Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > The Heart's Year
[[Brendon]]
Issy lived only two blocks away from my house, but I still had to take my car. Jon’s house was not as close. I was feeling extremely nervous and giddy at the same time. Half of me was saying that I would never make it into Jon’s band. I wasn’t good enough, and never would be, no matter what. But my optimistic side was convincing me otherwise. The only person who could fix up my befuddled mind was Issy. She could always make me feel better. It was either her calming smile or the fact that she would hug me tightly and send multiples chills down my spine.
I didn’t bother knocking before walking into her house. Her mother had told me a while ago that I was welcome any time. I took that invitation to my full advantage and sometimes showed up at midnight.
“ISSY!” I called out after stepping into the living room.
She didn’t show up immediately, but instead her brother, Adrian, did. Issy often made fun of his somewhat girly name. I didn’t dare because although he was only a sophomore, he could beat the crap out of me. He was a tall, wide jawed, muscular football player who looked more like an Italian supermodel than a high-schooler. He scared me, just a tad.
“Hey B-den, how’s it going?” he asked, nodding towards me.
“Pretty good, and you?”
“Eh...I’m okay. I’m still sore from practice yesterday. Issy’s upstairs if you wanna go get her,” he grinned.
He was convinced—just like everyone else—that there was something going on between the two of us. I tended to blush whenever anyone said anything about it. It was a sensitive subject for me.
“Thanks,” I said quickly before running upstairs to Issy’s room.
Her door was shut, with the big bright sign that said “ISSY IS BUSY” facing me. I never heeded that sign, and I wasn’t going to start today. I swung the door open to see her in front of the mirror, singing into her microphone (hairbrush) along with the Fall Out Boy record. She stopped quickly and blushed as soon as I entered.
“Have you ever heard of this little thing called privacy, Brendon?”
I flopped down on her bed, “Yeah, I’m the reason people want it.”
She chuckled a little and proceeded to use the hairbrush for its designated use.
While Issy got ready, I hummed along with Dead On Arrival for a few minutes. And then the next song. And after that, another one. Tenseness had drained out of me. All that was left was impatience.
“Can we go now?” I twiddled my thumbs intolerantly.
“Uh...wait...” she turned to face me, with a look of pure confusion, “Should I wear my hair up or down?”
I groaned, “Looks amazing either way, now come on!” I jumped off her bed and grabbed her hand.
I dragged her down the stairs and to my car. Once I forced her into the passenger seat, she pursed her lips with mock annoyance. I laughed before turning the key in the ignition. At first, I was feeling fine even though the car ride was silent. Then the nausea came in. The apprehension was starting to kick back in. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at my guitar case in the back seat. What if it suddenly got out of tune in the middle of the song? And what would happen if I forgot all the chords? I fidgeted as I pulled the car into Jon’s driveway.
“Wow,” I heard Issy exclaim in awe, “This is a big house.”
I stared at the house. Its size just intimidated me even more. I looked at my friend desperately.
“I’m not ready. I can’t do this. I gotta go back home, come on. Let’s go catch a movie or something. I don’t wanna be in their band anymore. It sounds stupid anyway,” I blabbered.
She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, “Why?”
I squirmed in the leather seat and sighed, “I’m as nervous as hell. I’m sure I’ll screw up and they’ll all laugh at me,” I told her.
She put her hand on my shoulder and smiled encouragingly, “You won’t screw up, you never screw up. You’re perfect, Brendon. Just perfect. And like I said, if they think you’re a bad guitarist, there’s something horribly wrong with their ears, okay? So calm down. You’re gonna do great.”
Hot blood rushed to my cheeks as she said her words of praise. She probably said I was perfect just to make me feel better. She didn’t really mean it. But it worked. I felt like a million bucks all of a sudden. With my newly gained confidence, I stepped out of the car.
Issy lived only two blocks away from my house, but I still had to take my car. Jon’s house was not as close. I was feeling extremely nervous and giddy at the same time. Half of me was saying that I would never make it into Jon’s band. I wasn’t good enough, and never would be, no matter what. But my optimistic side was convincing me otherwise. The only person who could fix up my befuddled mind was Issy. She could always make me feel better. It was either her calming smile or the fact that she would hug me tightly and send multiples chills down my spine.
I didn’t bother knocking before walking into her house. Her mother had told me a while ago that I was welcome any time. I took that invitation to my full advantage and sometimes showed up at midnight.
“ISSY!” I called out after stepping into the living room.
She didn’t show up immediately, but instead her brother, Adrian, did. Issy often made fun of his somewhat girly name. I didn’t dare because although he was only a sophomore, he could beat the crap out of me. He was a tall, wide jawed, muscular football player who looked more like an Italian supermodel than a high-schooler. He scared me, just a tad.
“Hey B-den, how’s it going?” he asked, nodding towards me.
“Pretty good, and you?”
“Eh...I’m okay. I’m still sore from practice yesterday. Issy’s upstairs if you wanna go get her,” he grinned.
He was convinced—just like everyone else—that there was something going on between the two of us. I tended to blush whenever anyone said anything about it. It was a sensitive subject for me.
“Thanks,” I said quickly before running upstairs to Issy’s room.
Her door was shut, with the big bright sign that said “ISSY IS BUSY” facing me. I never heeded that sign, and I wasn’t going to start today. I swung the door open to see her in front of the mirror, singing into her microphone (hairbrush) along with the Fall Out Boy record. She stopped quickly and blushed as soon as I entered.
“Have you ever heard of this little thing called privacy, Brendon?”
I flopped down on her bed, “Yeah, I’m the reason people want it.”
She chuckled a little and proceeded to use the hairbrush for its designated use.
While Issy got ready, I hummed along with Dead On Arrival for a few minutes. And then the next song. And after that, another one. Tenseness had drained out of me. All that was left was impatience.
“Can we go now?” I twiddled my thumbs intolerantly.
“Uh...wait...” she turned to face me, with a look of pure confusion, “Should I wear my hair up or down?”
I groaned, “Looks amazing either way, now come on!” I jumped off her bed and grabbed her hand.
I dragged her down the stairs and to my car. Once I forced her into the passenger seat, she pursed her lips with mock annoyance. I laughed before turning the key in the ignition. At first, I was feeling fine even though the car ride was silent. Then the nausea came in. The apprehension was starting to kick back in. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at my guitar case in the back seat. What if it suddenly got out of tune in the middle of the song? And what would happen if I forgot all the chords? I fidgeted as I pulled the car into Jon’s driveway.
“Wow,” I heard Issy exclaim in awe, “This is a big house.”
I stared at the house. Its size just intimidated me even more. I looked at my friend desperately.
“I’m not ready. I can’t do this. I gotta go back home, come on. Let’s go catch a movie or something. I don’t wanna be in their band anymore. It sounds stupid anyway,” I blabbered.
She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, “Why?”
I squirmed in the leather seat and sighed, “I’m as nervous as hell. I’m sure I’ll screw up and they’ll all laugh at me,” I told her.
She put her hand on my shoulder and smiled encouragingly, “You won’t screw up, you never screw up. You’re perfect, Brendon. Just perfect. And like I said, if they think you’re a bad guitarist, there’s something horribly wrong with their ears, okay? So calm down. You’re gonna do great.”
Hot blood rushed to my cheeks as she said her words of praise. She probably said I was perfect just to make me feel better. She didn’t really mean it. But it worked. I felt like a million bucks all of a sudden. With my newly gained confidence, I stepped out of the car.
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