The "Biggest" Fan (EN)

13.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Jake?" I yelled as soon as we arrived at the supposed 'surprise venue' he'd booked. I saw a bunch of bands standing around, chatting, and right in front of us, a banner hung over the entrance that screamed: Underground Battle of the Bands!

Skylar's face turned pale. "No, no, this is way worse than the worst-case scenario I had in mind." Her voice was barely holding back panic.

Jake just shrugged. "But come on, where better for us to get noticed than at a competition?"

Technically, he wasn't wrong, but I felt frustrated, "Oh, but maybe you could've just given like, you know, a tiny hint, like 'Hey, Louis, prepare to humiliate yourself in front of a crowd of way better bands,'" I tried to hold my shit together.

"Look, one," Jake held up a finger, "If I'd told you, you never would've agreed to it, and two, this is no big deal. Just a contest for new bands. Everyone's going to be terrible! We're not risking anything."

With a deep breath, I looked around. Jake did have a point. And running now would only be worse.

"What's the prize here, anyway?" Derek asked, as unbothered as ever.

Skylar snorted, a little desperately. "You expect us to win?"

Jake rolled his eyes. "I don't know, I doubt their budget exceeds just some discount coupons for a Chinese restaurant or something. But it's not about winning. It's about people seeing us. And hey, we're here to have fun."

Trying to wrap my head around the chaos, I stepped inside, taking in the basement bar vibe. Sure, it was a little dingy, with a barely-decent stage, but I could see at least two hundred people there. Definitely more than we'd ever played for.

I wandered further in, trying to make sense of where the hell I was. My band was already huddled in the corner, unloading gear, but I kept drifting, watching the other groups. They were all dressed so differently, and I couldn't help but eavesdrop on their conversations, trying to figure out what they were planning to play. I counted about ten bands before I lost interest in counting.

"Love your pants," someone said. I turned around to see a girl, sitting casually on the side of the stage, completely chill. She looked like she was fresh out of school, a couple of years younger than me, with a piercing in her eyebrow. 

"They're dark red," I acknowledged, raising an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the compliment.

"Yes, they are," she tilted her head, barely lifting an eyebrow herself. Her dark red lipstick matched her curly hair. Apparently, I chose a popular color today, huh.

I started to turn away, then realized I had nowhere else to be and, at least for now, she was the only person who seemed remotely interested in talking to me.

"When are you guys on?" she asked casually.

"Honestly? No idea," I admitted. "I just found out this is a competition and not, you know, a regular gig with a bunch of half-drunk locals shouting 'We want a mosh pit!' Feeling really prepared."

"Oh." She stifled a smile. "I guess that happens."

"You playing too?" I asked, hoping to spot at least one familiar face on stage later.

"Yep," she said with a shrug. "But my band's probably out back right now, smoking some weed to get inspired. You know, typical college stoner stuff.

"Nice. Nothing says 'promising band' like being stoned before showtime," I joked, "Just make sure they don't wander on stage during our set. I can already see my bassist having a full meltdown if someone hands him a joint." She laughed and gave me a nod of approval.