body copy (a.g.)

= Chapter Eight =

= Chapter Eight =

The Wire is nothing more than a little dive out in Hampden. It's pretty standard as far as a small rock-oriented venue goes: dark paintjob, black furniture and bar, shitty stage with questionable lights and sound equipment that works if you pray hard enough beforehand... basically the works, you know? But lots of bands play here, and most people who are into seeing shows have been to this joint at least once in their life. It's not great, but I guess it's not total shit, either. At least it's not in a bad part of town like almost every other cool place in Hampden.

There is one problem with the Wire, however: it's not an under-twenty-one place. The bar aspect of it complicates things, you see, because that's really its main function as a business. Stuff like band battles and other special events are secondary, and I guess whoever owns the Wire doesn't want to fill out the paperwork to make it a place where you can get in with a guardian if you're underage.

Obviously, Melanie and I are nowhere near twenty-one, and we sure as hell don't look old enough to be the kind of people you could just wave through at the door (example: a group of moms going out to the Wire for girls' night who are blatantly older than thirty-five and would take getting carded as a compliment instead of a hassle).

Melanie swore up and down that she could get us fake IDs after we worked out the details of this little excursion, and at first, I was cool with the idea of sneaking into a bar. I mean, come on, I'm a teenager; I want to rebel and shit, you know? But now that we're here, outside the venue waiting to get in, I'm not sure how I feel about doing this. It's just intimidating to even be in the line for the door. All around us, people who are actually old enough to get in are smoking cigarettes and talking, all of them clad in leather and very collected-looking. Melanie and I don't exactly stick out, per se (we made sure to dress the part, both of us wearing dark outfits and full faces of makeup), but I feel like a little kid around these people. For fuck's sake, the guys in front of us are talking about college papers they have to do and shit like that. Everything smells like cigarettes and beer and city smog. I'm out of my element and I don't like it.

"Mel, are you sure these IDs are going to work?" I hiss as Melanie fumbles in her tiny purse for these little cards that are supposed to actually resemble valid, believable forms of identification.

"Yes," she says, tone implying that she wants me to chill out. My nerves spike a little, and I cross my arms over my chest, upset.

"If we get arrested or detained or whatever," I whisper venomously, "I'm going to be so pissed at you. My Mom and Dad would crucify me if they even just knew where I was right now. These things better be fucking good."

"They are," Melanie says, finally coming up with what looks like two driver's licenses. She holds one out to me, and I try not to be mean when I snatch it away from her for examination.

Miracle of all miracles, it actually ends up looking... believable. My picture is there, along with some other information like my height, weight, and eye color. Really, the only things that are fake on the piece of plastic are my date of birth, my address, and some clerical stuff like the date it was issued and everything.

I look up at Melanie and see her staring at me, one dark eyebrow cocked coolly. Her lipsticked mouth is turned down into a pout, and she's got one hip thrown out. I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"Fine. I'm sorry. They look great," I say, blinking at her pointedly. Melanie drops the pissed-off act almost immediately.

"Don't they?" she breathes quietly, giggling like a little girl. I roll my eyes again, but it's a little more good-natured this time around.

"Yeah, yeah, you did good. Now just act cool so people believe us."

The line creeps up at a steady rate of speed until eventually, Melanie and I reach the front. The bouncer, a surprisingly average-sized guy with blue eyes and beard, takes our IDs and begins to look them over. He's young, but not that young, and it's not long before he begins to eye us suspiciously. I can feel Melanie begin to get nervous to my left, but I don't dare give us away by looking at her. I'm not exactly cool, calm, and collected on the inside, but I make myself look like I don't have a care in the world.