The Devil Wears Girl Jeans [BEING EDITED]

The Devil Wears Girl Jeans (Chapter 4)

The second I opened Lacey's front door, my ear drums were assaulted with an unholy racket.

"Wednesday already?" I shouted to their mom as I kicked off my shoes, and she nodded sadly. Every Wednesday since 8th grade, Quinn's band- consisting of Lacey on drums, Dallas on bass, and Dallas's brother, Travis, on guitar- had always practiced in the solarium, which wasn't nearly sound proof enough.

I headed into the kitchen as they started playing Ready to Fall by Rise Against, and swung open the cupboard door. Gazing intently at the shelves, I pulled out a box of crackers and a jar of Nutella. The crimped edge of the new cracker sleeve crinkled between my fingers as I pulled it open and shook the contents out onto the plate, then spread on the Nutella, one cracker at a time. After arranging the crackers in a sun shape, I headed up the stairs to the solarium.

".....Now I'm standing on the rooftop ready to fall." Quinn finished just as I entered, and they all turned to look at me as the instruments faded out.

"Uh.... I come bearing whole wheat and chocolate goodness."

"You're the best, do you know that?!" Dallas gasped, placing his guitar on its stand before snatching the plate away from me.

"Well.... yes, yes I do." I said, staring at him as he inhaled half the crackers before Quinn stepped in and ate the rest of them. "So wheres Tristan?"

"He went to go get Dallas' mic." Lacey said, and Dallas snickered. A few seconds later, there was a grunt and a yelp as Tristan tumbled through the solarium window, microphone in hand.

"Speak of the Devil. If you don't mind me asking, why the hell were you on the roof?" I questioned, totally lost as to what was going on.

"I was getting that dumbasses mic." he panted, pointing a finger accusingly at Dallas.

"How did it g-"

"Hartley. Some things are better left unknown." Lacey said. Everyone else in the room nodded in agreement, except for Tristan, who looked mildly pissed off.

"Okaaay then...Should I be helping set up right now, or....?" I asked awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.

"Oh. Yeah, hook this up." Tristan said, tossing me the mic. "Quinn, help me get this amp up on there."

Tristan and I were the techies, seeing as though we sucked at everything musical. I fiddled with wires as Quinn and Tristan picked up the amp that had "Shark Puncher" written across it in neon pink duct tape. After everything was all set up, I settled down into the cushions of the couch, Tristan collapsing down beside me. Dallas fiddled with some knobs on the amp, and then carefully played the first few chords of Candy Candy by Guilty About Girls, adjusting the knobs again every few seconds until he was satisfied.

After the 16th song, I was just about ready to cut the strings on the guitars, and throw the mics out the window. They weren't necessarily bad, they just.... weren't good.

"Alright you guys, I'm outta here. See ya tomorrow." I said, slinging my black bag over my shoulder.

"Ill walk you home." Tristan said, groaning as he pushed himself up onto his feet.

"Its a short walk, I'll be fine."

"Shut up. I'm trying to be a gentleman."

Sighing, I slid my feet into my Vans and walked downstairs, waving goodbye to their mom as we left. Silence consumed us as we trudged up the cracked sidewalk, and I scratched my head awkwardly. The trees were balding, leaves speckling the neighbours yards, and I stepped on an especially crunchy looking one. How satisfying.