The Stella I Remember

3| Unpainted Canvas

"You better not be looking!"

I let out an exasperated sigh as I held up my jacket. "I'm not looking, Stella. Just hurry up!"

"Don't rush me, Elliot. This is your fault anyway."

"My fault?" I balked. "How the hell is this my fault? That drummer is the one who spilled his drink on you. Not me."

"Perhaps. But you gave me the ticket!"

I stared at the barrier my black ACDC jacket was providing. I really wish I could look Stella in the eye for this part.

"Are you trying to say that this is my fault because I gave you that ticket? The ticket that made it totally worth it to not run away from home and get grounded for a year? Is that what you're saying?"

Silence greeted me from the other side of my jacket.

"Stella!"

"Fine! It's not your fault." She yanked down on my jacket. "Is this really all you had in your bag? It's huge on me."

"Well I didn't really plan to be giving away my clothes today, Stella."

After the drummer of Swallow Me Whole spilled his drink on Stella's shirt, she whined about not wanting to walk around feeling 'sticky'. Before I could even suggest that she buy one of the many band t-shirts they had here for sale, she asked if I had an extra one in my bookbag.

Luckily, I did.

Ordinarily I would have just pushed her to buy one for herself, but they were kinda pricey and my gut told me she didn't have that much money with her. So I was all prince-charming-like and gave her my black Rolling Stones t-shirt.

One of my favorites.

But did she go to the restroom to change? Nope. She went all Stella and found a secluded spot to change. Then she demanded that I hold up my jacket so that no one—especially me—could see her in her bra. When I started to question why she just didn't go to the bathroom, she gave me a look. I may not know much about girls, but I knew that that look meant do it or I would be in trouble.

I shoved my jacket back into my bookbag. "If you don't like it, give it back."

"Not gonna happen," she huffed.

She stared down at the shirt before she looked back up at me. She was clearly deep in thought about something. Two seconds later, she reached up and pulled her ponytail free.

Her dark hair fell around her face and she pulled my shirt tighter around her body. She used the scrunchy that was in her hair to tie my shirt around her waist. She tucked in the back then beamed up at me with a smile.

"There. That's better."

Once again, all I could do was shake my head at her.

"You are really something else."

"Thanks," she said with a smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Of course she would-and she should.

When we first went back stage to meet the band, Stella and I both had a case of being star struck. A few members of the band greeted us and tried to shake our hands. But we just stood there with our mouths agape. It took a good five minutes before we were able to form a decent thought. Then even a few more to muster a hello.

After that it was fucking amazing. We spend an hour back stage just hanging out. We talked to the singer, the guitarists, and the drummer.

Yep, the same drummer that eventually spilled his alcohol heavy drink all over Stella. It was probably a good thing she changed because someone may have thought she had been drinking. That would have created a whole Texas sized amount of problems that we didn't need.