Collision

As we climbed on-board and shuffled into the front area of the bus, I noticed the TV was frozen on a scene. I glanced at it quickly, looked back, and then turned to the others. “Is that Star Wars?” I asked, slightly suspiciously, as Ray and Frank wandered to the kitchenette to grab drinks and refreshments (despite the fact, I pointed out, we’d just come from catering.) Gerard grinned.

“Yeah. It’s awesome. So don’t bash it,” he replied, sitting down on a seat. I took the seat across from him, shaking my head.

“Dude, you’re meant to be cool,” I said.

“Star Wars is cool,” Frank said with a sniff, apparently returned from his forage for food, and clutching two packs of canned coke and a bag of crisps. “It has lightsabers — they’re swords, made out of plasma! How can you get more cool?”

“I like Star Wars,” Alex said, and I turned to her, raising an eyebrow. Since when? “That’s the one with the final frontier, and everything, right?”

“No, that’s Star Trek,” I replied. “Don’t ever get them confused when you’re talking to die-hard fans. It’s not a good idea.” I shuddered, thinking about the time I’d had to go and report on a Star Trek convention happening, and seen just how obsessive people could get — there was even one fan I’d tried to interview who wouldn’t speak anything but Klingon the entire time, and eventually I got sick of trying to work out what “Hija’” meant and got another person to translate (and it turned out to only mean yes, which was kind of a let down.)

I took off my bag and sat it down on the table, then rifled through it quickly and found what I was looking for — my notepad, a pen, and the mini-digital voice recorder I’d bought ages back and now referred to, fondly, as Gizmoina (despite my sister’s insistence that feminizing the name ’Gizmo’ was lame.)

“You carry that lot around?” Mikey asked, as I sat down on a seat.

“A journalist always has to be ready,” I replied, grinning, and handed Alex the recorder. “Now, Alex, act useful, sit there, and record. You can ask the questions too. I just have to write it all down.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of the recorder?” Gerard asked as they all sat down themselves, and Frank and Ray got into a little fight over who got the last proper seat and who had to sit on the floor. After Ray got Frank in a headlock the rhythm guitarist finally relented, slumping on the floor with an annoyed sign and stormy expression, as, victorious, Ray grinned and took his place.

I laughed, watching how they were acting, and then looked over at Gerard. “It’s meant to be, but Gizmoina is getting on a bit now — the recording quality comes out pretty shit,” I explained. “Plus my shorthand needs practice anyway. It’s really easy to lose the technique.” I ripped a page out of my notebook and handed it to Alex. “That’s some questions, they’re not really that good because I didn’t have much time. But hey, we’ll cope. I’m sure Alex can use her fan knowledge and come up with some too.”

Alex seemed just happy to have something to do other than stare at the guys, who by now had sorted out all their seating squabbles and settled down. She licked her lips and glanced down at the page. “Er, okay, um. Shall we start?” She asked, fiddling with the recorder and looking surprised when she managed to finally turn it on properly. We all nodded. “Hmm, okay, first question: what’s it like playing at festival? Do you guys prefer it to concert venues or...?”

I listened carefully as Gerard answered, apparently taking charge, and tried to keep up with how fast he spoke and scribble it all down. “It’s cool, yeah, but I think I honestly prefer inside concerts — it gets freaking cold out here! But on the plus side we get to meet some really cool bands. And old friends, you know. They’re all really nice.” He paused and glanced at my notepad. “What are you writing, Cam?”

I stopped. “Er, shorthand?”

He peered closely at the symbols. “But... it’s not... where’s the letters? Is that a u?”

Frank got up and walked over, taking a long look himself. “It’s like some alien language! Awesome! What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s just an ’A’,” I explained, when he pointed at the ’/’ I’d written. “They get rid of the middle cross bit and the other side and leave that. It’s Teeline shorthand. The basic principle is drop anything unneeded and bloated, so you can write even faster. I learned it back in college.”

“Freaky,” Ray said, taking a look himself.

“Okay, now we’ve established my sister can write, can we get back to the interview now?” Alex said, rolling her eyes. She was used to my weird shorthand, and I’d even managed to teach her some ages back — which had led to a week of notes on the fridge from each other written in it, which really frustrated mother since she couldn’t read it. It had been pretty cool.

“I’m not surprised,” Gerard said with a grin. “You are very weird, Cam.”

I cleared my throat. “Pot calling kettle black much?”

Alex seemed to give up on ending our conversation and instead turned her attention back to the questions. “These kind of suck, Cam. But hey, I have one: Gerard, you’re a comic book fan, right?” He nodded. “Who’s your favourite artist? Writer?”

“Uh, myself and myself,” he replied, snatching the crisps out of Frank’s hands and sharing them around with the others before taking a handful for himself. Mikey laughed. “But seriously? I’d say, er, Grant Morrison or Alan Moore as the writer... although there’s obviously the other really good ones, like Will Eisner or Neil Gaiman. Oh, and Alex Toth as the artist — he influenced me a hell of a lot. His style is really like mine, actually.”

“Wow, I have no clue who any of those are except Eisner, and that’s because of the awards,” I said, as I dutifully wrote down the answer anyway.

“Okay, one for Bob,” Alex said. “Since you’ve been practically mute in every interview I’ve ever seen. Let’s see... what inspired you to be such a kickass drummer when you were growing up?”

“Well, er, I guess it was just something I wanted to do?” He replied, glancing around at the others as if they were going to give him the answer. He shrugged. “I used to love some of the great jazz drummers, y’know, but as I grew up I got more into rock — I liked Green Day’s album, Dookie, it’s great to play along to. Same with Metallica’s Ride the Lightning.”

“No, that’s totally not true. Bob is only in this band for the girls,” Frank supplied, laughing. “He hates fame and drumming. And the music? Despises it. He actually wants to be a ballerina.”

“Wow, helpful, Frank,” Bob replied. “Please ignore the runt, he’s upset because Ray totally beat his ass when he tried to get a seat.”

~*~

Altogether we spent about two hours messing around to get about thirty minutes of actual interview, but it was fun and by time I nudged Alex and told her we had to go I was in a really good mood — the non-stop grinning kind.

I stood up first, put all my stuff away — including my carefully written notes and Gizmoina, which I took off Alex — and then waited for several minutes whilst Alex delayed getting up herself as long as possible; deep in conversation with Gerard, who was giving her a crash course in Star Wars and why it was the best thing ever. Eventually I grabbed her arm and physically hauled her to her feet, then pushed her towards the door whilst waving at the guys and thanking them quickly.

Outside it was now pitch-black, not even slightly light. There were floodlights up, luckily, so instead of ending up tripping over an object and landing face-down in the pavement I actually managed to make my way to Alex’s bus in one piece. I decided I’d stay there the night, since I was lazy and didn’t really feel like walking all the way to the other side of the camp to get to my bus. And Alex insisted, once I’d mentioned my reluctance.

As I walked onboard I was greeted by an excited yell, and then a tight, rib-crushing hug from none other than Finley. Ellie was sat on a seat, her legs curled up underneath her, and looked amused at the squeal Finley emitted. “Hey you,” I said, hugging him back. “Did they let you near the sugar again?”

His face twisted into a pout. “No, they locked it up,” he said, morosely. “But I had chocolate in my bunk!”

“Good god, guys, you should know better than that,” I chided, noticing that Jack was crashed out on the floor instead of a seat or a bed, and had a blanket thrown carelessly on top of him — that’s love, that is; just cover up your passed out friend and leave him there. Red was standing near the kitchenette with a mug in his hands, and he shrugged.

“What’s the point? He’ll just get it from somewhere else.”

“Hmm. Good point. Why’s sleeping beauty on the floor here instead of his bunk?” I asked, walking over and nudging Jack gently with the toe of my sneakers. Finley laughed.

“He got drunk and stumbled back here about an hour ago. It was funny when he passed out and he’s too heavy for me to lift so he stays there.”

I shook my head, not sure if I had an answer to that, and turned back to Alex. “Can I borrow some sleeping clothes?” I asked. She nodded, leading me to the furthest bunk which she had obviously claimed as her own, judging from the photographs and posters — a few now of bands I recognized — she’d already stuck up on the small part of wall showing. She had one suitcase on the end and another tucked underneath, and no doubt had another one stored in the bins — I’d seen the amount of clothes she normally packed when she went away for two days, god knows how many she thought she needed for a whole month.

She unzipped the case on the bed, dug through it for a few seconds, and then pulled out an oversized top and shorts. “Here,” she said, handing them to me. I hid behind a curtain to change, and I was surprised that the shorts did actually fit. And not to badly, either — they must be some of the biggest ones she had. I was glad the shirt was quite long though, since it would cover the majority of the shorts anyway. And that it wasn’t too cold, thanks to the heaters.

When I came out she’d already changed, and then directed me to the bathroom and handed me her toiletry pack.

I stole Jack’s bunk, since he obviously wasn’t going to be using it since he was quite happily unconscious on the floor, and then, slowly, everyone retired to bed too. I spent a good half an hour talking to Alex, who was in the bunk across from mine, before asking if I could borrow her laptop. She let me and I quickly typed up a small blog post with some pictures off my camera I’d taken of around the camp and the stage, and a teaser for the interview. Then I put it away and fell asleep.

~*~

The next morning, I woke up to a guy, leaning over me. Wait, no... two guys. They were blurry, and I squinted in an effort to get a better look. One had odd-coloured eyes which twinkled in the bright sun light.

“Jack?” I said, groggily, sitting up. I recognized the other guy, too, although it took me a bit longer — it was Jerey, the one that Finley had introduced at dinner last night. He was grinning, obviously amused, but silent. “Uhm, what are you guys doing leaning over me?”

Jack shrugged. “What are you doing in my bunk? You know, I’m not normally against girls in my bunk, but usually I’m there too.” He snickered, then straightened up. “Alex sent me here to wake you up and tell you that Chantel brought us pancakes from catering.”

My eyes widened and I quickly scrambled out of bed, ignoring the fact I was only in my borrowed bed clothes, and rushed to the front of the bus where the rest of SAYF and Antagonism Enmity was gathered already. Ellie looked up, laughing at my eagerness, and passed me a plate of the pancakes.

“Dig in,” she said, but I had already sat down and started. I waved at Chantel, and she waved back, although my mouth was too full of pancakes to actually say anything, let alone thank her for the awesome wake-up. They were delicious — it had been weeks since I’d had pancakes properly, since I always ended up making them for Alex and watching her eat them all. Everyone else was attacking them with the same vigour too, so they were apparently a hit. Chantel looked pleased.

When everyone’s stomachs were full-to-bursting with pancakes and golden syrup we moved to sit in various places around the front area of the bus to watch the TV. Halfway through a show which I had no clue what going on in, Alex jumped up and demanded that I come with her to the back of the bus. I wondered what she wanted, but then she ran off to her bunk and came back brandishing a carrier bag, full of boxes and I knew.

“Is it your hair?” I asked, trying not to roll my eyes.

She grinned. “Help me dye it red,” she said, grabbing hold of my hand and dragging me back to the lounge. “Finley, get some towels,” she commanded, and the guitarist got up and dragged himself to the bathroom to do as she said.

She was really bossy when she wanted to, I knew that, but I found it funny how he managed to look like this was the most terrible thing to be told to do in the world.

So I sat down the floor, and Alex laid out a towel and then wrapped one around her shoulders too, after I’d made sure she was wearing something she didn’t mind getting stains over — the one time I’d forgotten to do that was enough, after she’d spent about a month sulking and claiming that I’d deliberately ruined her Iron Fist top. I didn’t see it as that much of a loss since it was possibly the ugliest and scariest top I’d ever seen (featuring the lovely image of a skull, with maggots in the eye sockets and flesh hanging off it), but she obviously did.

It took four hours, altogether, even with Finley’s help (since he had a lot of experience dying his own hair weird colours) and the small sink in the bus ended up stained a lovely red colour.

We sat down to watch an episode of House whilst we waited for the last coat of dye to take. We didn’t manage to get rid of all the black, especially at the ends, so instead of being completely red Alex’s hair turned out streaked red at the top and faded to black at the ends.

It was actually quite an awesome failure, and I’m sure Alex liked it because she spent ages preening in the mirror and styling it.

“All your hair is gonna fall out soon,” I warned her, as she teased it up into the weirdest spiked style I’d seen her do yet. She turned around, pulling a hair pin out of her mouth and sliding it into her hair, and gave me a look.

“So? That’s what wigs were made for,” she said nonchalantly.

I giggled. “You’ll get wig lice!”

She pulled a face, scrunching her nose up in disgust. “Maybe I’ll let up on the dying later then. Go back to my natural colour.”

“Sure,” I said, with a scoff, poking her side as I passed her. I couldn’t even imagine her with her natural light-golden brown colour — would it even be that colour anymore? The last time I’d seen her with fully-natural colour was about eight years back. “I’m gonna go back to my bus, say hi to the others and get changed because I’m not wearing this all day.” I motioned at my clothes, and she nodded.

“Oh yeah. I forgot to mention about that — have fun running to your bus in shorts!” Her grin warped into something which just came across as extremely evil.

“What did you do?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Her smile grew, and I fought back a groan as I went searching for the jeans I was wearing yesterday. I couldn’t find them, and they were no longer in the neat folded pile I’d made. “Bitch,” I muttered, grabbing hold of my bag and sliding on my shoes instead. She obviously thought it would be amusing for me to freeze to death. I hesitated before walking outside, and as soon as I stepped out the door I regretted it. Sucking in a deep breath, I ran in the direction of my bus. I didn’t want to be outside any longer than I had to.

Unfortunately, I was too focused on planning on how I was going to kill Alex later when I got the chance, because I didn’t notice the surprised looking Frank standing in my path until I ran into him and sent us both flying.

I landed half on top of him, half on the floor, and scraped my knees against the tarmac. “Fuck!” I said, wincing from the burning pain now racing from my knees and through my body. Frank didn’t seem hurt, though — he was laughing, but he didn’t make a move to get up. “You okay, Frank?” I asked, concerned, as I scrambled up myself. “And what’s so funny?”

He put his hands behind him to steady himself and got up, finally, after he’d stopped laughing. “Mostly only fans try to trample me,” he explained, grinning. “You should watch where you’re going.”

I frowned. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t — hold on, what are you doing out here?” It wasn’t the nicest weather to be out in, and he certainly wasn’t wrapped up properly in his jeans and short-sleeved t-shirt — much like me, but that wasn’t by choice on my part.

He smiled, secretively, and then it widened into a grin. “I’m eavesdropping,” he explained, jerking his head sideways. I raised an eyebrow and turned, trying to figure out what he was talking about and ignore how much my knees hurt at that moment. I saw easily enough; the two Way brothers were standing a little further away, apparently oblivious to our little spectacle and deep in conversation.

“Uhm, why?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Because they’re arguing and it’s fun?” He offered. “Now please shut up, I can’t hear them.”

I did shut up, but I didn’t really want to stand there spying on them, so I apologised to Frank once more, and then walked off. I got about five feet further before I heard someone shout my name, and I turned around.

Gerard waved at me, motioning for me to come over. I groaned, just wanting to get inside and get warm, but I trudged over obligingly.

“What?” I asked, trying not to come across as rude.

“Just wanted to say—” he stopped and looked at me. “Uhm, what have you been doing Cam? Your knees are bleeding. And... what’s up with your hands?”

I looked down, noticing that the scrapes on my knees had indeed started bleeding, and that I had cuts on my palms, too, which I hadn’t realized I had. Presumably, they were from where I’d thrown out my hands when I fell. I shrugged. “I fell over,” I explained.

“Why are you wearing shorts?” Mikey asked, giving me look which was half between amused and ’you’re crazy’.

“My sister thought it would be funny to hide my jeans,” I explained, slightly surly.

“Ah. Sibling love. Okay.” Gerard said it like he had experience in that area, and I’m sure he did. No doubt he and Mikey had their pranks and spats. I knew Alex and I certainly did, which was both fun and annoying. Fun coming up with new pranks and jokes, annoying when you fell victim to one. “You should get those cuts checked out. They look nasty.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, smiling anyway, because I was glad he was slightly concerned. “What are you guys doing out here?”

The smile was gone from Gerard’s face so quickly I assumed I must have said something very wrong, especially when he frowned and glared at Mikey. Uh oh. Another fight I did not want to get involved in. I stepped back, ready to just bolt off if it did seem like I was getting pulled in.

“Mikey was just voicing his concerns over my personal life again,” Gerard explained sharply. Mikey returned his glare.

I saw that this couldn’t end well, and tried to grin convincingly. “Alright. I’ll leave you guys to it then,” I said, turning back towards my bus.

“Hold on, Cam, I was meaning to ask you — do you want to come to a party later? Us, Hello, Irony and a few other people are sort of throwing this thing on their bus to celebrate the start of the tour, before our set. It should be fun. About six thirty?”

“Sure, I’ll be there. Why not,” I replied, still grinning, and then said goodbye and ran towards my bus to get inside finally.

~*~

A few hours later — after I’d changed and had a very concerned Genie fuss over my cuts — I was sat down in a tent that had been put up in front of the stage watching My Chemical Romance on stage doing sound-check (or at least trying to — so far Frank, Ray and Mikey hadn’t even got their instruments ready, and Gerard and Bob were both waiting) when Liza found me.

She had her hair properly teased and styled today, so I gathered she’d finally got Zacky to tell her where her hair gel was — it looked good, I had to admit, and made me slightly jealous. My hair, long and wavy, didn’t “style”, just looked “slightly good” or “horrendous.” There really was no in-between. Today it was in the “slightly good” category, having cooperated with my attempts to brush it into submission and actually lying flat for once.

She pulled up a chair and sat down next to me, grinning. “Hey there,” she said, looking over at the laptop I had balanced on my knees. I’d been trying to write the article for today, including the interview and some pictures, but I hadn’t managed to get past the first paragraph. “How are you?”

I smiled back at her, closing the lid of the laptop and putting my hands on the top of it. “I’m great... you?” I asked. There was a loud crash, which drew attention back to the stage as I tried to work out what had just happened — Ray was on the ground with Frank on top of him (presumably after jumping on him or something) and Gerard was making wild gestures and yelling at both of them. He didn’t look angry so much as annoyed and slightly exasperated.

“Hmm. I’m good.” She nodded, watching the stage herself with slightly wide eyes. “So what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to do my job... honestly, it’s not going well,” I said. I put my laptop to the side, on a nearby table, and looked up just in time to see Gerard notice the two us watching them, and make the universal crazy gesture — rotating his finger in a circle near his ear, then pointing at Frank and Ray who were still on the ground, rolling around and hitting each other rather childishly. I snickered, watching him turn away again and nudge the two people lying on the floor with his foot and, when that didn’t work, kicking them harder. Just the way the guys acted with each other was enough to make me shake my head and laugh. I watched them for several minutes before Liza broke the silence.

“What do you think about Gee then?”

At her question I frowned slightly, turning to her. She looked genuinely curious, but I wasn’t sure exactly what she was asking. “Uh... he’s a nice guy?” I replied, confused.

She laughed, apparently at my response. “Right. So how long have you liked him?” I just kept staring at her blankly and she sighed. “Oh, don’t treat me like a fool, Cam. I’ve had crushes on enough guys to notice when someone has one, especially on one of my best friends. You should see the way you look at him.”

“I don’t...”

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Then why are you smiling like that?” She asked.

I blushed slightly, not sure whether to protest more or just stay silent. I was sure what the hell to do, actually. I’d admit I was attracted to him, in some aspects, but I didn’t do... whatever she was suggesting. Especially not about somebody I’d just met, and doubly not about someone completely unavailable. Deciding I needed to at least say something, I cleared my throat and mumbled: “Er, well, he has a girlfriend.”

“That doesn’t automatically cancel out any feelings. Or mean you have to act on them. I should know. My fiancé had a girlfriend when I realized I liked him.”

Forgetting what we were talking about then, I paused, staring at her incredulously. “Hold it, you have a fiancé?” I’d never heard anything about that before, even when Alex had been telling me all about Liza after we’d first met her.

It was her turn for her cheeks to turn red. She hesitated for a few long moments, then gave me an awkward smile. “Uhm. Yeah. But, er, don’t say anything... it’s kind of a secret.” She obviously noticed my confusion, because she shrugged ever-so-slighty and explained. “My manager, well, Hello, Irony’s manager, he doesn’t want it out there that I’m taken. Says it’ll weaken the sales and all that. So yeah. Officially, I’m single, although whenever someone asks I just say ’no comment’.”

“But... wait, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Davey,” she muttered quickly, looking away.

“Wait, your drummer? Aw, that’s awesome.” I laughed. I quite liked Davey, he’d come across as really sweet and quite modest. And he had awesome tattoos. “Who else knows?”

“Just our families and friends, the other guys in the band... Gerard does, too. Well, My Chem all does. And I guess you too now.” She was twisting and playing with one of the many rings she was wearing on her hands, and I glanced down, searching for one which could be the engagement ring. She noticed my look and pointed at a simple band with three diamonds, which she wore on the wrong finger. “It belonged to Davey’s grandmother,” she explained, noticing my interest.

“So is that why you live in New Jersey now?” I asked, recalling what Gerard had told me earlier.

She nodded, and then her smile widened. “But hey, enough about me,” she said, and I realized that I really didn’t like the mischievous twinkle she had going on in her green eyes. “I came here to find out about you and Gerard. Spill.”

I blinked a few times, not sure what to say now the attention was back on me. “Like I said... he’s nice? He’s... er, not my type.” I swallowed nervously.

“Psh. Type smype,” she said, snorting derisively and leaning back in her chair so it would tip onto only two feet. I tried not to chide her, I really did, but dammit was it tempting. “There’s no such thing as type. You like people because of who they are, not because you’re genetically predisposed to find attraction in certain qualities in potential partners. Amirite?”

“Wait... I’m tired so I only got half of that. You’re saying, nobody has types? And that you know I have a crush on somebody when I don’t even know myself? That doesn’t seem right.” I realised I didn’t like the word crush, because it seemed so primary school. I was twenty-six years old, for heaven’s sake. Not that I really acted it, admittedly.

“What I’m saying is that I’m good at reading people,” Liza said, ever modest, and I rolled her eyes at the childish grin on her face. She righted herself again, then stood up, pushing her orange and red fringe out of her eyes and tousling it through her fingers. “And that you have a total boner for my friend. I know I’m right... but you obviously don’t think so. But just think about.” She smiled as she walked off, swinging her arms casually.

And I watched her go before turning back to the stage, surprised to find that Gerard was looking at us again. I think he looked curious — although it was hard to tell from this distance — but I just shook my head at him, then grabbed my laptop again and got back to work as they finally began sound check. It didn’t stop the fact my mind was buzzing with thoughts, but it was a distraction and for that I was glad. Because I didn’t like the feeling I had in my stomach. Not at all.