Inbetween Days (Jess Mariano x Reader)

Chapter 10

Well, I don't wanna wake up in the mornin'

But I've got to face the day

That's what all the friends I do not like as much as you say

I don't wanna do things independently

But I can't make you stay

That's what all the friends I do not like as much as you say

But if you wanna come back, it's alright, it's alright

It's alright if you wanna come back

Do you wanna come back? It's alright, it's alright

It's alright if you wanna come back to me

It sounds stupid to admit that my life lost color after he left. But it's true. I fell back into my routine of rushed breakfasts at Luke's before school, with Luke much grouchier than usual, and the eight hour grind before coming home to lie comatose on my bed until dinner. My one consolation were the letters we still exchanged. It was tough asking Luke to mail them for me, so in the end I just left the envelopes on the counter, addressed, with the money for the stamp weighing it down. I would forgo my donut at first to pay for it, but once he figured out what I was doing he started giving me the donut anyway, leaving the money, and posting the letters himself.

I thought about what little he'd told me about his mom, or 'Liz' as he called her - and had since he was six, at her request, since "Calling me 'mom' makes me sound old, I'm not old." He vaguely described a string of trashy studio apartments, often without furniture or their own bathroom, and an equally trashy string of loser boyfriends. He had often spent hours in the corner with his hands over his ears as they screamed at and hit each other, until she told him to stop being such a baby and sent him outside to play, even in some of the most dangerous parts of New York. I thought about how much he must have wanted to escape. I toyed with my own mind until I believed that he could have dreamed about somewhere like Stars Hollow once.

It wasn't often that he wrote back, but when he did the letters were about three pages long, front and back, on coffee-stained legal pads or notebook pages. Sometimes he'd slip a postscript in scribbled on the back of someone else's receipt. I wondered where he was getting the money for postage for a second, then realized I didn't care. He wanted to talk to me, he wanted to write back. I wasn't just his friend because I was there, pestering him, desperate for love, but because he wanted me around, to pick my brain and banter and laugh with him. He'd give me homework, too, albums, books, articles ripped out of Punk Planet. I was never happier during that time than when Luke set a letter next to my morning coffee.

Though, a close second was sitting in on Lane and Dave's band practices. Though quiet, they were improving, even as Zack got more impatient with their current situation. Sophie was being more than generous, but even I had to agree that The Clash wasn't The Clash with the amps set to three, and neither was the band. Once Dave had convinced Lane to come back inside, the argument for immediate solutions continued.

"It doesn't help that you keep adding words to London Calling, though." I interjected during the argument. "It's supposed to be grammatically incorrect, you know. And you don't have to fake an accent, either."

"Oh, yeah? How would you do it then, Your Highness?" he flopped his hair around arrogantly as he spoke.

"Like this. Lane, Bri, gimme a beat. Don't bother, Dave."

With Brian's bassline running in my veins, I sunk my voice into the back of my throat, forcing a Regina Spektor-like low whine, and started singing with what I felt was the angst of a thousand punks behind me.

'London calling to the faraway towns

Now war is declared and battle come down

London calling to the underworld

Come out of the cupboard, ya boys and girls

London calling, now don't look to us

Phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust

London calling, see we ain't got no swing

Except for the ring o' the truncheon thing

'The ice age is coming, the sun's zoomin' in

Meltdown expected, the wheat is growin' thin

Engines stop running, but I have no fear

'Cause London is drownin' and I-I-I

I live by the river'

"Do you want to be the new lead singer?" asked Dave, jokingly but a little in awe.

"Uh, NO! Absolutely not, there's already far too many chicks in this band as it is!"

"Wow. Zack, that was uncalled for," said Dave immediately.

"Yeah, it was a joke, man, chill out," said Brian with disgust.

"Apologize to Lane, man."

"Why?"

"Now! Van Gerbig, or you're out. Good luck finding another band to take you with that attitude."

"Fine! Sorry, Lane. Chicks can make sic drummers, too," muttered Zack, looking at his shuffling feet.

"Thank you. Now, moving on to the main problem. We need to find a good rehearsal space, so I need you guys scouring the papers, asking around, okay?"

"We go into Hartford to do our grocery shopping, I can keep an eye out then," I offered, "Though I'm not allowed to go anywhere without my mom, but I'll look while we drive by -"

"You go grocery shopping in Hartford?" asked Brian, surprised.

"My mom's a food snob, like Lane's except not vegan."

"What is it with strict parents in this band?"

"She's not actually in the band, Brian. She's just Lane's groupie."

"You hear that, Lane? I'm your groupie. Rolling Stone, you heard it here first."

The conversation devolved from there until Lane had to go home. I chatted with Dave on the walk back to our houses, about everything from set lists to logos to future tours, completely dreaming for the future. He decided that I'd be the Brian Epstein, "Except for the suit thing, 'cause that'd be really weird." When we got to my house, he rested a hand on our fencepost and we talked for another fifteen minutes or so before saying our goodbyes. When I got inside, my mom was ready and waiting to comment on how many boys I'd been talking to lately. When I retreated to my room, I unlocked the file drawer to my desk and pulled out the binder with my half-finished letter to Jess tucked in the pocket. She had no idea.

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Song at the beginning is 'If You Wanna' by The Vaccines