My Dad's Band

Flashbacks and the Truth

Flashback: Half a Year Earlier-

The radio is blaring as I hum the end of one of my favorite songs, Stressed Out by one of my favorite early 2010's bands, Twenty Øne Piløts.

The song ends and a new one comes on.

"My girlfriend bitching 'cause I always sleep in..." It continues to play on. It has a really sick beat, and I'm saddened to realize I've never heard it before.

Within seconds my dad, who's sitting next to me in the drivers seat on our way to school, flips to a different station.

"Hey, I was listening to that. I found it to be a good song," I complain.

"Too bad. I found it be annoying," he says quickly, raking a hand through his blonde hair.

"You know, that singer kind of sounded like you when you sing, which you know is a rare occasion."

"He did not sound like me. I can barely sing and that guy was even worse than I am."

"No, you're a great singer, you're just too stubborn to realize it. That guy was also good. I need to figure out who sings that," I speak, reaching my hand towards the radio.

Before I even touch the dial my hand is slapped away. It's not a violent slap, more one of annoyance. He was making it clear that I would not be changing the station. "You will not be listening to that shit. They were a bunch of losers that were popular when I was your age. They ended up being a bunch of nobodies. Nobody liked their music and I will not have you listening to it."

"God, Dad. It was just a song."

We had arrived at my school. He angrily sped up to the drop off line. I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder. "Love you, Indi."

I made sure to slam the car door extra hard when I got out.

Parents.

Present Day-

"Indigo, can you explain how to find slope when only given two points?" Mr. Royson asks me.

"Please, call me Indi. It's what I prefer to be called," I say. I hate starting new school years. New teachers. More people to mispronounce my name. More people to explain to why it's my name. School in general.

"And yes. I know how to calculate slope. We learned it in primary school." I then went on to explain just how to find slope.

"Very good, Indi," he smirked, finally getting my name correct.

The bell rang and Mr. Royson began to ramble out our homework. I scribbled it in my agenda and headed out the door to my locker. It was Friday night, one of the three days I didn't have fútbol practice.

At my locker I spied a dark haired towering figure. It's my best friend, Andrew waiting for me with his bag, ready to give me a ride home.

"Indi," he smiles.

"Hey, Andrew. How'd your world history test go?"

"Pretty sure I passed."

I grimace. He's my best friend and I know by passed he means anything above an F.

I'm the type of girl that doesn't allow myself to get anything below a B. It sounds absurd, I am fully aware, but it's how my mind has always been programmed.

"I'm happy for you," I force myself to say.

I have all my stuff now in my bag. I shut my locker and we head out.