Bro Code

Chapter Six - Ryder

Later on my birthday, I had come to discover that, not only had Arabell flown in to see me, but so had my mother: Abby Elza. So, she had insisted on taking me out around my actual birthday, which was “somewhere around midnight, I think.” We went out to dinner, but I had to dress much nicer than when I went out with Arabell. I tried to keep Arabell out of the conversation, but she seemed to notice. Mom said just to let “Ara” simmer down and talk to her later. The rest of our night was nice, aside from the excessive cameras.

When I had woken up from our very late movie night, I was zombie-ing my way through another useless shower to get to rehearsals in an hour. It was a slow and painful morning, and no one talked. I was still stressing over Arabell, and Chapman - the only person I had told who wasn’t my mom - didn’t exactly care. Not that I expected him to, but not that he did it on purpose. Toryn and Christian had fallen asleep on the couch again as Chapman were shuffling around the kitchen grabbing food for the car ride. No doubt, they’d have food at the utility stage, but Toryn was going through a period where he was never satisfied with anything anyone gave him . . . Meaning Chapman, Christian, and I would have a hard time finding food.

 

Even with Chapman attempting to have conversations, I was off in space. I wasn’t talking to Arabell,  because I decided to listen to my mom. But I sure was meditating on it. And it wasn’t just that. It was the previous thought of I-Wish-I-Had-a-Sibling-Like-Arabell’s-So-I’d-Always-Have-Someone-To-Talk-To, and Crap-I-Screwed-Up, and Too-Many-Emotions-For-An-Indie-Rocker all at the same time. I’m not sure it would do me much good to meddle on it, but I obviously had to.

 

“Ryder! Man!” Chapman yelled, squatting to the floor.

 

I snapped to attention, watching thoughtlessly as Chapman cleaned up a puddle of water from the floor as he mumbled profanities.

 

“Ryder! Would you stop?” Chapman grabbed something from my hand, slamming it onto the table. I glanced at it with a glassy stare.

 

“What?” I asked quietly.

 

Chapman stood up, a bunch of wet paper towels in his hand. “What’s up with you?” He asked, walking away without an answer.

 

I glanced at it again. A glass. Oh. Was that me? I glanced at the floor with a still-there puddle. Hm. Oh. That was me. I sighed and helped him clean it up.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m kind of out of it.” I mumbled, my voice soft.

 

Chapman glared at me. “Why? Wait, I don’t care. Because we’re late. We’re bloody late. Christian!” He stood up straight again, storming to the living room. I held my face in my hands, groaning. If Chapman was angry, rehearsals would be stiff in general. “Toryn! Get up!”

 

Toryn was up quickly, yelling back at Chapman on how you don’t throw someone to the floor in order for them to wake up. And Christian was up with a mumble, slowly putting his shoes on and almost swaying out the door. I grabbed my backpack and followed after, along with Toryn. Chapman slammed the door behind us.

 

____

 

    One of my favorite parts of rehearsals was when our choreographer made us do guitar jumps. It was Christian on drums, but Toryn on bass, Chapman on lead and I on rhythm, so only the three of us were doing the choreography. How much movement can a seated drummer make? Back on point, it was my favorite part. And we had them for What I Like About You this tour.

 

While Toryn and Christian were penny boarding around the concrete floor, Chapman and I were getting schooled on getting our heels as close to our butts as possible. Honestly, I wondered how long my knees would hold up. There was jumping, sliding, spinning, and running all in one concert: Not that great on the joints. Nevertheless, we did it over and over and over until the choreographer was happy with it. All of five hours and three bathroom breaks later.

 

On break, when I was collapsed on the floor in a sweaty heap on the floor with Christian toying with my acoustic beside me, Whyatt showed up, looming above me and blocking out the utility lights.

 

“The minute we get back to the house, you’re packing. Tour’s in a week and we need to be in California tonight. Take as much as you need and nothing more. Nothing. You will pack all of it into my car and then take Chapman’s car to the airport. I will meet you there. You rehearse for two days then fly to Maine. From there, the bus in Maine will be your residence until the tour has come to a close, so get comfy. Understand?” His tone was deep and demanding, but I was used to it by now. Sluggishly, I pulled myself up.

 

“Don’t we get to go to the house- The, um, the one in California? For a little bit?” I asked, shifting awkwardly.

 

“Not until May.” He stated. “Go! Hustle!” He yelled, clapping his hands and shooing us outside and into the car.

 

Oh, that’s nice. Not until the tour’s over. Granted, he already said that. Even then, we couldn’t go home until May. My mom was back in California, but we would only be there for two days before heading to Maine. I wished I could just take a break, slow things down for a little.

 

_____

 

    Arabell showed up two hours into packing. She ignored me, clearly hurt by what happened. In my mind, it was still 300 to 1, but I guess she didn’t see that.

 

I went on with packing, getting as much into two suitcases as possible. By time I ended, my side of the room and my bathroom cabinet were empty, but Chapman’s was still full.

 

He packed seven shirts, two pairs of pants, decided on one pair of shoes, and hair gel. If he needed more of anything, he flashed the wad of money in his wallet to remind me that he would just buy it.

 

I helped Toryn finish packing, then we loaded everything into Whyatt’s car. Even then, we had an hour left, so Arabell suggested we plot the tour stops. After she explained, Chapman grabbed a US map-covered cork board, Christian got tacks, and I got out string. She took the list of tour stops from my hand without saying a word, mumbling as she stuck a tack in each city. When she was done, she had Toryn help her take the string and wrap it around each tack in the order of the stops. When she finished, she took a pen and wrote the first two letters of each city next to the tack, and set it on the counter.

 

I faded into the couch, wanting to be left alone. I contemplated calling my mom and tell her how I wouldn’t be able to stay with her for the week we’d planned. I didn’t, though. I wanted to be left alone, and I didn’t want to talk.

 

So, an hour later, when the cork board was in the car and the four of them were discussing the tour stops, I was in the back of the car with my earbuds in. I felt moody, but I didn’t want to be happy. It was odd, but I felt comfort in my melancholic attitude. So, they took the hint and left me alone. Even Arabell. Instead, she took to texting her sister. The boys then started sharing stories about their siblings. And I sat in the back with my hoodie up, my earbuds in, and my lips turned down.