Chapter Text
Everything started going downhill after that damn show.
All his life, from the first moment he could remember, Scott had always played guitar. Music was his entire world. He did, of course, dabble in singing, and while everyone said he sounded great, his mind was always on the strings and the frets. And he was always learning something new.
Around grade nine, Scott’s friends who shared this interest in music — a pair of twins, though nobody would guess it at first sight — Impulse and Gem proposed to him the idea of making a band. And Scott was all in. They mainly did covers, but all three of the trio attempted songwriting every so often. None of that quite mattered to them, it was just that Gem & The Scotts was an escape from whatever else was happening for four years.
Though they did perform, the particular show that screwed up everything else was by another local band.
Scott really enjoyed watching new, up-and-coming groups with his same love for music, and thankfully, every year, his town hosted a big, two-day-long festival all for these bands. Each year since forming, Gem & The Scotts performed four or five songs at the festival. This year, they were scheduled for day two, and it was still day one. Still, Scott was in the audience.
It felt weird being the only one of his bandmates in the audience for the first time in a while, but Gem was with a few friends, and Impulse was doing schoolwork like the boring, straight-A student he was.
So Scott was still in the audience. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.
After the group had finished setting up their drums, and keyboard, an announcer began to speak.
“Welcome back to the 17th annual music festival, everyone! And please, welcome the next adolescent group,” she announced. It was scripted and everyone could tell, but she did a good enough job at pretending to be interesting. “This next band has a punk rock, alternative inspired sound, which ties into their group name, inspired by their favourite band, The All-American Rejects. Ladies, gents, and everyone else, it is my pleasure to introduce The Half-American Rejects, here to perform at the festival for the first time!”
A punk rock band, of course.
He’d seen many of them, just like him, living out of someone’s garage as they scrambled to write songs — though, that was how Gem & The Scotts started too, only they never performed their original songs. Scott sighed, and turned his eyes to the three boys on stage, and the audience started to clap.
They were an odd group, that was for sure.
The drummer had a weird headband with devil red devil horns on it, which contrasted greatly from the green streak in his hair. He also had strangely coloured arm bands — one pink and green, the other blue and yellow — and a cropped graphic tee that was too tight to work with the rest of his outfit. And his pants- Scott wouldn’t even begin to look at the pants, because his complaining wouldn’t end.
The boy at the keyboard was much more stylish than the drummer. A nice, dark blue and black colour scheme that fit him quite well. Though, Scott didn’t understand why he was wearing such a slender tank top. To impress people? Sure, why not. But, at least in Scott’s experience, ladies didn’t care about a boy in a band. Not that Scott cared about the ladies much, anyways. The striped arm warmers were a nice touch, though, and the keyboardist also had some cool-looking chains on his belt.
The only other person on stage was what Scott could only assume to be the guitarist and singer. He was dressed in sort of a messy style. A nice collared shirt with torn off sleeves, with a torn up tie, and some kind of leather jacket tied around his waist. And… holy shit, he was wearing horribly messy pleated pants. This group needed severe help from a fashion expert.
Scott crossed his arms, clapping slowly, until the guitarist spoke into the microphone, and all the applause died.
He cleared his throat. “Eh- hello, everyone! I’m Skizz, and, eh, we’re going to be starting, I guess? So, let’s go!”
It was quiet for a moment, and then, there were four drum hits. And the keyboardist started to sing, as the guitarist played a few chords.
“They’re gonna clean up your looks with all the lies in the books, to make a citizen out of you,” he began, and Scott immediately recognised the song. “Because they sleep with a gun, and keep an eye on you, son, so they can watch all the things that you do.”
The guitarist joined in, singing a low harmony, and the drummer began to strike his instrument.
“Because the drugs never work, they’re gonna give you a smirk, ‘cause they got methods of keepin’ you clean.”
And then a new voice. It wasn’t the drummer, he didn’t have a mic near him. This was a soloist, too, and neither other person on stage was singing.
“They’re gonna rip up your heads, your aspirations to shreds, another cog in the murder machine.”
Scott looked desperately for another member of the band backstage, before he ran on.
“They said ‘All teenagers scare the living shit out of me!’ They could care less as long as someone’ll bleed, so darken your clothes or strike a violent pose. Maybe they’ll leave you alone but not me!”
Red flannel, some old black band tee underneath, the type of blonde hair a popular girl at his school would die to have, ripped up skinny jeans. This was the epitome of a high school wannabe rockstar, except he was good enough at singing to make that happen. But he didn’t care enough.
The one thing that stopped Scott from staying for the rest of the song — and that band’s performance — was how he treated the song. He took it for granted, in Scott’s eyes. The way he showed off, it was like it was a game rather than something he took seriously. How could he show up to a music festival, and make a display like that? His voice was great, but was he really using it as a method of seeking attention?
Scott pulled out his phone once in the lobby, and dialed up Impulse. He figured he might actually pick up.
After a few rings, there was a voice on the other line. “Scott, what’s going on buddy? How’s the festival?”
“It’s fine. Just… a shitty band right now.” Scott replied, sitting down on a nearby bench and relaxing into it. “Some bullshit singer who uses his talent for show.”
“Aw, sorry to hear it, man. I know how much you hate that.” Impulse’s voice felt like a hug, the way he spoke.
“Yeah. Their band name is pretty funny though.” Scott laughed. “The Half-American Rejects.”
Impulse laughed too. “Hey, my buddy Skizz is their guitarist, you know!” He tried to sound condescending, but couldn’t help but laugh.
“Wait- you have other friends?”
They both laughed, until Scott sighed.
“Something on your mind, Scott?” It was crazy how Impulse knew just by that, something was on his mind.
“It’s just…” he tried to find the proper words. “The singer. He’s so good at what he does, but, it feels like all he’s doing is showing off. Everyone else on that stage is so passionate, and you can tell. He actually came on after everyone else — which, yeah, was probably choreographed — but it felt like he didn’t want to be on stage, considering he started singing when he was still offstage too. I just- I don’t get it. Why choose to do music if you’re just gonna use it as a way to get attention? He’s just… too lax about it.”
Impulse was quiet for a moment. “I don’t get it either sometimes. I just guess when I see people like that. Maybe he’s bored of it?”
“If he’s bored, why not quit? Both the keyboardist and the guitarist sang, and they weren’t half bad.” Scott crossed one arm, still holding his phone to his ear with the other hand. “I know it’d be hard, especially right before a performance, but they didn’t look ill-rehearsed at all. I’m sure they could do it.”
“Sometimes, it’s just not that easy.” There was a bit of silence before Impulse spoke again. “So, what song did they start with?”
“Teenagers.”
Impulse hummed the first bit of the chorus to himself. “MCR? It’s been a while since we’ve done one of their songs. What if we perform something at the District Music Competition? Say… It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s a Deathwish? I know you really liked learning the guitar for that when we first talked about making a band.”
“We’ll see, mate. We’ll just have to see. That’s actually a good point, what’s our set list for tomorrow? Are we keeping the Green Day song in?” Scott questioned.
“I think Gem wanted to keep it in. A nice little wrap up with Good Riddance, yeah? And I know it’s not the most energetic song out there… but it’s nice to be the tech guy for one song, not just slapping the drums with a stick.” Impulse started rambling as the audience doors opened, and people started filtering out.
“Sorry Impulse, I’ve gotta go. Next show’s coming up..”
“Oh, right. Bye Scott!”
With the click of a button, he hung up the phone call and headed back in to find a seat.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The rest of the shows that evening were nothing exquisite, in Scott’s opinion, but there were no groups after The Half-American Rejects that Scott found absolutely horrible.
He was sitting at the same bench as before, the spot where he called Impulse. Scott was trying to wait out traffic of people who were trying to leave. He’d been doing this enough years in a row to know how crowded the roads get after each day finished.
Still, it was only around 6:30 at night, and he didn’t have to be at Impulse and Gem’s place for rehearsal until 8:00. Plenty of time to grab dinner, all he had to do was wait it out.
Scott sank into the bench again, clearly tired, and hungry. It was only a matter of time until he could leave, he reminded himself, closing his eyes and laying his head back, just for a moment.
When he sat back up, there was someone in front of him. Tall, maybe six feet and a few inches, with the most blindingly blue eyes he’s ever seen, and Scott had a pair of those eyes for himself. He seemed to be wearing a collared shirt under a black leather jacket, and he also had a pretty ripped up red tie. “Are you Impulse’s buddy?” He spoke directly at Scott, a bit sure of the answer before he even asked.
Scott jumped, a bit nervous. How’d they know him? Impulse did tell him that he had a friend that was on The Half-American Rejects, and this was that group, no doubt. He held his hand out as if to shake, “Yes. I- Scott Major, Impulse’s friend.”
“Oh, so you’re the reason why we call him Impulse! Glad to finally meet you! I’m Skizz.” Skizz gave a warm smile and a hug rather than accepting the handshake. After backing out of the rather strange first greeting, Skizz moved out of the way to show off his bandmates.
The drummer, the one with green in his hair, spoke next, putting a hand in his pocket. “Name’s Joel. Nice to meet you.”
“And I’m BigB!” The keyboardist in blue jumped in excitement. “You’re on Gem & The Scotts, right? You guys are such an inspiration to me! It’s kinda what made me want to join a band in the first place, you know?”
“Yeah, I- I sure do. Thanks for the kind words, BigB.” Scott stood from the bench and turned to see the singer staring into space. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce yourself as well, or am I just calling you the singer?”
“Jimmy Solidarity.” He muttered, distracted and distraught. He didn’t even look back to see Scott, just nodded.
“Well, eh, you all sound amazing! Everyone in your group is so talented. Most of you seem really passionate about music, too.” Scott smiled, finding something else to say. “So… you’re in secondary school, right? What school are you at and what year are you in?”
“Joel and I go to Southeast, and Jimmy will too, next week,” Skizz took over the question. “He’s gonna be new. BigB’s learning at home, but he’s cool. As for years Joel’s in his third year, me and Jimmy are fourth years.”
“Oh, Southeast? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
Joel chimed in, smiling. “I think I’ve seen you with Impulse before, you got him after marching band practice a few times, right?” He glanced at Skizz, then at Scott, expecting an interjection. When he was met with silence, he kept talking. “Impulse and I are both on drumline. It’s kinda weird hearing so many people call him “Scott” at school and in marching band, especially because of how often Skizz talks about him.”
“No, it’s even more strange when his mum calls him inside during our rehearsals. We sometimes amp my guitar, and she always calls him for being too loud. It gets confusing when we don’t amp up the guitar, ‘cause I’m so used to it. Honestly, it just makes me feel bad.” Scott replied, doing a quick check to see if the car lot had cleared up at all.
“Well, you seem like a nice guy.” BigB spoke up from behind Skizz and Joel, pulling Jimmy along with him. “Jim, what do you think?”
The stupid one just stammered. “Oh- I, eh, yeah. Seems… really nice, I mean, cool and all that, and-”
Skizz pulled Jimmy into a side-hug. “Hey, you good, man?”
“Yeah, I’m fine! No need to worry.” This kid was lying through his teeth, and Scott could tell. There were a lot of nervous tells on him, actually. There was a subtle hint of red in his face, as well as the obvious stutter. He also seemed to be fidgeting with his fingers, and avoiding eye contact by looking slightly down.
Skizz, on the other hand, seemed to buy it. “If you say so, Jiggles. You’re the boss.”
“Jiggles?”
In the confusion of the name, Scott didn’t stop himself from speaking, even though he definitely sounded insensitive. It was crushing, really, the way all four Rejects looked at him. There was a bit of something different in each of their faces, but all of them told him the same thing. Something was wrong with him saying that. Scott’s eyes widened in horror and mortification. Oh stars, he’d upset them. What if they hated him? This was one of Impulse’s best friends, and he already had a bad impression?
Then, slowly, one by one, they all started to laugh. It started with Skizz, then Joel, then BigB, and finally Jimmy. And it wasn’t that condescending laugh that he expected. They were genuinely cracking up.
This surprised Scott, stunning him to his core. Even he, as emotionally neutral as he had been trying to stay through this whole conversation, let a bit of air slip into a giggle.
After the laughter had died down Skizz pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, I’ve gotta go. My dad’s here. See you guys!” Without a word more, he ran out the front door of the building.
“Speaking of, BigB, do you still need a ride home?” Joel asked. “My mum’s willing to take you if you need.”
BigB nodded, and Joel said that she was at the music hall, and the two were also gone from the building with a brief goodbye.
The only two left were Jimmy and Scott.
Scott turned to Jimmy, seeing the way he still seemed nervous.
“Hey,” Scott began, turning to sit down on a bench, “you don’t have to be frightened of me, mate. I don’t bite.”
Jimmy sat next to him, still avoiding eye contact. “Right… sorry.”
“That’s… quite alright.” He sighed, the critique of the other’s earlier performance weighing heavily on his mind. “Listen, I… I have a question. It might sound stupid at first, but I’ve got a good reason, I swear.”
“Oh, a- um, a question for me? What is it?” The blond shifted up in his seat, clutching the strap of a bag that Scott had just now noticed had been wrapped around his body.
“Well, you are an amazing singer, I do have to admit, but is music really your passion?” Scott asked, blue eyes staring deep into the brown ones that Jimmy wore.
Those same brown eyes turned dark with timidity. “Was it that obvious?” He started. “I… don’t really know. I just moved here a few months ago — to this town, I mean — and that’s when I met Skizz and Joel and BigB, and a few more people. One of them is Grian, and his sister Pearl. Grian caught me singing to myself one day and ever since then he tried so hard to convince me to join Skizz’s band. Eventually, I caved, and now we’re here. Rehearsal was fun every time I went. I love to sing. I guess I just don’t like all the people watching me. All the eyes…” He suddenly stopped. “But… that’s just me. If this is part of the whole “band” deal, I’m fine with continuing.”
Scott looked out the window for a brief moment. “Sure, but… do you really want to? You looked like you were overcompensating on stage, even though you really didn’t need to.”
“Well, Skizz just told me to act wild ‘cause everyone else would be. I’ve never done the whole show-biz before, so it’s interesting.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “What about you?”
“Oh, eh, me?” Scott clutched his chest in surprise. “Well, I’ve been playing guitar since I was very small. Actually, I’ve kind of never… not had music. It’s become a staple part of who I am. And it’s not just one part of music I enjoy. I love it all. Lyricism, instrumental, dynamics, production, technique, music theory, any genre and all of the methods of executing a song in the perfect way. I love learning about certain songs and albums, and analysing the motifs. Hell, I even listen to musical theatre more often than I care to admit. Music is me, and I am it. There’s kind of no separation. That’s why when I saw you earlier, and when I see others who maybe don’t enjoy music in that way either, it sort of… well, it hurts to know people who aren’t passionate about music still often participate in this type of stuff to show off. Not that you were showing off, it sort of felt like it from the audience, but I’ve got a straight-ish answer now.”
“I’ve actually… I’ve changed my mind about music,” Jimmy interjected.
Scott gave a puzzled and concerned look, the state of perplexity very apparent in his demeanour. “Come again?”
“It… does seem like something I really want to do. I’ll do better.” He paused, realising that he hadn’t finished his words. “I’ll be better at being interested on stage, that is! I…” He suddenly stood. “I’m going to find the restroom!” The only following sounds from him were hurried footsteps.
“Wait!” Scott tried to stop him. “You’re going- ah, never mind.”
He allowed his mind to drift for a while, waiting for Jimmy to return, but it had been nearing 6:45 when Scott called it and left. He did feel sorry for the kid, who clearly had some kind of anxiety or insecurity. Maybe it was intimidating talking to someone a lot more experienced, or maybe he was just always like that. With the way he acted on stage, that was unlikely in Scott’s mind.
Eventually, he reached his car, put the key into the ignition and turned it, starting the engine. Before driving, he sent a quick text to Gem and Impulse.
Gem & The Scotts
18:51 Scott
i’ll be over at 8 for rehearsal
He’d see the response later. He put the car in drive, and took off.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After finally finishing the little bit of food his mum forced him to eat before rehearsal and grabbing his guitar from his bedroom, Scott was finally on his way to rehearsal. There was no response to his earlier message, but both twins read it, so there wasn’t a need to worry.
The drive wasn’t long at all, but that was what Scott enjoyed most about the freedom of driving — he wouldn’t have to carry his guitar case to and from Gem and Impulse’s house. After less than five minutes, he arrived. Scott grabbed his guitar from the backseat and locked his car.
Gem & The Scotts
19:56 Scott
i’m outside :)
Within a minute there was a response.
Gem & The Scotts
Gem 19:56
door is opening!! head on in :D
Like she said, the garage door opened, and there was a brief moment where Scott could see her head still poking through the doorway to the house, but she quickly zipped back inside for something. This wasn’t unusual, they were busy people, these two. Impulse had set up a few chairs for him to wait in a couple years ago, because it definitely could take a while. He texted his mum with a nonchalant message about when he’d be home. And then, he took his guitar out of its case and set it against the wall before absentmindedly messing with his phone until either Gem or Impulse came outside. It didn’t take long to tune his guitar.
A couple of minutes passed before Gem entered the garage, wearing her average outfit of a black tank top under a cropped, off the shoulder tee. Her long red hair was tied into a braid today, though by the sloppy handiwork, he could guess that Cleo or Pearl had done it rather than herself. Or Gem had just done too much today.
“Hey, Scott!” She smiled, rushing to sit next to him. She had that usually cheery tone in her voice. “How was the festival?”
“It was fine.” He replied, putting his phone in his pocket. “How are Cleo and Pearl?”
“Cleo said they wanted to burn your house down, and… Pearl hates the colour blue for hair.” She teased.
Scott just laughed. “Sounds about right.”
“So,” Gem interrupted before Scott could talk more. “The festival. Pearl told me that Grian convinced someone to join a band with Skizz. You know Skizz right? He’s Impulse’s friend. Anyways, so, they were supposed to perform today, and I’m mad I missed it, ‘cause he’s supposedly really good — at least according to Pearl.”
“Yeah, I know who you’re talking about,” Scott admitted halfheartedly. “I talked to Skizz and the rest of his band after it was all done and dusted for the day. The singer is called Jimmy, and… let’s just say, he wasn’t all the nicest to me.”
“Oh, man that sucks,” Gem scuffed the sole of her checkered Vans against the floor. “I hate people who are like that. Genuinely, I’d fuck him up for you if you need me to.”
“That’s- Gem, cool down. It wasn’t that bad. I wouldn’t want you to hurt someone over this.”
“Damn it! Why won’t you or Impulse ever let me beat someone up?” Her hands were thrown up in genuine anger, something that was never a good sign from Gem. “I swear, it’s like you want to get bullied, or whatever it was that this kid did.”
“He… actually avoided me for most of the conversation.” Scott stared around the room, remembering how uncomfortable it was between them. “It was like he hated me for some reason, even though we’d never talked. And on stage, he was a total show-off. Still, you could tell he hated it up there. I’d really like to discuss it more when Impulse gets here, and I also want to know about Pearl. Last Grian told me, she was getting up to mischief.”
“Grian’s her brother. Of course he’s going to be saying that about her,” Gem slumped against the wall, fiddling with her fingers in boredom. “But, yeah. She’s not really doing so hot, especially since school started back up. You know how it is, eh…” Gem gestured her hands in an attempt to imply something. Whatever it was, Scott has a pretty clear guess. Pearl liked someone. “She’s been distancing herself from everyone except her close friends.”
“Oh, that’s why she’s been at our lunch table every day. Got it.” He laughed a bit, pulling his knee to his chest.
“No, actually,” Gem continued, “I’m pretty sure it’s me.”
Scott had to take a second to think. It would explain why she always had seemed to favour Gem — even since they met years ago. What surprised him was that Gem was normally not this aloof. If it was Impulse, it would make sense that he’d taken this long to realise. Scott would say the same about himself, too. But Gem? She was much too observant for this.
“Gem, how did it take you this long?” Scott asked, still with a puzzled expression.
She could only cross her arms and look away, eyes narrowed in frustration. “Don’t laugh at me, okay? I’m not too keen when it comes down to it.”
“No,” he interrupted. “Let me rephrase. How did it take all of us this long? Looking back, it’s fairly obvious.”
“That’s what Impulse said!” Gem exploded out of her seat, bouncing with what seemed to be a combination of excitement and recognition.
“Eh, not to change the subject, but I’m gonna,” Scott turned his eyes to the door. “Where is Impulse? He’s not usually very late to these rehearsals. It’s been, what, ten minutes?”
“Probably. Impulse has had a lot of his own shit this week, though,” she sat back down. “With the whole festival thing, and having to study for three massive exams next week.”
“Well, I don’t envy him, then. Still, he’s normally so punctual, you know?” Scott turned to pick up his guitar. He started to tune up to the note, plucking the strings as he twisted the knobs at the very top of the instrument.
Suddenly, there was a buzz in Gem’s pocket. She pulled out her phone. “Impulse!” She suddenly stormed into the house.
There was no context for what had happened until Scott looked down at Gem’s abandoned phone on the chair in front of him.
The Less Cool Scott
20:13
Gem! Finish your energy drinks,
or I’ll throw them out!
That would do it, he guessed.
Within what felt like seconds, Impulse was being dragged by Gem into the garage by his collar, a half crushed Monster can in his left hand, and his phone in his right. Gem also had one of the energy drinks in hand, though it wasn’t crushed, and she was taking a sip of it. Gem pulled her brother to the doorway and kicked him through.
Impulse fell to the floor in a pathetic display of weakness. Leave it to him to be the idiot he was.
“God damn it, Impulse! You owe me another pack.” Gem stormed past him, almost crushing the can she was holding. She took a swig of her energy drink, likely finishing it, and then threw the can on the ground and stomped on it.
“Fine,” Impulse stood, rushing behind his drums before his sister could push him again, “I’ll grab them tomorrow morning. Scott, have you got time to help me out tomorrow if I stop at the store first?”
“Yeah,” Scott smiled, standing. He was just playing random chords at that point, guitar fully tuned. “But seriously, I can’t be helping you with makeup every time, Impulse. You’re gonna have to learn how to do it yourself if you ever want to be a performer.”
“Well, it’s good I’ve got someone to do it now, even when I’m already a performer!” Impulse laughed, then saw the glare that both Scott and Gem were giving him. “I’ll shut up now.”
“Anyway, Gem. What about Pearl?” Scott turned to her, smiling like he needed the answer.
“What about her?” She grabbed her braid, pulling out the tie and beginning to undo it. “Oh! Right, well, see I definitely feel like a fool, and I’m gonna find her tomorrow at the festival. We’ll talk about it, and other shit, and be done.”
He fell back in his chair. “Ugh, boring. Where’s the stakes? The intrigue?”
“Not to mention the idea that this is technically your first relationship, if it goes well.” Impulse spoke, grabbing his drumsticks from a nearby bench.
“Like you’ve had one, Impulse!” Gem teased. “You’ve got your head so high in the clouds, I think you forget Skizz is here on Earth, mate.”
“Shut up, Gem!” He buried his face in his hands.
“Skizz?” Scott turned to him, squinting in confusion. “So you’re telling me there’s not a single straight person in this group?”
“Oh my stars, Scott,” Impulse shrugged, “can you just tell us about the festival already? I told Skizz to find you, so I wanna hear about him and Jimmy. I remember you told me a bit about him earlier, yeah?”
Scott stopped strumming the strings of his guitar, and it was eerily quiet.
“Skizz was fine, I mean, at least he was nice to me.” He rolled his eyes. “Jimmy on the other hand, not so much. Not only did he seem totally insecure and show-offy, but then when his whole band talked to me, he was pretty much avoiding me. Well, until BigB pushed him in. He seemed… nervous? Like, he was fidgeting with his fingers and avoiding eye contact with everyone. Even Skizz caught onto the weird behaviour. Then, everyone else had to leave, and it was just me and him. I sort of asked him why he was in a band if he didn’t like music, and he said that he didn’t really know why, then asked me, and after I gave my answer he… told me that he changed his mind and… just left.”
He clutched his guitar closer to his chest now, eyes turned down to the floor. He didn’t like the topic, he was sure it was clear in his body language. But god damn, Scott was so angry at Jimmy.
The room was silent until Gem spoke. “Dude, he’s totally got a thing for you.”
“Don’t start, Gem.” Scott interrupted. “Let’s get on with rehearsals. We’ve got a show tomorrow, and if he’s there, I’d like to show him how it’s really done.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The backstage area was buzzing with excitement. Scott had previously tuned his guitar, making sure it wasn’t flat or sharp, or anything. Gem had her mic in hand, and was redoing her hair with it — a hard, but doable task. Impulse had already found his way on stage, and was setting up his drums and the rest of the tech stuff. Scott didn’t understand it much himself, but Impulse was good at what he did.
And then there was the announcement.
“Welcome back to the 17th annual music festival, everyone! And please, welcome the next adolescent group,” she announced, with the same, scripted voice as the previous day. “This band is celebrating its fourth year of participation. You know and love them already, but why not give them the warm welcome they deserve? Consisting of Scott Major, and Impulse and Gem Tay, here are Gem & The Scotts!”
Impulse gave a nod from the stage as he sat behind his drums. Gem glanced at him before they walked on together. Though, Gem walked to centre stage, and Scott stayed on stage left. Impulse was opposite of him.
It felt good to be in front of a crowd again. Other than late night gigs they got at random restaurants, Gem & The Scotts hadn’t had a real audience in almost six months, since the school talent contest at the end of year 11. The peace of the cheering in front of him overtook him, and soon, he’d begin to play his guitar, and he could forget about everything else in the world.
Scott allowed himself to take in all of the people. The sight of them all packed into one venue, staring at his bandmates. He looked at Gem and Impulse as well. Gem seemed to be getting her mic propped into the stand, and Impulse had clearly found a buddy in the mob of people. He waved, and Scott looked to where he was waving.
To his surprise, there were a few people he recognised close to the front. Skizz — clearly who Impulse was waving at — excitedly smiled at the drummer. Their conversation was silent, but enthusiastic. Near him, Scott could see Pearl staring at Gem, obviously interested only in what she was doing. Grian, Pearl’s brother, was also there. He was talking to someone. Someone with soft blond hair, and striking brown eyes. Brown eyes that seemed to be fixated on him. Wait. It was him.
Why was he here, or even worse, in the front? Surely the seat should go to someone who actually cared.
Scott’s eyes narrowed, frustrated by this… this freak. This pretentious ass, who thought he was just so important. By the stars, this was not going to be tolerated.
Gem had enough time to prepare her microphone. Scott didn’t care if she was ready or not, didn’t care about a cue from Impulse. He just played his guitar, riffing in a way that got everyone’s attention.
If Jimmy wanted Scott as his focus, everyone else would be focusing on him too. If Jimmy wanted his attention, he’d have to compete for it.
This meant war.