Pogue smirked and Tyler stifled a laugh, while Caleb merely looked at Reid.
"And how exactly do you propose to get Holly to let you give her swimming lessons?" Reid smirked at that, and popped a fry into his mouth.
"That shouldn't be hard." Now it was Caleb's turn to smirk.
"I wouldn't be so sure. Sarah's told me about Holly."
"There's always Plan B…." Reid let the sentence hang.
"I'm almost afraid to ask," Tyler spoke.
"Then don't."
"Well, I'll bite," drawled Pogue. "What's Plan B?"
"Make her fall in love with me." Reid said this so matter of factly that Caleb burst out laughing. "What?"
"Whatever, dude. You'll figure it out, I'm sure." Reid stood, and left the cafeteria for the locker rooms. Better start prepping, before he can't keep up with the other boys at practice. If Holly didn't want to learn to swim, he was sure he could figure out some… incentive for her.
--
"Hey Reid," Sarah looked puzzled when she opened the door to her room several hours after dinner to find the boy there, knuckles poised to knock again. "What can I do for you?"
"Is… uh, is Holly around?"
"Holly?"
"No, William Shatner. Yes Holly."
"She went out a little bit ago."
"Did she tell you where?"
"I didn't ask…" Without another word, Reid turned away from the door. Sarah stood motionless for a minute, thinking, before closing the door with a shake of her head.
--
"So do you wanna tell us how in the hell you got us a gig here? At Nicky's? A live gig… In a bar with more than three people in it, where two are the bartender and fry cook?" Holly's gaze on Adam was suspicious.
"Alright, fine, I give up! I was trying to maintain some semblance of grandeur, but if you must ruin it my cousin Neal got a job as a dishwasher here and he got us an in with Nicky." Pouting, Adam managed to look more attractive than he already was, if possible. Holly ran a hand through the boys dark mop of curls, fluffing them into a pompadour. "Thanks, Holls, really. Love you too."
"Hey, where's Jer? Wasn't he supposed to be here by now?" Jeremy had two talents: drumming, and showing up hours late for anything remotely important.
"Jer's here," this panting voice came from the boy sprinting away from a local bakery's delivery truck, drum sticks in hand as he looked over his shoulder to yell a muffled "thanks Hughey!" to the driver, who grinned in reply. "Sorry I'm late," the boy said as he pulled a croissant from his back pocket and bit into it. "Mojo's on the fritz again."
"When are you ever going to get a new car? Didn't that thing spontaneously combust last summer?" Kyle poked her head out from the girls' bathroom across the hall from the kitchen the rest of the band was congregating in. Jeremy puffed his chest out indignantly.
"She mildly overheated, and I had a fire extinguisher. She's fine. Volvos are very dependable cars."
"If they're made before 1898," Holly muttered under her breath, ducking as Jeremy threw the remains of his dinner at her. "Testy, testy," she grumbled as she brushed crumbs from her hair.
"Hey Holly, C'mere," Kyle called from inside the bathroom. Holly jumped off of the counter she'd been perching on, and dodged the flailing tangle of arms and legs that was a rock-paper-scissors match between Adam and Jeremy gone bad, making her way across the room. She pushed open the bathroom's swinging door.
"Yeah?" Kyle had been waiting. She grabbed the girl, dragging her in before she could protest and leaning on the door to keep her from escaping.
"Makeover time."
"Ooooh, no. No, no, no, no! The last time you made me over I looked like the transvestite hooker from Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
"Look, I'll do something different, but seriously Holls, over my dead body are you wearing flannel onstage."
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Holly couldn't decide whether or not to be genuinely offended.
"Okay. Purple and green flannel is just never okay, those shoes are older than you are, and you tried to sew the holes in your pants with three different colors of thread, Holly. Three." She glanced down at her faded blue Vans, the left one duct taped to keep the sole on.
"I hate shopping," the girl muttered defensively, shrugging her shoulders but allowing the blonde girl to tow her to the mirror, shrugging her flannel overshirt off as she went.
"Arms up," Kyle barked bossily, pulling Holly's shirt over her head as she pouted like a two year old. She replaced the flannel with a wife beater, and Holly raised one familiar eyebrow.
"It has a banana on it."
"It's mod art, Holly," Kyle nearly shrieked. "Like that Velvet Underground LP!"
"Sorry, Jesus." Deftly avoiding a well-timed kick to the shin, Kyle managed to yank off Holly's vans and jeans, pulling a pair of glaringly neon harlequin tights up the girl's legs. Even Holly had to laugh as she took in her outfit in the mirror so far. The shirt bagged at the chest- Holly chose on this occasion not to note her sad lack of boobage- but the crotch of her tights fell somewhere near halfway down her thighs. Reduced to a waddle, the girl nearly fell over laughing.
"Alright," Kyle said, trying to maintain a straight face. "We'll have to stretch those out a bit. Seating Holly on a toilet, Kyle pulled the feet of the tights as she put all of her weight into it; finally Holly was able to pull the tights up to an appropriate and rather more comfortable level, though they'd acquired several tears. "They're fine," Kyle assured her, pulling a pair of black tweedshorts from her bag. Once she'd safety-pinned the broken clasp onto the other girl, she stood back to survey her masterpiece in progress. The tights were much better, and the shorter fit of the shorts on Holly's longer legs actually suited the tall girl better than herself. "Those shorts look good on you," she mused as she rummaged through her Mary Poppins-like bag and pulled out a pair of knee-high black motorcycle bootsboots from her bag. "Keep them." Holly looked at her incredulously, resigned to her fate in fashion hell as the slightly older, fashion Nazi she called a best friend buckled up the sides of her boots.
"I look ridiculous."
"Rock and roll. It's rock and roll."
"If rock and roll got lost somewhere on it's way out of The Yellow Submarine!"
"I'm going to choose to ignore that comment," Kyle replied with a slight smile, instead darting one hand to quickly snap the elastic out of Holly's messy braids.
"Kyle- not the hair! Have you no decency as a human being, to subject the crowd to such a monstrosity?" The girl reached a hand up to smooth her own pixie cut, before swiftly unbraiding Holly's hair. With a sigh, Holly gave up, closing her eyes and waiting for it all to be over.
Several minutes later, she surveyed a smoky-eyed, snaky-haired fashioned person that looked a little bit like a girl she knew named Holly, who thought putting on black eyeliner with one of her father's grunge flannel shirts from the nineties was a style. Strange.
"You look amazing," Kyle shoved what remained of the Holly she knew into her bag, standing up to survey them together.
"I look like Andy Warhol threw up on me."
"Shut up and go find your bass."
--
In Pogue's apartment, Reid and Tyler were fighting for space on the last available surface, a large and rather squashy chair. At last, Tyler conceded and sank to the floor as Reid elbowed him and wedged himself in between Tyler and the back of the chair.
"Dude," Tyler scanned crumpled flyer he'd stuffed into his pocket that morning as he nudged Reid. "There's gonna be live music at Nicky's tonight."
"Let's go," Pogue said from his spot on his couch beside Kate. "There's only so much Elimidate I can take here."
"Shut up," Kate laughed, cuffing him.
"Actually, I'm with Pogue," Sarah's voice rose from the floor in front of the small couch, where she lay with her head resting on Caleb's stomach.
"I'm driving," Caleb and Reid said simultaneously, Caleb groaning when Reid jumped up to snatch the keys.
"So, we're going to the show if we make it there alive," he said under his breath as he reached a hand out to pull Sarah from the floor.
"Let's roll," Tyler said from the door.
"Only if you never say Let's roll again," Pogue mumbled beneath his breath. Tyler's ears turned faintly pink as he shoved Pogue and trotted out the door.
--
"And tonight, ladies and gentleman," Nicky himself boomed from behind the mic, "I would like to bring out our first live act in a long time, a little band called Queen Jane Approximately!" With that, Adam sauntered up to the microphone with his guitar, one hand reaching for it's stand as the other steadied the neck of his instrument. Kyle moved to her spot at a stool behind the keyboard as Jeremy wound around the waiting drum kit to his seat. Holly clutched her guitar with white-knuckled fingers as she tried to find a spot on the tiny stage where she would feel less exposed.
"Hey guys, I'm Adam and we're Queen Jane Approximately. Our first song here's called "Flannel Girl," which I wrote for a certain bassist in our group a long, long time ago, before I knew that she was way too cool to date me." Having just been shoved into a vacant spot on the stage by Kyle, whom she'd been trying to hide behind, Holly raised a middle finger to Adam, who only laughed as his fingers deftly found the opening chords.
"Oh my god, that's Holly!" Sarah cried with a whoop, raising her arms over her head to cheer for her roommate.
"No it's not," Reid said flatly. "That girl's not Holly."
"Yeah it is," said Tyler. "I recognize her hair." And it was true, her wavy hair looked much as it had underwater, fanning around her in a dark cloud as she bent her face over her guitar. Reid raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. There's no way that's her.
Anyone who knew the four friends onstage would find it funny, that each of them fit so well as they did. Adam was both the guitarist and the front man, fitting because his charisma was infectious, and he was the electricity upon which the other three thrived, bringing them together. Jeremy played the drums with as much enthusiasm as he lived his life, palpably effervescent. Kyle picked melodies with apparent effortlessness, the delicate of the four. Holly's bass playing was not unlike herself- subtle and yet the underlying driving force of any song, mostly unnoticed but entirely necessary, the notes coming easily to her. The only other things that spilled freely from her were words, poems and lyrics scribbled on pizza boxes and empty cigarette cartons with orange sharpies or brown eyeliners.
She found herself relaxing into the music as she and her friends fed off of the crowd's enthusiasm, and the tremors going down her arms grew steadily smaller. By the time Adam yelled "And this is our last one, kids, this one's called "Miss Mansfield," Holly found that she wanted to stay on the stage, to play for people. When Adam stepped back up to the mic after an ironic bow, she was surprised- even more so to hear the words that came from his mouth moments later.
"Now my friend Holly, here- come here Holly-" he grabbed her, snaking an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into the spotlight after him, "-my friend Holly happens to be a phenomenal singer, and I think it's only fair that we have Holly play a special song I know she used to love so much, because it's Holly's birthday in three days. Say Happy Eighteenth, Holly!" The crowd complied. "Don't you all want to hear Holly sing?" The roar was deafening, everyone in good spirits. Holly was shaking her head almost frantically, though as she turned to walk away she was met by Kyle, blocking her way with her acoustic guitar.
"I hate you all," she said with vehemence as Kyle, Adam and Jeremy forced her onto a stool before the mic. "You guys suck. Hugely. Huge sweaty balls." A few laughs rose from the crowd, having heard what she was saying, her voice now amplified. Ducking her head, Holly felt like a butterfly pinned to a tray in an exhibit.
"Now, Holly's gonna sing a little cover for you guys, and this song is called "Iris," cause this is the first song she taught me how to play on the guitar, back in our prepubescent days. Well, that's not why the song is called "Iris," but… whatever. You know what I mean. Go on Holly, give the nice people what they want." Shooting Adam a glare that would've frightened Medusa, Holly lifted her face to the mic. Really, what could she do?
She ran her fingers over the strings softly, fingers reaching for the chords that slipped, at first.
"Sorry," she whispered into the mic, her voice nearly shaking. She cleared her throat, looking at the guitar instead of the faces. Okay. I can do this. Leaving now would be even more embarrassing. Okay. Okay. Tentatively, haltingly, her fingers picked out the right notes on the guitar, playing the sweet melody slowly as her bandmates watched from the floor.
And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now
And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight
Her voice was quiet, slightly high and hesitant. The crowd was nearly silent as all faces turned to her- her worst nightmare only she might rather be naked than wearing the clothes she was in.
And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything seems like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know your alive
"I didn't know she could sing," Sarah turned to Caleb, who's arm was around her shoulders. He nodded in agreement.
"I'm surprised her voice isn't damaged from almost drowning," Tyler whispered to Reid, who snorted. But he was surprised, a little bit. Surprised that this girl whose eyes could have been pretty if they weren't so inhibited had surprised him. And he watched, bemused.
And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am