“I was four too, and I wasn't the one leaving a 'present' on her lawn,” Missy retorts, handing me my phone with a mischievous grin. “I'm going to grab us some drinks. You have five minutes. I don't want you to get sucked into the never-ending abyss of SSU's social media gossip.”
“But sucking is a good thing,” I quip. Missy leaves with a flick of her hair, leaving me to dive back into the sea of notifications. I steal a quick glance at my phone, trying to block out the rowdy crowd and the pulsating bass that reverberates through the stadium seats.
Well, it isn’tthatbad. I guess.
Missy and Ava apparently shared some pictures and videos, tagging me in them which explains the increase in followers. Fortunately, it seems that I’m not doing anything overly embarrassing in the vids, like picking my nose or rearranging my junk, so that’s good.
But I cringe as I scroll further down my feed, seeing my eighteen year old half naked self staring back at me.
“How did you get these?” I ask Ava and show her the screen. Those pictures aren’t from our rehearsals; instead, they're remnants from a time when I needed quick money and resorted to posing for a paycheck.
“Oh, I know right? They’re so hot. I found them when I googled you. You never mentioned you used to model? Is it okay that I used them?”
I grunt and nod in agreement. It’s fine, I know they’re out there somewhere, just didn’t expect to run into them. While the pics are on the brink of being indecent, they did save me at the time, so I can only be grateful for their existence. Without that cash, I would never have been able to leave Europe behind and come here.
And thankfully the comments beneath the daring pics are mostly fine, even flattering maybe. Some are tinged with comparisons about Brad, the old frontman. But from what I’ve heard from the girls and our drummer; Brad’s apparently honoring his name and living up to being a brat, so that doesn’t bother me.
“Well? Is it sinking in yet?” Ava leans her head on my shoulder, tapping on the screen and switching to selfie mode. “Looks like they're liking you so far, but you should post some stuff about yourself too. It's good for our exposure. We want to make it big, you know?”
I grunt again in agreement as she grins into the camera, her big bun of pink hair invading my face. With a few taps on the screen she posts the photo–where I’m mostly hidden behind her hair–with some tags to the game and the rest of the band, including herself.
“Where's Asher, anyway? Wasn't he supposed to be here?” I inquire, noticing the heart emojis she uses when she’s tagging her boyfriend, who’s the last member and drummer of our band.
“He's not a fan of crowds. They make him nervous. We'll hang out at his place later,” she explains.
“He doesn’t like crowds? Then why the hell is he in a rock band?”
“Ever seen it crowded on a stage? When he’s sitting behind his kit, he’s fine.”
“Huh,” I marvel, admitting the logic behind the madness. “Fair point.”
Returning my focus to the phone, I witness the comments and likes pouring in. “That was fast.”
“Welcome to the it-crowd at Summerset Shore University,” she remarks with a hint of a bite. “I don’t like the scrutiny either,” she gestures towards the phone, “but it’s what people expect from us. It’s important these days, and we need followers if we want to have fans. And we need fans to make it big.”
“I’m starting to get aware of the fact you guys already have a lot of fans, but I thought you were mainly a cover band, playing gigs in local bars?”
She tuts at me. “Just a cover band? We have a lot of original music. We used to sell out venues all across Southern California. But then Brad decided to be a jerk. Fortunately, we found you, and your voice and performance is way,waybetter. So yes, I'm very pleased to see the positive response you're getting so far.”
I smile gratefully. “Thanks, me too. So, you're not a fan of this social media stuff otherwise?” I give my phone a playful wiggle.
“Oh, I am. I'm actually a marketing major. I love it, really. I'm fascinated by the strategy behind it, creating great content, and it's thrilling when something you've crafted goes viral. I just don't appreciate how people automatically feel entitled to voicetheir negative thoughts online about anyone and anything. But I guess it comes with the territory.”
“Tell me about it,” I retort, well aware of the negatives that come with being in the limelight.
“Time's up!” My phone disappears out of my hand, swiftly replaced by a cold Coke which Missy passes me before dropping down next to me. “You have to pay attention, the game’s about to start.”
“Thanks. Cheers, babes.” I raise my cup, and my girls tap theirs against mine. “To a fantastic and awe-inspiring game.”
“I do understand sarcasm, you know,” Missy says before taking a quick sip. “You don’t know any of the rules do you?”
I gulp down half of the drink before setting it aside and flash a wide grin. “Nope. So, while I check out all the fine asses in those too-tight pants, you two can explain everything to me.” I gesture towards the field where the practice game is about to commence, with players swarming in either black-orange or very tacky red and gold get-ups. “The red ones are ours, right?”
Missy slaps my leg, and I chuckle. “Don’t be a dumbass, you know they’re not. And number twelve is King, our quarterback and star player, to answer your question from back in the apartment.”
“He’s so hot,” Ava sighs. “Sometimes I just wish he wasn’t a one-woman man. I would totally be all over that.”
“Well, from the backside, he looks okay,” I comment while checking out number twelve. “I just can't see his face with that horrible helmet. But hey, when you take a dude from behind, you don't see his face anyway.”
