Just a warning, these characters may not exactly be the ones you remember from the show. I tried to make them a little more realistic. A little. And Ally's definitely different, so hang in with her. Disclaimer - I do not own Austin & Ally or any of these characters.
It's almost closing time, and Sonic Boom is slowing down. I stand by the cash register. I really want to lean against the counter, but it's bad for business to appear lazy. Austin and Dez are by the guitars. Austin is memorizing them. I think Dez is just naming them. A few minutes ago they were playing rock star with our microphones. I swear, they think this store is their own personal playground.
Trish is in a chair in the corner, feet propped up, reading a magazine.
For people who are always telling me I have no life, they don't seem socially active. I hum a tune, drumming my fingers on the top of the cash register. My nails are really short. I should stop biting them. It's almost as bad as sucking hair. Except hair tastes better. Generally.
I ring up the last customer. He buys a piccolo that had been sitting alone on the shelf for months. Dad will be happy that I sold it. The door closes as the lucky customer walks out. Before I can blink, Austin, Dez and Trish are all hovering over the counter.
"Hey guys," I smile. "Whassup?"
"Was that supposed to sound cool?" Austin smirks.
"Yeah." Dez flips his hair. "Because it wasn't." He crosses his legs. He is wearing skinny pants with a brightly colored pattern of blue, yellow and green noodles. He has no right to judge me.
Trish shakes her head in agreement. Which really, if you think about it, makes no sense. "Just stick to hello. Or maybe just hi. The less you talk the better."
"You guys are such good friends," I say, reaching under the counter to pull out the stack of neatly-typed agendas and my beloved gavel. I pass out the papers, then bang the gavel, making the three of them jump. "I hereby call this Team Austin meeting to order, by the power vested in me by my superior intelligence."
"That is so not why you have that power," Austin says, picking up the agenda and scanning it quickly.
No, I think. It's because the so-called manager here doesn't actually manage.
"So, here's basically where we are." I prepare to give a stupid, step-by-step recap of the past few months, the kind that you would find on TV shows with bad dialogue. Believe it or not, Austin and Dez find it really helpful. Well, mostly just Dez. "Austin's album isn't doing so well. Starr Records isn't happy about it, and unless we start promoting it, he's going to fade into obscurity."
"No I won't," Austin objects. "I wrote a song about how I'm not going to fade into obscurity. Remember? A billion hits?"
I stare at him. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he was just acting dumb or if he really was that dumb. When he cracks a smile, I know he is just playing with me. "You're so funny," I said, trying to roll my eyes in an offhand manner. "The point is, we need to get people more interested in Austin."
"The Cheetah Beat article..." Trish starts.
"Sure," I say. "Because people other than ten-year-old girls read that. We need a wider audience."
"The TV appearances..." Austin adds.
"Oddly, still not helping. You weren't famous enough then."
"Yodeling for green bricks..." Dez begins.
I tilt my head, tightening my lips. This is what Austin calls Ally's I don't really understand how a person as stupid as you lived this long look. I have to say, the name and the look itself are pretty effective. "Never mind," Dez says sheepishly.
"So ideas, guys," I finish. "Trish. Try to do some actual managing."
She shrugs. "Of course I'll try. But I've been so busy with work lately..."
We move on with the rest of our business.
You've been trying for a long time
But you know I've got you beaten
Cause I'm stronger and I'm smarter
While you're tired, young and weak
And you should know you can't outrun me
Cause I'm never gonna fall down
Even though you think I'm cruel
You just don't deserve this crown
So na na na na na
You can't catch me
Na na na na na
You can't catch me
You can cry
You can scream
But na na na na na
You can't catch me
I finish the song on a C minor chord. I'm gulping for air. My new song is hard to sing. I'm still not sure when I should breathe. The words all run together. I bend over the staff paper, about to make a few subtle changes to the melody of the chorus. Sonic Boom is empty now. Everyone has gone home, even my friends. This is my favorite time to write music. I would never tell Austin this, but I find it easier to write when he's not around helping me.
I would also never tell Austin how much I hate writing music for him.
It's not him personally. Austin is...OK. He's not insanely talented. His voice isn't that great. But he's a good guy, I think. The problem is, his music is all about really shallow stuff, about being famous and meeting girls and letting go and summertime and other themes that have already been explored by hundreds of other artists. It's frustrating for me. None of them understand me. Not Trish, not Dez, not Austin.
I fought dirty, I don't care
I left you choking on my dust
Don't think I don't know how it feels to be the one who wasn't tough
They wounded me; cut me down
I had to learn how not to bleed
You'll get your day, have no doubt
But know this race belongs to me
So na na na na na
You can't catch me
Na na na na na
You can't catch me
You can cry
You can scream
But na na na na na
You can't catch me
As the last tones of the piano fade, I hear slow, confused clapping. I spin around. Austin is leaning in the doorway. I push back the piano bench and walk over to him, straightening my pink floral skirt. "What are you doing here?" I ask. My cheeks are hot.
"What's that song about?" he asks. For once, he is not laughing or smiling.
"I don't even know," I say helplessly.
He nods carefully. "Sorry to interrupt you. I left my wallet downstairs, and I heard you singing and I...I am just really sorry."
"It's OK," I say. But it really wasn't.
"And I found this," he says, holding out a gold necklace. "On the stairs."
My hands fly to my neck. I hadn't realized it was missing. I snatch it from his outstretched fingers. I push back my wavy brown hair, but my fumbling hands won't work the clasp. "Let me do it," Austin says, walking around behind me.
I freeze as he takes the ends of the chain from my fingers, scared that this will turn into one of those moments.
I really hate those moments.