All the Friends You Need (5/5)
MIKE
Left right left right right right left. Mike guided the ball through the course easily, soothed by the familiar rhythm of the drill. Right left right left left left right. And back again, an easy sequence. Mike grinned as he reached the end, only to look up and see his team’s stony faces. He rolled his eyes and went to join the back of the line.
“Hey, Carden,” Pete Wentz called from across the field. “Come here for a second, let’s talk strategy.”
It wasn’t every day that Pete stopped talk to him, but he didn’t actively avoid Mike either, oblivious to the crowd sentiment. It made sense in a weird way; Pete had an even worse reputation than Mike but somehow he’d still managed to make it to the top of the social heap - soccer captain, drama dictator, and senior class president. Mike had no idea how he’d managed it, but he envied Pete sometimes.
“Are you making me swap positions with Evans?” he asked Pete as he approached. “’cos I think that would be a terrible idea. That kid is not an attacking midfielder, no matter what he says.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you, or the team,” Pete said easily. “I just wanted an excuse to get you over here.”
Mike eyed him warily. “Are you hitting on me?”
Pete snorted. “I just wanted to let you know there’s a ticket with your name on it for the opening night of the musical.”
“What?” Mike said. “I didn’t buy a ticket. I don’t want a ticket.”
“Let’s not be so hasty,” Pete said. “I’ve noticed that you never come to any of the drama productions, figured it wasn’t your thing. But the Aussie kid bought you a ticket.”
“What?” Mike said again, still confused. Michael did what? Why?
“You should go and support your friends, man,” Pete said, clapping him on the back, and falling in step with him as they walked back toward the rest of the team. “Take in a little culture at the same time. Mend some fences.”
“Mend what fences? I’m not fighting with Michael,” Mike said.
“What?” Pete said mockingly, then laughed. “Just come, man, all will be revealed.”
“Carden, you’re up!” Coach shouted.
Pete winked, and said, “See you tomorrow night.” And with that, he was off, running across the field whooping, with his arms outstretched.
“Are you deaf, Carden? Do you want an engraved invite? Get up here!” Coach roared, and Mike lurched forward to the start of the course.
Right left right left - His mind was a jumble. What did Pete mean by ‘mending fences’? And a musical, for fuck’s sake. What was it even about? Mike tapped the ball from one side to another. Left left - he stumbled, and the ball skittered away from his feet. Coach blew his whistle, shrill and angry.
“What’s the matter, Carden? You got more important things to think about than the game this weekend?” Coach yelled.
Mike shook his head to clear it. “No, coach,” he said, frowning, as he chased down the ball, guiding it back to the start of the drill.
Left right left right left left right, and back, a perfect run.
“That’s more like it,” Coach said gruffly. “Keep your head in the game at all times, kid.”
Mike nodded. No more distractions. But when Pete jogged past again as he stood in line, Mike reached out and pulled him to a stop.
“When’s your stupid play?”
Pete grinned. “Knew you’d come around. Curtain’s at 7. We’ll make a music lover of you yet!” He jogged away backwards. “You better come…I’ve got a surprise for everyone!”
Mike scowled at Pete. “I already love music," he muttered, "and I hate surprises."
Michael was waiting for him at his locker the next morning.
“You bought me a ticket to the Spring musical,” Mike said.
“Good morning to you too,” Michael said, amused. “And yeah, I did. You can collect it at the door tonight.”
“Were you going to tell me?” Mike said, throwing his books into his locker with more force than necessary. “Or, you know, even ask me if I wanted to go?”
“Aw, I’m sorry I did it all wrong. Okay, Mike, do you want to go to the school musical with me?” Michael’s tone was serious, but his eyes were bright with barely suppressed laughter.
“No,” he answered grumpily, but he couldn’t help adding, “Anyway, it’s not even with you, you’ll be on stage.”
“Under the stage, actually,” Michael said, “Us musos aren’t pretty enough to be seen.”
Mike bit back any comment about Michael’s prettiness. He settled for asking, as casually as he could, “So what’s the point of me going then, if I won’t even be able to see you?”
“Moral support. My aunt and uncle can’t make it, but it’ll make me happy to know you’re out there, for me.”
“Fine, twist my arm, I’ll go,” Mike grumbled, even as a warm feeling washed over him at the idea of Michael needing him there. “You know I’m helpless against such a sob story.”
“You’re a real softy,” Michael agreed, smiling. “Anyway, there’s a full dress rehearsal during the afternoon, and one last music run-through right after school so I probably won’t see you before the performance. But come backstage and find me afterwards, okay? We can head over to the party together.”
“What party?” Mike said suspiciously. “I don’t party with - ”
“It’s the first night party at Ashlee's place,” Michael explained. “You have to come with me. Sounds like it’s going to get pretty wild once Pete’s big surprise is revealed. Also, I don’t really drink.”
“Oh god, Pete’s surprises,” Mike said, then he asked, amazed, “Wait, what? You don’t drink? But you’re an Australian! Don’t they, like, feed you beer from birth?”
Michael shrugged. “I’ll have a beer or two every now and then, yeah, but it's not like - most of my family don’t drink.”
“So why go to the party?” Mike asked. “Everyone’s going to be off their faces. Gabe pours alcohol down everyone’s throats like it's milk - ” He trailed off as he realized he hadn’t hung out with those guys for two years now.
Michael just said, “All the more reason for you to come and protect me from that fate.”
He leaned down and gave Mike a proper hug. Mike was so surprised that he put his arms around Michael automatically before he knew what was happening.
“If it means that much to you,” he said, embarrassed at the way his insides seemed liquid with Michael’s arm around him, warm breath gusting over his ear.
Across the hall, a freshmen stared at them, one arm still around each other Mike scowled at him and he skittered away, darting a scared look over his shoulder as he went.
“Thanks mate, you’re a real champ.” Michael said, letting him go with a clap on his back.
“Anytime,” Mike said weakly.
**
By the time the curtain fell, the auditorium was in chaos. Pockets of the crowd were clapping and cheering, but some, like the couple next to Mike, were gathering up their things and leaving without a word or single sound of applause. Some people had even left at the intermission, muttering about calling the Board, while others seemed to have sat through just so they could throng the stage, demanding answers in angry voices. Mike could just see Pete over the tops of their heads, as he sat on the edge of the stage, grinning manically. Mike watched the people streaming left and right of him, and couldn't see a way through. He didn't much feel like braving backstage and all the cast and crew, not yet. Not ever. Well, at least not on his own.
He went to his car instead. He put his key in the ignition but didn't turn it; but sat there instead as the parking lot emptied around him - the noisy chatter of irate grandparents and bemused parents and laughing children finally fading until there were only a smattering of cars left. Mike sat, and listened to the radio, and thought about leaving, but he didn't.
Finally, the passenger door opened, and Michael ducked his head in. "Can I put my stuff in your boot?" he asked nonsensically, but Mike popped the trunk out of habit for Michael's guitar and amp. Michael then threw himself into the front seat.
"Thanks for waiting," he said, all smiles. "Now where to, mate?"
As Mike pulled away from the curb, he had the sudden urge to speed off in the opposite direction. He thought about suggesting they skip the party altogether, grab a couple of cherry cokes, and head somewhere quiet, by themselves. But in the end, he sighed, hung a left, and said, "Ashlee Simpson's place, right?"
They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Mike frowned and said, "Hang on, the party's still on?"
"That's still what everyone was saying when I left," Michael said, shrugging. "Dunno how the Board will react. I guess they could cancel the play, everyone feels they might as well make the most of it and party now."
Mike snorted. "That's the drama crowd for you."
They didn't talk the rest of the way to Ashlee's house, Michael humming along to the mix in Mike's car with Mike drumming along on the steering wheel.
As they neared Ashlee's place, the sounds of the party were spilling out over the lawn through the open windows and doors.
"Gimme your jacket, I'll take it upstairs," Mike said as they walked up the path to the house. As they got closer, he felt more and more like this was a terrible idea. He didn't want to be here, in the midst of this party where no one wanted him around.
"No, wait, I'll come up with you - " Michael said, but at that moment, Brendon ran up and tapped him on the back.
"Chizzy! Come and help me with this argument with Spencer about - "
Michael looked helplessly at Mike as Brendon towed him away. Mike smiled tightly and headed up the stairs on his own. First on the left was the guest room, the bed piled high with coats and bags. Mike threw their jackets on the top and turned to leave, but then he sat down instead by the bed, leaned his head back against the bedspread, and listened to everyone else having fun downstairs.
"Hey," he heard someone say softly.
Mike looked up and saw William standing at the door, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck, as if nervous. It was the first word William had said to him in almost two years.
"Hey," Mike said in guarded tones. But it must've been friendlier than William expected, for he seemed to relax before Mike's eyes and he came into the room. He laid coats down on the bed and sat on the floor beside Mike.
“You - um - you still sing well,” Mike finally said, stumbling over his words.
William blinked. "You came to the musical?" he asked. He pushed the bangs out of his eyes then said, almost shyly, “Thanks. Was it - did you enjoy it?”
"It was a lot more exciting than I expected," Mike said, trying to keep a straight face. "Does a mob with torches and pitchforks storm the stage after every performance?"
"Only if you do it like we do," William said with a grin. He looked over at Mike from under his lashes and said, almost shyly, "So, what was your favorite part?"
Mike pretended to be giving it deep serious thought. "Well, I couldn't quite choose between the moment half the audience had an apoplexy at the sight of you in sequins with a bow on your ass asking them to pet you, or when the other half keeled over at the sight of Greta and Ashlee making out on top of that bar."
William laughed, genuinely delighted.
“Mind you, I definitely saw way too much of you than I’m really comfortable with,” Mike said quickly. “You in Adelaide’s showgirl costumes, that was really something. I’d rather have Greta in a sharp suit any day.”
William punched him lightly on the arm. “Hey! I’ll have you know that I worked damn hard on my feminine wiles. I thought I made a pretty hot woman.”
“Ah, did Pete tell you that? ‘cos if you did, I have some bad news to break to you...”
William pursed his lips and frowned at him in mock outrage and anger, and Mike snickered. It was so comfortable for a moment - like they had never fought or stopped being friends - that Mike's chest hurt as he realized how much he'd missed William.
“So, you and Greta going to keep playing those parts through the whole run of the musical?” Mike asked to break the sudden silence.
“We’ll see what happens,” William said. “I mean, I did learn Sky’s part and all, and Greta does a great Adelaide, that’s how we got away with it, but, you know.” He looked down and picked at a hole at the knee of his jeans, once more the skinny teenager and not the glamorous, bold showgirl he’d been just an hour or so before. Mike marvelled at the difference an audience could make, the way William could turn it on so bright when he was on stage
Then William perked up and said, “But we’ll definitely keep doing it this way over the next couple of performances. Ashlee says her dad’s heard all about it and is absolutely frothing at the mouth, but what can he do from Jess' father-daughter college weekend?"
"Oh man, Pete knew all that and he planned it just so, didn't he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," William said with a grin. "But it definitely seems like there's nothing he can do until school starts on Monday. Pete doesn't give a shit about what the Board’s going to do. He's got weeks until graduation, and he has early acceptance. He's all taken care of, and we have three more performances over the weekend."
Christine peered around the door. "William, have you been eaten up by the coats - oh, hey Mike."
She smiled at them both, a quiet smile. Mike met her eyes, the first time in a long while, and he realized with a wrench that there was forgiveness in her eyes. Maybe it had always been there and he just hadn’t seen; hadn’t wanted to see it.
“Anyway, I was surprised to see you there,” William said as they walked down the stairs in tandem. “I know musical theatre isn't - well, it wasn't - your thing.”
“Maybe I’m a man of greater cultural depth than you know,” Mike said, then admitted, “Actually, Michael made - uh, invited me.”
William just said cryptically, “Oh of course he did.” He paused at the base of the stairs and said, "Um, so I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For, you know. But we're - I think - you and me?"
Mike stared at him then said slowly, "We're good, yeah. And I'm sorry, too."
"So, come and hang out with us," William said, tugging on the sleeve of Mike's shirt, a familiar gesture.
Mike frowned, but William's face was open and sincere and Mike relaxed as he realized William meant well. But Mike knew that making up with William wasn’t the same as making up with the rest of his old crowd, the rest of the school. Even now, he could see Tom glaring at them from across the room, as if any moment preparing to come over and drag William away or punch Mike in the face.
Mike decided for him. He shook William off gently and said, "Maybe another day. We'll catch up. But you should go and bask in your adoring crowd now, it's your night."
He gave William a soft nudge. William gave him a crooked, shy smile in return as he loped away, covering the length of the room in long strides. As he neared them, his friends broke out in a chorus of cheers and catcalls, William bowing and curtseying in obvious delight. Mike slid away, unseen. In a dark corner of the room, they'd shoved a table out of the way and Mike hoisted himself onto it, sitting with his back up against the wall.
Michael found him not ten minutes later, two cups in hand.
"I've been looking all over for you," Michael said, handing over one of the cups. Mike took a tiny sip, then a bigger gulp. It was Coke, unadulterated. Michael grinned and said, "I poured it out of the bottle myself. But I've heard warnings about the punch bowl."
He pulled himself onto the table beside Mike. "I saw you talking to William before," Michael said quietly. He paused, then added, "I take it went well, since no one's legs were broken."
"Hah," Mike said. "That's just unkind." He smiled to show that he'd taken no real offense. "Yeah, it was alright, actually. You engineered this, didn't you? With the free ticket and everything."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Michael said, straight-faced. "But a certain skinny singer might've expressed a moment or two of regret about a friendship and wanting to make amends. I just wanted you to get a bit of culture, that's all."
"Fucker," Mike said, punching Michael lightly in the arm. He sat back and said quietly, "Thanks, though. I feel - it's all good."
"No worries," Michael said. They sat there side by side, hands barely touching on the table top, shoulders close enough to bump against each other from time to time. Around them the party went on, the party went off.
Travis, Greta and Patrick were holding court in the corner across from them, a motley assortment of cast and crew basking in their presence. Brendon was sitting cross-legged at Patrick's feet, in rapt attention, interjecting excitedly every now and then. Spencer had one arm looped loosely around his waist, holding him steady whenever Brendon threatened to physically leap into the midst of a debate, or when he looked in danger of toppling over with the force of his convictions. Both of them seemed happy with this arrangement.
Mike continued scanning the room, groaning when he caught sight of Butcher and Sisky. "Ugh, those two are so cute it's making me sick."
Michael followed his gaze and grinned when he saw them too. Sisky was sitting astride Butcher on the couch, Butcher's hands wandering lower and lower by the second as they made out.
"Cute is not the word for it," Michael said solemnly a second later.
"My eyes!" Mike said then burst out laughing when an even more scandalized-looking William dove over and yelled in Butcher's ear as the guardian of Sisky’s virtue for the night. Butcher raised both his hands high above his head, looking contrite.
But as soon as William turned away, he slid his hands under the waist of Sisky’s jeans and poked his tongue out at William’s back, until Sisky started making out with him again.
On the dance floor, Gabe and Vicky T were busy corrupting another young innocent, though Nate didn’t look for a second like he minded being sandwiched between the two.
Just to their left, Pete was haphazardly DJing, hopping between playlists on his iPod when he wasn’t too busy making his moves on Ashlee, still in her Salvation Army costume. As she talked on excitedly, Pete reached out behind him without looking and skipped to the next song. Mike rolled his eyes as the music changed from Jay-Z to Justin Bieber.
"Pete's taste is giving me whiplash," he complained. Michael just frowned. Baby was playing above them at about 150 decibels, so he resorted to shrugging and miming "What?" Mike slid closer and repeated his observation in Michael's ear.
Michael laughed. He slipped an arm around Mike's shoulders and turned his head toward Mike to answer. "Wait until he puts on his Mayer megamix," he said, making a face.
Mike grimaced as Michael nodded solemnly, then they both cracked up laughing. Just then, the sounds of Your Body is a Wonderland started playing, and they both broke up laughing again. And Mike realized that he might never truly fit in at school - but right here, right now, with Michael's arm around him, drinking and watching the crowd and making fun of the music, he couldn’t care less what else the world thought.
**
"Want to come over tomorrow afternoon?" Michael asked on the last day of school for the year, leaning against the locker door beside Mike's. "My aunt and uncle are going away for the weekend. I'll bring my guitars and the amp down to the garage, we can jam as loud as we like for as long as we want."
"Yeah, yeah, sounds good," Mike said distractedly, trying to clear out his locker. Old gym socks, now rank - in the trash. A donut in plastic wrap - Mike couldn't remember when he'd left that there, but it looked like it might still be edible. Yeah, it was probably still good. He chucked it into his backpack for later. His Calc textbook went in his bag too, though with less enthusiasm. Western Civ essay with a C in bright red at the top - trash. And so on, until the junk was all cleared away. Michael said bye to the occasional person and chatted about their plans for the summer, but stood by patiently the whole time until Mike was ready to leave.
"I'm still pretty keen on the band idea," Michael said in the car. "So yeah, tomorrow. We could work on those two songs you showed me."
Mike peered into the sunlight as he drove and hummed along with the radio under his breath.
"I mean, we've got the whole summer ahead of us, that's pretty awesome. Also, Sisky's improved heaps on the bass, and Butcher knows a guy who might let us play a set at this bar if we get good enough. What d'you think?"
"You've got it all planned already, why do you even need me to say yes?" Mike said, a little grumpily. After weeks about hearing how it could be, he was pretty much won over by Michael's enthusiasm - and okay, a little bit by his own secret dreams of being a rockstar. He just wasn't quite ready to admit it.
"Because it wouldn't work without you," Michael said earnestly. "I know you want to, we need you."
"Yeah, fine," Mike said finally, "We'll give this thing a go. Don't have anything better to do anyway." Like he could've ever said no to Michael anyway.
"Awesome. Come over at two? And I'll see if Butcher and Sisky can make it as well."
The next day, as Mike walked up Michael's driveway, he could see that Michael had, as promised, a pretty awesome set-up in his aunt and uncle's empty garage, a mess of cables and amps around his guitars and his pedal board. Michael was seated on a milk crate in the middle the room, tuning his Gretsch, lit up by a ray of sun through the murky window in the top right corner of the garage. He looked up as Mike reached the door and grinned widely.
"Like what I've done with the place?"
"It's atmospheric," Mike said drily.
"I could light a few candles for mood lighting if you want."
"Not that kind of atmosphere," Mike said hurriedly as Michael laughed.
"So the others are coming?" Mike asked, unpacking his own guitar out of its case, giving it an experimental strum. It was a bit out of tune, so he sat down cross-legged on the floor and hefted it onto his lap.
"Ah, they said they'd be by later," Michael said, head down over a tangled cable by one of the amps.
Mike shrugged and said, "Oh well, more time to muck around for us, awesome."
"Yeah, awesome," Michael echoed, pulling the crate over to sit next to Mike.
Mike picked out of the chords of the first song in his head. Michael frowned, his face clearing into a smile as he realized what it was and followed easily, joining in at the chorus, his voice husky as he sang along. They traded hooks for a while, playing their favorites, showing off for each other.
Michael was playing the beginning of Nothing Else Matters absentmindedly when he said, head down over his guitar, "So, my mum originally said I could quit school at the end of year - at the end of sophomore year. But then sent me out here and said one year more." He played a few more chords, increasingly discordant. "After that, they said I could make my own decisions - to stay or travel, do whatever I want."
Mike bit his lip, then he asked, feeling his heart sinking, "So - next stop London?"
He and Michael had talked about it so many times in class, about busking around Europe, travelling around new cities and playing music. But he'd always thought of it as just shooting the shit, dreaming big dreams that would keep him going through the boredom of school and then college. He'd banked on a few more years with Michael by his side, at least.
"I thought pretty seriously about it, yeah," Michael admitted. "One of my mates from Sydney's already over there, and I could stay with some people from my family's church."
"So it's all arranged, huh," Mike said flatly. They'd both stopped playing now, and the silence was ugly and harsh to Mike's ears. He put his guitar back on its stand and stepped up, balling his hands into fists. He kept them clenched by his side, trying to hold back the panic, rising as anger. "All these big plans for a band, all the friends you've made here - " His voice sounded so distant and thin through the blood rushing in his ears. "We've all just been a distraction, something to pass the time until you can get the hell out of here."
"Mike, I - " Michael stepped forward, reaching out a hand toward Mike's shoulder, close enough to touch.
The garage door swung upwards with a groan. Mike took a step back and squinted into the flood of light from the outside.
"What's up?" Butcher said happily as he walked in, Sisky trailing in behind. Mike noted they were holding hands. "Hey, he's here early," Butcher continued, "I thought you said three, Chizzy."
Mike raised an eyebrow. Michael had the grace to look embarrassed.
"You guys didn't start without us, right?" Sisky said. He let go of Butcher's hand reluctantly, shifting the case of his bass guitar to his right hand.
"We weren't doing anything," Mike said shortly, not meeting Michael's eyes.
"I want to hear this song of yours that Chizzy keeps raving about," Butcher said, rubbing his hands. "But first, can I set up my drums in here? Dan's gonna drive it down for me if it's okay."
"Yeah, sure. Aunt Lou and Uncle Ray won't be back until Tuesday, it's not a problem."
"Hey, why didn't you bring it down yourself?" Mike said curiously.
"Uh, we lost track of time?" Butcher said, glancing across at Sisky, whose ears were turning red.
Mike looked at Sisky more closely. His t-shirt was askew at the collar, red marks just visible. Sisky clapped a hand over the spot guiltily when he noticed Mike watching him and Michael wolf-whistled as he caught on. Sisky started to shift behind Butcher, embarrassed, as Michael said goodnaturedly, "It's nothing we haven't seen before. At Ashlee's party - "
Sisky moaned and buried his head in Butcher's shoulder.
"Don't worry babe, I enjoyed the show," Butcher said wickedly. He turned his head and dropped a kiss lightly on the top of Sisky's head.
"Ugh, young love," Mike muttered, sitting down on the crate and picking up his guitar.
"Don't be such a cynic," Michael said, in a tone so sharp that Mike looked up. He was surprised by the fierce fondness and frustration in Michael's eyes.
Outside, a horn honked. "That'd be Dan," Butcher said. "Sisky, want to come and help me bring my set in?"
Michael came and sat behind Mike, reaching around him, putting his fingers on the fret board. Mike strummed aimlessly, letting Michael set the chords.
"So, back to what I was saying before - " Michael started to say. Mike stiffened, but he couldn't escape with Michael pressed up close and playing the guitar with him, his other arm looped loosely around Mike's waist. "I thought about going away, yeah, but mostly when I first got here, when I knew nobody. But now, I think I wouldn't mind sticking it out for another year." He paused, then grinned and added, "It'll give me another year to convince you to take a gap year and come to London with me after graduation."
Mike looked at Michael, sunlight on his hair, eyes bright with his grin. He thought, I don't know what you're talking about again, but whatever you ask, I'll always end up saying yes.
Out loud, he just said, "What about the band?"
Michael threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, so now you're worried about our band? Well, I think if we work hard enough we'll be so awesome that we'll get signed and then we'll travel the world playing music together forever. What do you think about that?"
"I think you're dreaming," Mike said. But he could almost see it in his head, carried away by Michael's enthusiasm. Big arenas, big lights, big cheers...
"One day," Michael promised solemnly, "One day we'll get there, you and me."
There was a clanging noise outside the door, cymbals against wood. "Is your manly heart-to-heart over yet? Can we come back in?" Butcher yelled through the door.
"Yeah, like you guys weren't making out by the side of the house while Dan did all the heavy lifting," Mike yelled back.
But then he went outside and helped the others bring Butcher's gear in. After they had set it all up, Michael went over the song Mike had written. Butcher listened, nodded, and started tapping out a beat on his kit. They came in one by one, building up the song, playing one part over the next until it sounded full, almost done. But it still didn't sound completely right, not quite how Mike had heard it in his head over and over when he wrote it.
"It's still missing something!" Mike said, frustrated.
There was a staccato knock on the garage door then - three taps, then one, three again. Mike started - he hadn't heard that in two years. At first, he thought he might've imagined it; listening to Michael talk about their dreams before, the sheer force of his confidence in their ability to make it - it had reminded Mike painfully of William in that moment.
But then, the garage door swung open with that awful groan again, and it was William letting himself in, just like he'd done every summer at Mike's when they were young.
There was a moment of tension, everyone holding their places, silence.
Mike moved forward. He stopped himself just in time from reaching out to touch William on the arm, as if to prove he really was there, in the flesh. He asked instead, voice a little hoarse, "What are you doing here?" Why would you finally come back?
William looked over Mike's shoulder for a moment, and Mike knew he was catching Michael's eye. Michael, meddling again. But Mike was glad for it, deep down. William must’ve gotten the answer he was looking for, because a slow smile worked its way across his face as he looked back at Mike, this time steadily.
"If you're gonna start a band, you're gonna need a singer, right?" And he gestured at himself, a flourish. Here I am, it said.
And here they were, all the friends Mike had ever wanted - his band.
END
ETA: Oh, and because littlerhymes reminded me, and so you can see just how long I've taken to write this damn story, I originally wrote a ficlet about the bake sale from Sisky's POV for her for Christmas two years ago --> The Cool Kids
And speaking of bake sales, please have a bonus recipe for lamingtons :)