It's always this way before a concert. The frantic running backstage, the screaming mob of mostly teenage girls waiting to burst in and kidnap us. We get ready, and walk out onto whatever stage in whatever city in whatever country. I scan the audience before they dim the lights. There's the occasional 'WE ♥︎ YOU LUKE!' sign, 'CALPAL' tee shirts, and girls wearing bandanas to match Ashton. I hardly see anyone wearing 'ILYSM MICHAEL' or 'TEAM MIKEROWAVE' at all.
Speaking of my dye-hard (huge pun intended because of the wrong die being used) fans, the amount of them tonight is about... eleven or fourteen. I mean, come on. There's over 400 people here, at least 100 could've been supportive. A hand grabs my shoulder. I turn and see Ashton. Pretty much your definition of 'older brother'. "Hey
Mikey, you okay?" He asks.
"Fine." I say, backing into the wings of the huge backstage area. Ashton smiles, twirling his sticks.
"It'll be a good concert. We're on in ten." He says, walking away. Finally, the house lights dim. A MASSIVE scream erupts from the audience in front of us. I can hear Calum pacing nervously behind me. I hear footsteps and see one light come up though the crack in the heavy black curtain.
"Hey, Phoenix!" Luke says confidently into his mic. "I know you can't have everything you want in life, so I told the other three to go home. You know, I'm the favorite." He says. A laugh comes from the audience.
"That's true." I mutter under my breath.
"I'm just kidding. So, in honor of this beautiful night, my three mates and I are going to have a beautiful show." He makes an announcer voice. "Please welcome ASHTON IRWIN!" Ash runs up to his drum set, drums something random, and sits back. "CALUM HOOD!" Luke shouts. Cal runs out and tries to do some dance move. "Is that it?" Luke asks the audience. There's a chorus of "NO!" from them. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot, our favorite neon... er... teen? MICHAEL CLIFFORD!" I run onstage, glad to hear applause and cheering.
Someone threw something at me tonight. After most people leave and people start to clean, I pick up the thing. A tiny paper ball. I stuff it in my pocket and hop in the golf cart next to Ashton. He drives us across the parking lot to a DoubleTree hotel. More comfortable than a tour bus. In the bathroom where I have privacy, I take the note out of my pocket and unfold it. On the paper in blue Sharpie reads: 'Michael Clifford is UGLY and TALENTLESS' -Luke's Babes.
I throw the paper in the toilet and look at myself in the mirror. I've never been the most attractive; cold green eyes, a kind of sunken pale face, discolored neon hair, and not the fittest physique. Normally you think guys don't cry, right? Especially famous teenage guys. You're wrong if you don't. A tear rolls down my cheek. "Ugly." I say to my reflection. It's not hard to break down when running water covers the sound of
crying.
YOU ARE READING
Reject.
FanfictionMichael Clifford has always felt a little bit like a reject. Okay, sometimes A LOT. It's as if nobody ever notices or cares. And a six foot tall boy with neon hair isn't easy to miss. But is the feeling of rejection enough to throw away the feeling...
