Chapter Text
Sean had answered hundreds of Skype calls from Lyla before. They ranged from the “after school chat to avoid homework” to “long-distance TV marathon” to even “late-night heart-to-heart.” But this was the first “chat right before the birthday concert of the band Lyla practically worshipped,” and for the first time Sean was a little afraid to answer. His fears proved true when Lyla proceeded to greet Sean with the Super Bowl stadium’s level of excitement. Or, a freshly-turned 17-year-old girl about to see Misty Mice live for the first time’s level of excitement.
“WHOOOOO’S READY FOR MISTY MIIIIICE?!” Lyla yelled.
“SHIT!” Sean shouted, and promptly fell off his desk chair. He groaned and rubbed his hip as Lyla burst into hysterics. She was still laughing as Sean sat back in his chair.
“Fuck you! You promised you wouldn’t kill my eardrums when you answered the call!” Sean protested.
“You can’t say fuck you to me, you’re the one who got these tickets! But can you blame me?!” Lyla exclaimed. She hadn’t even sat down, just hovering over and pacing in front of her laptop like a six-year-old who’d just eaten a dozen Pixy Stix.
“Dude, you better not already be baked. Me falling off my chair is not that funny.”
“I’m high on adrenaline!” Lyla retorted. “Plus, there’s no way I’m going to a show baked. I wanna remember this.”
Since she was standing up, Sean could see Lyla’s entire outfit, and his eyes widened. Lyla had really gone all out: he already knew she was wearing the pair of Converse with Misty Mice lyrics scrawled all over in multi colored Sharpies. He had helped add a few doodles and patterns on the white sections. But she was also wearing her Misty Mice beanie, Misty Mice leggings, and had drawn a giant black M on each cheek. To top it all off, she was wearing her favorite Misty Mice tee, a black one with the band’s ghostly blue mouse mascot running on top of a purple vinyl record like it was a hamster wheel. It was secondhand, yet had cost $60 at the eBay auction because it was one of the first designs the band designed and printed themselves, back when they had just released their debut EP independently (“One of two hundred!” Lyla had exclaimed over and over after she snagged it). She didn’t even care that it was one size too big and a men’s shirt, and usually wore it with the end knotted by her waist. But she managed to pull off the look, much like anything she wore.
“What’d you use to paint your face?” Sean asked. He rearranged the letters on his letterboard. Today it spelled out “Weird life,” but he changed it to “Misty Mice 4Ever,” with a smiley face.
“Oh, this is actually eyeliner,” Lyla said with a laugh.
“Could you bring it? I could probably draw mice or something on your face if you want. Should only take like fifteen minutes.”
“Ooh, great idea! Thanks, man.”
He looked closer, and saw that Lyla had put on four wristbands, all shades of bright purple and blue. “Are those wristbands too?” He asked, turning on his lava lamp.
“Yep! One from each era. And check these bad boys out.” She held out her hands.
“Uh, the camera quality’s shit. What is it?”
“I painted my nails! See, there’s a letter on each finger. Spells out “Misty Mice,” and then there’s this lightning bolt on my pinky.”
“Very committed. I salute you. I feel like such a noob in just this shirt now.”
“Nah man, you’re good. That one’s from the debut album era. Earns my seal of approval,” she nodded, combing her fingers through her hair out of restlessness and nerves.
“Cool. So when are you coming over?”
“I was gonna eat something first, but how about now? Since you’re gonna be painting my face and stuff.”
“Sure. Dad said anytime after five is fine. I already dropped Daniel off at Noah’s place, and Dad’s gonna pick him up before dinner, so I’m all free.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in fifteen. But I’m bringing makeup remover too just in case. You better not draw a giant dick on my forehead; I’ll know.”
Sean grinned. “No promises.”