ADD IT UP ✰ RODRICK HEFFLEY x MALE! OC

CHAPTER 8

DISCLAIMER
I do NOT condone Miles's actions at the end of this chapter. He is not a reflection of myself or my morals. Content warning for a discussion of the events that happened in Chapter 3.

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        The Headless Chicken Bar and Grill was the largest bar in Plainview. Every night, people would come straight from work— the Headless Chickens performed from three to six o'clock every evening, and afterwards, a local band would take over for them and play through the night. Unfortunately, ever since the death of their drummer, live music was a thing of the past for the once-affluent bar.

       Until tonight.

       I opened the door to the bar, just to be greeted with the all too familiar stench of beer and chicken wings. My mouth watered at the prospect of getting my hands on their garlic rub wings, and the waitress sat me down at a booth to myself, anxiously awaiting Loded Diper's evening performance.

        The nostalgia waned back at me, as I remembered my mother taking Bonnie and I to the bar to watch my father's band perform. Every time that we ate there, I would order garlic rub wings with ranch, and the same waitress would sit us down at the same table. The memory eased my nerves, but my leg continued to bounce as fifteen minutes passed and there was still no sign of Rodrick, Ben, Chris, or Mackie. In fact, the only indication that they were even at the bar was the LD scribbled on the drumset in sloppy, black letters.

         "Mic check," a stubby, bearded man muttered, tapping the microphone and drawing everyone's attention to the front of the restaurant. where the stage lay, dusty and unused. It was barely a stage; the performance would take place on  a small, elevated platform, appearing to barely have enough room to house the drum kit, let alone four people. "Welcome to the grand re-opening of the Headless Chicken Free Sundays!"

            The crowd went ballistic, with the evidently tipsy bar goers making the most noise. I recognized them as regulars from when the Headless Chickens still performed there, however, their faces were more lined, and their eyes sagged with exhaustion. Despite this, they stared at the cantor with glee, as he introduced the band that would be performing that night.

         Something about them was different, however— Mackie walked with a limp and Rodrick's drumsticks were mismatched, one very obviously bigger than the other.

        "We are Loded Diper!" Ben screamed into the microphone, Mackie beginning the solo to an all-too familiar tune: Exploded Diper. Loded Diper were local legends, but not in the same way that most of the underground Plainview bands were. In our sophomore year, Loded Diper's performance of Exploded Diper was so atrocious, that Susan stood up from her seat and began to dance on stage, effectively taking all the spotlight off the band and making Loded Diper an Internet sensation.

       For, maybe, a week at most.

       Their improvement was immense, though, and it continued for the rest of the night. Ben sang a combination of covers and original songs— though, admittedly, the former sounded a lot better than the latter.

          I had never seen Rodrick so motivated in his life. His face was lit up by the light of the stage, but he glowed brighter than the rest of the band. The passion that Rodrick had for his craft simply illuminated and radiated throughout the entire restaurant. Despite the fact that the drumset lay toward the back of the stage, Rodrick was truly the frontman. His charisma between songs reminded me of my father's: always attempting to outshine the lead singer of the Headless Chickens, defying the immediate assumption that drummers faded into the background.