I'm With The Band

0.2

(Mila Morgan pictured above- played by Maggie Lindemann)

 The last thing I want to do is put on any clothes bedsides my pajamas but yet here I am, slipping into my oversized baby blue Anti Social Social Club sweatshirt and black skinny jeans with rips in the knees.

A rush of freezing cold air meets my skin as I prepare myself to drown in the baby blue sea and a shiver washes over me, causing me to groan and tug my head through its designated hole about twelve times faster. I quickly pull up my jeans and check the time on the clock to my left to see that it's- welp, time to be late for the third time this week. And it's only Wednesday.

Having no time to pull my shit together, I throw my hair up into a messy bun and sweep a light coat of mascara over my lashes, bolting out the door faster than my dad could say "honey, you're gonna be late again!" I swing my back Jansport into the passenger seat of my old red Jeep and start the ignition, turning the volume to Honest by The Neighbourhood up to its maximum before speeding down my ten minute route to Richardson High School, also known as my own personal hell.

I park my Jeep, appropriately named Deb, at the back of the parking lot and grab my stuff in a hurry. One more tardy and my ass is in Saturday detention from nine to noon... again.

I shove through the doors after second hour English, which was hell by the way. It felt like everyone including the teachers were staring at me the whole day. I excused myself to go to the bathroom at one point to go check myself but I had no toothpaste stains, food in my teeth, or worms in my hair so I honestly don't know what their problem is.

I speed out of the room as fast as I can and B-line straight to my crusty black locker where my gorgeous best friend, Mila, is awaiting me. And when I say gorgeous, I mean top of the line, god's-favorite-creation type stunning. She has deep brown hair that cascades in neat curls down the middle of her back, zitt-less olive toned skin, slender, hazel eyes, and a tall, thin figure like one of those Victoria's Secret models. Quite the opposite of me, actually. I stand much shorter at my 5-foot-3-inch glory with blonde hair that comes down to the bottom of my shoulder blades and deep green eyes that I get from my mother's side. But you know what they say, opposites attract! Except in personalities though, I guess. We both share a sarcastic edge, filled with self-deprecating jokes and terrible puns. On top of that, we're both relatively extraverted, friendly with pretty much everyone, and open to new experiences. But unlike Mila I'm a little more conservative when it comes to styling. While I pull up to school looking like a hobo most days, Mila always manages to turn heads wherever she goes. My baby blue pool of fleece was no match for her cherry red cropped sweater, white jeans, and studded boots. Seriously, she could be a stylist or makeup artist of some sort.

"Lilah Jane! Oh my god, congratulations!" She rushes towards me faster than a stampede and embraces me in what might just be the tightest hug that I've ever experienced. She knocks me over onto the floor and we tumble down ontop of eachother, Mila laughing while I groan from the impact that one of our elbows has made into my ribcage.

"Mila," I whine out, dragging the 'a' in her name for a while, the moments of the past event registering in my head as I sit up, rubbing my knees. "What are you talking about?"

Mila looks back at me with a lifted brow and questioning look on her face.

"What do you mean 'what are you talking about?'" She shoves me in the shoulder, causing me to groan again. "I'm talking about the tweet from the Christian Rivers! You know, the lead guitarist from Broken Heart Boulevard?" She whipped her phone that had somehow managed to stay in the back of her pocket through our wrestling match and opened twitter, practically chucking the phone at my face.

I clicked on the tweet and read it over and over in my head. Christian Rivers? I knew the name sounded familiar but I would've never guessed who he was if my life depended on it. That's pretty rad. He has like what, 86 million followers? I'm honestly flattered.

"Woah," I say, scrolling through comment after comment. 1.2 million likes, 712K retweets, and 47K comments? That's insane.

"Woah?! All you have to say is woah?!" Mila stares at me in complete disbelief as if to say 'you just got a member of the biggest boy band's attention and all you say is 'woah?!'' She lunged at me and yanked the phone out of my hand. "Holy shit!" She squealed, causing a couple of freshman passing by to give us confused glares and a few concerned looks.

"What now?" I scooch closer to her, who is now leaning her back against a locker with the phone two inches away from her face.

"ChristianRiversandthebandaccountfollowedyouholycrapmybestfriendisfamou-"

"MILA," I stop her, laughing at her excited antics. "Say that again in English, please."

"I said, Christian Rivers and the band account followed you! Holy crap Li, you're practically famous!" She gushes out as tears threaten to spill down her face. "I have no clue how you're so calm about this, I would actually pee my pants," she wheezes out, practicing some sort of deep breathing exercises.

"I'm in shock," I reply. Like I said before, I'm flattered, but it's really not a big deal to me. It's not like I've been listening to their albums on repeat since I was a freshman like half the world's population. I'm not really into that kind of stuff. I much more of a rock, ambient vibe type of gal. Their new album is good I guess, I haven't listened to it really, but as far as their past music, I've not been thoroughly impressed. I don't think that their songs represent who they are. They seem like your standard, generic boy band.

"You know, their record label is having a contest to find an opening act for them on their upcoming tour, right? You should totally submit something in!" Mila's eyes practically bug out of her head as she screams elatedly. It could be fin, I guess, but I've really never sang anywhere other than in the comfort of my own home and in the studio where I recorded the EP. Hell, I've never even been outside of the country. I don't even think I have a passport!

"As much fun as that could be, I think I'd much rather sing in my room in the comfort of my own home than on a stage in front of millions of people and sleep on a tour bus. That life just really isn't so appealing," I tell Mila, who looks a little more than a tad bit disappointed. "Plus, I can't leave my dad or school or you," I say, grabbing her hand. "I would much rather just finish senior year and head down to UCLA with you in the fall."

She smiles sadly at me, but then her face lights up, as if she's just had a major spiritual revelation.

"Uh, Mila?" At this point she's so deep in thought it would take an endless amount of rope to pull her up. After about ten more seconds she whips her head up violently at me and grins an evil, maniacal grin at me.

"I've gotta go," she says while she grabs her stuff and rushes out the door. "I'll call you later!" She speedwalks down the hallway and shoves the hallway doors open, leaving me stunned and sitting on the floor more confused than ever.

What is wrong with that girl?