Queen of the Headphone Zombies

Flat

Empty Wallets// 5 Seconds of Summer

EMERSON

"Hey, Em! Is this Moby Dick?" Chelsea yells over my drumming, but I'm in the zone so I don't process a word she's saying. Right now, my sticks are an extension of my body and I'm putting every ounce of pent up energy I have into the wood. It's a relief. If I hadn't insisted that Chelsea show me where the closest music store is, I probably would have lost my mind.

My head is nodding, not quite a bob, but moving with the rhythm. I've got both feet tapping at a different pace but I'm with the beat, creating it, molding it. Drumming is a physical act, more so than playing the bass. I put my entire body, every single muscle, into drumming. My feet are moving, my arms are flexing, even my ass clenches. But it's the most natural thing in the world to me. I don't even have to think about the rhythm, it practically plays me.

I wish life could be as simple as figuring out the beat. But it's not. It's too hella complicated. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to find the beat to conquer the offbeat rhythm of my life. My goals versus my father's goals; yeah, those don't line up at all. Family and school and going after the girl you really dig—these things make my head spin. Shit. I'm way too introspective for a Saturday night.

The music, that is always the easy part for me. In the rhythm I find my peace, my moment of true bliss. And there is nothing better than playing a full set of drums. This drum solo is the hardest one I've ever learned. Bonham is famous for his offbeat rhythms, so challenging most drummers can't get it done. But all those off beat rhythms, I was able to conquer them. All of them. Even this monster of drum work.

I wrap up the solo and look over to where Chelsea is sitting, reclined on a little bench near the wall. She has a weird look on her face, it's one expression I've never seen before. Kind of a scowl, but there is also a touch of sadness in her eyes.

"What's up?" I ask, still out of breath from the drumming. It's really a workout when you do it right. Dumbass Dylan never breaks a sweat.

Chelsea shakes her head. "She freaking hung up on me." Her voice is subdued. Calm. Deceptive. Chelsea and calm don't go together, at all.

"Why would she do that?" I ask. And I'm not just curious because it something that involves Zoe, whatever is going on it can't be good. Chelsea's eyes have now narrowed, and her lips are pursed.

"I'm pretty sure it's because we're hanging out." She's still staring at her phone as she gestures between the two of us. A blank screen stares back at her. As blank as the stare I now give her.

Okay I'm confused. What the hell is she talking about? "Why..." I start to ask her why that would upset Zoe but stop when it hits me. "Oh, damn. Is she jealous?" That thought brings me immediate joy and then turns my nerves on edge. Is she jealous over my time with Chelsea, or Chelsea's time with me? Shit, if Zoe thinks I'm taking her best friend away from her...the last thing I need is another reason for Zoe to hate me. But what if it's my date with Chelsea that is making her have attitude, now that thought excites me. Maybe this fake date stuff wasn't such a bad plan after all.

The she-witch reads my thoughts again. "Nah, this isn't jealousy."

Chelsea's voice is practically a whisper. And now her expression has turned to one that make me wonder if any moment she is going to cry. Which is not like her at all and causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.

Chelsea says, still looking at her phone, "This is me crossing the line." Then her eyes swing up and meet mine. "I messed up, Em. You don't mess up with Zoe. She isn't a second-chance kind of girl."