DISCLAIMER: I, much like several of the characters in this story, am nothing more than a broke college student with too much time on my hands. I have borrowed Goren, Eames, Deakins, and Carver from Dick Wolf, hoping he won't mind. However, should he decide to sue, the only things worth value I would be able to pay him with are my underused textbooks. They could be worth quite a fortune, however, as they look like new! I also do not own the lyrics to Boulevard of Broken Dreams, those are Green Day's. Hollywood Highlife isn't a real club that I know of, at least in New York. And, finally, The State University of New York, College at Old Westbury is not my property, it is the property of New York State, I just dorm there. The misfortunes explained in the final scene, while they have not happened to me (yet), are typical of the school. Don't even get me started on the cafeteria food….

A/N: This is my first published fan fiction of any type. I gave it a shot. I personally think the ending is too quick and the last line is incredibly cheesy, but I had some trouble coming up with their little one-liner for the closer. Please review it, but gently as I don't want my spirits crushed. Although, if I really suck I want to know…but at the same time…Oh, whatever. Just do what you're gonna do. Just please keep in mind I'm a rookie!

Chapter One

Alexis set her guitar back into its case and closed the snaps.

"Great show, kid," the club owner said, walking up to her. "Here's your band's cut. Give me a call again in about a month; I'll see what I can do for ya." He stuck his cigar back in his mouth and walked away. Alexis thumbed through the stack of cash and then waved the rest of the band over to me.

"Great job guys," she said, meaning it. "I'm sorry I've been riding everyone so hard lately, but-"

"Forget it, Lex," Tony, the bass player, cut in. "We've got midterms, too."

Alexis couldn't help a smile. "Well anyways, the manager gave me a grand. Split five ways it's two hundred each." She started passing around everyone's cut.

"Any news about another gig?" asked Zeke, the drummer.

Alexis nodded, reluctantly explaining. "He said to give him a call in a month."

"A month?" was the chorused response.

"Two hundred is supposed to last us a month?" Justin, guitar and backup vocals, asked. "I still haven't been able to afford to buy books this semester, and midterms are next week! Not to mention phone bills and credit card debt!"

She held up her hands. "Hey, and I'm not going through the same problems? What do you want me to do?"

"Talk to the owner!" Justin insisted. "He can do better than this, it was a full house! And it's not like we suck, either."

She sighed. She didn't have much choice. Brave the club owner, or brave the wrath of the angry band, who were about to turn into an angry mob. At least if the owner lost it, her band would back her up.

Alexis knocked lightly and waited for the gruff "Come in." She opened the door and closed it behind her.

"Mr. Sutiani."

He looked up from counting his night's take for a glance, and then went back to counting. She couldn't help noticing how many stacks of greenbacks there were. Suddenly the once seemingly generous thousand for the night seemed like nutshells.

"Yeah, whaddya want, kid?"

She gently cleared her throat. "Mr. Sutiani, I need to talk to you about our payment."

"Ten percent of the door, that was the agreement."

She took her time, trying to carefully word her next question. "What, exactly, was the door tonight?"

He looked up and pulled his cigar out of his mouth. He eyed her a long moment before responding. "What, exactly, are you implying? You think I'm cheating you out of money?"

"No!" she answered a little too quickly. That's exactly what she thought. "No, not at all, sir. I was just curious."

"How much did I give you?"

"A thousand."

"A thousand times ten. Then I guess the door was ten thousand. Aren't you supposed to be in college?"

She ignored the verbal jab. "Well, sir, the problem is, split five ways it's only two hundred for each of us, and you're not offering us another job until next month… It's just-I guess what I'm saying is it's not enough."

He pointed at her with his cigar and spoke with narrowed eyes. "You don't want to play here anymore, fine with me. I got plenty of other acts eager to take that stage."

"That's not what I'm trying to say."

"You know what, don't call in a month. In fact, don't call. You'll be lucky to get a gig in this city again!"

"You can't do that!" she replied shrilly. "We've depended on your generosity for almost a year! You can't just all of a sudden kick us out like that!"

"The hell I can't!" he roared back. "Now you listen to me, you little-"

"Excuse me," a small voice said from the doorway. Alexis whirled around. "I-Is everything okay in here?"

It was Sutiani's assistant.

"Everything's fine, Jerry. Alexis was just leaving."

She turned back to face Sutiani. "Fine," she said, bringing herself back to composure. "We'll just see how long this club lasts without my band."

Alexis turned on her heel and stormed past Jerry, ending up knocking him with her shoulder on accident because the little prick didn't get out of the way. She got back to the band and picked up her guitar case. She didn't need to explain what had happened. They'd heard the shouting. They knew. There'd be no more Broken Dreams at Hollywood Highlife.

Alexis sat at her desk trying to write a midterm paper which was due in an hour. She was only on the second page. It was the last midterm for her and the last class before the weekend, so she was incredibly eager to get it done. All she had to do was explain in precise detail how a neuron works. She was just beginning to explain the action potential when the frantic banging started.

"Lex! Lex, open the door, please!" Even through the pounding and the voice distortion (he was crying), she could tell it was Justin.

She saved the file she was working on and stood to open the door. Hell yeah, he'd definitely been crying. His face was beet red, his normally sleekly gelled, curly hair was a mess, and his eyes were red and swollen.

"What? What's wrong?" She thought he was going to give her some bad news about Eric. He'd left the band for a while to detox from cocaine, and had come back with some problems, but he'd been doing okay. He'd picked up the keyboard right where he'd left off.

Justin sank into the oversized bean bag chair and handed Alexis a crumpled up paper. She watched him sniffle and stifle sobs as she unfolded what he had handed her. It was one of those computer generated security letters from the school that you had to tear the ends off to open. She read it, and then read it again. He'd failed two midterms; he was on academic probation.

"Registrar said they might take away my financial aid. Depending on how my other two midterms came out they might even kick me off campus and I'll have to commute. If my mom finds out…"

He covered his face and shook for a minute. Alexis reached behind him to her makeshift TV stand (a nightstand with a Rubbermaid storage bin on top, on which her TV was haphazardly perched) and grabbed some tissues for him. He mumbled his thanks and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. She pulled the trash can over for him. She loved Justin (as a friend), but there was no way she was touching his snot.

"Justin-" She didn't know where to begin.

"It's all because I couldn't buy my books! I didn't have anything to study except my notes!"

"You couldn't borrow a book from someone?"

He shook his head. "Everyone was using them, no one could spare one." His expression suddenly turned from one of extreme depression and defeat to one of extreme anger. "This is all Sutiani's fault. If he'd given us some more money, or at least some more shows…" He stopped and bit his bottom lip, shaking his head in anger, staring at the floor.

There was a light knock on the door. Alexis opened it and Eric walked in.

"Hey guys," he said in his quiet, low-pitched voice. "I heard Justin in the guy's wing. I wanted to make sure everything's okay."

Justin looked up at Eric and quickly made sure he had no more tears hanging out on his face. "Yeah, fine," he answered, suddenly nearly completely composed. "I'm on academic probation."

"Books?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

They both looked at Alexis. "Hey," she said. "I have another job; I bought my books in January."

"Hey!" Sutiani shouted. "I told ya, you and your little band are no longer welcome here! I'm not giving you any more money! It's your own fault, don't go blaming me!"

"Mr. Sutiani…" Jerry stood in the doorway in a state of slight shock. "Is there a problem?"

Sutiani looked back to the young man seething in front of him. "I don't know. Is there a problem, kid?"

Eric's eyes narrowed and he tensed up, but almost immediately relaxed again. "We'll see." He turned and stormed out of the room.

Sutiani put his cigar back into his mouth and paid attention to papers spread around his desk. "Did you want something Jerry?" he asked gruffly.

Jerry stood nervously five feet from Sutiani's desk, eyeing the portly man, searching for the words to describe his request.

Jerry knocked lightly on the door. He looked to the man who was with him and offered a timid smile, not wanting to knock any harder. The last time he'd knocked like a regular person, he'd disturbed Sutiani while he was trying to sleep away a hangover. Rather bad one, too. But when this knock received no answer, Jerry knocked a little harder. Then a little bit harder. Finally, Jerry gave in and opened the door a crack.

"Mr. Sutiani?" He called meekly. "Your accountant is here to see you." No answer. Was he not there? But it was almost two; he was always in by noon, assuming he left the night before.

Jerry ventured further into the room. An odd smell hit his nostrils. It was coming from behind the desk. Curiosity getting the better of him, Jerry walked slowly to the desk. The smell was getting stronger. He braced himself before standing on his tip-toes and taking a peek. He immediately fell backward and stumbled out of the room while pulling his cell phone from its belt clip and nearly knocking the accountant over. The sight of a fat, dead man with his eyes popping open and a half-smoked stogie hanging out of his gaping mouth was just too much for Jerry to stomach.