Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Everybody Wants Somebody

Chapter 4: Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year

by scarsandstories93 0 reviews

A big step in the right direction.

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor - Published: 2017-03-26 - Updated: 2017-03-26 - 2571 words

“Are we growing up or just going down? It's just a matter of time until we're all found out. Take our tears, put them on ice, ‘cause I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light.”

“We're the therapists pumping through your speakers, delivering just what you need. We're well read and poised; we're the best boys. We're the chemists who've found the formula to make your heart swell and burst. No matter what they say, don't believe a word.”

“‘Cause I'll keep singing this lie if you'll keep believing it. I'll keep singing this lie; I'll keep singing this lie.”

Between her shifts at the record shop, Sarah spent every spare minute in her studio with Patrick. During their time together, Patrick had filled her in a little about the story of Fall Out Boy and its members and how their fans had portrayed them over the years. He shared his arrest over maintaining licenses in Illinois and California, lamenting that he still thought of Chicago as his home but he needed LA.

“I just don’t understand why you can’t pick one,” she told him one day while fooling around on the piano. “I’m from California. Everyone there is either a wanna-be, a has-been, or fake. What good ever comes out of LA?”

“We went to record an album for FOB with a couple guys from our label, and I guess I just thought that there was a correlation between the west coast and our success. Then I never really left.”

“You do realize that when you and Pete moved out there is when people started saying the band sold out, right?” He sighed and ruffled his hair.

“Let’s just go over that part one more time.” Sarah readied herself at the keys, playing out the chord progression once he hit “record.” Out of the five songs she was going to include on her demo, she’d written four of them and fully recorded two. Patrick volunteered his drumming for a few of the tracks for an even mix of ballad and rock out; he even added backing vocals when they felt that the song needed an extra oomph.

A week after they finished three of the tracks, Patrick was all packed up and ready to leave. Sarah drove him to the airport.

“What would I ever do without you?” She asked him after he buckled himself in. “You’ve been such a tremendous help, and now you’re going! Ugh!” He chuckled.

“We have the internet, and it’s not like I don’t have music equipment there, too. Just Skype, call, or email me with questions and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Does that also apply to just saying hi or only your being my mentor?”

“Very funny. Yes, it applies.” She smiled.

“When’s the next time you’re coming back here?” He pulled out his Blackberry and flipped through the calendar.

“Uh, not for a couple months. So I guess the plan is to finish up your demo, and I’ll call in a few favors to get it copied.”

“And then what?”

“I know some of my friends are having shows in the area coming up. I can ask if they can fit you in as an opener. That way you can get used to performing and sell your CD and other shit.”

“What about getting me signed?”

“Well, you really can’t do anything until you pull your demo together so that they have something to listen to, and then you want someone from the label to come to one of your shows, so I wouldn’t worry about it for a few months.” Sarah tensed her hands over the steering wheel. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just wish there was more to do than that. I love music with everything I have, but I don’t want to make it all work, you know?” Patrick sighed.

“If anyone gets that, I do.” He sent her a quick text, making her phone beep. “On there is Pete’s number.” She looked at him funny. “He has a co-label with Fueled By Ramen. He can hook you up with their signing you and promotional stuff. Just call him really soon so you can get all this started before your first show.” His phone started ringing. “Speak of the devil…Hey, man.” They pulled up to the airport drop-off with Patrick still on the phone; he pulled his bags out of the trunk, waved bye to Sarah, and hurried into the airport.

That man will be the death of me, she thought. They hadn’t discussed their drunken night of sex since it happened, but from then on she always felt some kind of something between them that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. However, she refused to let whatever it was influence their budding work relationship and friendship.

Once she got home, she dialed up Pete’s number.

“Go for Wentz.”

“Hi, Pete, this is Sarah Laurier. I think Patrick may have--?”

“Oh, yeah, we just got off the phone. So you wanna make it in the music industry, huh?”

“Not to sound clichéd, but that’s my dream.” He chuckled on the line.

“No worries. Patrick said you’re quite talented.”

“He did?” She asked, blushing at the compliment.

“He did. He also said something about you needing my help.”

“Just a little,” she joked. “I don’t really know where to begin with all this. It’s kinda new for me.”

“Well, tell you what. Send me a demo, and based on that I’ll set you up as an opener for some of my Decaydance members and friends. How much do you have so far?”

“Patrick and I agreed on five songs, we have three recorded and I got another written out.”

“Hm… Give me what you got and work on the other two. I’ll handle the rest. I’ll be in touch about possible openings and all that jazz.” They exchanged emails and hung up.

Sarah sat in her studio a couple hours later, staring at her screen with Garageband open and instruments hooked up. She sent Pete the three tracks, roughly recorded the fourth and forwarded it to Patrick, and now she needed to work out the fifth. She would just record whatever came into her head and throw it in the demo, but Patrick warned her that talent doesn’t mean anything “if the sample of your work you give out doesn’t make sense.” And she’d been following that advice: the first song opened up jazzy and danceable, the second and third ballads, and the fourth flirting with pop-punk. The fifth needed to combine the three styles while providing a solid finish to the demo. Right when she was about to shut things down for the day, she thought about her life. She thought about her childhood. This is giving up. If I quit now, I’ll never make it. Maybe I just…need to tell my story. She smiled.
So, she hit record and began with her roots: the piano. Softly, she played a variation of a piece she memorized as a child as her background for the entire track. Then she recorded over it with chords starting in the chorus and keeping them throughout. She laced the song with lead-guitar, emphasizing it in the interlude and repetition of the lyrics, and fading into the end of the recording. She brought in rhythm guitar to match the piano chords after she threw in some bass so Patrick could have a steady beat for when he added drums. All in all, it was short and sweet and started with a rise, a fall, and a dramatic ending.

Little girl, dry your eyes, because
you have the rest of your life.
So stop your tears, let it go.
You’re so young, girl, too young to know.

Stay safe, stay sound.
Don’t let them push you around.

You can have a fresh start,
you can be on your own.
But the fear of falling apart
keeps dragging you down.
Just trust me, you’ll see;
I’ve been there before.
It gets better.
The future is yours.

Satisfied after laying the vocals, Sarah listened through the track a few times to make sure everything fit before sending that, too, along to Patrick. Even she had to admit she’d outdone herself, having written and recorded an entire song in a single afternoon. Mentally exhausted, Sarah left her studio, grabbed a bowl of chocolate fudge ice cream, and plopped in front of her TV to watch a good old-fashioned round of “Mean Girls” before an early night’s sleep.

Some time between eleven and midnight, Sarah’s cell ringing rattled her into consciousness.

“Hello?” She answered incoherently.

“Uhm, yes, hi, is this Sarah?” A man asked. She rolled over to face the ceiling.


“Well uh, I’m William. William Beckett. Pete called and told me about you and wanted me to ask if, uh, if you’d wanna open for my show this weekend.”

“Hold on a sec,” she said, pulling the phone from her face as she checked her calendar. No work, and it’s not like she had much of a social life to speak of. Might as well perform her first show. “William?”

“Call me Bill.”

“Okay, well, Bill, I’d be more than happy to open for you. Where and when?”

“Uh, the Metro, Saturday at 8.”

“Wait, the Metro? As in, the Metro? Are you serious?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Sarah couldn’t help her surprise. Between her research from back home and seeing a few shows at the venue herself, she knew the Metro was where artists earned the right to play. It also happened to be where artists often got discovered. And that’s where she was going to play her first ever show, her introduction into the music scene? Guess connections really do help, she figured. “You still there?”

“Hm? Yes, yes I’m here. So, Saturday at 8?”

“Well, I mean, you should probably be there a little early to set things up and do sound check. Plus, uh, if you wanted, I was hoping to go over a possible collab with you. Would you want to maybe meet at my place and go from there?”

“You want to do a song with me?” She blushed.

“Pete sent me some of your material, and, uh, I thought our styles kind of meshed. You’re, well, you’re really talented.” Her cheeks’ pinkness intensified as a smile spread across her face.

“Well, uh, thanks. What time should I meet you?”

“Is noon okay? I’d hate to do anything too early. I know how living the life of a musician can be.”

“Noon is great. I’ll call when I’m about to leave and then you can text me your address?”

“Can-do. I’m off to bed now, though.”

“Yeah I should get back to sleep too.”

“Alright, well, goodnight Sarah. See you Saturday.”

“G’night Bill. See you then. And thank you.”

“Anytime.” They hung up, and as Sarah fell back asleep, she could’ve sworn she felt some butterflies.

-The night before the concert-

The week had come and gone with little else on Sarah’s mind than the concert and meeting up with Bill. Despite the short notice, Pete and Patrick had been able to tag team their cumulative favors to help get fifty CDs of Sarah’s demo, a promo card, and a t-shirt ready for Saturday. Sarah spent that time attempting to craft her social media presence; in doing so, she came upon the idea to have an artist name.

“And what did you have in mind, exactly?” Patrick wondered. He had sent over the final proofs of the t-shirt and cards for Sarah’s approval, which was why Sarah had to call him.

“Don’t laugh.” She sighed. “It’s, uh.” She pondered for a moment. “Our Creative Differences?” The line was quiet. “Patrick?”

“It’s just, I have so many questions.” Sarah snorted.

“It’s three words, dude.”

“I mean, what was wrong with your name?”

“If you had a last name that was immediately recognizable to about half the fucking world, you’d probably want to keep your personal endeavors separate, too.”

“Fair enough. But also, who else is included ‘our’ and what ‘creative differences’ are you having?”

“Well, consider this. I’m mostly a solo artist, but I mean, we’ve collaborated, and I think it makes sense to for someone else to think I may collaborate with others in the future. That’s the ‘our.’”


“And ‘creative differences’ could not only allude to the disagreements over music my potential future collaborators may have, but also, hey, I’m a solo artist so that means no breaking up due to ‘creative differences.’” Patrick groaned at her as he laughed.

“That’s so fucking cheesy. But I love it.” Sarah blushed.

“Thanks I came up with it myself.”

“So besides your name, anything else you want to change about the design of the merch table stuff?” Back to business, she thought. She scanned them over again. The idea was to keep them clean and understated, which was how she ended up with a design that had a white background and a plain black script in bold Helvetica. She grinned as she imagined the font spelling “Our Creative Differences” in place of her name.

“A-plus good to go.”

“Alrighty. I’ll send that on to my guy. He’ll have it personally delivered to the venue and he’ll even set up the table. Hey, gotta run, I hate to rush off but I have a meeting in like five minutes.”

“Okay dude. Thanks again.”

“No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.” Then he hung up. Sarah sighed; she wished he weren’t so busy, but then again who was she to have an opinion about his schedule. She plugged in her phone and moved her laptop off the bed as she slid beneath the plush comforters. A sudden onslaught of performance anxiety caused her to toss and turn for the better part of an hour.

Just as she was about to close her eyes, her phone dinged twice; two alerts.

Bill: hey, our creative differences, i see what you did there. bold move i like it. very eager for tomorrow :)

Sarah, in a delicately composed response: Aw thanks! Also eager for tomorrow ;)

Patrick: S- told Pete about your name change and he’s crazy about it. Said he would call Bill to update. -P

A new text made her phone ding again as she read the email

Patrick: Moved some things around and made more calls. Expect a surprise tomorrow night ;)

Sarah, after blushing and changing her response a handful of times: Looking forward to it. :)

She wouldn’t let a crush on Patrick, if she could even call it that, ruin her future. But that didn’t stop her from falling asleep thinking about meeting Bill.

“The best part of ‘believe’ is the ‘lie.’ I hope you sing along and you steal a line. I need to keep you like this in my mind. So give in or just give up.”
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