FIC: Duluth in the Summertime (comedy band AU)
Title: Duluth in the Summertime
Fandoms: Arrested Development/fake news RPF/The Office RPF
Rating: PG
Pairing: George Michael/Maeby
Length: 3700 words
Summary: The comedy band AU. George Michael and Maeby have an awkward relationship.
AN: Set in the same universe as The Euphorizine Days of Summer Tour, and once again for imogenics and kyrafic. For the nothing_hip challenge "Second Chances".
Disclaimer: I don't own the fictional characters. As for the real people, this is very fictional, and no libel is intended.
**
Touring is okay. George Michael thinks he likes it better than Newport Beach, mostly - he doesn't have to worry about the model home falling apart around him, and he's not alone nearly as much. His dad used to be down at the office all the time, but now that his job is managing the band, George Michael sees a lot more of him. Which is good. Family first, right? That's why he spends so much time with Maeby. Family first.
His dad is homeschooling him, in theory, though it mostly works out to George Michael homeschooling himself. It's okay - it's just hard to concentrate in the log cabin, especially when people are fighting. Which is most of the time. And it's bumpy, and sometimes George Michael gets motion sick when he's trying to do something like write an essay on Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury for English.
"You look a little green," Maeby says from across the table. She's sitting so she's moving backwards - George Michael doesn't know how she keeps from throwing up. But then she's just listening to her iPod and looking out the window.
"Oh," George Michael says. "Yeah. It's the swerving." Uncle Gob is driving. At least it's better than Gangee.
George Michael's dad is in the back talking to their sponsors on his cell phone, pressing against his other ear with his free hand, desperately trying to hear. Occasionally he glares at whoever's closest, which in this case is Uncle Buster. His dad does have a point - Uncle Buster is practicing his Native American tribal drumming.
"What are you writing?" Maeby asks, pulling her headphones off her ears.
"That essay on the Faulkner book we were supposed to read," George Michael says. Maeby is supposed to be being homeschooled along with him, but this mostly works out to Maeby not being homeschooled at all.
"You read that?" Maeby says. "Why? Nobody's making you."
"I know," George Michael says. "I just, you know, want to get into a good college, so I can have a good job someday and live a productive life, so it's really important for me to finish this essay."
Maeby raises her eyebrows at him. "Nobody's even going to grade it."
"No, they will," George Michael says. "My dad says he'll have time when we get to Duluth."
"That's what he said about Greensboro," Maeby says. "And remember what happened when we got there?"
George Michael glances involuntarily at Uncle Buster's new prosthetic hand and shudders a little bit. Sometimes - well, he doesn't want to tell his dad this, but sometimes touring with the band can be a little too much family time.
Maeby's got a point, though - his dad hasn't graded any of his papers since they started touring.
"Hey Dad," George Michael says in the hotel lobby in Duluth, as his dad's handing out room keys. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
His dad looks flustered, his hair a little flat on one side. "Gob, you're in 206 with Buster - Gob. GOB." He makes Gob take the keycards and says, "I don't want to hear it," before finally turning to George Michael. "Hey buddy, what's up?"
"I just wanted to talk to you about that essay you wanted me to write -" George Michael says before Lindsay interrupts them.
"Michael," she says. "It's too much pressure."
"Lindsay, it's either sleep with your husband or share a room with Mom," Michael says, in the downright voice he uses when he's had it up to here with the family. "Your choice."
Lindsay winces, then says, "I'll take Mom."
"Your funeral," Michael mutters, and hands her a key. "Room 209." He turns to George Michael thoughtfully with only a few keycards left in his hand, clearly doing the mental arithmetic of room assignments. "George Michael, you don't mind doubling up with your cousin, right?"
"What?" George Michael says. His heart rate picks up. "Um."
Maeby comes up right then and grabs a key out of Michael's hand. "Sure thing, Uncle Michael." She's probably glad 'cause sharing a room means it'll be easier to make George Michael sneak out with her after they're supposed to be in bed.
"Great," Michael says. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about, George Michael?"
George Michael's mind's a blank - all he can think about is Maeby in her pajamas, the pink boxer shorts and tank top with little elephants on it, and his mouth is dry. Finally Maeby grabs him by the elbow. "Come on, George Michael," she says. "Let's see if this hotel has a pool."
**
Maeby decides to go swimming, and it turns out she has a two-piece bathing suit, and that's a little more than George Michael can handle right at the moment. Pajamas are bad enough - a bathing suit is a hundred times worse. The venue they're playing is right across the street from the hotel, so he heads over there instead, even though the band isn't rehearsing this afternoon. Maybe he can get some work done.
The dark of the auditorium contrasts the bright heat of June outside, so that it's hard for George Michael to see until his eyes finally adjust. The cool air that goes along with it is a relief, though, since even Duluth is having a heatwave - George Michael thought it'd be better than South Carolina, but the main difference seems to be that Duluth isn't as air-conditioned.
When he slips into the back, Threat Level Midnight is doing a run-through of one of their peppiest songs. The blonde lady is tapdancing percussion like mad, and Ed's playing the banjo fast, and the music swells all together. He likes their songs, mostly - he's never really been into pop music, but theirs is really good. He sits in the back row and gets out his books to see if he can get some more of his essay written while he listens.
He keeps getting distracted by what's going on onstage, though. There seems to be some discussion of whether Rainn's coming in too early, and whether John is on a power-trip induced by internet message boards. It's good-humored, though, and the girls seem to find it pretty hilarious. Steve eventually has to referee. Sometimes George Michael wishes his family's fights were more like that, all jokey and good natured.
A few rows in front of George Michael and a few seats to the right, Stephen Colbert is sitting and watching all this without much expression. He watches Threat Level Midnight's performances almost every night, George Michael has noticed, standing in the back with his arms crossed. Most of the rest of them don't watch each other's sets, at least not often - they've all heard each other's stuff a lot already, and it's getting boring. But every night Colbert disappears from backstage and if George Michael goes looking, he always finds him watching them perform.
Colbert must see George Michael looking at him in his peripheral vision, because he turns and catches his eye when the music starts up again. George Michael sort of smiles and looks away guiltily, trying to go back to his essay. But Colbert gets up and moves back so he's sitting right in front of George Michael, turned around in his seat to talk to him.
"What're you working on?" he asks, speaking up to be heard over the music.
"Oh," George Michael says. "This essay on Faulkner for school."
"What book?" Stephen says, and reaches out to take the paperback out of George Michael's hands. "Oh, I like this one," he says, when he sees what it is.
"You've read it?" George Michael says.
"Uh huh, a couple of times," Stephen says vaguely. He's looking at the picture on the cover like he's not sure what it's supposed to be.
"Really? Because - well, okay, maybe this is kind of a big favor to ask, but my dad's really busy, and I'm homeschooled, but he's got a lot of management stuff to do for the band, and - he was supposed to grade me in Greensboro, but things happened in Greensboro - "
Stephen looks amused. "Breathe, kiddo."
George Michael breathes and tries to slow down. "Um, do you think you could look over this essay for me and maybe tell me what I'm doing wrong? And, uh, maybe give it a score from 1 to 5?"
Stephen's eyes crinkle a little behind his glasses, but he keeps his mouth serious. "You want me to grade your paper?"
"I know," George Michael says. "It's stupid, I'm sorry, forget it."
"I'd be happy to grade your paper," Stephen says, thumbing through the beginning of the book. "I've always wanted to be a high school teacher. Tell the kids how after his violent revolution, Ghandi was devoured by his followers."
"He was?" George Michael says, startled.
"Nah," Stephen says. "It's a joke I've been sitting on for awhile."
"Oh," George Michael says. "Right."
On stage, Rashida has just done a killer harp solo, and John is pulling her up so he can swoop her into a melodramatic kiss. Nobody seems to know if they're actually dating or just kidding around - George Michael heard Mindy complaining about it the other day to the short guy who plays bass, though the short guy didn't seem to care too much. On stage, there are whoops and catcalls from the rest of the band, and when John lets go of Rashida, she's faintly pink.
**
When the rehearsal breaks up it's nearly dinner time, and Stephen and George Michael leave the auditorium together. George Michael is just thinking he should go find Maeby or his dad when they walk around the corner of the building and see Jon Stewart and Maeby standing there together, both leaning against the wall and smoking, like they're some of the kids at George Michael's high school who were always getting suspended.
George Michael's face must show how shocked he is, because Maeby rolls her eyes at him and says, "They're just clove cigarettes, George Michael, don't have a heart attack."
Stephen's raising one eyebrow at Jon. "I thought you quit smoking," he says.
"I did," Jon says. "I am quitting. I want a cigarette much less after I've just had one."
"Funny," Stephen says.
Maeby takes a drag off her cigarette and starts coughing, which she tries to stifle.
"I think my dad wanted us all to meet back at the hotel before dinner," George Michael says, and Maeby nods desperately, her eyes watering.
"Sure," she manages, and drops her cigarette, toeing it out under a Converse sneaker. "See ya," she says to Jon.
"Take it easy, Maeby," Jon says. As they walk away, George Michael can hear Stephen asking Jon if he should get him his inhaler now or later, and Jon telling him to fuck off.
"What were you guys talking about?" George Michael asks Maeby.
"I don't know," Maeby says. "Stuff. He was telling me about Thomas Jefferson."
"Really?" George Michael says. That sounds… odd.
"Hey, I'm interested in our first president," Maeby says. "Give me liberty or give me death, you know? It's theatrical."
"Our third president," George Michael says, out of reflex more than anything. "And I think you mean Patrick Henry."
"Nooo, I'm pretty sure our third president wasn't Patrick Henry," Maeby says. "Whatever. Hey, do you think we'll be in L.A. by July 4?"
George Michael blinks. "No, I think we're playing Boston the first week in July."
"Hmm," Maeby says, and frowns. "I have to make some calls."
Sometimes George Michael gets the impression there are a lot of things Maeby isn't telling him about. But he shrugs and goes to the family meeting, which somehow ends in him agreeing to help Uncle Gob with his dove trick. He really hopes it's not a dead dove this time.
**
"George Michael," Maeby's hissing. She touches his bare shoulder with one finger, poking him. "Wake up." For a second he can't remember where they are, and his brain spirals through the options. Attic of the model home. The penthouse. Bunkbeds. Stair car. Log cabin. Peoria. Minneapolis.
Duluth, he finally remembers. Sharing a hotel room. There's pale moonlight coming through the curtains, so he can dimly see Maeby's face. The air is thick and hot, the air conditioning barely working, which is why he's sleeping without a shirt. Self-conscious, he bunches the sheet over his chest.
"What?" he says. "What time is it?"
"It's early," Maeby says. "Like 12:30. Come on, wake up, I'm bored."
"You should go to sleep," George Michael says. He's still groggy, and lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
"George Michael!" Maeby whispers again, and keeps poking him until he jerks away from her and sits up.
"Okay!" he says. "I'm up." He reaches off the bed to try to grab his clothes, contorting himself under the covers so he's always covered. Maeby looks at him like he's a freak, but whatever.
He gets dressed as fast as he can, pulling on cargo shorts and an undershirt under the sheet. His regular shirt seems to have disappeared, though - he gets up and tries to look through the pile of clothes on the floor, but he can't find it in just the moonlight, and they don't want to turn on the lights in case someone notices they're not asleep.
He's searching through the bedclothes when Maeby says, "Come on, you're fine! God." He feels all rumpled and untucked, and he's pretty sure his hair is messed up, but Maeby grabs him by the hand and pulls him out the door, and he can't resist that. Their flip-flops flip and flop down the hotel hallway, the only sound over the humming of the ice machine.
They manage to get out of the hotel without any family members seeing them, though he's still half-asleep and blinking in the light of the lobby, so wouldn't have noticed if they did. He thinks they passed Mindy and Paul in the hallway, but the nice thing about the other bands is that they don't seem to care if George Michael and Maeby are out too late, or even hanging around in bars. Mindy just gives them a half-wave and Paul nods, still talking animatedly about lyric writing, and they keep walking.
"Let's go down to the lakefront," Maeby says when they get outside, the moon bright in the sky. The motel's not far from the water, and they walk down to it on the gravel on the shoulder of the road. Maeby keeps holding his hand, even though she's not pulling him anymore. It's nice, her hand in his. He hopes his palms don't get too sweaty.
"What do you think they would do if they caught us sneaking out?" Maeby says. She sounds a little wistful, actually, like she's wishing they would get caught. Which is weird.
"I don't know," George Michael says, and runs his free hand through his hair. "Ground us?" He feels kind of nervous just thinking about it.
"If they didn't get distracted first, maybe," Maeby says, her voice flat. He can't see her expression anymore, her face in shadow. There aren't any street lights on this road, so it's just them in the moonlight, pine trees looming up dark on either side of them, and it's sort of creepy, a little bit. Small towns with no one around. George Michael stumbles a little bit on a dip in the road he didn't see.
"I got wine," Maeby says as he catches himself, and George Michael sees that she's been holding it under her jacket the whole time.
"Oh," he says. "Good. I mean, I like wine." He's never really had wine, but Maeby probably doesn't know that, right?
The road goes around a bend, and then the lake is spread out in front of them, the moon over it so its light stretches out in a long white line along the water. The docks are empty, the black water swishing up against them, and Maeby leads them out to the end of the longest one. She lets go of George Michael's hand and steps out of her flip-flops to sit on the edge, her feet dangling in the water.
"How the water?" he asks, looking at her toes.
"Freezing," she says, but she keeps her feet in, splashing mildly, and sets the bottle of wine next to her.
"Don't you need a corkscrew?" George Michael asks, gingerly sitting on her other side.
"No, it's a screw top," Maeby says, and unscrews it. She drinks straight from the bottle, then hands it to George Michael. He looks at it for a second before he takes a drink too. It's strong, and the smell reminds him of the rubbing alcohol his mother used to put on cuts when he was a little kid, before she died. He winces he a little bit, and hands the bottle back to Maeby.
They pass it back and forth, the wood of the dock under George Michael's hands still holding some warmth from the day's sun. It's rough and splintery, and when he puts his feet in the water it's as cold as it looked, and a breeze ruffles his hair up even more. After five or six swigs of wine he's starting to feel a little dizzy.
Maeby's looking across the lake thoughtfully. "Do you think John Krasinski is single?" she asks.
George Michael almost chokes on his sip of wine and starts coughing. "What?" he says.
"Or do you think he's dating that Rashida chick?"
George Michael scratches a bug bite on his knee - the mosquitoes are really out tonight. "I mean, why do you care?" he says.
Maeby shrugs. "I don't know. He's cute, don't you think?"
"No," George Michael says. "And he's way too old for you."
Maeby makes a face at him. "I can act pretty mature for my age." She takes the wine bottle out of his hand, and their fingertips brush.
The wind picks up in the trees, and the water laps against the dock a little harder. In the distance, there's a boat motor going in the darkness, the light on the front of the boat a green dot against the water.
"I just don't know why you have to like that guy," George Michael says. "He's got girls following him around all the time. And I mean, you could get any guy you want."
Maeby looks at him for a second and smiles. "Thanks, George Michael," she says. "You're sweet." Then she leans in to peck him on the lips.
George Michael feels like his heart is about to stop; he can't move. Her lips are warm and dry, and when she pulls back, she looks at him thoughtfully. Then he can't help it - he leans in to kiss her again, a real kiss this time, and she kisses him back, and they're kissing and kissing.
His tongue is in her mouth when the wake from the boat in the distance finally reaches them, slapping against the dock. It sends little drops of water flying up against them, and the water laps high on his legs so he's freezing up to his shins.
The splash of cold water makes Maeby pull back. "Oh no," she says, and looks panicky.
He clears his throat. Crap. They both jump up and step into their flip-flops, and they're booking it back to the hotel, not looking at each other in the dark. They don't slow down until they hit the brightness of the hotel lobby, empty except for the desk clerk, who looks sleepy and bored.
"Um," Maeby says.
"You go back to the room," George Michael says. "I - um. I'll stay down here." There's no way they can share a room after this.
"Thanks," Maeby says, and disappears up the stairs. George Michael looks around and thinks about where he's going to sleep. It's past two in the morning, and he doesn't want to wake up his dad or anybody else. They're leaving Duluth at seven a.m., so it's not even like he's got that much more of the night to kill. Maybe he can just sleep in one of the lobby chairs?
He tries to get comfortable in the armchair in the darkest corner, slumping down so his head is against the back of it. It's not that bad. He closes his eyes and tries to drift off.
He's pretty tired, so it actually kind of works. He thinks, anyway - he's not actually sure if he was asleep when voices jog him out of it, but he was pretty close. He slowly blinks his eyes open and sees Stephen Colbert and Steve Carell walking into the lobby together. They stop and look at him.
"George Michael?" Stephen says. "What are you doing down here at three in the morning?"
"Um," George Michael says, and tries to think fast. He's really groggy, though, and thinking fast has never been his strong suit.
"Did you get locked out?" Steve asks kindly.
"Oh," George Michael says. Phew, that's it. "Yeah, I did. And I didn't want to wake anybody up. It's no big deal, I'm fine."
"That looks really uncomfortable," Stephen says, looking at the chair.
"Yeah," Steve says. "You want to come crash in my room? I have an extra bed."
"Really?" George Michael says. "Wow, yeah, that would be great!" He gets up out of the chair, and walks with them to the elevator. Steve puts his hand on George Michael's shoulder in a comforting, fatherly sort of way, and George Michael sees Steve and Stephen exchange glances.
Stephen Colbert gets off on the fourth floor. "'Night, Stephen," Steve says quietly, and Stephen smiles as the door closes.
"You doing okay?" Steve asks George Michael.
George Michael is suddenly struck by an urge to tell Steve everything, how his dad is always busy, his crush on Maeby, everything. Steve seems like the kind of person who would understand. But in the end George Michael just says, "Yeah, I guess."
Steve looks at him a second, as they walk up to room 610. "Okay," Steve says, and unlocks the door.
**
END
Fandoms: Arrested Development/fake news RPF/The Office RPF
Rating: PG
Pairing: George Michael/Maeby
Length: 3700 words
Summary: The comedy band AU. George Michael and Maeby have an awkward relationship.
AN: Set in the same universe as The Euphorizine Days of Summer Tour, and once again for imogenics and kyrafic. For the nothing_hip challenge "Second Chances".
Disclaimer: I don't own the fictional characters. As for the real people, this is very fictional, and no libel is intended.
**
Touring is okay. George Michael thinks he likes it better than Newport Beach, mostly - he doesn't have to worry about the model home falling apart around him, and he's not alone nearly as much. His dad used to be down at the office all the time, but now that his job is managing the band, George Michael sees a lot more of him. Which is good. Family first, right? That's why he spends so much time with Maeby. Family first.
His dad is homeschooling him, in theory, though it mostly works out to George Michael homeschooling himself. It's okay - it's just hard to concentrate in the log cabin, especially when people are fighting. Which is most of the time. And it's bumpy, and sometimes George Michael gets motion sick when he's trying to do something like write an essay on Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury for English.
"You look a little green," Maeby says from across the table. She's sitting so she's moving backwards - George Michael doesn't know how she keeps from throwing up. But then she's just listening to her iPod and looking out the window.
"Oh," George Michael says. "Yeah. It's the swerving." Uncle Gob is driving. At least it's better than Gangee.
George Michael's dad is in the back talking to their sponsors on his cell phone, pressing against his other ear with his free hand, desperately trying to hear. Occasionally he glares at whoever's closest, which in this case is Uncle Buster. His dad does have a point - Uncle Buster is practicing his Native American tribal drumming.
"What are you writing?" Maeby asks, pulling her headphones off her ears.
"That essay on the Faulkner book we were supposed to read," George Michael says. Maeby is supposed to be being homeschooled along with him, but this mostly works out to Maeby not being homeschooled at all.
"You read that?" Maeby says. "Why? Nobody's making you."
"I know," George Michael says. "I just, you know, want to get into a good college, so I can have a good job someday and live a productive life, so it's really important for me to finish this essay."
Maeby raises her eyebrows at him. "Nobody's even going to grade it."
"No, they will," George Michael says. "My dad says he'll have time when we get to Duluth."
"That's what he said about Greensboro," Maeby says. "And remember what happened when we got there?"
George Michael glances involuntarily at Uncle Buster's new prosthetic hand and shudders a little bit. Sometimes - well, he doesn't want to tell his dad this, but sometimes touring with the band can be a little too much family time.
Maeby's got a point, though - his dad hasn't graded any of his papers since they started touring.
"Hey Dad," George Michael says in the hotel lobby in Duluth, as his dad's handing out room keys. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
His dad looks flustered, his hair a little flat on one side. "Gob, you're in 206 with Buster - Gob. GOB." He makes Gob take the keycards and says, "I don't want to hear it," before finally turning to George Michael. "Hey buddy, what's up?"
"I just wanted to talk to you about that essay you wanted me to write -" George Michael says before Lindsay interrupts them.
"Michael," she says. "It's too much pressure."
"Lindsay, it's either sleep with your husband or share a room with Mom," Michael says, in the downright voice he uses when he's had it up to here with the family. "Your choice."
Lindsay winces, then says, "I'll take Mom."
"Your funeral," Michael mutters, and hands her a key. "Room 209." He turns to George Michael thoughtfully with only a few keycards left in his hand, clearly doing the mental arithmetic of room assignments. "George Michael, you don't mind doubling up with your cousin, right?"
"What?" George Michael says. His heart rate picks up. "Um."
Maeby comes up right then and grabs a key out of Michael's hand. "Sure thing, Uncle Michael." She's probably glad 'cause sharing a room means it'll be easier to make George Michael sneak out with her after they're supposed to be in bed.
"Great," Michael says. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about, George Michael?"
George Michael's mind's a blank - all he can think about is Maeby in her pajamas, the pink boxer shorts and tank top with little elephants on it, and his mouth is dry. Finally Maeby grabs him by the elbow. "Come on, George Michael," she says. "Let's see if this hotel has a pool."
**
Maeby decides to go swimming, and it turns out she has a two-piece bathing suit, and that's a little more than George Michael can handle right at the moment. Pajamas are bad enough - a bathing suit is a hundred times worse. The venue they're playing is right across the street from the hotel, so he heads over there instead, even though the band isn't rehearsing this afternoon. Maybe he can get some work done.
The dark of the auditorium contrasts the bright heat of June outside, so that it's hard for George Michael to see until his eyes finally adjust. The cool air that goes along with it is a relief, though, since even Duluth is having a heatwave - George Michael thought it'd be better than South Carolina, but the main difference seems to be that Duluth isn't as air-conditioned.
When he slips into the back, Threat Level Midnight is doing a run-through of one of their peppiest songs. The blonde lady is tapdancing percussion like mad, and Ed's playing the banjo fast, and the music swells all together. He likes their songs, mostly - he's never really been into pop music, but theirs is really good. He sits in the back row and gets out his books to see if he can get some more of his essay written while he listens.
He keeps getting distracted by what's going on onstage, though. There seems to be some discussion of whether Rainn's coming in too early, and whether John is on a power-trip induced by internet message boards. It's good-humored, though, and the girls seem to find it pretty hilarious. Steve eventually has to referee. Sometimes George Michael wishes his family's fights were more like that, all jokey and good natured.
A few rows in front of George Michael and a few seats to the right, Stephen Colbert is sitting and watching all this without much expression. He watches Threat Level Midnight's performances almost every night, George Michael has noticed, standing in the back with his arms crossed. Most of the rest of them don't watch each other's sets, at least not often - they've all heard each other's stuff a lot already, and it's getting boring. But every night Colbert disappears from backstage and if George Michael goes looking, he always finds him watching them perform.
Colbert must see George Michael looking at him in his peripheral vision, because he turns and catches his eye when the music starts up again. George Michael sort of smiles and looks away guiltily, trying to go back to his essay. But Colbert gets up and moves back so he's sitting right in front of George Michael, turned around in his seat to talk to him.
"What're you working on?" he asks, speaking up to be heard over the music.
"Oh," George Michael says. "This essay on Faulkner for school."
"What book?" Stephen says, and reaches out to take the paperback out of George Michael's hands. "Oh, I like this one," he says, when he sees what it is.
"You've read it?" George Michael says.
"Uh huh, a couple of times," Stephen says vaguely. He's looking at the picture on the cover like he's not sure what it's supposed to be.
"Really? Because - well, okay, maybe this is kind of a big favor to ask, but my dad's really busy, and I'm homeschooled, but he's got a lot of management stuff to do for the band, and - he was supposed to grade me in Greensboro, but things happened in Greensboro - "
Stephen looks amused. "Breathe, kiddo."
George Michael breathes and tries to slow down. "Um, do you think you could look over this essay for me and maybe tell me what I'm doing wrong? And, uh, maybe give it a score from 1 to 5?"
Stephen's eyes crinkle a little behind his glasses, but he keeps his mouth serious. "You want me to grade your paper?"
"I know," George Michael says. "It's stupid, I'm sorry, forget it."
"I'd be happy to grade your paper," Stephen says, thumbing through the beginning of the book. "I've always wanted to be a high school teacher. Tell the kids how after his violent revolution, Ghandi was devoured by his followers."
"He was?" George Michael says, startled.
"Nah," Stephen says. "It's a joke I've been sitting on for awhile."
"Oh," George Michael says. "Right."
On stage, Rashida has just done a killer harp solo, and John is pulling her up so he can swoop her into a melodramatic kiss. Nobody seems to know if they're actually dating or just kidding around - George Michael heard Mindy complaining about it the other day to the short guy who plays bass, though the short guy didn't seem to care too much. On stage, there are whoops and catcalls from the rest of the band, and when John lets go of Rashida, she's faintly pink.
**
When the rehearsal breaks up it's nearly dinner time, and Stephen and George Michael leave the auditorium together. George Michael is just thinking he should go find Maeby or his dad when they walk around the corner of the building and see Jon Stewart and Maeby standing there together, both leaning against the wall and smoking, like they're some of the kids at George Michael's high school who were always getting suspended.
George Michael's face must show how shocked he is, because Maeby rolls her eyes at him and says, "They're just clove cigarettes, George Michael, don't have a heart attack."
Stephen's raising one eyebrow at Jon. "I thought you quit smoking," he says.
"I did," Jon says. "I am quitting. I want a cigarette much less after I've just had one."
"Funny," Stephen says.
Maeby takes a drag off her cigarette and starts coughing, which she tries to stifle.
"I think my dad wanted us all to meet back at the hotel before dinner," George Michael says, and Maeby nods desperately, her eyes watering.
"Sure," she manages, and drops her cigarette, toeing it out under a Converse sneaker. "See ya," she says to Jon.
"Take it easy, Maeby," Jon says. As they walk away, George Michael can hear Stephen asking Jon if he should get him his inhaler now or later, and Jon telling him to fuck off.
"What were you guys talking about?" George Michael asks Maeby.
"I don't know," Maeby says. "Stuff. He was telling me about Thomas Jefferson."
"Really?" George Michael says. That sounds… odd.
"Hey, I'm interested in our first president," Maeby says. "Give me liberty or give me death, you know? It's theatrical."
"Our third president," George Michael says, out of reflex more than anything. "And I think you mean Patrick Henry."
"Nooo, I'm pretty sure our third president wasn't Patrick Henry," Maeby says. "Whatever. Hey, do you think we'll be in L.A. by July 4?"
George Michael blinks. "No, I think we're playing Boston the first week in July."
"Hmm," Maeby says, and frowns. "I have to make some calls."
Sometimes George Michael gets the impression there are a lot of things Maeby isn't telling him about. But he shrugs and goes to the family meeting, which somehow ends in him agreeing to help Uncle Gob with his dove trick. He really hopes it's not a dead dove this time.
**
"George Michael," Maeby's hissing. She touches his bare shoulder with one finger, poking him. "Wake up." For a second he can't remember where they are, and his brain spirals through the options. Attic of the model home. The penthouse. Bunkbeds. Stair car. Log cabin. Peoria. Minneapolis.
Duluth, he finally remembers. Sharing a hotel room. There's pale moonlight coming through the curtains, so he can dimly see Maeby's face. The air is thick and hot, the air conditioning barely working, which is why he's sleeping without a shirt. Self-conscious, he bunches the sheet over his chest.
"What?" he says. "What time is it?"
"It's early," Maeby says. "Like 12:30. Come on, wake up, I'm bored."
"You should go to sleep," George Michael says. He's still groggy, and lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
"George Michael!" Maeby whispers again, and keeps poking him until he jerks away from her and sits up.
"Okay!" he says. "I'm up." He reaches off the bed to try to grab his clothes, contorting himself under the covers so he's always covered. Maeby looks at him like he's a freak, but whatever.
He gets dressed as fast as he can, pulling on cargo shorts and an undershirt under the sheet. His regular shirt seems to have disappeared, though - he gets up and tries to look through the pile of clothes on the floor, but he can't find it in just the moonlight, and they don't want to turn on the lights in case someone notices they're not asleep.
He's searching through the bedclothes when Maeby says, "Come on, you're fine! God." He feels all rumpled and untucked, and he's pretty sure his hair is messed up, but Maeby grabs him by the hand and pulls him out the door, and he can't resist that. Their flip-flops flip and flop down the hotel hallway, the only sound over the humming of the ice machine.
They manage to get out of the hotel without any family members seeing them, though he's still half-asleep and blinking in the light of the lobby, so wouldn't have noticed if they did. He thinks they passed Mindy and Paul in the hallway, but the nice thing about the other bands is that they don't seem to care if George Michael and Maeby are out too late, or even hanging around in bars. Mindy just gives them a half-wave and Paul nods, still talking animatedly about lyric writing, and they keep walking.
"Let's go down to the lakefront," Maeby says when they get outside, the moon bright in the sky. The motel's not far from the water, and they walk down to it on the gravel on the shoulder of the road. Maeby keeps holding his hand, even though she's not pulling him anymore. It's nice, her hand in his. He hopes his palms don't get too sweaty.
"What do you think they would do if they caught us sneaking out?" Maeby says. She sounds a little wistful, actually, like she's wishing they would get caught. Which is weird.
"I don't know," George Michael says, and runs his free hand through his hair. "Ground us?" He feels kind of nervous just thinking about it.
"If they didn't get distracted first, maybe," Maeby says, her voice flat. He can't see her expression anymore, her face in shadow. There aren't any street lights on this road, so it's just them in the moonlight, pine trees looming up dark on either side of them, and it's sort of creepy, a little bit. Small towns with no one around. George Michael stumbles a little bit on a dip in the road he didn't see.
"I got wine," Maeby says as he catches himself, and George Michael sees that she's been holding it under her jacket the whole time.
"Oh," he says. "Good. I mean, I like wine." He's never really had wine, but Maeby probably doesn't know that, right?
The road goes around a bend, and then the lake is spread out in front of them, the moon over it so its light stretches out in a long white line along the water. The docks are empty, the black water swishing up against them, and Maeby leads them out to the end of the longest one. She lets go of George Michael's hand and steps out of her flip-flops to sit on the edge, her feet dangling in the water.
"How the water?" he asks, looking at her toes.
"Freezing," she says, but she keeps her feet in, splashing mildly, and sets the bottle of wine next to her.
"Don't you need a corkscrew?" George Michael asks, gingerly sitting on her other side.
"No, it's a screw top," Maeby says, and unscrews it. She drinks straight from the bottle, then hands it to George Michael. He looks at it for a second before he takes a drink too. It's strong, and the smell reminds him of the rubbing alcohol his mother used to put on cuts when he was a little kid, before she died. He winces he a little bit, and hands the bottle back to Maeby.
They pass it back and forth, the wood of the dock under George Michael's hands still holding some warmth from the day's sun. It's rough and splintery, and when he puts his feet in the water it's as cold as it looked, and a breeze ruffles his hair up even more. After five or six swigs of wine he's starting to feel a little dizzy.
Maeby's looking across the lake thoughtfully. "Do you think John Krasinski is single?" she asks.
George Michael almost chokes on his sip of wine and starts coughing. "What?" he says.
"Or do you think he's dating that Rashida chick?"
George Michael scratches a bug bite on his knee - the mosquitoes are really out tonight. "I mean, why do you care?" he says.
Maeby shrugs. "I don't know. He's cute, don't you think?"
"No," George Michael says. "And he's way too old for you."
Maeby makes a face at him. "I can act pretty mature for my age." She takes the wine bottle out of his hand, and their fingertips brush.
The wind picks up in the trees, and the water laps against the dock a little harder. In the distance, there's a boat motor going in the darkness, the light on the front of the boat a green dot against the water.
"I just don't know why you have to like that guy," George Michael says. "He's got girls following him around all the time. And I mean, you could get any guy you want."
Maeby looks at him for a second and smiles. "Thanks, George Michael," she says. "You're sweet." Then she leans in to peck him on the lips.
George Michael feels like his heart is about to stop; he can't move. Her lips are warm and dry, and when she pulls back, she looks at him thoughtfully. Then he can't help it - he leans in to kiss her again, a real kiss this time, and she kisses him back, and they're kissing and kissing.
His tongue is in her mouth when the wake from the boat in the distance finally reaches them, slapping against the dock. It sends little drops of water flying up against them, and the water laps high on his legs so he's freezing up to his shins.
The splash of cold water makes Maeby pull back. "Oh no," she says, and looks panicky.
He clears his throat. Crap. They both jump up and step into their flip-flops, and they're booking it back to the hotel, not looking at each other in the dark. They don't slow down until they hit the brightness of the hotel lobby, empty except for the desk clerk, who looks sleepy and bored.
"Um," Maeby says.
"You go back to the room," George Michael says. "I - um. I'll stay down here." There's no way they can share a room after this.
"Thanks," Maeby says, and disappears up the stairs. George Michael looks around and thinks about where he's going to sleep. It's past two in the morning, and he doesn't want to wake up his dad or anybody else. They're leaving Duluth at seven a.m., so it's not even like he's got that much more of the night to kill. Maybe he can just sleep in one of the lobby chairs?
He tries to get comfortable in the armchair in the darkest corner, slumping down so his head is against the back of it. It's not that bad. He closes his eyes and tries to drift off.
He's pretty tired, so it actually kind of works. He thinks, anyway - he's not actually sure if he was asleep when voices jog him out of it, but he was pretty close. He slowly blinks his eyes open and sees Stephen Colbert and Steve Carell walking into the lobby together. They stop and look at him.
"George Michael?" Stephen says. "What are you doing down here at three in the morning?"
"Um," George Michael says, and tries to think fast. He's really groggy, though, and thinking fast has never been his strong suit.
"Did you get locked out?" Steve asks kindly.
"Oh," George Michael says. Phew, that's it. "Yeah, I did. And I didn't want to wake anybody up. It's no big deal, I'm fine."
"That looks really uncomfortable," Stephen says, looking at the chair.
"Yeah," Steve says. "You want to come crash in my room? I have an extra bed."
"Really?" George Michael says. "Wow, yeah, that would be great!" He gets up out of the chair, and walks with them to the elevator. Steve puts his hand on George Michael's shoulder in a comforting, fatherly sort of way, and George Michael sees Steve and Stephen exchange glances.
Stephen Colbert gets off on the fourth floor. "'Night, Stephen," Steve says quietly, and Stephen smiles as the door closes.
"You doing okay?" Steve asks George Michael.
George Michael is suddenly struck by an urge to tell Steve everything, how his dad is always busy, his crush on Maeby, everything. Steve seems like the kind of person who would understand. But in the end George Michael just says, "Yeah, I guess."
Steve looks at him a second, as they walk up to room 610. "Okay," Steve says, and unlocks the door.
**
END