Day 19 - Idols

"Shit, Carver, when are you finally going to get rid of that thing?" Revon pointed at the poster on the wall with his half-empty beer bottle, a sneer of contempt on his face. "Honestly, it's embarrassing. You're sixteen, damn it! No one moons over girl groups at your age. Well, no one except fags and sissies."

"I'm not gay!" Carver's reply was automatic though, to tell the truth, he didn't really care what his brother thought. "I just like their music."

Besides, the Angels are hot. Not even Revon could deny that. Each and every one of the five girls who made up the Antivan Angels was stunning, and the poster was designed to show off their assets to their best advantage. Tall blonde Velanna who played the lead guitar was dressed in hot pants to show off her long, long legs. Isabela's luscious breasts were nearly bursting out of her cleavage as she leaned forward over her drum kit with a saucy smile. Sigrun, the sweet tiny one, was caught in the middle of a dance move, her guitar bouncing on her hips as she waved her perky little ass at the camera. And, Morrigan was plucking the strings of her bass, giving the photographer her patented smoky-eyed stare. Carver was never quite sure whether he was scared or aroused by it.

And then, there was Megan, the lead singer. He couldn't even say why he was so fascinated by her. Maybe it was her eyes, large and green and sparkling. Or, the copper red hair, always tousled, never quite perfectly arranged. Or, the sassy smile. Whatever it was, she was the one he dreamed of at night; she was the one he fantasized about during his furtive wanks when Revon was snoring in his bed on the other side of the room.

His brother rolled his eyes. "You call that music? Come on. They had one decent song, maybe two."

"Beyond the Fade is a fantastic song." Carver glanced sulkily at Revon.

But Revon just shrugged and took another sip from the bottle. "It wasn't too bad. But, hey, it's not as if they wrote it themselves. Those chicks aren't musicians, Carver, they're just… dress-up dolls. And dolls are for babies." He burped. "No wonder none of the cool kids want to hang out with you."

Carver didn't bother to reply straight away. It was a tired old argument anyway and completely beside the point. He knew very well that, no matter what music he listened to, he would never be as cool as his brother.

It was all very well for Revon, with his leather jackets and his tattoos and those cheekbones all the girls were swooning over. Besides, he was almost twenty, and he had his bike. He had no idea what Carver's life was like. If they didn't have to share a room, he'd probably ignore his little brother altogether. Revon had always made it abundantly clear how much he despised his whole family. He kept saying he was going to get out, head for the big city, and leave all this behind.

But so far he hadn't made good on his big words and here they were, cooped up together in their parents' minuscule flat in tiny, godforsaken Lothering.

"Don't have an answer to that, do you?" Revon grinned without a trace of humour. He really was being particularly obnoxious tonight.

Carver sighed. "Look, Rev, why don't you leave me alone? I don't complain about your taste in music, do I?"

"No reason to complain." Revon finished the bottle and tossed it into a corner. "Nothing wrong with my taste." He grinned up fondly at the posters decorating his side of the room. "Those guys actually know how to use their guitars."

Carver followed his gaze to the huge DARKSPAWN! poster adorning the wall above Revon's head. To him, they looked just like any of the other metal bands – all black leather, long shaggy manes of hair and stupid grimaces.

He shrugged. "Whatever."

Revon's eyes narrowed. "I'm telling you, Nate Howe is a guitar god."

Nate Howe was the guy with the long black locks and the broody face, even Carver knew that. On the poster, he was snarling at the singer, a pale blond guy who went by the name of… was it Anders? Andersen? Something vaguely Scandinavian-sounding anyway. The drummer was a cheery looking short guy with a red beard, but the fourth band member...

"I don't mind Howe." Carver tried to sound conciliatory. A quarrel with Revon was the last thing he needed. "But that skull face is stupid."

His brother treated him to another eye roll. "Kris Justice is the best bass player alive. I doubt he cares about your opinion of his stage make-up." Revon yawned. "Your Antivan Angels are just a PR exercise. Everything about them is fake, even the name. All their producers did was pick five hot babes, one for each hair colour. And then they made up personalities for them and tossed them at the audience."

"What do you mean, they made up personalities?" Carver was getting angry but, at the same time, he was intrigued by his brother's words. He knew that for all his posing and his arrogance, Revon was pretty smart when it counted.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Revon pointed at the Angels poster. "It's as if they had a list of adjectives and picked a girl for each of them: snooty, sexy, cute, scary, sassy. Who cares if they can sing or dance or read music?" He sneered at the poster. "They're nothing but a full assortment of wet dreams, one for every taste. Mind you, the blonde is kind of hot."

Carver was blushing at Revon's words. They were uncomfortably close to the truth. Still, he had to make an effort to defend his idols. "But they can sing and dance. Well, except for Morrigan, but-"

"See? Even you admit it." Revon's smug grin was enough to drive anyone up the wall. "What you need, little brother, is to get laid. You'll forget all about those dolls as soon as you've had a real girl in your bed."

Carver didn't answer. He hated it, when Revon did that. The last thing he needed was his brother's advice on his love life.

"Let's turn on the telly." A distraction would be welcome, he figured. "Isn't there some sort of Awards show tonight?"

"Shit, yeah!" Revon scrambled for the remote. "I'd almost forgotten. I bet DARKSPAWN! is going to smash the competition to smithereens. And, who knows, maybe they'll even have an award for your chicks." He grinned evilly. "Smoothest leg shave, maybe, or most vapid smile."

"Rev!" Carver was about to throw his pillow at Revon, childish as it might be, when his gaze fell on the screen and his eyes turned wide. "Look at this!"

"No way!" Revon seemed just as mesmerized as he was.

Because there, on the red carpet, Nate Howe had appeared, wearing leather pants so tight Carver wondered how he could walk, and a black sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscled torso. His hair was neatly tied back though, and he had his arm around the bare shoulders of a girl in a floor-length, sea-green dress; a girl Carver would have recognized anywhere. Her red hair was done up in a bun, but strands kept escaping and, when she smiled, her freckles danced all over her pretty face. Just then, Megan threw back her head and beamed up at Howe, clearly smitten with her date.

"God, I can't believe it. He's staring at her like a lovesick puppy." Revon sounded disgusted.

"Shhh." Carver grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume, eager to catch the words of the announcer.

"… a celebrity couple we didn't see coming: DARKSPAWN! lead guitarist Nate Howe and Antivan Angel Meg Cousland are said to be 'blissfully, wildly, madly in love', according to an inside source. Wedding bells may be ringing before the year ends for the charming…"

"Turn that idiot off!" Revon snatched the remote back and hit the mute button hard. "I can't believe it."

Well, neither can I. Carver held his tongue, though. Closing his eyes, he tried to summon up his favourite dream, the one where she was smiling only for him, her arms wrapped around his neck, but it was no use. Images of Howe's hand on her slim back, his arm around her, his body pressed against hers, kept intruding. With an angry sigh, Carver turned to face the wall, pretending to be asleep.