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Aubrey here is a slut drunk, but still normal Aubrey when not.

Chapter 1 Summary: Beca is playing for a band, then she saw her ex, Julie, together with a guy. She finds a way to avoid her by asking a flannel wearing, red headed girl to be her girlfriend for the next 5 minutes.

Chapter 2: Here's my Kidney

Ralph from the band before insists that the girl at the back of that 3 person band that has no drummer is straight. I have no idea how he got the idea. I mean she's clearly gay. Trust me. There are certain things a girl just knows. Have you seen her so called 'ear monstrosities', she's definitely not straight.

The incidental fact of her gayness doesn't mean I want to be her five-minute girlfriend, like I'm some 7-Eleven quick stop on her slut train. Only because I am the one loser here who hasn't lost all her senses to beer, dope, or hormones do I have the sense to hold back my original instinct-to yell back "FUCK, NO!" in response to her question.

I have to think about Aubrey, scratch that, I always have to think about drunk Aubrey.

I noticed ear-monstrosity loading equipment after her band's set while her band mates abandoned her to score some action. I understand that scene. I am that scene, cleaning up everyone else's mess.

Ear-monstrosity also dresses in a flannel shirt like mine. And if she's the equipment bitch, she has a van. The van's probably a piece of scrap metal with a leaking carburetor that as likely as not will pop a tire or run out of gas in the middle of the Lincoln Tunnel, but it's a risk I have to take. Somebody's got to get Aubrey home. She's normally uptight, but she sometimes lets herself go, and when I say sometimes, I mean almost every party that we're at. She's too drunk to risk taking her on the bus. She's also so drunk she'll go home with anyone if I'm not there to take her back to our dorm where she can sleep it off. Groupie bitch. If I didn't love her so much, I'd kill her.

She's lucky my parents love her just as much. Her dad, super strict. One reason why she's so uptight on a normal basis. My parents, they adore Aubrey, beautiful Aubrey with the long blonde hair, the big cherry Tootsie Pop lips. Mom and Dad would move past disowning me and outright kill me if they thought I wasn't looking after their beloved Aubrey. She inspires that kind of devotion in people. It's nauseating, except I am totally under Aubrey's spell, too, her lead minion, have been since nursery school.

I look around the club as the between-set mass of people swarm past/through/into me like I'm a ghost with the inconvenience of malleable flesh getting in their way on the way to the beer. Damn, I've lost Aubrey again. She is big on Ralph tonight, which is cool, they don't completely suck but I think he's on coke tonight and I gotta make sure he doesn't get her alone in a corner. But I'm only 5-foot-4 on tippy toes, I need to be a 6-foot bouncer to separate the two of them, and 5-foot ear-monstrosity here standing in front of me, waiting to find out if I want to be her five-minute girlfriend and looking like that lost animal who goes around asking "Are you my mother?" in that kid book.

From behind her I don't see Aubrey but I do see that stupid bitch, Julie, rhymes with bitchy, forced I know, cuz that's what she'll do to someone, rip apart their piece. She's doing her Julie strut with her big boobs sticking out in front of her, wiggling her ass in that way that gets the instant attention of every dumb schmo in her wake, even the gays, who seem to be highly represented here tonight, ear-monstrosity notwithstanding. She's coming right towards me. No No NOOOOOOOOOOO. How did she find out Aubrey and I would be here tonight? Does she have lookouts with text pagers set up every place Aubrey and I go on a Saturday night, or what?

Girlfriend to the rescue! I answer ear-monstrosity's question by putting my hand around her neck and pulling her face to mine. God, I would do anything to avoid Julie recognizing me and trying to talk to me.

FUCK! I didn't expect ear-monstrosity to be such a good kisser. Asshole. See this, Ralph? NOT STRAIGHT. Confirmed. But I am not looking for chemistry here, just a ride home for my girl. I am also not looking for tongue, but ear-monstrosity wastes no time sliding its way into my mouth. My mouth revolts against my mind: Umm, feels good down here, steady girl, steaaaady!

No matter how good she tastes, this five-minute girlfriend still needs a few seconds to come up for air. I separate my mouth from hers, hoping to catch my breath and hoping to catch Julie walking away from us without having noticed me after all.

WOW. I feel like in this riot of people, I have been kicked in the stomach, but by the giddy police. Forget about the need for oxygen. My mouth wants to go back to the place it just left.

Unfortunately, Julie is standing right in front of us, hanging on to her latest slobber victim, who is near enough now that I can positively ID him as one of Aubrey's recent rejects. Julie clutches her arm tight around the guy's waist, probably squeezing out whatever remaining life that soul-sucking skank hasn't gotten out of him yet in the three weeks or so since Aubrey gave him the heave-ho.

Julie says, "Beca? Chloe? How do you two, like, know each other?"

I don't know why, but I do that thing Aubrey does to her male victims, where instead of taking the hand of ear-monstrosity, I place my hand at the back of her neck and scratch the nape softly, possessively, while Julie watches. My fingers scan the locks of her hair back there, and I feel goose bumps rising on her neck. I likee. There is some satisfaction in seeing Julie's bottom lip nearly fall to her chin in shock. That's the thing about Julie: She's never subtle.

Whatever I'm doing, it works. She storms away, speechless. Phew. That was easier than I expected.

I look at my watch. I believe my new girlfriend and I have about two minutes forty-five before we break up. I close my eyes and do the slight head turn, angling for another visitation from her lips. But she doesn't come back in for more mouth-to-mouth contact. She says, "How the hell do you know Julie?"

Then I remember. Julie called her BECA. Noooooooooo. That's her! BECA! The Beca effin Mitchell! The girl who wrote all the songs and poems about her, the best goddamn girlfriend the rest of us at Barden never had, the one Julie hooked up with after meeting her on the PATH train at the beginning of the school year and has lied to and cheated on ever since. Does BECA not think it's weird that she dated her that long and never once met any girls from her school? IDIOT!

But of course Julie wouldn't introduce her to us. She wouldn't be worried we'd rat out her indiscretions to her girlfriend, she'd be afraid she'd fall for Aubrey. Julie can have Aubrey's rejects, but she'd never offer up one of her own to Aubrey. Julie is so Single White Female, we like to joke that Aubrey should get a restraining order against her, except Julie provides us too much amusement to completely let her out of our reach. It's like a love-hate thing we have going with her. We don't feel guilty about it because there's only a month of school left and I can't imagine we'll ever see her again after our "have a great summer, good luck in college" phony sentiment yearbook finales. And karmically, I have repaid my mean-girl debt to Julie many times over. If she passed Chemistry and Calculus this year, it's because of me. Fuck, if she graduates at all, it's because of me.

I don't bother answering Beca's question about how the hell I know Julie. I've got to find Aubrey.

I stand up on the barstool. That's the only way I'll find her with all these people and this loud music and this stink sweat and this beer energy and this never-ending day that feels like it is only beginning in the middle of this night. I place my hand on Beca's head to steady my balance as I scan the crowd, and my hand can't help but rummage through her hair, just a little.

There she is! I see Aubrey huddling with Ralph at a corner table by the brick wall just off the stage. I jump down from the barstool and take off toward Aubrey, but Beca's hand clenches my wrist from behind me, pulling me back to her.

"Seriously," Beca says, "how the hell do you know Julie?"

Her grip pinches the watch on my wrist, and the 'aw' of the pinch turns my eyes from looking for Aubrey to looking straight at her. I notice how lost she looks, yet eager for me to stay with her. Her eyes kind and angry at the same time, and the noticing makes me remember a lyric from some song she wrote for Julie that she passed around in Latin class because she thought it was so lame.

You know I'd fall apart without you
I don't know how you do what you do
'Cause everything that don't make sense about me
Makes sense when I'm with you

Anyone can tell you you're pretty
And you get that all the time, I know you do
But your beauty's deeper than the make-up
And I wanna show you what I see tonight...

Fuck Julie. I would give body parts to have a girl write something like that for me. My kidney? Oh, both of them? Here, Beca, they're yours-just write more for me. I'll give you a start: girl in punk club asks strange girl to be her girlfriend for five minutes, girl kisses, girl then meets girl-what did you notice about this girl? Beca, let's hear some lyrics. Please? Ready. Set. Go.

I want to stomp my foot in frustration-for her, and for me. Because I know that whatever Julie did or said to her, it's what's given her that haunted puppy-dog look of pathetic despair. Julie's the reason she will probably become an embittered old fuck before she's even of legal drinking age, distrusting women and writing rude songs about them, and basically from here into eternity thinking all chicks are lying, cheating sluts because one of them broke her heart. I'm the girl who knows she's capable of poetry, because like I said, there are things I just know. I'm the one who could give her that old-fashioned song title of a thing called Devotion and True Love (However Complicated), if she ever gave a girl like me a second glance. I'm the less-than-five-minute girlfriend who, for one too-brief kiss, fantasized about ditching this joint with her, going all the way punk with her at a fucking jazz club in the Village or something. Maybe I would have walked along Battery Park with her at sunrise, holding her hand, knowing I would become the one who would believe in her. I would tell her, I heard you play, I've read your poetry, not that crap your band just performed, but those love letters and songs you wrote to Julie. I know what you're capable of and it's certainly more than being in an average band, you're better than that; and dude, having a drummer, it's like key, and you fucking need one. I would be equipment bitch for her every night, no complaints. But no, she's the type with a complex for the Julie type: the big tits, the dumb giggle, the blowhard. Literally.

You wanted easy. Well, you got it, pal.

I extract my wrist from her grip. But for some reason, instead of walking away, I pause for a moment and return my hand to her face, caressing her cheek, drawing light circles on her jaw with my index finger.

I tell her, "You poor schmuck."

End of Chapter 2.

End Note

Song used: Wanted by Hunter Hayes

So you probably notice that chapter 1 is Beca POV and chapter 2 is Chloe POV, the story is alternating POV between them. Odd is for Beca, even is for Chloe.

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