Little Red Wig - Fall Out Boy [Patrick Stump] Fanfiction

Chapter 3

The guys left later that night after a very eventful day. Patrick and I didn't talk about the incident in my bedroom. But I squeezed his hand every so often after that and he smiled. The other three were completely oblivious to the fact that their lead singer was a sobbing wreck in my arms maybe ten minutes before they came back up to my room. And we didn't tell them anything, I just never let go of his hand. It was like a life source, for both of us. And luckily the guys didn't ask about it. The day went on normally after that. We all went to the movies. I sat next to Patrick. I held his hand. We went to an amusement park, and we went on the Ferris wheel. I held his hand. We had a nice meal of take out chicken wings and Andy's plain boring salad under the stars. I still held Patrick's hand. And he didn't complain, he just kept his fingers wrapped around mine.

To say I was sad when the guys left is an understatement. I felt like I was losing my best friends. And, well, I was. Luckily we exchanged numbers. And let's say my contact name ideas were pretty creative:
Andy: Spork 1😎
Pete: Spork 2👽
Joe: Spork 3💩
Patrick: Fanboy🎩

Patrick is going to be on his now, I'm not there to kiss away the sadness. But he seemed happy enough when the guys finished loading the van, so...? Either way, we had to leave a clean path to make sure no one else knew about that visit. But the guys still texted me.

Spork 3💩: Hey. What are you doing?
Me: ...
Spork 3💩: Oh are you in school?
Me: Yes now hush
Spork 3💩: What are you learning?
Me: AP Calc please be quiet I need to pay attention
Spork 3💩: I was never smart enough for AP Calc
Me: You poor little rock star

That was Joe. Always texting at the wrong time. But it was pretty cute. Pete always texts me selfies from a show with the audience in the background. Andy didn't really text me that much. If he did it was asking him for tattoo ideas. Patrick usual called. He called a lot, and most of the time we would talk forever, completely destroying my minutes. I'm pretty sure I'm paying for the phone bills. And whenever he was upset he would call me, and I'd remind him of how amazing he is. I'd read aloud the hidden message in the lyrics of Soul Punk, telling him to keep fighting. But oh how the tables have turned.

I stopped answering his calls when I was sent to the hospital. Of course I couldn't use my phone, as I was in a hospital bed, recovering from a surgery. I hadn't told the guys about it. They always get nervous when I say something going on with my cancer. And I don't want to worry them before a show. I know it angers Patrick when he calls me and I can hear his sniffling, and he says it's nothing, I've got much bigger problems than he does. In a physical sense, I guess that's true. But mentally, I think his problems are bigger. I got a call from him more often than not, whether it be from anxiety, or if a fan was mean, or hate on Twitter. For a famous rock star, he was very sensitive. That's why I got worried when I wasn't receiving any calls.

I couldn't talk to anyone about it, though. Maybe it was better that I didn't call him. He needed time to himself, to sort out his problems on his own. So I didn't call back. And neither did he. The guys all stopped contacting me, but it wasn't blunt. We just didn't text that much anymore. They are constantly on tour, and they are either performing or sleeping. So I really didn't want to bother them. But every time my friends would bring up the band I would just start to worry. Or I'd want to bring up my incredible experience with them, but I knew I couldn't. None of us could. I'd also feel happy. Although we didn't talk as much as we used to, I would smile at the great memories of that day we spent together. But I guess my friends realized that I never participated in the talk of Fall Out Boy. Well that's a lie. I'd either talk about them nonstop and almost blurt out the secret, or I'd steer as far away from them as possible.

•

A black Fall Out Boy shirt was sat on my bed along with a short bright red wig. I had bought the wig for summer after someone had called me an alien in school. Names can really hurt a person, even if they seem like a joke. I was far more angered than hurt. But either way, the wig boosted my self esteem.

"Violet we need to leave in 10 minutes to get there in time," my mother called from downstairs.

For the first time in a while there was a big smile on my face. I was well enough to go to camp this summer. My camp is a musical camp. And it's great. I've had amazing experiences for all of my 10 years of experience there. This year was my last year as a camper. Sure, it was pretty upsetting, but I was finally a Soprano. Let me explain. The age groups are sorted out by vocal range names. The Basses are the little kids, the ones that only do the camp for around a week and a half. Then there's the Baritones, grades 3-4, Tenors are 5-6, Altos are 7-8, Mezzos are 9-10. 11th grade travels to other camps on a traveling show, they're just called the travelers. 12th grade is the Sopranos. They're still campers, but they don't have counselors. Basically we are CITs, but they don't call it that. We do work around camp and get more involved with the concert guests. One week out of the seven weeks of camp is Concert Week. It's always very unexpected, they announce it like a color war. We never know who will be there, but the guests are never bad. It starts out with a concert from the performers, which leads on to them doing camp activities and getting involved with the Sopranos, who do a concert with the guests at the end of the week. My camp friends and I had been waiting to be Sopranos since our Baritone years. So to say I was excited was a bit of an understatement.

There I stood, wearing an actual wig, in front of my mirror. I didn't even look like myself, but it made the fact that it was actually fake unbearable. I know that underneath this hair I am nothing but a useless piece of band trash. Oh well, today was the first day of camp, I have to turn on my inner hoe look.

•

My camp isn't that big. There's maybe 300 kids total, including the travelers. There's like 50 kids in each unit, and like 15 Sopranos. When my rusty Honda Odyssey pulled up to the entrance I was basically screaming. I didn't even let my mother drive into the camp because I have was already out the door, running towards familiar people.

I saw my friend Ari first. They were lugging bags in through the front door of the Soprano cabin. I yelled their name. They didn't hear me.