this one time at bandcamp

part one

"You need a hobby that will open up opportunities for you to make friends."

The enlightening word of Grace Urie ring through Brendon's ears as he shuffles out of the passenger seat of his mother's car. She's smiling at him, the kind of smile that ignites and burns with such intensity that he can't help but smile back, if only a little. Grace waves enthusiastically as Brendon helplessly tugs his bag from the backseat. The weight of the shoulder bag is enough to send the boy stumbling back when it finally breaks free of the back seat's clasps and knocks into his thighs. He huffs a breath, lifting an unsteady hand to center his black-framed glasses again.

"You're going to have so much fun," Grace coos, and Brendon sort of wishes he shared an ounce of his mother's enthusiasm. "You have your cell phone, right?"

Brendon nods, shoulders slouching from the weight of his bag. He can already feel the strap cutting into his sun-soaked skin and the sweat gathering at the nape of his neck.

"You call us every night, okay? Let us know how things are going."

With a final huff, Brendon forces his lips to stretch into a warm-hearted grin, and he nods, ushering his mother away with fumbling steps in reverse. Grace beeps the horn and Brendon shies away, biting at the inside of his cheek as he turns and ducks his head, color bright in his cheeks.

When summer had first began, the boy was perfectly content to spend his lazy days sleeping, playing video games, and fiddling with the various instruments his bedroom back in Summerlin contained. His mother's insistence to bring out the "blooming flower" in Brendon had led him here. He had been dumped on his ass for fifteen days at band camp.

Brendon adored music. He writhed with mirth every time he reached a new high playing an instrument, but this was marching band, which meant instruction and performing on uncoordinated feet. He was going to make a fool out of himself in front of students he'd have to face for two more years of his high school career. The idea of fucking up was so unsettling that as he stumbles onto the camp's main lodge's deck, he can feel his stomach curl with insatiable nerves.

He drops his shoulder bag with a rushed breath, relieved momentarily from the heavy weight. The junior shuffles forward towards the cork board, squinting his eyes to see over the shoulder of some teeny blonde who has claimed the best viewing section. She's trailing a manicured finger along the list of names of cabin partners, humming under her breath as she stops her finger on one particular name.

She recoils from the board with her acquired information, grappling her bags. When she turns, the blonde releases a hideous squeak that makes Brendon tense. His brown-eyed gaze falls on a rounded face, colored cheeks, and sharp eyes.

"God, I didn't have a clue you were even there!"

He shifts uncomfortably, chewing on his lower lip. Just as he begins to utter his apology, the blonde chuckles, adjusting her bag. It isn't right to take the Lord's name in vain.

"You're new," she states, and wow. Is it already that obvious?

Brendon tries for an awkward smile, but he's pretty sure he ends up with a grimace on his face.

A tiny hand extends before him, offering slim fingers and a thin palm attached to a narrow wrist and a twiggy limb.

"I'm Jac, short for Jacqueline, but that's quite the mouthful, isn't it?"

Brendon shakes her hand, lifting it once they detach to scratch at the back of his neck.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm Brendon."

"Junior, right? The Mormon kid?"

It takes every fiber of his being to remain rooted to the lodge's deck. Brendon grits his teeth and forces a kind smile with a curt dip of his chin. The chain around his neck is strictly an accessory, and as much as his parents adore religion and the good Ole' Faith of God, Brendon can only believe so much. He's good at letting guidelines of things he can't do burn into his brain. Ever since he was little, the pressure of all the things he could do wrong left him wide eyed and gap jawed, but being singled out for his religion in high school wasn't his idea of four years of happy, saccharine memories.