Chapter Text
“What do you mean James quit?” Albert fidgeted with the telephone cord as his best friend started to respond.
“He… wanted to start focusing on school and college applications, apparently. Fucking loser.”
“He can’t just leave us hanging a week before our gig.” Albert’s mind began to spiral. “Race, this was supposed to be big for us!! We can’t do it without our lead vocalist.”
“Ya never know, maybe instrumental music will be the new thing.” he chuckled at his own joke, but Albert wasn’t amused.
“Race, this is serious! What are we going to do?” Albert’s mind buzzed with endless doubts and worries.
“Hey,” Race’s voice was suddenly concerned and firm. “Allie, I promise we’ll figure something out.”
Albert wasn’t convinced. “Oh yeah, what?” his voice cracked. Shit. He wasn’t going to cry. That would be stupid, it was just a band.
“Uhh… I’ll sing lead vocals and play guitar!” his voice was more desperate now. “I mean- it shouldn’t be that hard, i’ll just—“
“Race, just stop,” Albert said sharply. “You need to sing backup, you’re the only one who knows the harmonies. You know that.” That came out harsher than he intended. Whatever. They had to focus on the problem at hand.
“…Okay. I’ll let Hotshot know. She probably knows someone who can fill in.”
Albert actually kind of smiled at that. Hotshot was their bassist, and somehow she knew everyone. She was the one who’d found their original vocalist, and she arranged about ninety percent of their rehearsals and performances. In fact, it was thanks to her that they even had this upcoming gig. They didn’t need a manager, Hotshot was their manager.
Albert thought Hotshot was one of the coolest people ever. He admired how strong she was, both physically and emotionally. She was one of the toughest people Albert knew, but also one of the kindest.
His thoughts were interrupted by clattering and muffled yelling from the next room. “Shit, Race? I’ve gotta go.”
“Is everything okay?” Race’s voice barely reached Albert. It was as if he wasn’t in his body.
“What? Oh, um, yeah. I’m fine. It’s just my dad again.” He spoke quickly, trying to get off the phone as quickly as possible.
“Oh. You wanna come over tonight?”
“…Yeah. Actually that’d be nice. Thanks.” The yelling got louder. Albert really had to hang up now. “Okay, I’ll see you soon, bye!”
“We’re hav—“ The line clicked as Albert slammed the phone back into the wall.
-
The walk to Race’s house wasn’t too long, he only lived about fifteen minutes away. It was a nice route too, several houses, trees, and flowers were there to keep someone distracted. For Albert, though, it felt a lot longer than just fifteen minutes. His mind was racing a mile a minute with no sign of slowing down.
Truth be told, Albert’s dad hadn’t even done anything that bad this time. He had just yelled at Albert, not for any good reason of course, but at least he hadn’t hit him or anything. Albert knew that was a low bar and that his dad sucked, but he took a little comfort in knowing it could’ve been a lot worse.
He redirected his attention to the band. Albert hoped that Hotshot would come through and find a vocalist. He would never doubt her, but he was worried. This band was really important to him, and losing this gig would be devastating.
Albert’s worrying wasn’t helping put him in a good state of mind, and he was starting to feel panicked. He took out his walkman with shaky fingers, put in a tape he knew he liked, and tried to calm down.
-
By the time he got to Race’s house, Albert was a lot calmer. He walked up to the door, ready to knock, only for the door to be swung open violently. Race was standing there, wearing an old Metallica band shirt and ripped skinny jeans. His curly hair was messy and covered his eyes, which had eyeliner smudged around them. Albert thought he looked good like that, like a real musician.
“C’mon, ya know you don’t have to knock, right?” He pulled Albert in by the arm, leading him through the living room. “You’ve been coming over for years, just come in.”
“Yeah, I know.”
They walked into the kitchen, where Race’s adoptive mother, Medda, was leaning over the stove peering into a large pot. She turned around at the sound of Race’s footsteps.
“Hey Albert! So nice to see you again.” She brought him into a quick hug, then went back to the stove. “Race told you we’re having pasta, right?”
“No, he didn’t.” Albert looked expectantly at Race, who only scoffed and crossed his arms.
“Well I would’ve if somebody didn’t hang up on me.”
Medda laughed and shook her head. “You know now, then.”
Race walked over to the table, where a short, blonde boy sat. He was reading a book, but set it down when Race approached.
“Al, I want you to meet Crutchie.” The boy, Crutchie, smiled warmly at Albert. “Medda’s been taking care of him an’ his older brother, Jack. Crutchie, this is Albert. He’s the one in the band with me.”
Albert extended his hand towards Crutchie, who took it and shook firmly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Albert noticed a pair of crutches leaning against the wall behind Crutchie, but decided not to ask about them. “How old are you?”
“I’m fifteen, and my brother’s seventeen,” This shocked Albert. He’d honestly thought the kid was thirteen or fourteen.
“Oh, okay. Where’s your brother?” Race shot Albert a warning look, but it was too late. Crutchie squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, clearly trying to find something to say.”
Medda cut in, “Jack’s uh… working right now. He’s still… adjusting to living with Race and I, so he needs some time to himself.”
Albert knew something else was going on, but he wasn’t about to start prying, so he kept his mouth shut. Luckily, Race was prepared to change the subject.
“Hey, I rented Star Wars. Wanna go watch it in my room?” Race waved the DVD case in front of Albert’s face, and got it promptly snatched away. Albert examined the case excitedly.
“Of course, man!”
They rushed up to Race’s room, and Albert felt a little bit better about everything. Being around Race grounded him, and when his world was so unstable, that’s exactly what he needed.