Chapter Text
It was supposed to be their night.
Another gig. Another easy win. Another chance for Grojband to melt faces and reign supreme over Peaceville’s music scene. The lights, the crowd and the stage was all set up like it always was.
But then they stepped on.
The Newmans.
Corey stood backstage with his arms crossed, his teeth grinding as he watched their rivals command the crowd like they owned it. Konnie’s drumming was sharp and clean, Larry shredded while Kin played with synchronized flair. And at the front of it all was Carrie Beff. Her blue hair flying, sneakers stomping, voice belting like she was born to rock on that stage.
The crowd was totally eating it up. They were cheering, clapping, screaming and as much as it pained him to admit it, their song was actually... good.
Like, crazy good.
Corey didn’t want it to be. He wanted to roll his eyes and call it predictable, or cliché, or heck! Even accuse the Newmans of stealing Grojband’s style. But he couldn’t. Because every word and fiery note felt earned.
And he hated it.
He hated it because he knew exactly why they weren’t up there instead.
“Corey,” Kin whispered beside him, a clipboard and a rock-o-meter in his hands. “This data doesn’t lie. Audience hype levels are off the charts. We're getting out-rocked!”
“No kidding,” Corey muttered through clenched teeth.
They hadn’t even gotten the chance to perform. Why? Because Corey couldn’t get lyrics from their usual source: Trina’s diary.
Or rather, he couldn't get it because, for some reason, Trina had “grown out” of writing in it. And ever since then, getting her to go diary had been impossible.
Even when Corey had tried to sneak a peek at the old entries for remix material, Trina would catch on fast and threatened to upload an entire video montage of “Baby Corey” photos to the school website. The super embarrassing ones at that.
So yeah, that diary was locked down tighter than a vault guarded by laser sharks. And without Trina’s over-the-top diary entries, they had no lyrics. No lyrics meant no song. No song meant no gig.
And that meant... default win for the Newmans.
He watched the crowd roar as their last note hit, their applause echoing over the stage like crashing waves. Posters flew, camera phones lit up, and a few overzealous fans even tossed their homemade “Newmans Rule!” signs in the air. Carrie smirked like she knew she just dunked on Grojband and their pride.
“I hate everything,” Corey groaned.
“Well, at least we didn’t crash and burn this time. We’ve had worse gigs…” Kon said, munching on a churro he definitely didn’t pay for.
“We didn’t even have a gig,” Corey snapped. “Because I didn’t have lyrics!” He pounded the wall in frustration. “Ugh! Trina and her dirty tricks foiled me again!”
Laney, sitting on an overturned amp, looked unimpressed. “You mean you foiled yourself. You rely way too much on your sister’s creepy thoughts. Maybe if you spent more time writing actual lyrics and less time scheming-”
“Okay, okay, Mom,” Corey muttered, brushing off the guilt with a sarcastic salute. “Can we focus on the real problem here? The Newmans are winning. Over us. The rightful rulers of rock!”
As the crowd died down and the Newmans exited the stage, they didn’t even wait five seconds before strutting toward Grojband, all sass and swagger.
Carrie led the charge, her arms crossed, her head tilted in that I-know-I’m-better-than-you way that made Corey's eye twitch.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the losers of the evening,” Carrie purred as she strutted, flanked by Kim and Konnie.
“Aw,” she cooed. “Did baby Grojband forget their blankie? No song tonight? Again?”
“Don’t worry,” Larry added with that smug grin of his. “We’ll play extra loud at prom to make up for your... absence.”
“Prom?” Corey questioned, confused.
Carrie’s grin widened. “Oh, you didn’t hear? We’re headlining senior prom this year. But, hey, maybe they’ll let you play junior prom or something.”
“What?!” Corey’s voice cracked like a broken cymbal. “No fair!”
“Should’ve had your song ready,” Kim shrugged. “Ours were killer.”
“Too killer,” Konnie added with a proud toss of her hair.
“See you at prom,” Carrie teased, waving goodbye as she turned on her heel and sauntered away.
The others laughed as they walked away, high-fiving and laughing like they just walked off the set of a victory montage.
The Grojband crew stood in stunned silence, a storm cloud forming over Corey’s head.
“I can’t believe they’re playing at prom,” he whispered. “They’ve taken everything!”
Before he could stop himself, Corey trailed after them, fuming, half-planning vengeance. He wasn’t usually one to wallow but this stung. The loss wasn’t just on stage. It was personal.
And that's when he heard it.
As the Newmans rounded in a corner of the venue, Carrie’s voice rang out, unfiltered by any amps or microphones.
“Tomorrow’s sleepover is going be amazing,” Carrie said to her band sisters. Standing out in her hand was a book with her name on it. “We’re gonna stay up all night and crank out lyrics for our next gig.”
Corey's eyes widened.
Staying up? Cranking out lyrics?
His brain started spinning faster than Kon on sugar. A lyric-writing sleepover… Carrie’s lyric book! That was probably a real treasure chest.
If he could just get his hands or eyes on it, he wouldn’t need Trina’s diary. He’d be swimming in fresh, original lyrics before prom. Grojband could still steal the stage.
He grinned, wild inspiration striking him like a lightning solo. All he had to do... was find a way into that sleepover.
A girls sleepover.
Corey turned and ran sharply to Kin. “Kin! How fast can you build a gender-swaping machine?”
Kin blinked. “Like... for science? Or insanity?”
“Both.” Corey grinned. “I’m going undercover.”
“Uh-oh,” Kon muttered, already nervous.
“Don’t even think about it!” Laney shouted from behind Corey, stomping forward like she had just stepped out of a thunderstorm.
“Think about what?” Corey said innocently.
“You are not turning yourself into a girl to sneak into Carrie’s house for lyrics! That is beyond desperate! That is maniacally desperate!”
He blinked at her with fake innocence.
“You know what, Lanes?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re right. It is a stupid idea. Completely crazy. I’d never go through with it.”
She squinted. “...Huh?”
“Nope,” Corey said with a nod. “You’ve talked some sense into me. Good thing you’re around.”
She tilted her head, unconvinced, but slowly let out a breath. “Okay. Good. Just... try not to lose your mind over one battle.”
As she walked off, Corey waited five full seconds before spinning back to Kin with a grin that probably made him look deranged. “Okay, so how long did you say it would take?”
Kin was already scribbling notes into his clipboard. “With enough wiring and a little plasma converter, I think we can do it tonight. But we’ll need a failsafe antidote. Something simple. Natural.”
“Something easy to avoid at a sleepover,” Corey said. Kin adjusted his glasses. “Orange juice, maybe?”
“Perfect. I’ll just avoid the stuff like it’s radioactive.”
“Oh, also there might be... side effects,” Kin added.
“I can handle it.” Corey was all in. Operation: Undercover Lyric Heist was officially a go.
Sure, it sounded insane. Dangerous. Embarrassing. Potentially permanent. But if it meant beating the Newmans... If it meant beating Carrie at her own game...
Then nothing, not even becoming a girl was going to stop him.
✰ ˗ˏˋ ☠︎︎ ˎˊ˗ ✰
WICKED COOL TRANSITION!~
Corey peeked from behind a smoothie stand in the peaceville park, scanning the area like a secret agent in a chick-flick spy movie. He looked… well, gorgeous. Kin’s gender-swap machine had worked better than expected. His shaggy hair now curled gently around his cheeks, his frame slimmed down, and his voice… high-pitched. Girlish. But not too much.
He was the picture of mysterious cool but unfortunately, he was also the picture of extreme panic.
He tugged the sleeve of his borrowed denim jacket nervously. “Okay, Coraline,” he whispered to himself again. “You’re not Corey. You are Coraline. You have no idea who Grojband is. You’re not here to steal Carrie’s lyrics, you’re just a cool, normal, totally not desperate girl with band dreams.”
His eyes flicked toward Carrie.
She’d wandered from the rest of the Newmans, perching on the edge of the park fountain with her knees tucked up and a leather-bound notebook resting against her thighs. The late afternoon sunlight painted gold across her orange beanie as she scribbled something in her notebook, tapping the pen against her lip.
She looked focused. Sharp. A little tired.
Beautiful.
Corey caught himself staring. “Snap out of it, man- I mean, woman! She’s your mortal enemy!” he hissed. “Enemy with good lyrical skills and a face that could belong on a dream-pop album cover, but still. Enemy.”
“Now or never.” He whispered to himself as he crossed the lawn casually, channeling the “cool girl” walk he’d practiced in the mirror for an hour.
Carrie didn’t look up until he sat beside her, close enough to be noticed but not so close it felt weird. He gave her a sidelong glance and an easy smirk.
“Writer’s trance?” he asked, nudging toward the notebook. “You look like you’re trying to unlock the secrets of the universe in there.”
Carrie blinked. Then smirked right back. “What can I say? I get possessed by the pen sometimes.”
“l totally get it,” he said. “I lead a band too. Lyrics always come at the worst times, like uh, just as you’re about to fall asleep, in the middle of brushing your teeth, or sometimes it doesn’t even come at all.”
Carrie’s eyes lit up. “Finally! Someone who gets it.”
Corey grinned. Bingo.
He leaned in conspiratorially. “And then you hum the melody for hours, trying not to forget the bridge because it’s just a hair off, but if you don’t fix it, your brain might actually explode.”
Carrie clutched her notebook to her chest dramatically. “YES. Exactly! It’s like… musical insomnia.”
They both chuckled, and Carrie studied him for a moment. “Say, I’m Carrie from the Newmans. What’s your name?” she asked.
Corey laughed light and breezy and offered a hand. “I’m Core- err...Coraline! I’m new around here.”
Crap! That was close!
“Coraline, huh?” Carrie raised an eyebrow, shaking his hand before tilting her head curiously. “Nice to meet you. So, what’s your band called?”
Corey hesitated for a heartbeat. “Uh… Echo Riot! We haven’t debuted yet. We’re still finding our voice. And… good lyrics. You know?”
Carrie nodded, and her expression softened. “I do know. It’s hard finding your sound, writing songs and leading a band. Sometimes I feel like no one gets how much pressure that is.”
Corey stared at her, his act flickering for a second. “Yeah. It’s a lonely kind of magic.”
They sat in silence for a beat. The afternoon breeze whispered past them, lifting the edge of Carrie’s lyric book.
Then she smiled. A little more real. A little more inviting.
“I’m having a sleepover tonight. Well, me and my friends... games, talking, lyric-crafting, all that stuff. You should come.”
Corey blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. I like your vibe. You get it.” She wrote down her address on a page of her notebook and tore it out before handing it to him. “Starts at sundown. Bring your A-game... and maybe snacks.”
“I’ll… be there,” Corey said, stunned as Carrie stood and slung her backpack over her shoulder.
She gave him a playful salute before walking away, leaving Corey sitting there like a deer caught in glittery headlights.
Just like that, he had done it.
He was actually in.
Meanwhile… at the Grojband garage ᯓ✰
Kin paced back and forth in the garage. He muttered calculations under his breath, eyes darting to the dormant gender-swap machine that still buzzed faintly with residual energy.
Kon sat on the couch, his hands clasped tightly around a juice box, eyes following Kin's endless loop.
“Kin,” Kon finally said, breaking the silence for the fifth time, “is he actually gonna go through with it?”
Kin stopped in his tracks and turned slowly, as if Kon had just asked if gravity was optional.
“Kon,” Kin said, placing a hand on Kon's shoulder, “we’ve known Corey for literally our entire lives. If he says he’s gonna do something insane, he’s absolutely going to do it. The real question is IF he'll be able to go though with it successfully.”
Kon took a nervous sip from his juice box. “I dunno, man. Turning yourself into a girl just to get into a sleepover? That’s, like... even crazier than the time he tried to practice crowd-surfing with lawn chairs.”
Kin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, but this is about the band. And if there’s one thing Corey’s willing to risk everything for, it’s getting lyrics for the ultimate gig.”
Suddenly, Kin’s phone buzzed on the workbench.
They both jumped like startled cats. Kin scrambled over and snatched up the phone.
His eyes scanned the message. Then he read it aloud:
“Operation: Undercover Lyric Heist going smoothly. Coraline has infiltrated the fortress. Carrie suspects nothing. Proceeding to stage two.”
For a moment, the garage was silent.
Then, cheers erupted.
“HE DID IT!” they both yelled, high-fiving over the machine, spinning in an impromptu victory dance. Kon even slipped on a screwdriver, but landed it in a pose.
“Alright!” Kin grinned. “Stage two is in motion!”
But the celebration was short-lived.
Their smiles slowly faded as both brothers glanced at each other with the same creeping realization.
“…What do girls need for a sleepover?” Kin asked, his voice quiet.
Kon blinked. “Uh… pillows? Magazines? Those… cucumber thingies?”
Kin frowned. “That’s for spa day, Kon. Sleepovers are… probably way more complicated. They might need emotional support. Comfort food. Matching pajamas! Backup snacks!”
Kon dropped his now-empty juice box.
“Dude… how are we gonna prepare Corey for any of that?”
They both turned to face the gender-swap machine again suddenly not so sure they’d made a wise choice helping Corey pull off his most elaborate scheme yet.
“The only thing we can do.” Kin pulled out his phone and a notepad, raising it up in the air.
“WE GOOGLE IT!”