Rising Pitch, Rising Life

                Leon walked up to me and put his arm around my neck. “Stage looks good,” he said wearing a big crooked grin.

                “Gee, if only you meant that,” I replied, stepping out of his hold.

                “I’m serious. It looks great.”

                I started to walk away but Leon pulled me to him and pressed his lips to mine. I quickly pushed away from him. “Listen,” I said. “Just because you’re in a famous band and you have seriously good looks, does not mean that every girl wants you. Back away from me and stop grabbing my butt.” Leon looked stunned for a second then glared at me. After about five seconds of this, he grabbed his guitar and set off to find his band-mates, chains clinging against his legs.

                I didn’t even realize that my boss and personal friend Otto Wade was standing behind me. He chuckled and ran a hand through his brown hair. “Band boys,” he said. “I was a band boy back in my day. Those were the days.” He looked up at the ceiling with his dark brown eyes.

                I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Otto, you’re only twenty seven. Stop making yourself sound old.”

Now that I studied him more carefully, I noticed that he even looked younger than twenty seven. He was only about five foot, seven inches, and only weighed about- -

                “Otto, how much do you weigh?” I asked as I tapped my pen against my clipboard.

                Otto cocked his head to the side and looked at me questioningly. “Why? How much do you weight?”

                “110. Now answer my question.”

                “158.”

                Exactly. He was pretty small for twenty seven, so I think. Otto has warm brown eyes that most girls would swoon over. I could never think of Otto like that though. He kept his shoulder length brown hair in a low ponytail all the time, which I constantly picked on him for.

                “So who exactly is this Leon Michaels guy?” Otto asked, looking back where Leon had left through.

                “Lead singer of the band Los Douche-bags,” I said.

                “Seriously?”

                “No, but that’s what the band should be named.” 

                Otto laughed and patted me on the back. “Don’t worry, Kristin. You get used to it.” He turned around and started talking to a guy whom I only know as ‘Dave’.

                “So I’ve been told,” I muttered. I peeked around the corner onto the stage where I could see the crowd growing impatient. I talked into my ear microphone to Otto. “Send them on,” I said.

                “Gotcha,” he instantly replied.

                A few moments later, Leon and his group of hooligans came back through the door. “You’re on,” I glared. I walked past them through the door and went to go get my bag. I was done for the day. I was going back to my own band. Well, not exactly my band. But the band I’m traveling with. What else do you do on a weekend and you have nothing to do? You travel around with close friends of yours who started a popular band. Except, some people don’t have famous friends so I guess I’m lucky?