Vegas Boys

Brendon was waiting for me out on the sidewalk before school on Monday morning, as always, but the butterflies that invaded my stomach as I made my way down the front walk were a completely different breed from the ones I usually had to put up with. As I finally reached him, he smiled softly at me, and I caught the instinctive jerk of his hand as he went to hold mine--but then he must have seen the hesitation in my eyes, because he stopped himself and looked away.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi." He was bashful--which was kind of funny, coming from him.

"So, um," I began as we started walking, more to break the silence than anything, as I wasn't used to silence around Brendon, "about that Drama project--what did you want to do?"

He shrugged a little. "I don't know, really. I've got a bunch of books at home--plays and stuff--that I went and got at the library the other day, so...if you wanted to, you know, come over some time, you could help me choose, I guess..."

"Okay." I tried to smile encouragingly at him. "Sounds good."

We walked on for a few more minutes in silence. I kept waiting for him to say something, but he never did, which was kind of confusing, since it was usually a challenge to get Brendon to stop talking. If it hadn't been for the occasional glance I saw him shoot my way out of the corner of my eye, I might have thought he was purposely ignoring me.

By the time the school was almost in sight, I couldn't bear the silence any more, and decided to take another stab at conversation. "So, how was your weekend?"

"Pretty good, I guess." He sounded eager enough to respond, at least. "I mean, none of it was as good as Friday night, but..." He turned slightly pink, but went on, "I went to band practice, and then church, and that's about it. But it beats school, at least."

I nodded distractedly; something he had said had caught my attention and brought back memories of long lost summer. "You're in a band?" I asked, trying to sound cluelessly surprised.

"Yeah," he replied, almost reluctantly.

"What do you play?" I persisted when he didn't elaborate.

"Guitar."

"Hmm." I thought about that for a moment. "So what's your name?"

"Brendon Urie."

I stopped walking long enough to roll my eyes at him.

"No, seriously," said Brendon, his wide lips twitching into a wicked grin. "It's like Dave Matthews Band: Brendon Urie Band."

"Frankly, Brendon, no one with any kind of musical ability would willfully play in a band named after you," I told him matter-of-factly.

"First of all," he said indignantly, "I never said we had any musical ability, because, honestly, we don't. And second of all, why wouldn't anyone want to be in the Brendon Urie Band?"

"Because your first name is spelled funny and your last name sounds like 'urine'."

Brendon pretended to be supremely offended. "So what if it's different? I'm unique!"

"Whatever, Urinator," I teased, giving him a little wave over my shoulder as we finally reached the school and went our separate ways.

-----

"Hey, Kelsey."

I gasped a little and dropped my English book in surprise at the voice behind me. Matt let out a short bark of laughter.

"My bad. Let me get that for you," he told me, bending over to retrieve my book.

"Thanks," I said as he handed me the book.

"No problem." He moved out of the way of the stream of students rushing through the hallway to their next class--but the step forward also put him a lot closer to me, and I took a step back, away from him, so that I was right up against my cold locker. He noticed and advanced towards me again--I had nowhere else to go, so I just smiled.

"So, how was your weekend?" he asked briskly.

"Oh, uh--it was pretty good," I replied nervously.

"What'd you do Friday night?" It felt like an interrogation.

"Well..." I began, hesitant to explain the Brendon situation. "I went out to eat with my friend."

Matt raised a thick blonde eyebrow at me. "What friend?"

"Uh...do you know Brendon Urie?"

I jumped again as, without warning, he let out the loudest, most obnoxious laugh I have ever heard; and the strangest part was that he stopped laughing almost as abruptly as he had started. "That Urie kid?" He laughed again, humorlessly, and I noticed that he was getting slightly red in the face. "You went on a date with the Urie kid?"

"First of all," I snapped defensively, "it wasn't a date. And second, he has a first name, and it's 'Brendon.'"

"Yeah, okay, sure," said Matt, and I couldn't understand how he managed to sound so vicious with such an off-handed tone of voice. "Whatever--you can date whatever loser you want--"

"It wasn't a date," I repeated coldly, looking around to make sure Brendon was nowhere in sight. Despite everything, I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Well, what was it then?" He gave me a challenging look that made me so angry that I probably would have slapped him, had he not been so easily twice my size.

"We were just...having fun," I said awkwardly, remembering Brendon's words. "He's my neighbor, and we're working on this Drama assignment together. That's all."

I realized, as I spoke the words, that they were meant to comfort me as much as Matt. No matter what I had told Brendon the other night, I was still afraid. Maybe I always would be.

I was so lost in thought about this that I hardly noticed when Matt made some other sarcastic comment and walked away with a sneer. I realized that I only had two minutes to get to class now, and hurried off towards English III, struggling to force the paranoid thoughts of distrust that my mother had instilled in me into silence.

-----

Brendon was waiting for me after school again, and his otherwise dismal expression brightened as he spotted me.

"What's wrong?" I asked, frowning as we started walking off towards home.

"Nothing," he said evasively.

Thinking of my conversation with Matt earlier that day, I asked cautiously, "Did someone say something to you?"

He looked startled, as if he couldn't begin to fathom why I would suspect such a thing--but I reminded myself that he was in a drama class for a reason. "No," he said fervently. "Nothing's wrong, I'm just...tired. You know--Monday."

I nodded, and decided not to mention the fact that Brendon was never tired and his good mood rarely differed at all between a Monday or a Friday or any other day of the week. Whatever was bothering him, he obviously didn't want to talk about it.

"So tell me more about your band," I demanded suddenly, remembering our conversation that morning.

Brendon groaned, but I could see the ghost of a smile dancing across his wide lips, and he seemed grateful for the subject change, at least. "I don't know. I met this dude in guitar class, and he and his friend had started a band, and they asked me to join. That's all."

We walked on in silence for a while, and finally I scraped up the nerve to ask, "Hey...if I tell you something, will you be creeped out?"

"That depends on what you tell me," said Brendon, smirking. "But I'll probably just get horny."

I rolled my eyes at him, feeling my cheeks heat up despite myself. "It's not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"What's it like, then?"

"I think..." I began, a little sheepishly. "I think I've heard you guys play before--at your house, over the summer."

He nodded. "Yeah, probably. We can't really practice at my house much anymore because my mom doesn't like it. She's afraid I'm going to grow up and turn into some rock star with booze and tattoos and hordes of worshipping preteen girls." He laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right."

"You never know," I joked. "You guys could be the next Rolling Stones."

"If we are, you get to be my personal groupie, okay?" Brendon was joking, but there was something serious about his tone that made my stomach flutter.

"What, you can't share?"

"No!" he exclaimed, beaming. He grabbed my arm and swung me around in a circle, then pulled me closer, so that our hips were touching and there were only inches between our faces. "I want you all to myself," he breathed.

We just stood there in our awkward embrace for a moment or two, and maybe in some unrealistic romantic comedy or after-school special, we would have kissed. But this was real life--and he was real, and I was real, but most importantly, my mother's voice in the back of my head, warning me about Vegas boys, was all too real.

I slipped out of his arms, avoiding his gaze uncomfortably for a moment.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "So..." He cleared his throat. "How would that be creepy, anyway? I mean--how is it creepy that you heard us playing?"

I shrugged, glad, at least, for the distraction. "I don't know. I didn't really know you then...and I would always stop what I was doing and listen."

"We weren't that good. I mean, we aren't that good." I finally looked up from the ground and saw that he was blushing furiously, and I couldn't help but smile.

"I thought you were," I said quietly.

He met my gaze then, and we just smiled softly at each other for a few minutes. Then he glanced back down the sidewalk, towards our houses, as if someone had called his name. "Oh--we should probably get going," he said.

"Oh--yeah," I agreed, laughing nervously. I hate when I do that--that awkward nervous laugh. I sound like my mother.