"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Kyle rolled his bright blue eyes pointedly. "Who in their right mind would start with Time to Break Up? That's, like, I don't know. Sacrilege, or something!"
Sacrilege? Big word for someone with so tiny a brain as Kyle Jameson. The boy was really trying to snap my last nerve. I took a deep breath, and tried to even my voice out as much as possible.
"It's Blink-182. It's classic. And it's sharp, so it'll get everyone up-"
"So will Sex on Fire." He retorted, without kindly waiting for me to finish my sentence. It was my turn to roll my eyes, albeit the fact that he'd already called that trademark.
"You only want to do it first because it has the word 'sex' in it!"
"That may be the case," He frowned, and I scoffed. "But it's the better option. Better than Time to Break Up!" He added angrily as I shook my head, so ready to protest.
"You're so pigheaded!" I shot back. "All you ever consider is what you think, your opinion, and never anyone else's ideas. Well, guess what, Kyle - you're not all that high and mighty, so just step off!"
"Oh, yeah, hark who's talking, Blake!" He argued. "I've never met a girl with as much mouth attitude as you. Why don't you just can it, because you're not the star of the show anyway!"
"Oh, then I suppose you are?" I suddenly stood from my place on the couch, the notepad on my lap sliding off and hitting the floor. Brian Kane, owner of the household, current practice space and position of lead guitar, picked it up and brushed the dirt off the page.
"Hey, guys, why can't we do Lost in Stereo? It's sharp, like Blake wants it, and I'm pretty sure it it has the word 'sex' in it, too."
"Yeah, I'm cool with Lost in Stereo." Zack Hale, nonchalant drummer, piped in helpfully. I raised a hand to silence them both.
"No. I want to hear it." I spat. "So, you think you're so great and perfect, Kyle? That you're a superstar?"
"I never said that!" He replied, outraged.
"Sure as hell sounded like it. When are you going to grow up, huh? We're in a band, in case you haven't noticed. You can't expect everything to be about you."
"You know what I don't get?" He hissed. "Why is it that you are such an ass-bitten hypocrite, Blake?"
Oh, he was asking for it. Really asking for it.
I stood up, my fingers balled and practically airborne. Some part of me relished the fact that it was an unwritten law for men not to hit girls unless they asked for it. But Zack halted my fist, and everything zoomed into chaos mode.
"Fuck you, Kyle!" I yelled, as Zack hauled my kicking and struggling body away from the vocalist-slash-bassist I'd nearly mauled.
"No, fuck you and your self-righteousness, Blake!" Kyle shot back in equal decibels as Brian stepped in front of him, creating a thin human barrier between me and my present prey.
"Guys, relax! Blake, chill out!" He added to me, when I tried to take a swipe at Kyle and consequently scratched Brian's ear.
"Blake! Fucking cool it!" Zack roared, having taken the most out of the pain party - he was having difficulty trying to set me down on solid ground.
"Hey! What's going on?" Katie, Brian's older sister, came in from the back door leading from the kitchen to the garage. "Bri, mom is freaked out, she said it sounded like someone got hurt."
"I wish." I muttered under my breath.
"No, it's cool, Kate, got it all under control." Brian replied quickly, trying to cover - up his scarlet-red ear. Katie looked skeptical, but shrugged and retreated back into the house, muttering something about how she never understood musicians and their mood swings.
"Blake-" Zack started, but I shrugged his hold off.
"Forget it." I snapped, snatching my notepad from Brian's loose grip. I swung my pack over my shoulder, stuffing the pad into the tiny front pocket. "I'm outta here."
"Wait, wait, where are you going?" Brian asked desperately, holding out his arms in an attempt to stop me.
"Home. Call me when you grow some balls." I began to storm out of Brian's garage, despite the protests coming from Zack's and Brian's mouths.
"Fine!" Kyle made a last attempt to have the annoying final word. "Who needs a rhythm guitar anyway? Can you spell 'useless'?"
"Kyle..." Zack warned, shooting him a worried look.
"Why, can't you?" I shouted over my shoulder. For good measure, I raised a middle finger, like a little salute. I thought I heard his teeth grit together. Pushing the screen door open, I exited into the dark street.
It was pouring. Odd, because we hadn't seen a single storm cloud since the month before. Everything was just sunny - rather scorching on most days, actually. But now it was as if the world was pouring all the water it had in reserve over West Palm Beach, Florida. It crossed my mind once that I should go back inside and beg for forgiveness and shelter, but my pride got the best of me, and I decided it wouldn't be too bad anyway to just walk. So I began to trudge home, despite the strange and unrelenting weather.
I was plagued with angry thoughts on the walk back. The fact that I was sodden and disgracefully resembling a drowned cat did not improve my mood.
Stupid Kyle. Why did he always have to be such a resident douche? For once, I would have liked him to have kept his gaping mouth shut. True, he was an excellent singer, I could give him that. But, really, what crawled up his ass and died? Was I so inadequate and unimportant in the band that I couldn't suggest one stupid opening song without getting completely and rudely blown off? The last time I checked, Chuck Norris was still the king of the world.
Besides, what was so wrong with my idea? It was a good song - pretty damn good, really. Just because he didn't jerk off to it didn't mean it was a completely fucked up suggestion.
I pushed my wet hair away from my face, annoyed. What a pro-wanker.
Everything was coming down in tiny bullets now. The water splattering on my skin was getting slightly painful, and the sky was lighting up with far-off cracks of lightning, followed by thunder that increased in volume each time it rang.
And useless? How was I useless? If we were having some unofficial contest about whose instrument was better than whose, mine would win by default. Basses are completely out of the question. I can hardly hear it, even without his whiny voice getting in the way.
Stupid Kyle. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The sky lit up again, a blinding purple for a second. It was closely followed by that inevitable boom that pounded upon my ears. The rain began to fall like the Niagra, and I found the need to run, my feet splashing into large puddles on the sidewalk. My guitar bag slammed against my back, making my ass hurt like crazy. Worst of all, my phone started vibrating in my jeans pocket, playing Owl City's "Hello Seattle" like it wanted to compete with the damn storm.
Fucking perfect. Whoever that was would just have to wait until I got home to return their call. No way was I taking out my mobile in this downpour.
Oh, God. I was completely screwed. To be honest, I wasn't even that sure I'd entered the right alleyway going home.
Owl City's voice began singing again. Couldn't this person just give up?
I thought about going back. It wasn't too late to turn around and score a hot cup of chocolate from Mrs. Kane. Screw Kyle, I could ignore his ego, no matter how blown up it was.
The wind howled around me, whipping the damp, sorry piece of fabric around my torso. Okay, that was it. I was going back. That much was settled. It no longer mattered to me what Kyle would say, or what he wouldn't, or how much of a douche he was going to be. All this trouble in the rain just wasn't worth it, really.
I spun on my sodden heel, shaking my head. What an awful way to end the day. Indignantly leaving someone's house, then coming back for shelter. What a loser I was.
Considering I could even find it, at this point in time.
"Oh, Blake," I sighed to myself, displeased with the turn of events. "What a mess you're in, huh?" I could hardly hear myself talking to myself, another clap of thunder deafening me for probably the rest of my natural life.
And then it came down, like the strike of a cobra. That thick, crooked line of light detached itself from the sky and collided with the pavement, the lightning making an earthquake-worthy sound as it licked the road not four feet away from my toes.
"Holy shit!" I shrieked, beside myself. What the fuck was that all about? Rarely did lightning ever make its way out of the sky to attack the poor soil we stood on. At least, rarely according to my limited knowledge.
That was shitting scary. It was difficult to tell, what with the rain and all, but I was pretty sure I just peed my pants. Not that it mattered, at this point in time.
I began to run, not even bothering to consider I was making myself more and more lost as the seconds flew by. All I knew was that I couldn't be caught out in this hellish typhoon.
I arrived at a fork in the road, and skidded to a halt. But my estimation was wrong, and my feet carried me farther than I would have liked - I slid on the relatively smooth surface of road, landing squarely and painfully on my ass.
In the moment that I sat, rooted to the road, the pitch-black sky brightened up again. A single second was enough to guarantee the end of my life. The second line of lightning descended upon the atmosphere, breaking into the heavy air and touching the pavement again. And this time, I don't think it missed anymore.
Honestly, it was the most peculiar feeling ever. It was that feeling, like I'd plugged my finger into a socket deludedly and got that tingling shock - except this time, it was multiplied by around five thousand. My blood was vibrating in my veins, pulsing like crazy energy through my entire nervous system. Every part of me was awake, alive - and very, very, warm. The white light never left my eyes, and my vision revolved around a platinum world where everything was highlighted in this freakish silver glow. Everything was bright, and blinding, and immaculately white.
That was, until I blacked out, anyway.
Oh, death. What a weird concept. It was so difficult to think about, to consider. When you're dead, you don't feel anything, and you have no knowledge as to your place and time, your emotions and experiences. This is because, well, you're just... dead. Right?
So why the fuck was I thinking like this?
Oh, yeah, that lightning thing. Having a dose of that surely would have left me dead and fried to an ugly crisp. And whoever would have found my body would probably freak out, call 911, then have a heart attack. It was just so spot on, the lightning - hitting me at the best time, the best place, not to mention the best angle. Really. Your aim never fails, universe. So I'm dead. Absolutely, totally dead.
What the fuck. No I'm not. I'm talking to myself. Jesus God, I'm insane.
There were voices. Weird, gurgle-like voices that sounded like I was a fish trapped inside an aquarium, listening to my owners talk about how they're going to flush me down the toilet. I couldn't understand what they were saying. Honestly, I didn't care. Please just take me to a hospital.
But nothing moved me. This was rather irritating. Hello, I'm sort of like dying here. Just, you know. For your information.
Or maybe I was dead. And these were the judges, trying to decide whether or not I should go to Heaven or Hell, or some special cage they made for sarcastic, indignant people like me, who have no right to place themselves in the world.
Wherever it was, I hoped they served burgers. Damn, I was ravenous.
The voices grew a bit clearer. They were saying something like, "... Muggle-born, by the way she dresses..."
Which, of course, made absolutely no sense.
I ventured in, trying to open my eyes - one, first, the left. The light above me was so blinding, though, that I closed it an instant after. But that was enough to signify that I was alive, to both myself and to my unknown spectators.
"Oh, she's awake!"
Female. Accent. Really British, by the sound of it. Imagine, getting picked up by a bunch of crazy-ass British people. Really perfect, once you looked at it.
Oh, this was so useless. I opened my eyes, trying to fight the urge to just ball up and cower against the bright light. Three blobs - sorry, heads, were bobbing above me, incredibly close to my face. Hello, personal space?
My head was pounding like crazy. I hoped they had aspirin, or something.
"Hello," the female voice spoke again, her tone really slow. "What's your name?"
"Uh. Blake Asher." I replied, frowning.
"Hello, Blake. How did you get here?" Her voice was still steady and dragging, like she was talking to some inattentive three-year-old. Jesus, that was annoying.
My vision refocused. The girl talking to me was a young, wild-haired brunette, an expectant, confused expression on her face. I scowled.
"I got shot by lightning. And you don't have to talk to me that way, I'm not retarded." I snapped. She looked taken aback. Not the best first impression I could give someone - but given the fact that I was lost and possibly resurrected, I think maybe it was okay to let my attitude slide. "And you are?"
The girl looked at her two companions, then cleared her throat. "Well, I'm - I'm Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you."
A.N.: well, I decided to give this a go. First time I've tried making the standard, slightly cliche "time travel" fanfic, so, naturally, I'm not too sure how well this will turn out. If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to drop it in the review box.
Anyway, we'll see how this ends up together! XD
Hoping to hear from you! :)