Bryn holds an icepack to her ankle as she reclines on the leather couch in the mansion. Observes a cracked drumstick balanced on her knee, a gift from Steven. Her band before didn't consist of girls but two guys – who had no guitar experience but had still flown from their native Idaho to join her in playing for a charity. They disbanded days later and while on the flight alone, she cried into her hands. When finally back in New York, she expected Harper to come but was met with Steven.
She exhaustedly sobbed through JFK because she didn't want the band to breakup despite its terrible sound. Steven came and saw her tears. Eyes of topaz ablaze and was quiet, only led her to a cab, tossed her luggage into the trunk (which consisted solely of leather) and when they were in, pulled her into his lap, telling her it'd be alright.
She cried harder in his arms, stopped eventually, and gave her thanks. He grinned and ruffled her hair, then unhooked a drumstick from his belt and told her it was one of the sticks he used to play his first show when he was fifteen, saying he snapped the other in half when he found out his ex-girlfriend, Cheryl, cheated on him with a churchgoing girl.
As he handed it to her, she grinned and clunked him over the head with it. He plunged into laughter and threw his head back as if she had told the funniest joke.
She was glad to find her attempt at making him smile had worked, too.
Bryn left the couch, kicking her icepack aside as she went to her parents' room. They were never around, so nothing was ever moved or brought in. The bedsheets were always folded right, a film of dust always littered the perfume bottles on her mother's vanity, and her father's Armani suits were still in the closet.
Her parents rarely came … together.
They divorced awhile back. Her mother, Luciana, a fashion designer was dedicated to designing timeless swimwear and occasional dresses for her favored celebrity clients. She usually came to visit once a month and sometimes to only retrieve extra tulle fabric or whatever she happened to forget from the divorce.
Her father, Jackson, an international businessman visited every next weekend. He was often occupied in Switzerland or Indonesia for business ventures but returned to she and Harper with souvenirs to their likings. She's always been close to her father and he happened to be the one to purchase her first guitar, a shiny blue Les Paul she still has today.
Bryn enters the room, grazing her fingers along the bedsheets until she reaches her father's side. She knew it because he'd leave their gifts there. And must've arrived without their knowing because in place was a guitar pick taped to a note that said to my Kitten and a baseball cap for Harper.
Bryn smiles to herself and grabs the guitar pick and opens one of her father's drawers. Her face drops when she saw what was inside.
Empty bottles of pills, paychecks with his scribbled signature, silver cases of cigars.
She exhales slowly and pushes the empty bottles to find more beneath the mess. A glass pipe, the remainders of dirty white lines. Unable to fight from reaching for the pipe. Why would he have this? He was her daddy. Jackson Blackwell always said drugs were wrong. He couldn't be doing them. He must be holding all of this for a colleague. Yeah, that was it.
Her twitchy fingers betray her as she drops the pipe onto the hardwood floor and watches it spray glass around her feet. Her throat tightens and she wanted to scream for Harper, to tell him – to tell him their dad – her daddy was secretly holding drugs. She wanted to run and scream and sob into her father's arms, begging him to tell her this was just some terrible dream.
But she couldn't.
She was the tough one. She was meant to be the next Joan. The Blackwell that slept with a pistol under her mattress when she was alone. She was Bryn Blackwell.
No matter what she wouldn't cry.
Bryn knelt over the shards to shove them underneath the mattress to make sure they remained hidden. No one would ever notice.
She got off her knees and dusted her skirt clean. Goes for another drawer, carefully stepping off from the path of splintery glass.
It was only more cigars. They were legal and she already knew he was an occasional smoker. Bryn raises a brow and carefully slid out a cigar, wiping it clean with her fingertips. She took a lighter out of her pocket, lit off, and put it to her lips with a slow smirk.
Yep. She was Bryn Blackwell, alright. No one could change that.
X
"Tins," Harper calls, swinging his bag over his shoulder and grabbing his Calculus book. "Who was that chick? That girl we saw outside. It seemed like you knew her from somewhere." They left in silence as Tinsley turned to Harper with broadened eyes. She wished that he never needed to find out about Vena. Ugh, just her name felt like a bad heroine injection.
Tinsley shook her head. Why'd he have to bring this up, anyway? It wasn't necessarily his fault but couldn't he talk about something like Bryn's earlier battle or his Calculus homework? "Just an old friend." she lies, brushing through a clique following their leader, Claire Larson. "No one important."
She didn't want to see Vena again. She was trying to act like her friend but was doing a suckish job. She was always the culprit who managed something terrible. Tinsley knew she was back for revenge, which was the obvious answer. Not that she'd ever choose to be friends with Vena again after that huge ordeal from years back.
But how did she get back?
Lucky for her, Harper decided to drop the subject. "Oh, cool," Harper answers, receiving a hard clap on the back from a bulky jock in the halls, who smiles as he passes them with a girl hooked to his arm. "Do you think Bryn's okay? I'm a little worried. Especially after today."
Harper, thankfully, didn't see his sister get hurt but when told of her twisted ankle and swollen lip, was furious. He was ready to find the bastard and beat him bloody for even laying a finger on her. But was grateful for Matthew because he rescued his sister and completed the job singlehandedly. Matthew was much better at caring for her. Sometimes, he wonders if he's even a good brother.
Harper shut his eyes to rid his mind of negative thoughts.
Tinsley smiles and dimples bend her smile nicely. "I'm sure she's fine. She's only been back there for an hour now. Honestly, what's the worst that can happen?"
He chuckles nervously. "I can give you plenty of answers."
"Tinsley, Harper!" a girl shouts from behind them. They both turn to see Vena charging toward them with a terrible smile like the Bride of Chucky. That smile she knew was practically smothered in hate. "I just got here and was wondering if you knew where class one-twenty-two was? I don't seem to find it."
Harper smiles politely at Vena. "I'm actually heading there now. Mrs. Peterson's, right?" His smile widens with Vena's shy nod. "Yeah, Chemistry. Why don't we go together? I have to give in something to Bryn's teacher."
Vena produces a toothy grin and her fingers closed around his elbow. She doesn't see or maybe ignores Tinsley, who glares into her back. "That's great, Harper! Come on, we don't wanna be late now!"
Harper nods and smiles back at Tinsley. Oblivious as always. "Hey, I'll see you later, okay? We'll meet … um, afterschool." Without looking back, he gives her a backhanded wave and leaves with Vena still on his arm. He spoke softly and when he was turned away, she was looking back around at Tinsley.
Her gaze was deadly, the look would be able to pierce the most endurable glass and make anyone run and cower. Dents carved into her forehead and her fake smile replaced with an antagonistic sneer. She twirls her hair like a devilish angel and turns the corner with an unnoticing Harper.
The look clearly said: the bitch is back.
X
"Hey, Claire," Jacqueline Dias calls, turning to her pact leader as she applies punch pink lipstick, puckering her lips and blowing kisses to the St. Jude's boys that strode past. She ran tan fingers through her caramel curls, flipping them to attempt a pass. The boys looked at her and back at one another before bursting into laughter. She really needed to learn because anyone could tell that they didn't swing her way. "You think we should actually help, Hastings? She may need it."
Claire snags her peacock blue Lanvin bag off a spare seat and hands it to a girl for cleaning. "If she asks for help then I'll consider it. But there's been nothing so far, I'm sure she'll be fine." Claire assures. "Tinsley's quite strong when it comes to her own matters."
With slanted violet eyes and hair drooping in a low bun, Sarah McKress leans over to Claire. "She'll be begging for your assistance sooner or later. You know, Vena … she's always trying to get what she wants. It never works, the only one she ever got was Javier and he left her in a span of minutes."
Claire smirks and crosses her slender, tennis-exercised legs. "I don't care what Vena wants as long as she doesn't come between me and I believe you all know …" She looks through her crowd, smile dropping when she notices Vena latched on Harper's bicep with a sugary smile. Claire loses her smile as she toys with the neat hem of her skirt. "Excuse me, ladies. I have business to attend to."
The girls nod in robotic unison as Claire exits her seat, pushing past nose-picking, Dona, and hopeless romantic, Elizabeth. Reaching their side immediately, plastering on her sweetest smile and swinging past Vena. "Harper, great to see you." she greets, fingers coiling over his wrist. "Vena."
Vena's eyes narrow but she keeps her smile. "Clarissa."
Despite Harper's usual warm, his expression darkens when met with Claire. "Hello, Claire." he responds, unlatching an arm from Vena's. "I didn't know you had this class."
Claire laughs as the teacher fiddles with glass tubes and beakers on the back counters. "Oh, silly," She giggles, slapping his arm as Vena walks off to take a seat by an open window. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd be able to push her out when no one was looking. "Of course I do! I've told you. Don't tell me you forgot ..."
Harper directs his bored eyes to the window before back to Claire. "Must've slipped my mind."
Once she saw Vena spacing – by far, her worst trait. She took Harper by the sleeve and excused herself, slamming the door and leading Harper down a hall. He didn't oblige and followed her until they reached an empty classroom.
"Harper," Claire says, honey replaced with dark casualty. "Stay away from Vena. Take it from me. She isn't good news and I know you may be –"
Harper coughs bitterly. "Don't judge a book by its cover, Claire. She's harmless, a new student. You must have her mistaken for someone else and knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised."
Claire raises a darkened brow. "You haven't been in this school as long as Tinsley and I but we actually know her before you ever came along." Harper became silent to think. It was true since Bryn and he lived in Italy most of their lives. Bryn was exhausted by it and chose to stay in their Manhattan villa and since she couldn't be alone, he did the same.
He never expected to fall in love when he arrived.
"You must just be jealous," Harper told the queen bee. "I bet you wish we never broken up before."
Surprisingly enough, Harper and Claire previously dated but broken up to the unknown. Bryn and Claire had become great friends throughout those months of their togetherness. It'd been nice but didn't last long enough to make it to a year before Tinsley returned to the picture.
Claire snapped and eventually traded her sweetheart-self for what she is today.
Claire rolls her eyes. "Please," she spat. "if I were still upset, I wouldn't even be talking to you. I'm past it Harper. But apparently, you aren't."
Harper smirks, looking so much like Bryn. It was almost scary to see the rage he could muster since his heart usually exceeded over it in her view. "I've never been so glad to be over someone as bitchy as you."
Claire literally thought her heart stopped when Harper said that. She hasn't heard him utter an insult in so long and was just too shocked to say more. Should she be happy his first curse went to her or angry he called her a bitch in the first place when she was only trying to help?
Before Claire could open her mouth, he was already halfway down the hall and not looking back with only an unfading smirk in response.
She didn't run after him screaming like a fool, didn't pluck off one of her Manolos and chuck it, and certainly didn't reply. Claire only sought a smile and once he rounded the hall, she applauds for a moment and returns to class.
And when passing Vena, she slid a hand behind her back and flipped Vena the bird.
Claire manages to hide a grin as she returns to her clique, each bombing her with questions, ones not even unrelated to the current situation. She acts as she's supposed to and answers every question with syrupy words and generous tips on how they could apply makeup and dress appropriately because compared to her, they were Cinderella's little helper mice.
She's the best actress at school.
All she needed was an Emmy.
X
Matt throws his cigarette into the dirt and crushes it under his sneakers, kicking its remains. He sits on the bench, Starbucks cup on his knee. Some others in the courtyard. The guys currently engage in football in which the British exchange student kept chiding them for wrong pronunciation of soccer.
Steven in his baseball cap and dirty school uniform, tosses the football over someone's denim-clad shoulder to a blonde that ran for the goal. Before he had a chance to score, he was tackled to the dirt, staining his white shirt. Steven burst into hysterical laughter, holding his ribs as he fell to his knees with others joining in.
Matt smiles as the dirtied football player stood, dusting off his shoulders. Steven quit laughing and also steadied himself, running to the football and nabbing it with a grin. He threw it in the air enthusiastically and spun the ball in his hands.
He watches the group before lighting another cigarette. Despite his image and the impression he gave off, he wasn't as violent as the others. He didn't need to be aggressive like William or as badass-popular as Saul because he had his own … touch.
"Uh, 'scuse me," a boy calls from a close distance. He slowly turns to see a timid-looking schoolboy. He was tan and had dark hair, big hands for someone his size, and bitten nails. "Mind if I sit?"
Matt blinks from behind his shades and turns back to the game. "Yeah, whatever."
The subject of Bryn and Steven suddenly came to mind. Steven told him many times he liked Bryn from the first time he saw her, her band the opening act for theirs back then as she fumbled to learn the nicest rock hits.
Honestly, he didn't have a problem with Bryn's actions because she did them without regret or permission. Something that he'd never be allowed to do with his mother.
He sees a bit of himself in her. When he was thirteen, he took a variety of trains and slept in a motel in Queens to live a day in the life of a rock-star, smoking pot and chugging beer with some random kids that he discovered outside Rodney's.
His parents were furious but he was too stoned to give a damn. He drank until he passed out beside a crack pipe and the other kids. The next morning, he was recovering from a hangover by downing enzymes with what he thought was water and called his father, who scolded him for hours. He listened shortly before ending the call to smoke. When he returned home, he was greeted with the chiding of a lifetime from his mother.
He was a druggie back then to the point of insanity but isn't as bad as he once was. He smokes illegally but not as much as Steven and the others. Cigarettes were the only thing he smoked nowadays.
And Steven was like his brother so he wasn't necessarily thrilled to see him stick dirty needles into his veins.
Bryn only smoked joints casually so that didn't bother him much since she also knew her limits between cigarettes and drugs.
It was something else for sure.
"Hey, I think your friend is calling you," The shy boy points at a stupidly grinning Steven, baseball cap tilted, blazer and tie thrown aside. Steven's friendliness replaced with impatience. He knew he'd run over, knock the cigarette out of his hand, and drag him to the group.
He chuckles at the thought and shrugs off his own blazer, rolling his sleeves and but before heading over, he stops before the dark-haired boy.
Matt smiles like he sees his friends do. "Hey," he calls, the boy's gaze immediately on him. "Why don't you come for a game? We could always use an extra player."
It took the guy a moment before he stood. "Yeah … okay."
The guy follows like a lost duckling before he calls over. "Hey, what's your name?"
Matt stops in his tracks and turns back around. No one's asked him that in a long time. "Stradlin. Matt Stradlin. You?"
"James Carter." James advises, holding out his hand in a proper handshake. "Cool to meet ya."
Instead of a handshake, he claps James's shoulder, his palm falling eventually. "Back at 'cha. Try not to let Steven bother you. He's … Steven."
"Matt! If you don't hurry, I will beat the living hell out of you! Come on!"
James scratches his hair sheepishly. "I doubt that'll be possible."
X
School days! School days! I'm startin' to slip, I'm losin' my mind!
If any of you idiots didn't realize those were lyrics to a Joan Jett song. I'm gonna drop some gossip dynamite. Just kidding! I'm currently useless. This happens to be my intro because I haven't necessarily dropped my first stories yet and you all probably have no idea who I am … yet.
I'm the one-and-only Gossip Bee fluttering around and delivering juicy, honeyed gossip to my beautiful population of non-secretive bees.
Right now, I have all day to fill you all with some sweet, sweet gossip.
Bitch Fight of the Year
Rocker B has gotten into a fight with F's ex. First-class wife-beater, Thomas Walker. I give you his full name so you can go pelt him with your vintage snakeskin boots and in S's case, his prized, thousand-dollar, Led Zeppelin-signed Gibson. I would certainly sell tickets for that. Anyone care to buy me a large bucket of fatty-smothered popcorn?
Spotted: H walking through Central Park afterschool with V practically glued to his arm. It was funny because one of C's many worker bees stuck out her leg and tripped V and gave her a bad fall (FAIL) to the concrete. Yes, it sounds mean but from what I hear, she deserved it. H just managing to hide laughter because he looked like he'd burst into teary chuckles any second. Go back to the dentist with your horse teeth, V. Nothing could fix that overbite.
So the ending of September is near and out goes the boring first month of school and in comes October, month of tricks and treats. Little kiddies roaming the streets, ringing strangers' doorbells, and getting those foiled Hersheys you can never get enough of. I'd much rather get a box of Godiva truffles rather than a few melted chocolates you find in the bargain bins of Rite-Aid.
Remember carve pumpkins soon because I'm doing it as we speak. Early Halloween spirit! My birthday's on Mischief Day. As I speak again, Rocker B is ditching Rodney's for Antonio's bar.
Dear GB,
Bee lady, you sure you aren't Bryn or something because you both like old-ass rock, both go to Antonio's bar, and your birthdays are both in October? Coincidence? - Peaches17
Dear Peaches17,
Coincidence, yes, but – no, I am not, Rocker B – and if I was I'd be hooking up with S by now because he's to me the hottest in St. Jude's.
Dear Bee-Bee,
hey there, gossip bee! I saw H walking through Central Park and could've sworn I saw him buy a dime bag. Since when does he do joints like the rest of us?
- Princess of Diamonds
Dear Princess of Diamonds,
BTW, I like the name. But, H? As far as I know H never touched a pipe or bag, I'll have to investigate more on this.
Kisses and disses, Gossip Bee
X
Bryn tunes her guitar and replaces its strings. She starts the cords of a Joan-classic, mastering it before depositing her guitar in its case, shutting it with a click of automatic locks. She rakes nails through her shag, buckles her leather boots, and stares at her unmade bed. Shoves her pillow aside, grabs two Marlboro packs from underneath, and stuffs them in her boots.
She only felt good when she looked like this. Shag, leather, and shimmering studs, dark makeup and red lipstick like a true rocker. Especially with her guitar strapped to her back. Very Dita Von Teese meets KISS.
When she casts notes she knew everything would change, her longing for pot would be gone when she was onstage, screaming into the microphone and channeling David Bowie.
Bryn went to her vanity, chose an indigo eye-pencil and ran its tip along her lower lid, winging it and applying glittery smoke eyeshadow to her eyelids. A gift from Angelina for her sixteenth birthday – a whole set of dark glittery eyeshadows, various shades of blues and purples. She always loved the gifts that friends gave her because they were the few who knew her best.
She took a crumpled Chinese takeout receipt off her dresser and wrote on it with her eye-pencil. She descends the stairs with her guitar, ankle still pained. Set the note on the couch, snatched her keys, and left with a slam of a door.
The note said in messy handwriting: off to Flor's call you l8r.
Bryn slid into the waiting limo. The family chauffeur tips his hat in the rearview mirror. "Where to?"
Bryn grins, placing her guitar in her lap. "Antonio's bar." she answers. "If Harper asks, tell him I'm in Brooklyn."
The man doesn't reply. Well-used to her infamous white lies.
X
Dean Howlett accepts a mug and a mouthful of boiling espresso, unfazed by the heat on his tongue. He was sitting in Antonio's bar, who in his late-fifties, has had the bar open for thirty years though it may not be as popular as Rodney's, he still makes a good share.
The bar was very old-fashioned. Rusty bells dangle from the doorways, classic rock plays from loudspeakers. The dancefloor and stage were wide-spaced and Elvis and Beatles LPs were stacked close by. Velvet red curtains hung low and were split to give a glimpse of a cluttered backstage. Antonio was past renovation and since the place hasn't had change since the mid-80's, he doesn't like to move furniture or toss treasured antiques.
Dean ran a hand through his hair, sliding his mug back to the server, who refills his cup without hesitation before directing it back with a smile. Dean sits in Antonio's bar every evening for a few cups and to watch lame rock performances, which were usually boring but new bands hit the stage each week.
It was better than watching reruns of Friends all day.
Bells taped above the door rang as someone came in. Dean swivels in his ottoman to see who entered. He saw a girl with dark hair and piercing blue eyes in black denim and leather boots. In her hand was a gig bag as she waves to Antonio, heading over to him while he sat at a table by himself, slurping spaghetti with vodka sauce.
"Yo, Antonio," she greets over Joey Ramone's voice. "What up, man? I was wondering if I could play tonight."
Antonio lowers his fork and grins. "Of course, my dear." he says and grins, pointing toward the stage with a finger. "You may have to go after another band because … you know, they're new. New bands sure love to get booked here before they ditch my dump for Rodney's."
Antonio and Rodney were high-school rivals back in the day with competitions from downing entire kegs to hair growth. Their biggest competition ended after a decade and was the challenge of who could raise a better business – Rodney won for his club. Since then, Antonio and Rodney have considered one another enemies.
The girl smiles comfortingly and pats the old man's knee with a half-gloved hand. "I don't think that." she admits and places her guitar on the chair across from him. "I still love this place and all the others who come here, too."
Antonio chuckles and cradles his potbelly. "Thanks." he replies with a hearty grin and wipes his mouth. "head on backstage and go start the show because these kids are taking too long …"
Her smile never fell as she hoists her guitar onto her back and vanished through the curtains.
Dean finally decides to intervene when he saw her leave. "Hey, Antonio. Who's she?"
Antonio sips his wine and dabs his face. "She, my friend, is the next Joan Jett … Bryn Blackwell."
X
Bryn finds herself space on the creaky wood and slides her guitar into her lap. She inspects her nails: chipped polish, ragged cuticles, and two rose gold bands mounted with tiny diamonds. Her parents' wedding rings. They spent a week orbiting each other while they finalized their divorce. They were ready to pawn the rings but she'd whisked them away before they ever found the chance.
They spat while packing their bags, anger igniting between them like a forgotten match. These thoughts usually came to her when she was alone. About her parents, the past, pinpoints of the present, exes, bad romance experiences. They always came to make her sad but music was her muse. Nothing could make her sad when Joan Jett and Debbie Harry lived.
Playing stray cords, popping glass made Bryn raise a brow and lower her guitar. She saunters closer to a door backstage. The noise grew louder and the door flew open, almost catching her in the face as a young girl storms past.
Her choppy pageboy was messy and a shell purse was tucked under one arm while she bore a tight-lipped scowl. She shoves past Bryn and threw her guitar off a stand, probably thinking it belonged to someone else.
Bryn took her lighter out and threw it at the girl, rage straining her face. "Watch it, bitch! Gibsons are expensive and if you broke it, you gotta pay me for a new one!" she snarls as the girl whips back around. "Don't think I'm lying, broke-ass punk!"
The girl didn't meet Bryn's gaze before she fled.
Bryn sighs and goes to inspect her guitar. The neck was crooked and one string was broken. Bryn shook her head, cursing and steadying her guitar. "If I ever see that bitch again, I'll beat the living …"
"Oh, man! I can't believe Catherin left!"
"Well, Marcus, you were the one to get her mad."
"It's not my fault she can't play in the right key …"
"Whatever, just quit it! I guess we can't play tonight after all."
Three guys appear with instruments, the one Bryn assumed to be Marcus dropped to the floor beside her. His black hair streaked silver went with his sea green eyes and freckled tan. He shut his eyes only to reopen them to stare at Bryn. "Hey," he spoke with immediate sincerity. "I'm not in your space or anything, right?"
Bryn smiles. Finally! Someone who'd show her respect. "Not at all," she advises, observing her guitar. "I'm just … peeved. This chick came over and knocked down my guitar."
"Hmm," another muses. He had a tattoo of an anatomic heart in the crook of his elbow, wore Ray Ban eyeglasses. His rapt brown eyes seeming to enlarge behind them as he leans over his black Thunderbird. "It must've been Catherin because she stormed off rather dramatically."
"I kinda noticed." Bryn turns to who completes the group. A boy with jet black hair that had an auburn overtone, a few strands hung over his hazel eyes and down his nape. He had a scar on his jaw and grins at Bryn. She mimicks it and eyes his gray guitar. "Man, is that a Gibson? That's awesome I have one, too." She displays her guitar to him.
His eyes glint as he looks over her guitar. "Now, that's a guitar! Mine's dead compared to that! It looks like Joan Jett's when she went solo! Fucking awesome!"
Bryn stood to clean off her pants. "It may look good but if you drop it - it'll just shatter."
He waves a gloved hand in her face. "Same with mine. Come on, we all know Gibsons are fragile because I only busted my fingers twenty times."
Bryn beams knowingly. "Me too!"
Marcus rolls his eyes, sits straighter, and drops his drumsticks on a loudspeaker behind him. "As much as I hate to interrupt this important convo, we can't play. Catherin quit so we gotta get home."
The boy in Ray Bans had to sigh. "It's true," he admits shamefully. "Let's go, Marcus. You too, Landon."
Landon turns from Bryn sadly. "Ah, man. Sorry."
When they all turned to leave, she couldn't stop herself. "Guys!" she calls, feeling her cheeks heat when they went to stop. "Do any of you know … um, Joan or Sex Pistols songs?"
Marcus begun to laugh. "Do we know her songs? Practically all of them!"
Bryn's smirk returned but slowly. "Why don't we collaborate, then?"
Adam steps away from his band and reaches for Bryn's hand in a handshake. Not even stopping to think. It reminded her of herself. "You got yourself a deal."
"Why don't you at least tell us your name, kid?" Landon asks, snatching a cigarette from an open pack on a bongo drum and lighting it with ease.
Bryn slid her hand from Adam's and tilted her head, doing her best Lita. "Bryn Blackwell at your service."
X
"Get ready for some supersonic thunder!" Antonio announces, holding the microphone high. "Let's prepare for Bryn and our debutantes, The Raw Roses!" Antonio finishes off to an ovation as he slid offstage, hooking the microphone back onto a stand.
Adam, Landon, and Marcus got onstage first, holding their instruments pridefully. Marcus behind the drums, counts off the song. Bryn appears onstage without her broken guitar but a microphone, eyes gleaming like pearls.
She admires the crowd, miniscule and wonderful. All eyes fixed on them and just suddenly she wanted this back. Her heart swirling in her ribcage through an explosion of adrenaline.
Bryn ran her hand along her leather-clad thigh and screams into the mike. "You ready for some rock-and-roll?"
The roar of the crowd burns her ears and Adam smiles, fingers thrashing bass strings. Bryn jumps in excitement, beginning to laugh, cups a hand around her ear and leans into the crowd. "Can't hear yoooou!" she coos. "now, are you ready for some rock-and-roll?"
The screams this time were deafening. Antonio plugs an ear and begun to laugh.
Bryn was oblivious to the noise. "That's what I like to here!"
The others join in and Bryn felt her heart chill as she went to untangle the wires. She took deep breaths, shut her eyes, and begun her favorite rock classic. Their beats were absorbing and she could easily mistaken them for the real Blackhearts if she were on something.
She watches Adam sway and Landon grin as he didn't miss a beat when he closed in on her. Bryn's face lit as she mirrors him. Pointing at Adam, Landon, and Marcus in that order as they strike dorky poses to her hands.
Bryn leans into Landon, lyrics flowing like memories. She winds the cord up and around her thigh before slinging it downward. The guys chorus in like a flawless choir.
She hid her smile and extends her hand to graze the hands of the audience. "We gotta live together!"
Dean stirs his coffee. Bryn Blackwell? Didn't she go to Constance and get into some fight with a guy? Not that he cared. He'd just rather not see a girl get hurt.
Bryn did remind him of the singer he saw at Rodney's with the all-girl band – The Heartbreakers, wasn't it? Yeah. Lila Thorn. Javier continuously droned on about, saying how she was practically in his lap. He didn't believe a word that loser said. He was lower than the filthiest slums of Brooklyn.
Bryn and Tinsley were supposedly friends. A story going around was that Bryn nearly set her aflame with a cigarette. He wasn't sure if it was a rumor or not but it was certainly a trip and was definitely something that made the guys like her spunk. Especially since she was one of the most unavailable girls to get.
Dean turns to see a girl staring at Bryn. Her hair obviously dyed seeing as her roots were distinctly red. Gauze was taped to her knees. She wore purple moccasins and a leather jacket with fringed sleeves. Floria.
Another girl was beside her. Lila Thorn's bassist, Angelina.
Bryn swings the microphone around like a lasso and laughs into it. One of the guys accenting her voice.
She was ecstatic to be having fun again. With Floria, Angelina, and Hayden, it was all business but with the guys she was jumping around in modest excitement and was glad to. This is was what she needed.
Marcus pounds his drums, sounding as sick as Grohl. He bobs his head and never misses a beat.
The guys once more intervene in jazzy tones. Bryn nods to their angry man falsettos and for lack of better word, she had to admit they were perfect.
Angelina's hurt replaced itself with anger. "I can't believe her shit, man," she told Floria, holding a tumbler of orange soda in a hard fist. "She's betraying us here …"
Despite wanting to agree, Floria was still.
She spun on her heel to face Adam. He, however, wasn't looking at anyone, watching his guitar as if he didn't know what would come next. He always seemed alert with his instrument. While Marcus continued, Bryn ran center-stage, waving the mike overhead. "Everybody now!"
She couldn't help but be shocked at how they knew her music but was even happier when she knew the Blackhearts had more lovers.
Marcus finishes with a clash of cymbals, pointing upward and grinning.
The song finished and the music died down together. Bryn blinks at the silence and returns the mike, biting her lip. They didn't like it? That couldn't be.
But before Bryn could attempt to break the silence, whistles and howls took the air. People applaud and others wave overhead but it was just what they needed to begin cheering of their own.
She wanted a band like this. Wanted to go back to the old days where she performed here when Antonio's wasn't as popular. She met Hayden here, smoking pot with a few guys, playing Iggy and Bowie numbers.
That's when she would get tremendous applause like this. Sure, Rodney's was nice but the people were violent and their signs of appreciations weren't as grand.
Here, they screamed for encores but at Rodney's they couldn't wait until she got offstage.
Going back to the old days didn't seem so bad anymore.
The group sang a couple of Blondie classics before they left stage. Bryn collapses against a speaker, lighting a cigarette as Landon came over and stole her pack of Marlboros, exchanging it with a strange blue box.
"Try those. They're better."
Bryn stubs hers and tosses it over her shoulder and lit one of Landon's, taking in a lungful. They were. Bryn smiles. "They're the shit, man,"
"I hope you realize smoking is bad for you." Adam quips. "It reduces your life of eleven minutes with each intake."
Bryn rolls her eyes. "Fascinating."
Marcus scoffs. "Bull, Adam! You smoked nearly fifteen packs back in the day so I wouldn't be talking."
"And plus, man," Bryn adds. "I smoked tons of packs my whole life so I guess I'll be dead by the time I'm twenty-seven like Jim Morrison."
"Race you to the heaven."
"Definitely."
Worn heels clack on the wooden floors as Angelina steps over to Bryn, lodging her heel into her left knee, Bryn didn't look the slightest fazed. She had taken worse. "Yes?"
"What the fuck is your problem, Bryn?" Angelina screams, jabbing an accusing thumb at her chin. "We're in a damn band together! And you're over here singing with these lowlifes? You're betraying me and Floria and Hay –"
A frown creased her forehead and she waves dumbly. "Hayden quit this morning. Gotta catch up, Ang."
Angelina's hatred grew. Why was she acting so cruel? How could she betray them like this? She was their friend – companion! "Well, you know what? Until then Floria and I are out so think about what you haven't done until then! I'll come back when you finally realize what's wrong with your dumbass head!"
Bryn blinks and her smirk drops. Floria was leaving, too? Her good dream had just suddenly become a nightmare. Floria was her best friend and now this.
Before she could answer, Angelina storms out and shoves her way outside.
Bryn stares ahead, expecting her friends to return, saying that what they just did was some sick joke but … nothing. Her spine hunched and she put her elbow on her now-bruised leg. Vision blurring wetly, shoulders rising and dropping harshly, her breath hardening and she knew it wasn't from the smoke she inhaled.
Bryn didn't meet any gaze, ran her fingertips along the cracked timber, searching for her guitar carrier or Gibson to get the hell out.
Before she could move her nimble fingers further, a hand caught hers. Her sad gaze went to Marcus, his eyes gentle with sympathy as he caressed her cheek, noticing her tears. "You know … it's okay." he assures. "While watching you get fired from your own band, I made a proposition."
Bryn sniffles and a cold tear met her jawline. "I'd love to hear it," she murmurs, biting her chapped lip.
Just before Marcus could reply, Landon steps in. "Why not join our band?"
Bryn didn't know if the tears were of happiness or misery but she considered them both when she nodded and started to dry-sob. "I would love to!" she howls and they laugh at the silent joke. "I'd fucking love to!"
X
After finally returning home to an additional week of punishment, Bryn marches through Constance, wearing a leather jacket and silver dog-tags over her uniform shirt. She passes girls she knew and bumps knuckles. Glittery eyeshadow cloaks her lids, black mascara coats her lashes, red gloss on her mouth, and imitating her idol as she should be.
Some gossip has been traveling about the new girl, Vena, saying she has a grudge against Claire and Bryn's sometime companion/occasional queen bee, Tinsley. She didn't care much. It wasn't too interesting. They'd probably only share insults and spread petty rumors.
Bryn walks past lockers and other classes with a solemn face. People always say when your face is serious. It means you're hiding something.
Which is entirely true. She hid many things about her life. She was very secluded but sure didn't need to hide her Joan-scream. Who would?
About to round another corner, Bryn stops to hear familiarity.
"That bitch Tinsley will pay. She got me kicked out of school, so it's my turn for revenge." Bryn spies Vena from behind a locker corner. She was speaking with a redhead, maybe a double-agent clique girl. "She embarrassed me and I barely got back into this school of idiots. I'll make her life miserable. I swear it."
Oddly enough, Bryn thought it sounded like something she'd say.
Come on people, she's not that cruel.
Bryn raises a brow and continues to eavesdrop. She knew she couldn't trust the girl, just by her name and that hair of hers. No one could have hair that perfect unless it were a celebrity's.
Vena sneers at the thought of the blonde. "So here's the plan …" She approaches the redhead and cups her manicured nails over her ear, murmuring so secretly not even Bryn could hear. "Good enough, Kathy?"
Kathy smirks and nods. "Perfect."
Bryn frowns and smacks her boot loud enough to sound as if she were walking closer before actually appearing. "Hey," Bryn greets, expressionlessly but with an unusual smile.
Vena's face lit with faux happiness and she ran to Bryn, crushing her in an embrace that could dislocate a shoulder. Bryn didn't return the hug, only glares over her shoulder at her sidekick, signifying with her eyes to leave. Kathy takes the hint. "It's so nice to meet you!" Vena croons, uncoiling her arms from around the rebel. "Harper has told me a lot about you!"
Bryn rolls her eyes. "Good to hear."
Vena forces a grin. "We should definitely go out for lunch sometime. It'll definitely be fantastic!"
"I'm sure it will."
Bryn could only imagine her dumping a bottle of Ambien into her espresso.
"The Wright has most of the best, really."
"So I've heard."
Before Vena could reply anymore, Bryn grins evilly. "As much as I'd love to stay," she spit through clenched teeth. "I have to go meet someone actually important. Talk to you never, darling."
She twists on her heels down an opposite corridor and Bryn heard her murmur something profound as she was barely out of sight.
Then leans back and clicks her tongue as if to change her wording. "Whore!"
Vena whips around but couldn't see where Bryn had gone when she was already out of school.
She'd go tell the only one who'd believe her.
Matthew Stradlin.
Of course, she couldn't have trusted Vena but it was worth a shot. Everyone gets at least one percent of truth in her vote.
Bryn moves as quickly as her beaten Urban Outfitter boots allow her. Her mother always complained about why she still decided to wear the raggedy boots, instead of a pair of cute heels or sensible flats. But to her, it was a way of self-expression.
A way to tell Constance Billard and the rest of the Upper East Side to fuck off.
The petite rebel walks across the courtyard to the boy's half of school. Once she made it through the ivory doors, she could feel countless of eyes on her. It wasn't an unusual thing.
She didn't care, though. She just wanted to talk to the one person who'd believe her. And there he was.
Matt was running a hand through his tousled brown locks. Around him were Steven and a couple of other guys though Matt didn't seem to be paying attention to what they were saying.
"Matt!" Bryn calls as she marches over to his locker. His dark green eyes opening widely as he slams his locker shut. "I need to talk to you. Now."
"What's up, Bryn?" Steven coos as beat his hands against his locker. "Wanna join us in lighting this joint?" He shoves the joint over to her eyes and she motions his hands back, Matt gives him one of his casual what the hell looks.
Bryn smiles through her teeth. "Now, as much as I'd like to do that. Can I talk to Matt for a minute?"
"Sure." Steven says as he leans against his own locker, eyes wandering between his two friends.
"I sort of meant alone. Just me and Matt."
"Oooh!" Steven says and stood straighter. His face becoming goofy as he did, Bryn kind-of suspected that he was already high. "Why didn't you just say so?"
Matt looks over her as he shook his head, making sure Steven had gone a good distance away. "Sorry about him. He already smoked a joint before coming to school."
"I sort of suspected."
"So what's up?" Matt asks as he reclines his head back against his dark blue locker. It made the green of his eyes appear brighter in the sunlight pouring from the windows.
"Well, this is going to seem crazy. But, I overheard that Vena-chick talking about Tinsley. I don't think she's as sweet as she seems."
"Since when do you care about Tinsley?" Matt asks. "Wasn't it a couple of days ago that you almost burned her with a cigarette?"
Bryn looks up at him, confused. What was coming out of his mouth? This was her Matt. The same Matt that would believe and defend her even when she was absolutely guilty.
"Bryn, how am I even supposed to believe this? You know, Vena's a pretty awesome girl. She likes my band and she's funny. I'm not Harper. I can tell when you're trying to ruin something."
"That's not what I'm doing! I'm trying to protect you from that bitch!"
"Look, I'm going head out and clear my head." Matt says and grabs his book bag off the marble floor. "You know, it's a real shame that you're acting so immature. Vena really seems to like you."
Matt walks away and Bryn turns to watch him outside. When he reached halfway, a smiling Vena appeared in the courtyard. Matt and she seemed to have a happy conversation as his crooked smile came on. Vena places a spindly hand on his elbow and looks back.
A glare was targeted straight for her.
Bryn watches as they walk out into Park Avenue. Tears brimming.
She quickly wipes them and kicks his locker as she walks off.
X
I hope you all liked this long chapter. It took awhile and practically most of the main characters of the story appeared except for Bryn's new band. They're rather recurring but Angelina and Floria have bigger appearances than them.
This chapter is dedicated to GossipQueen101 for making the Stradlin/Bryn argument and an awesome cast picture, I wanted to give you the biggest thanks!
But the next chapter may not appear until another weekend or two and should have more drama then the last.