Bluey One-Shots!

Performance Anxiety

Bandit had been preparing for this day for weeks. He'd practiced for days on end, his guitar-playing driving his dad crazy; he sang to himself when no one else was home, memorizing the lyrics he'd written; he brushed his hair daily so it'd look nice (well, as nice as a mullet could get. They were starting to fall out of style...)

As he brushed his hair on this big day, he felt a twinge in his stomach. He hadn't eaten anything yet, so he assumed it was hunger...but it felt a bit different. What was it?

"You look dumb, Ban-doily," Stripe said, walking in.

Since the trip to the caravan park, where Radley had jinxed Bandit, Stripe hadn't called him by his actual name. This gag had only been running for 4 months, but it was still going strong...

"Hey, mullets are cool," Bandit said.

"Not anymore. Everyone's ditching them, Ban-dingus. Maybe I could cut it--"

"Stay away from my hair!"

Stripe ran out, and Bandit noticed him go up into their backyard treehouse. He continued to brush his hair, until he heard Rad walk in.

"Big day, huh?" he asked.

"No, I'm just..."

"I know what you're doing, Bandit. I know you've got a gig today."

Bandit froze.

"How did you--"

"You've been playing more than usual. And your little music sheets have 'August 2nd, don't forget' scribbled on them. Today's August 2nd, and you're just making yourself look perfect."

"Well..."

"Have you told Mum and Dad yet?"

He shook his head. Maybe that's why there was a twinge in his belly...

"I mean, I kind of told Mum. She gave me money for tickets..."

"You didn't tell her you'd be performing?"

"No...I didn't think she'd like it."

"I'm sure you want her there. Why not tell her? Even if it's not her crowd, she'd be there to support you."

"Okay...I guess I could ask..."

Bandit set his brush down and walked out to the dining room with Rad. Their parents, and Stripe, sat at the table eating breakfast. They sat down at their usual spots. Rad immediately dug in, but Bandit was starting to feel a little queasy.

"What's wrong?" Chris, his mum, asked. "Eat your brekky, kiddo."

"Um...Well, Mum, I need to...tell you something."

"What is it?"

"Well, you know how there's this concert today?"

"I'd honestly forgotten about it. What of it?"

"Well, I'm...I'm uh..."

"Spit it out, Bandit," Bob, his dad, said from behind his newspaper.

"I'm actually going to be performing at it. I'm in a band."

Silence struck. Chris looked a bit surprised.

"Oh, so that's why you've been playing your guitar more than usual!" she said.

"That's why you've been driving me crazy with your young people's music?" Bob asked.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I know Dad hates my music," Bandit said.

"'Hate' is a strong word," Bob said.

"And I was sure you wouldn't like to go, even if it is to watch me perform."