’huh’, turning to me.

“You sure about that?” She said. I nodded, and noticed he’d looked up as we approached. He smiled, but something changed in his eyes when he saw my sister. I looked at him strangely, wondering what that was about.

She bounced up to him, smiling brightly. “Hey—” she began, then stopped and stared at him.

“What?” I said, coming up beside her. She turned on me, her eyes wide and mouth opened slightly in a surprised ’o’ shape.

“You didn’t tell me it was Gerard Way.”

“Who?”

~*~

She grabbed my arm and pulled me away, out of his ear-shot.

“Gerard Way. Gerard fucking Way. The Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance. The Gerard Way who’s the fucking lead singer of fucking My Chemical fucking Romance. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said with panic in her eyes. “I bet he thinks we’re total fucking weirdos now.”

“Do you kiss our mother with that mouth?” I teased.

“Aren’t you, like, shocked at all? He’s famous,” she said, the last word coming out in a voice about two octaves higher than her normal one.

“Famous people have lives too, Alex. It’s not like they spend it living in a glass box or something. And anyway, I’m a journalist, I’m used to celebrities.”

She scoffed. “No, Cam, you’re a wannabe journalist who gets to write the pieces which go in about two inch high columns right at the back of the magazine like “Unknown person does something totally boring.” The most famous person you’ve interviewed was that totally weird guy who sometimes does awful covers of old ABBA songs down at the pub.”

I frowned, fake hurt. “There’s no need for that. And I happened to think his version of Mamma Mia was fresh and simply fabulous.”

“You were obviously pissed at the time then, Cam,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Gerard. He had sheepish smile on his face. As soon as she saw he’d noticed her glance, she quickly looked away. “Oh my god, he’s looking at us! He’s looking at us!”

I put my hands on her shoulders. “Okay, Alex, calm down and take deep breaths. I didn’t even know you liked this My Chemical Romance or whatever it is.”

“I—not really. Well, I do. I mean, they’ve got some really cool songs, and their new album is amazing… but still... he’s a rockstar. I’ve never met somebody famous. Ever!”

“Liar.” I laughed. “You met that football crisps guy once... what was his name? Gary something...”

“I meant someone who was famous and cool!”

“Why don’t you go over and talk to him, then? He seemed friendly enough,” I said, taking about two steps in his direction again before she grabbed hold of my arm again.

“Are you insane? I’ll mess it up, I’ll look like a fool!” she wailed, digging her nails into my skin. I winced at the sharp pain, pulling it away.

“Oh god,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s not like you’re ever gonna meet him again, is it?” I said rationally, pulling away from her grip and stalking back over to him. He looked uncomfortable, scratching his neck.

“Is, er, everything okay with… your sister over there?” He asked quietly. “She looks... kinda... crazy-like.”

I looked over at her and laughed. Alex was still rooted to the spot I’d left her, and appeared to be trying to kill me with her eyes. “She’s just freaking out because apparently you’re pretty famous and cool or something. My Chemical Romance?”

“Yeah, that would be me,” he said, chuckling and shaking his head. “Or, well, I’m one fifth of it. Does that count?”

“I guess so,” I said, nodding slowly. “Do you think you could sign something for her, please? Like an autograph? She’s too scared to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure... but I don’t have anything.”

I looked around the music shop we were standing in. “Hmm, now, if only there was somewhere nearby which sold music related stuff... gosh, what a hard one,” I said dryly.

“Didn’t think of it that way,” he admitted with a small grin. He had a nice smile, I decided, sort of unsure but weirdly charming.

I smiled, but jumped when a hand landed on my shoulder. I twisted around. Apparently my sister had gotten over her starstruck state, and decided to join us. She smiled shyly at Gerard. “Um, hi, sorry about that,” she said. There was hardly any trace of the loud, outspoken girl there had been before.

“This is my sister, Alex,” I introduced, redundantly.

She flicked her long fringe out of her eyes, and slowly she seemed to recover from her sudden bout of shyness. Her smile took on a flirtier look and Gerard looked very uncomfortable, now, fidgeting noticeably. I quickly turned to my sister.

“Hey, he’s kindly agreed to give you an autograph if you want. Why don’t you help me find a poster, and leave him to browse in peace?” I suggested none-to-subtly. She seemed distracted, muttering ’hmm?’ in reply but not taking her eyes off Gerard’s.

Yeah, time to give him a break, I thought, taking her arm and forcing her to walk with me. She whined. “I was in the middle of something.”

“Yes, flirting with someone who’s nearly double your age. Come on Alex. Poor guy looked like he was about to bolt.”

“He’s only, like, thirty,” she said. She sighed. “That’s eleven years, right? I can dig that.”

“Thirteen,” I corrected, wondering if somehow he had a magical power to fry teenager girls’ brains.

She smiled widely. “Totally.”

I dragged her over to the poster section, which was luckily only about two aisles away, and shoved her towards the spinning racks. “Take your pick, honey,” I said, standing there with my arms crossed. She grinned, flicking through one rack, umming and ahhing, then the next. It was three other racks before she eventually went ’aha’, and pulled out the correctly numbered rolled up poster from the stacks below. I sent her off to buy it, handing her a couple of pounds to put towards it, and wandered back over to the aisle Gerard was still in. He had his phone out, typing something slowly, his whole concentration on the small device.

“Hi again,” I said, which actually made him jerk slightly. The phone fell out of his grip, and I snatched it quickly before it hit the ground.

“Nice reflexes,” he said as I handed it back to him.

“Too many video game marathons with my older brother,” I explained.

He laughed. Not just a small, polite chuckle, but a proper laugh. He laughed weirdly. “Not actual marathons, then?”

“God, no. Could you see me running more than the distance from my bedroom to the kitchen?” I subconsciously wrinkled my nose up, unimpressed at the thought. He hit a button (presumably the send one) on his recovered phone and slid it into pocket

“Hmm, I feel that. Not much of a sports person myself, either.”

“Who you texting?” I asked, as his phone vibrated loudly and he had to extract it out of the pocket again.

“Huh? Oh, a friend,” he said, a smile coming to his face. I decided not to dig further, just nodded knowingly. He caught this, though. “Oh no, it’s just Frank. Not that kind of friend,” he corrected. “Although the fans would like to think so,” he added as an afterthought.

“What?” I said, confused. “Er, you’ll have to bear with me — remember I only just learned who the hell you are.”

“Right, sorry,” he said, actually appearing apologetic. He glanced over my shoulder. “Your sister’s back,” he said, as she appeared at my side like magic. I wanted to laugh as she stared, wide-eyed at him, the poster hanging limply in her hand, but resisted the urge. I took the poster gently out of her grip, unwrapped it, and handed it over to Gerard — who looked at it for only a moment before he then pulled a sharpie out a pocket (I wondered briefly if he got accosted so often he had to carry one around with him all the time, or if he was just a tad weird like that.)

He leaned against a nearby stack of books, scribbling a message written in the metallic silver sharpie ink — what ever happened to boring old black? — and then signing it with a flourish. He handed it back to Alex, whose hand lingered just too long with his before she took the poster. I thanked him hastily, grabbed my sister and steered her out of the shop. I made sure I had my bag over my shoulder this time.

It was only when we were outside in the shopping center that she turned to me, grabbed my shoulders and shook me in a very ungentle way. “I touched a celebrity!” she said, giggling in an almost insane way.

“Mhm, sweetie, that’s nice.”