Overwhelmed by the sudden peak in his career, Josh is forced into lying and alienation from his family, and close friends. The boy tries to hold on to privacy as long as he can, but it becomes more difficult when an untruthful and cautious Josh meet...
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Am I in love with you or am I in love with the feeling?
☼ Phoebe
"God I'm so exhausted!" I yawn out loud as I lean against Tyler's shoulder.
He chuckles and pats me on my back comfortingly, "Don't get too excited, we still have to film tomorrow."
"We have been doing this all day!" I extended my arm and pushed him away from me in complaint.
Eight hours after we began recording Tyler, Josh, and I have been retaking and rethinking every single shot. At first I thought that Tyler's overthinking was all due to perfectionism, but I later noticed that it was much more than that to him. This was his music and it meant everything to him and, as Josh has mentioned to me before, sometimes its all he has.
Don't get me wrong, shooting the music video was really fun. From Tyler's goofy clothes selection to the red hair spray Josh had worked into his curly hair. It was kind of tense working with Josh, but we both tried to be amicable as possible and keep the dirty laundry out of the conversation.
We walked back from the curve Tyler had rode on over ten billion times into the familiar old house. Both boys parked the bikes the dragged along in front of the drive way, tying them up to the light pole that stood outside.
"We're back." Josh called into the house, but no one called back.
"She must be asleep," Tyler exhaled and pulled his red beanie off before collapsing into the couch, "Pedaling isn't as fun when you do it for several hours straight."
"Neither is filming."
"Or drumming."
After sitting on the couch and steadying our breathing in unison Tyler decides that he's hungry, but it soon discouraged when all he finds in the kitchen is Cheerios and milk. Josh offers to go pick up Taco Bell and leaves Tyler and I alone in the living room.
The air is awkward between us, filled with a hostile energy sponsored by how I felt over his best friend. We sit and steal glances from each other, but don't mutter a single word.
He inhales gradually before he speaks, "So..."
"So..." I imitate.
"This is awkward. Why is this so awkward?" He plays with his black fingers.
"I don't know."
"Where, uh," He shifts uncomfortably, "Where did you go last week?"
