Michael and I were always pretty close. That is until he decided to get together with them. They popped open that new video camera, and I was there. They sat down and sang Teenage Dirtbag, and I was there. Finally, flash forward to She Looks So Perfect and... I wasn't there. I'd like to think that he was the one who left just so I can put away my guilt. But I know it's not true. I don't think that any of us really left each other. If anything, I left him. But in all honesty, I really wish that I hadn't.
We weren't boyfriend or girlfriend, just friends. When people asked, I called him a greasebag, and he called me a slut. We always laughed at the surprise on the peoples' faces when we said that. After they'd left, of course. I didn't like him, and I know that he didn't like me. Back then, he always went for the more punk-rock girls than me. I didn't mind, because I always went for the geeks, just so I could relate. Michael and I were opposites, and we knew it. It just wouldn't work out, right? I was just his friend. His dorky friend when all the girls would whisper as we went down the hall together. 'Oh god, he's such a hottie!', 'yeah, why does he hang out with that... nerd?' was all I could hear when we walked together. I laughed it off, assuring myself that they probably had the IQ of a plastic household plant. And then, when they uploaded Teenage Dirtbag, all of the comments read 'OMG, GUITARIST IS SO SHY AND CUTE, HAVE MY BABIES!' I still laughed it off. But I'm boring you, so I'll just flash forward even more.
The day that I got that call from him inviting me to come to the concert.
* * *
As I was driving there, I wondered for the millionth time, why I was going. I thought he forgot about me, but to tell you the truth, my heart jumped when he asked me. I'd wished this would happen for a while, but I didn't want to just show up at one of his concerts and say 'Hey Michael, remember me, we were kids together, can we be friends again, because I really really miss you and want to go back to the way things were!'. But yeah. I put on my shirt that had a slice of pizza on it (MICHAEL WANTS ANOTHER SLICE!), some shorts, Converse, and a headband. My makeup was a natural look, but I still looked like I tried, and my hair was put into two braids that came down to my chest. I looked at myself in my full length mirror and smiled. I looked... I looked me. I climbed into my little Jeep with my friend Nora (we became friends halfway through first college year) and drove off to the concert which was maybe an hour drive away from my rustic apartment.
"I'm soooooo excited for this Kayla! I had no idea that you were friends with Michael either! Blah, blah, blah..." Nora droned on. She'd bought her own ticket beforehand, a big fan of them before they were big. Her favorite song was Amnesia by them because she was at the concert that they'd performed it at. She fell in love with it immediately and from that moment on became a freak-fan. Don't get me wrong, Nora is amazing, but sometimes, she gets a little... out of hand.
After about half an hour of Nora blabbing, we arrived at the stadium. There were a million teenage girls there, some of them crying into their 'WE LOVE YOU LUKEY-POO!' Wal-Mart poster-board signs. I laughed a bit, knowing that Nora and I had backstage passes. Only not really, I was just personally invited. We got in line, an acne-prone boy in the ticket booth that said 'Heartache On The Big Screen' on it. He didn't look too happy to be there. I smiled at him, and he returned the favor with a metal-filled grimace-smile. I feel bad for the poor kid, but hand him over the ticket, trying to make small-talk.
"So how are you ravishing ladies doing?" he asks.
"Good, and you?" I ask nicely. Nora snorts at the question and I nudge her with my elbow, my eyes telling her 'be nice!'.
"I'm fine train tracks. Can I get in?" she asks snarkily. I give her a look and hand her her ticket that the kid was sliding under the cheesily-decorated plastic screen. I give him an apologetic look and grab my ticket, catching up to the fast-paced Nora.
"You are so rude!" I whisper-yell at her.
"I'm only here for my Ashy-boo, not some pimple-faced nerd," she pouts. I frown at her, but go through the second pair of double doors with her, taking a deep breath.
