Fic: Since Sliced Bread (Bandom, Bob Bryar/Spencer Smith, PG-13)
Title: Since Sliced Bread
Author: allyndra
Pairing: Spencer/Bob
Rating: FRT
Length: 5,600-ish words
Summary: Spencer is not won over by Bob’s charms like everyone else in school.
Disclaimer: Fake. Fake, fake, made up lies that are not true.
Notes: High School AU set in an I’m Not Okay-verse in the mid-nineties. Ages have been tweaked a bit. For snarkyrainbow who wanted Bob/Spencer in the same ‘verse as Nothing’s Fair in Love or High School. Someday I will write a bandom fic that is not a high school AU, but today is not that day.
Spencer didn’t get what was so great about Bob Bryar, anyway. He didn’t do the straight-As-and-a-seat-on-Student-Council good boy thing, he didn’t do the skipping-school-and-threatening-teachers bad boy thing, and he wasn’t a jock. But somehow, without his taking any of those usual routes to popularity, everyone in school seemed to think he was the second coming.
"You’re staring at Bob again," Brendon told him, stealing the can of pudding out of Spencer’s lunch.
"Glaring," Spencer corrected. "Not staring."
"Sure." Brendon pulled the top off the can and made a show of licking it clean. Spencer was pretty sure Brendon was going cut his tongue off doing that one of these days. He didn’t know if that would be such a bad thing.
A burst of high pitched giggles rang out, and Spencer glared at the cluster of freshman girls who were sitting at the top of the bleachers and gazing down at Bob. "He is not that cool," Spencer insisted. "All he ever does is hang out with his loser friends."
Brendon raised his eyebrows. "Which is so different from what you do," he said. And Spencer had to admit, his own friends were total losers. "Besides, he’s in a band. That’s cool."
"That could be cool. If the band is lame, it does not convey cool points." Spencer was maybe a little bitter that he could bang the hell out of the drums playing Wipe Out in pep band and he still got called a band geek, while a bunch of guys dicking around in their garage got admiration.
Spencer noticed a group of drama kids rolling their eyes and shouting mockery as Bob’s short friend tried to wriggle through the space between the bench and foot board of the bleachers. He was giggling the whole time, like falling to his death amongst old cigarette butts and spilled soda was hilarious. Spencer shook his head. "No one else in his band gets hit on by cheerleaders."
Brendon nodded. "Maybe the saying is true, then," he said wisely. "Maybe blonds do have more fun." Spencer snorted and looked (glared!) back over at Bob, whose hair shone bright gold in the sun as he threw his head back to laugh at his friend, who was stuck halfway through the bleachers.
"Spencer. Hey, Spencer," Brendon said, jostling his shoulder and drawing his attention back. Brendon’s voice was excited, and he was bouncing a little. Combined with the smear of pudding on his cheek, it made him look about five years old. "You’d help me bleach my hair, right? I could totally pull off blond."
Spencer spent the last five minutes of lunch trying to convince Brendon that no, he really, really couldn’t. When the bell rang, he stuffed all his trash into his lunch bag and followed Brendon back into the building, only glancing over his shoulder once at where Bob was tugging on his friend’s arms, trying to extract him from the bleachers.
So Bob wasn’t enough of an asshole to leave his buddy stranded. That still didn’t make him cool.
***
If Spencer hadn’t known Ryan and Brendon since forever, he would have thought they only liked him for his internet connection. The three of them usually rushed over to Spencer’s right after school so they could log on before anyone else got home and needed the phone line. They all took off their jackets and ties the second they got into the house, dumping them on the sofa in a pile. Ryan and Brendon each grabbed a chair from the dinner table and lugged it over to the computer, settling them on either side of the computer chair.
"I don’t know why you always get the good chair," Ryan muttered. He complained about at it least once a week. "I mean, we’re the guests."
Spencer arched his eyebrows at Ryan. "Once you have your own toothbrush in my bathroom, you no longer qualify as a guest." He wiggled ostentatiously in the padded computer chair and clicked the mouse to initialize the modem.
Ryan huffed out an irritated sigh. "You know your mom probably thinks we’re looking at porn," he said.
"Oh, my God," Spencer said, shuddering. "Shut up!" He didn’t want his mom ever connecting Spencer and porn in her mind, much less Spencer, Ryan, Brendon, and porn. Ryan just smirked, but Brendon was blushing bright red. He might brag about shoplifting porno mags from the convenience store, but he still had an inherent respect for mothers.
"It’s bullshit, anyway," Brendon said, despite his red cheeks. "She always looks at the songs we print. So, she knows."
Ryan leaned over Spencer to type a URL into the address bar. "You know what would really convince her that we’re not having hot teenaged computer orgies?" he asked. He had to duck back fast to avoid the fist Spencer aimed at his head. "We should actually play those songs. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve heard you can use them to make music."
Brendon blinked at him. "I play them," he said. Spencer believed it. Brendon was kind of a freak about music. He probably took home the music they downloaded and played it on five different instruments before bed every night. And then dreamed about transposing it for the flugelhorn.
"I meant together. We should play together," Ryan said.
Spencer sat back hard, making his chair squeak. "Are you asking us to start a band with you?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. He wasn’t blushing as hard as Brendon, but his cheeks were a little bit pink, and he looked down at his hands. Since he wasn’t looking, he failed to dodge this time when Spencer smacked him across the back of the head.
"Asshole," Spencer said. "Next time you have a good idea, don’t start out talking about my mom and sex."
Ryan’s eyes flickered up. "Yeah? You’re in?"
"We are so in, Ryan Ross," Brendon said. He beamed at Spencer. "Didn’t I just tell you bands were cool? I just said that. We’re going to be awesome."
Spencer tried to look cool and disaffected, but he could feel the smile tugging at his mouth. He could see Ryan failing just as badly, which made him feel better. Because Ryan was the king of disaffected. "We’re going to be awesome," Spencer repeated.
They totally were.
***
They practiced in Spencer's garage, and he refused to feel hypocritical about his disparagement of garage bands. For one thing, most of that disparagement took place inside his head, where he was allowed to make bitchy comments all he wanted. And for another thing, they weren't just goofing off and calling it practice. They took this band seriously.
Brendon took it seriously in a totally Brendon-like way, with intense creativity and focus interspersed with bursts of turning cartwheels and singing the jingles from commercials instead of the songs he was supposed to be rehearsing. (He was especially partial to the Toys R Us song. Spencer thought it was because of the way Ryan's eyelids twitched at the high notes.)
Ryan was serious about it in a much more contained way. Except when he was yelling. It would have been weird to see him going from deadpan to shouting in 3.5 seconds if Spencer didn't remember the first summer they'd tried to learn how to skateboard. Ryan had been just the same then, only with skinned knees and floppier hair.
Spencer had his own way of taking it seriously, which involved a little planning, a little worrying, and a whole lot of playing the hell out of his drums. The drums were fantastic for relieving stress and taking out his anger when things weren‘t working out, and Spencer felt a little sorry for Ryan and Brendon, with their puny guitars. He wondered if the person who invented the drums - way back in the caveman days - had had problems with stress. Probably not. Back then, you could probably get away with just clubbing whoever pissed you off over the head.
The people who pissed Spencer off were usually his sisters, Brendon, or various members of the Bob Bryar Fan Club, so it was just as well he had his drum kit. He’d rather be a great drummer than a convict any day.
***
Pep rallies were definitely the work of the devil. Spencer didn’t know why he’d even signed up for pep band, but he thought Brendon was probably to blame. He couldn’t think of any other reason he’d volunteer to play bouncy tunes to cheer on a team full of guys who shoved him in the hallways.
Fortunately, pretty much all of the other drummers in the school felt the same way, so Spencer got control of the school’s one drum kit, walling himself off from the bedlam of screaming students, cheerleaders waving blue pompoms, and the stupid dog mascot. The guy inside the dog costume could barely see, and he stumbled around the gym, narrowly avoiding crashing the entire cheerleader pyramid to the ground. He was a menace. A floppy eared menace.
Brendon played the xylophone, so he was near Spencer at the back of the band, crammed into one corner of the gym. Ryan wasn’t in band at all, because he worked on the school paper for his extracurricular. Spencer was comforted by the thought that he was sitting in the bleachers, suffering through the yelling and cheering and bad renditions of fight songs.
The only good thing about pep rallies was that they got out of school early on pep rally days. Most of the kids took off the second the lacrosse team left the gym, leaving the custodial staff to clean up the blue and white confetti and the band to put away their instruments. Since the drum kit took a lot more putting away than, say, a trumpet, Spencer was left by himself in the band’s corner of the gym, crouched down to check on the pedal to the bass drum, which had felt off since halfway through Wild Thing.
When someone came and stood near Spencer, he thought it was probably Mr. Kim, the band teacher, because he always thought Spencer was going to horribly damage the drum kit, or something. But when he looked up, he saw the grey trousers of their school uniform, and then the blazer and tie, and Spencer was smart enough to realize it was a student before his eyes reached Bob Bryar’s face.
"You’re not bad," Bob said.
Spencer really wished he was standing up. He sat back on his haunches, wiped his hands on his thighs, and scowled up at Bob. "It’s hard to screw up Eye of the Tiger after you’ve played it a million times."
Bob gave him a half-smile. "I don’t think I’ve played it even once, so …"
"Yeah, well. You don’t know what you’re missing," Spencer said, scrambling to his feet.
Bob ducked his head in a little nod. "I’m not a school spirit type." Spencer snorted and Bob smiled a little wider. "Our croquet team kicks ass, though." Since the croquet team was entirely composed of Bob’s loser friends, that was like Spencer saying that his sisters’ ballet class really rocked. Nepotistic lies.
"It’s a way to play at school without having to join the marching band," Spencer said with a shrug.
"Fuck the marching band," Bob said. "Have you seen their hats? They look like giant blue Q-tips. Who would join the marching band?"
Spencer said, "I think my friend Brendon wants to be a flag twirler. Ryan told him he wasn’t allowed, because he’d impale himself playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with the staff."
"But who wouldn't play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" Bob asked. "I mean, if you have a flagstaff right in your hands, you kind of have to pretend you're Donatello."
Spencer smiled. He couldn't help it, but he turned it back into a scowl as soon as he got his face under control. "I think I could resist," he said. "I haven't watched the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles since I was a kid."
Bob shook his head. "Way to make me feel immature. I watched them yesterday."
Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. If he’d been talking to Brendon or Ryan, or even Ryan’s friend Jon, that would have been Spencer’s cue to start mocking their childishness. Hell, he had a whole repertoire of insults for that, because it was something Spencer mocked often. But it was Bob fucking Bryar, and they weren’t friends. Spencer didn’t even like him. So he just shifted uncomfortably and wiped his hands on his thighs again.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Spencer said, "I gotta put the drums away, or Mr. Kim’ll freak out."
"You want some help?" Bob asked. He had his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, and it should have made him look smaller. Somehow, it didn’t.
"That’s okay," Spencer said, grabbing the cymbal. "I’m used to doing it by myself, so .."
"Okay," Bob said. "I’ll see you around, then."
"Sure." Spencer would definitely see Bob around, because everyone saw Bob, but he was pretty sure Bob had never seen Spencer before in his life.
Bob gave him an awkward wave and headed across the gym, to where Spencer could see one of Bob’s buddies loitering by the big double doors. It was the tall guy with the fluffy hair, the one everybody said ate paste and pencils and, like, chalk. Spencer looked down at the cymbal in his hands, and didn’t pay any attention at all to when Bob left the gym.
He was almost done stashing the drums away when Brendon came bouncing in to put away the xylophone. "Hey, Spence!" he said. "One of the cheerleaders showed me how to do a back flip, and it was awesome. I flipped right into that dog guy. I think he was yelling at me, but from inside the head, it just sounded like ‘Mmmphh mmmmph mmmph.‘" Brendon covered his mouth with his hands to imitate the smothered yelling noises.
When Spencer didn’t laugh, Brendon frowned at him. "What’s up with you?" he asked.
"Nothing," Spencer said.
***
Ryan had ambitions. He wasn’t content with them just sounding amazing in Spencer’s garage, with Crystal and Jackie dancing along to their music. He wanted to sound amazing in front of people who didn’t have Little Mermaid backpacks and the last name ‘Smith.’ He wanted a gig.
And, it turned out, he had a plan for how to get one.
"Prom," Ryan said, flopping down onto the couch in Spencer’s living room. It was incredible that someone as skinny as Ryan could make the whole couch move when he sat on it. Spencer had a theory that Ryan was affected differently by gravity than everyone else on the planet. Or he carried bricks in his pockets.
"Prom," Spencer repeated. "What about it?"
"They’re doing live music this year. It’s just because the prom committee is too cheap to get a decent DJ, but that’s not the important part. The important part is, they’re having auditions on Tuesday after school."
Spencer raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You say auditions to play at prom, and all I can think of is that scene in Back to the Future, where Marty gets dissed by the guy in the ugly suit."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Come on, Spencer. For one thing, we’re better than Marty McFly," he said reasonably, like that was an actual, logical point. "And for another thing, how many good bands can there be? You’ve seen the kids at our school."
It was true. The kids at their school were lame. So lame that it was really embarrassing that Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon weren’t the cool kids. Spencer didn’t want to think about what it said about them that they were weird and unpopular in a school like theirs.
But that wasn’t the point. "I thought you said we still needed something," Spencer pointed out. "I don’t want to play in front of people if you don’t even think we’re ready for it."
Ryan smirked. "I figured out what we need. Jon plays the bass, and I’m going to have him sit in next time we practice. I gave him our music, so he‘ll be ready."
Spencer yanked himself upright on the couch. "Ryan! You can’t just invite people into the band without asking us first."
"But I invited you and Brendon in. That makes it my band," Ryan said. His brow was furrowed and he looked confused, like Spencer was the one being unreasonable.
Spencer maybe sputtered a little bit. "It’s our band. Yours and mine and Brendon’s. You can’t just decide things for everyone."
Ryan still looked a little baffled, but now he also looked upset. "So, what? You want me to tell Jon not to come? Because I think a bass is just what we need. And it’ll free Brendon up to play the keyboard more."
Spencer sighed. He liked Jon. Jon was a senior that Ryan had met when they were in PE together last year, and he was great. Friendly and funny and just generally great. For all Spencer knew, he kicked ass on the bass. "No," he said. "He can come. But seriously, Ryan, you have to check with us about shit like this."
"Right." Ryan nodded earnestly. "I will definitely check with you next time I ask someone to join the band."
Spencer crossed his arms over his chest and made a stern face. "You better. And if Jon sucks, he‘s not in, no matter what you say."
It didn’t matter how stern Spencer was, because Jon turned out to be perfect. He fit right into their sound, and Spencer could hear now what Ryan had known they were missing. It was evident from the first song they played, all four of them, and by the third, they were grinning like loons.
Ryan spun around, clutching his guitar excitedly. It was sort of hilarious to see him so jazzed about something. "So what do you think?" he asked. "Jon’s in, right?"
When Spencer had said Ryan should ask about inviting Jon into the band, he didn’t mean Ryan should ask while Jon was standing right there. He huffed out a sigh. "Yeah. I vote he’s in."
"Me, too," Brendon said. He shot Jon a beaming smile. "You wanna be in our band, Jon Walker?"
Jon laughed and nodded, and then he strummed a chord. "So are we still practicing?" he asked.
"We are," Ryan said firmly. "We need to pick a song for the prom audition."
It figured that just because Ryan was right about Jon, he thought he’d be right about prom, too. Spencer clicked out a count on the rim of his snare and listened as Ryan and Jon played the opening notes and Brendon started to sing.
It wouldn’t hurt for other people to know how fantastic they were.
***
Three bands signed up to audition for prom, and Panic at the Disco was going last. Jon said that was good, because it gave them a chance to scope out the competition, but Spencer thought it just gave them more time to psych themselves out. He was feeling kind of psyched out already, and they hadn’t even heard the other bands play yet. It got worse when they got to the auditorium and saw how many kids were there, way more than were on the prom committee. It was mostly girls, sitting in clumps of threes and fours, but there were some guys there, too.
Since they had a while, Spencer and his group grabbed seats near the back of the auditorium and waited for the first band to come on. Spencer put his feet up on the chair in front of him and slouched down. He wished he hadn’t let Ryan talk him into this.
When the first band came out and started playing, Spencer was comforted by how much they sucked. They were called Because of Perfect Tommy, and they were playing eighties pop that was too old to be cool and too recent to be retro. The tunes were catchy, but the singer couldn’t hit the high notes and the drummer kept rushing the beat.
Spencer was smiling by the time they left the stage.
The second band was called My Chemical Romance, and all the kids in the auditorium started buzzing when they came out to set up. Spencer didn’t know why until Brendon smacked him in the leg and pointed at the blond guy messing with the drums.
Bob Bryar.
Spencer sank a little lower in his seat. Of course Bob Bryar’s band had to audition, too. It was typical. Spencer wasn’t sure what it was typical of, but he knew that the twinge of restlessness in his stomach was typical of Bob in general.
Spencer was scowling at the back of the seat in front of him, so he missed seeing the first notes played, but he couldn’t not look up when the weird guy with the long hair started singing. Spencer had seen him around before, and he’d always seemed quiet and nerdy. A loser, like all of Bob’s friends, but a harmless one. Now … Now he was singing and shouting and thrusting against the mic stand, and ‘harmless’ didn’t seem to describe him very well.
The guy with the fluffy hair was rocking out on the guitar, and the short guy was throwing himself around the stage. There was also a skinny kid who looked like he was focusing really hard on his bass. And then there was Bob.
Spencer loved the drums. He loved playing them, and he loved listening to them. He hadn’t known he loved watching them being played. But he could watch Bob play all day. He laid into the drums more heavily than Spencer did, and Spencer wondered just how strong he was. Wondered if you got Bob out of his school uniform, what his arms and shoulders looked like.
Spencer didn’t know he was staring until Ryan jabbed him in the ribs, and Spencer had to pull his eyes away from the stage. "We’re next," Ryan said quietly. As if anyone could hear him over the song. "We need to get backstage."
Spencer followed Ryan down the aisle, but he couldn’t help looking up at Bob as he walked. Bob kept tossing his head around to the beat, not head banging, but close enough that his hair was flying around his face. Spencer had to concentrate to put one foot in front of the other.
It was easier when they got backstage. Spencer couldn’t see My Chemical Romance, so he could block them out, take deep breaths, and think about his own song. They only had a few minutes before it was their turn to go out, and Spencer needed the time to get his head together.
He was standing near the curtain with his eyes closed when the music stopped. He knew he needed to head out on stage, but he took another long moment to just breathe. When he opened his eyes, Bob was standing a few feet away, staring at him. Spencer knew (because he’d heard other people mention it, not because he’d looked) that Bob had blue eyes, but they looked dark in the dim light backstage. When he noticed Spencer looking back at him, Bob quirked his mouth in a smile.
"Got ‘em all warmed up for you," he said. "Good luck."
Spencer smiled back, before he realized that Bob was probably making fun of him. Like they had a chance when the entire prom committee wanted in Bob’s pants. Spencer brushed past him and took his place behind the school’s familiar drum kit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guys from My Chemical Romance filing out into the auditorium, taking seats in the front row, near Because of Perfect Tommy. He told himself he didn’t care, but then he realized no. He did care. He was going to show Bob Bryar that he didn’t need luck.
Spencer counted them in, and the song took off.
***
When they finished, people applauded. Ryan had been completely right; this was way better than listening to Crystal and Jackie cheer for them.
Brendon, Ryan, and Jon put their instruments away, and they all went out into the auditorium, Spencer still clutching his drumsticks. The prom committee was in a huddle with their sponsor, Mrs. Mosher. They sat in the same row as the other bands, and Spencer did not look to see how anyone else was doing. He let his knee bounce and twirled his sticks.
After what felt like a year and a half, Andrea Hall, the head of the prom committee, stepped out onto the stage. "I want to thank everyone who auditioned today," she said, winking in Bob’s general direction. "And I want to thank everyone who came to support our bands. It was a hard decision, but the band that will be playing at prom this year is … Panic at the Disco!"
Spencer had been certain, completely certain that she would announce My Chemical Romance as the winner, especially after that wink. So certain that it took a long moment for her actual words to sink in. They did it. They were going to play at prom.
Brendon pulled them all out of their seats and manhandled them into a group hug, because he was Brendon and he’d never learned that hugging in front of a bunch of high schoolers wasn’t a brilliant idea. Spencer couldn’t make himself shove him away, though, because it felt like they’d won something, even if it was only the right to play an unpayed gig for people he didn’t like. He heard people in the rows behind them muttering about why Panic at the Disco had really won, but Spencer was too happy to care.
"Hey." Spencer turned to find Bob standing behind him. His short friend was slumping dispiritedly on Bob’s shoulders. Bob shrugged hard, and the guy jumped down and walked over to his other bandmates. "You guys were great."
It didn’t matter that it was Bob Bryar, Spencer had to smile at that. "Thanks," he said. "You were, too." Over Bob’s shoulder, Spencer saw the rest of his band talking to the rest of Bob’s band. There was a lot of backslapping going on.
Bob waved a hand. "I think the committee thought we were too ‘angry’ or something."
Spencer snorted. "Yeah, because rock music is never angry."
Bob smiled at him, more sincerely than Spencer would have managed, if he’d been the one who had lost. "So I guess you don’t need a date for prom, then," he said. Spencer listened hard for mockery, but all he heard was teasing. Despite the fact that Bob was still not as cool as everyone thought he was, Spencer couldn’t help liking him just then. Liking the way he smiled, liking the way he was looking at Spencer like Spencer mattered. Liking the way he had his own set of drumsticks stuck in his pocket.
"I heard that’s why we won," Spencer told him. "All the girls on the prom committee are hoping you’ll ask them, and they didn’t want to ruin that chance. Even Mrs. Mosher."
Bob laughed. Not smugly, but truly amused, like he didn’t know that Spencer was being serious. "You shouldn’t listen to gossip," he said. "I don’t want to ask any of them, anyway."
"No?" Spencer asked. His face felt hot, and he hated that. "You wanna be my groupie, then? You can stand at the edge of the stage and sigh at me wistfully."
The corners of Bob eyes crinkled up when he smiled. Spencer had never noticed that before. "I don’t know if I can pull off wistful, but the rest of it sounds fun."
They were smiling at each other kind of stupidly, just standing there, when Brendon’s voice suddenly said loudly, "No, me and Ryan wanted to hear you guys at that show you played in town, but we didn’t go because Spencer hates Bob."
"Um," Spencer said. The smile slid right off of Bob’s face. "I think ‘hate’ is a strong word."
"No," Bob said. He wasn’t looking at Spencer anymore. "That’s cool." He spun around and walked over to his band. Spencer didn’t know what to say. He bit his lip and gripped his drumsticks tight.
He was still standing like that when Ryan grabbed his arm and told him it was time to go home.
***
Spencer did not mope. He didn’t mope at all, but he did spend a lot of time thinking about the fact that it really sucked that Bob thought Spencer hated him. Because he didn’t. He’d hated that everyone idolized him for no good reason, and he hated it even more now that he knew that there were good reasons. Bob was talented, strong, funny, and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was a dork. And he was really nice, which Spencer hadn’t expected at all.
So, yeah. Spencer didn’t hate him. He kind of, maybe liked him.
He kind of, maybe had a new and detailed fantasy of what it would be like to go to prom with him. (Bob wore a blue vest that matched his eyes. They took off halfway through the dance to make out in the parking lot.)
But the point was, Spencer wasn’t moping. So it was completely uncalled for when Ryan threw a Nerf ball at his head in the middle of rehearsal one night and said, "Quit moping."
Spencer glared at him. "I’m not." He beat out a complicated rhythm, just to show how fine he was.
Beside Ryan, Brendon was nodding. "You’ve been even grumpier than usual about Bob lately, and I didn’t think that was possible. You were talking to him, like, civilly, and I was going to see if you guys wanted to see My Chem’s show tonight. But then you got all," Brendon made a sad face, "and I figured you’d veto it like last time."
"They have a show tonight?" Spencer asked, his sticks stilling in his hands.
"Yeah, at The Mill," Jon said. "It’s a crappy club, but they don’t card."
"We should go," Spencer said.
"We should?" Ryan looked surprised.
"Yeah, we should." Spencer stood up. "Come on."
The other guys looked at each other, but they put away their instruments and headed out to Jon’s old Nova. (Jon was the only one to own a car, which meant he had to drive them everywhere. Ryan had a tendency to gloat about the fact that he was responsible for bringing Jon and his car into their band.)
Brendon slid into the back seat next to Spencer. He buckled his seatbelt and asked quietly, "Are you okay, Spence?"
"Yeah." Spencer felt a little ill, with his heart beating loudly, but he also felt good. He was done not-moping.
***
The Mill was, as advertised, a crappy club. Spencer had never been their before, but Jon knew where he was going, so they followed him inside. It was dark in a way that made it seem like the management was trying to hide the stains and cockroaches, and there was a crowd on the floor in front of the stage, made up mostly of kids their age.
Spencer slipped away from his friends and pushed his way through the crowd, shoving and wriggling till he was right at the edge of the stage. He propped his elbows up on it and stared at Bob hard. He was really hot when he was playing the drums.
Bob shouldn’t have noticed, really, not with all the other people in the club who were staring at the band, but in the break between two songs, while the long haired singer was rambling about expectations and pain and maybe witchcraft, Bob looked straight at Spencer. He looked away, and Spencer felt stomach drop, but then Bob looked back at him. He kept it up, flicking little glances at Spencer all through the set. Spencer knew, because he was staring at Bob the whole time.
When the set was over, Spencer was waiting for Bob to come over, and he wasn’t disappointed. Bob’s hair was sweaty, clinging to his neck and forehead, and he had his hands in his pockets. "What’s up?" he asked.
"You know," Spencer said. "Just practicing my wistful."
A hint of a smile curved Bob’s lips, but it didn’t quite get to his eyes. "Yeah? You gonna be our groupie?"
"I thought. I thought I would be your groupie," Spencer said in a rush. He looked down. Somebody shoved into him from behind, and Bob put out a hand to steady him when he stumbled, curving it around Spencer's arm and holding him upright. Spencer looked back up.
"Your friend said-"
Spencer shook his head and interrupted. "You shouldn’t listen to gossip," he said.
Bob grinned. It lit up his whole face, and Spencer smiled back. "I think I heard that somewhere before." His hand was still on Spencer’s arm.
"So I was thinking," Spencer said, "that I don’t know that much about you. If I’m going to be your groupie, I should be way better informed. Do you wanna hang out sometime?"
Bob shifted his hand, and it made his thumb stroke along Spencer’s arm. "Yeah, I do," he said simply.
Spencer beamed and thought maybe Bob Bryar really was that cool, after all. But he wasn’t sure yet.
He’d decide after their first date.
Author: allyndra
Pairing: Spencer/Bob
Rating: FRT
Length: 5,600-ish words
Summary: Spencer is not won over by Bob’s charms like everyone else in school.
Disclaimer: Fake. Fake, fake, made up lies that are not true.
Notes: High School AU set in an I’m Not Okay-verse in the mid-nineties. Ages have been tweaked a bit. For snarkyrainbow who wanted Bob/Spencer in the same ‘verse as Nothing’s Fair in Love or High School. Someday I will write a bandom fic that is not a high school AU, but today is not that day.
Spencer didn’t get what was so great about Bob Bryar, anyway. He didn’t do the straight-As-and-a-seat-on-Student-Council good boy thing, he didn’t do the skipping-school-and-threatening-teachers bad boy thing, and he wasn’t a jock. But somehow, without his taking any of those usual routes to popularity, everyone in school seemed to think he was the second coming.
"You’re staring at Bob again," Brendon told him, stealing the can of pudding out of Spencer’s lunch.
"Glaring," Spencer corrected. "Not staring."
"Sure." Brendon pulled the top off the can and made a show of licking it clean. Spencer was pretty sure Brendon was going cut his tongue off doing that one of these days. He didn’t know if that would be such a bad thing.
A burst of high pitched giggles rang out, and Spencer glared at the cluster of freshman girls who were sitting at the top of the bleachers and gazing down at Bob. "He is not that cool," Spencer insisted. "All he ever does is hang out with his loser friends."
Brendon raised his eyebrows. "Which is so different from what you do," he said. And Spencer had to admit, his own friends were total losers. "Besides, he’s in a band. That’s cool."
"That could be cool. If the band is lame, it does not convey cool points." Spencer was maybe a little bitter that he could bang the hell out of the drums playing Wipe Out in pep band and he still got called a band geek, while a bunch of guys dicking around in their garage got admiration.
Spencer noticed a group of drama kids rolling their eyes and shouting mockery as Bob’s short friend tried to wriggle through the space between the bench and foot board of the bleachers. He was giggling the whole time, like falling to his death amongst old cigarette butts and spilled soda was hilarious. Spencer shook his head. "No one else in his band gets hit on by cheerleaders."
Brendon nodded. "Maybe the saying is true, then," he said wisely. "Maybe blonds do have more fun." Spencer snorted and looked (glared!) back over at Bob, whose hair shone bright gold in the sun as he threw his head back to laugh at his friend, who was stuck halfway through the bleachers.
"Spencer. Hey, Spencer," Brendon said, jostling his shoulder and drawing his attention back. Brendon’s voice was excited, and he was bouncing a little. Combined with the smear of pudding on his cheek, it made him look about five years old. "You’d help me bleach my hair, right? I could totally pull off blond."
Spencer spent the last five minutes of lunch trying to convince Brendon that no, he really, really couldn’t. When the bell rang, he stuffed all his trash into his lunch bag and followed Brendon back into the building, only glancing over his shoulder once at where Bob was tugging on his friend’s arms, trying to extract him from the bleachers.
So Bob wasn’t enough of an asshole to leave his buddy stranded. That still didn’t make him cool.
***
If Spencer hadn’t known Ryan and Brendon since forever, he would have thought they only liked him for his internet connection. The three of them usually rushed over to Spencer’s right after school so they could log on before anyone else got home and needed the phone line. They all took off their jackets and ties the second they got into the house, dumping them on the sofa in a pile. Ryan and Brendon each grabbed a chair from the dinner table and lugged it over to the computer, settling them on either side of the computer chair.
"I don’t know why you always get the good chair," Ryan muttered. He complained about at it least once a week. "I mean, we’re the guests."
Spencer arched his eyebrows at Ryan. "Once you have your own toothbrush in my bathroom, you no longer qualify as a guest." He wiggled ostentatiously in the padded computer chair and clicked the mouse to initialize the modem.
Ryan huffed out an irritated sigh. "You know your mom probably thinks we’re looking at porn," he said.
"Oh, my God," Spencer said, shuddering. "Shut up!" He didn’t want his mom ever connecting Spencer and porn in her mind, much less Spencer, Ryan, Brendon, and porn. Ryan just smirked, but Brendon was blushing bright red. He might brag about shoplifting porno mags from the convenience store, but he still had an inherent respect for mothers.
"It’s bullshit, anyway," Brendon said, despite his red cheeks. "She always looks at the songs we print. So, she knows."
Ryan leaned over Spencer to type a URL into the address bar. "You know what would really convince her that we’re not having hot teenaged computer orgies?" he asked. He had to duck back fast to avoid the fist Spencer aimed at his head. "We should actually play those songs. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve heard you can use them to make music."
Brendon blinked at him. "I play them," he said. Spencer believed it. Brendon was kind of a freak about music. He probably took home the music they downloaded and played it on five different instruments before bed every night. And then dreamed about transposing it for the flugelhorn.
"I meant together. We should play together," Ryan said.
Spencer sat back hard, making his chair squeak. "Are you asking us to start a band with you?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. He wasn’t blushing as hard as Brendon, but his cheeks were a little bit pink, and he looked down at his hands. Since he wasn’t looking, he failed to dodge this time when Spencer smacked him across the back of the head.
"Asshole," Spencer said. "Next time you have a good idea, don’t start out talking about my mom and sex."
Ryan’s eyes flickered up. "Yeah? You’re in?"
"We are so in, Ryan Ross," Brendon said. He beamed at Spencer. "Didn’t I just tell you bands were cool? I just said that. We’re going to be awesome."
Spencer tried to look cool and disaffected, but he could feel the smile tugging at his mouth. He could see Ryan failing just as badly, which made him feel better. Because Ryan was the king of disaffected. "We’re going to be awesome," Spencer repeated.
They totally were.
***
They practiced in Spencer's garage, and he refused to feel hypocritical about his disparagement of garage bands. For one thing, most of that disparagement took place inside his head, where he was allowed to make bitchy comments all he wanted. And for another thing, they weren't just goofing off and calling it practice. They took this band seriously.
Brendon took it seriously in a totally Brendon-like way, with intense creativity and focus interspersed with bursts of turning cartwheels and singing the jingles from commercials instead of the songs he was supposed to be rehearsing. (He was especially partial to the Toys R Us song. Spencer thought it was because of the way Ryan's eyelids twitched at the high notes.)
Ryan was serious about it in a much more contained way. Except when he was yelling. It would have been weird to see him going from deadpan to shouting in 3.5 seconds if Spencer didn't remember the first summer they'd tried to learn how to skateboard. Ryan had been just the same then, only with skinned knees and floppier hair.
Spencer had his own way of taking it seriously, which involved a little planning, a little worrying, and a whole lot of playing the hell out of his drums. The drums were fantastic for relieving stress and taking out his anger when things weren‘t working out, and Spencer felt a little sorry for Ryan and Brendon, with their puny guitars. He wondered if the person who invented the drums - way back in the caveman days - had had problems with stress. Probably not. Back then, you could probably get away with just clubbing whoever pissed you off over the head.
The people who pissed Spencer off were usually his sisters, Brendon, or various members of the Bob Bryar Fan Club, so it was just as well he had his drum kit. He’d rather be a great drummer than a convict any day.
***
Pep rallies were definitely the work of the devil. Spencer didn’t know why he’d even signed up for pep band, but he thought Brendon was probably to blame. He couldn’t think of any other reason he’d volunteer to play bouncy tunes to cheer on a team full of guys who shoved him in the hallways.
Fortunately, pretty much all of the other drummers in the school felt the same way, so Spencer got control of the school’s one drum kit, walling himself off from the bedlam of screaming students, cheerleaders waving blue pompoms, and the stupid dog mascot. The guy inside the dog costume could barely see, and he stumbled around the gym, narrowly avoiding crashing the entire cheerleader pyramid to the ground. He was a menace. A floppy eared menace.
Brendon played the xylophone, so he was near Spencer at the back of the band, crammed into one corner of the gym. Ryan wasn’t in band at all, because he worked on the school paper for his extracurricular. Spencer was comforted by the thought that he was sitting in the bleachers, suffering through the yelling and cheering and bad renditions of fight songs.
The only good thing about pep rallies was that they got out of school early on pep rally days. Most of the kids took off the second the lacrosse team left the gym, leaving the custodial staff to clean up the blue and white confetti and the band to put away their instruments. Since the drum kit took a lot more putting away than, say, a trumpet, Spencer was left by himself in the band’s corner of the gym, crouched down to check on the pedal to the bass drum, which had felt off since halfway through Wild Thing.
When someone came and stood near Spencer, he thought it was probably Mr. Kim, the band teacher, because he always thought Spencer was going to horribly damage the drum kit, or something. But when he looked up, he saw the grey trousers of their school uniform, and then the blazer and tie, and Spencer was smart enough to realize it was a student before his eyes reached Bob Bryar’s face.
"You’re not bad," Bob said.
Spencer really wished he was standing up. He sat back on his haunches, wiped his hands on his thighs, and scowled up at Bob. "It’s hard to screw up Eye of the Tiger after you’ve played it a million times."
Bob gave him a half-smile. "I don’t think I’ve played it even once, so …"
"Yeah, well. You don’t know what you’re missing," Spencer said, scrambling to his feet.
Bob ducked his head in a little nod. "I’m not a school spirit type." Spencer snorted and Bob smiled a little wider. "Our croquet team kicks ass, though." Since the croquet team was entirely composed of Bob’s loser friends, that was like Spencer saying that his sisters’ ballet class really rocked. Nepotistic lies.
"It’s a way to play at school without having to join the marching band," Spencer said with a shrug.
"Fuck the marching band," Bob said. "Have you seen their hats? They look like giant blue Q-tips. Who would join the marching band?"
Spencer said, "I think my friend Brendon wants to be a flag twirler. Ryan told him he wasn’t allowed, because he’d impale himself playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with the staff."
"But who wouldn't play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" Bob asked. "I mean, if you have a flagstaff right in your hands, you kind of have to pretend you're Donatello."
Spencer smiled. He couldn't help it, but he turned it back into a scowl as soon as he got his face under control. "I think I could resist," he said. "I haven't watched the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles since I was a kid."
Bob shook his head. "Way to make me feel immature. I watched them yesterday."
Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. If he’d been talking to Brendon or Ryan, or even Ryan’s friend Jon, that would have been Spencer’s cue to start mocking their childishness. Hell, he had a whole repertoire of insults for that, because it was something Spencer mocked often. But it was Bob fucking Bryar, and they weren’t friends. Spencer didn’t even like him. So he just shifted uncomfortably and wiped his hands on his thighs again.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Spencer said, "I gotta put the drums away, or Mr. Kim’ll freak out."
"You want some help?" Bob asked. He had his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, and it should have made him look smaller. Somehow, it didn’t.
"That’s okay," Spencer said, grabbing the cymbal. "I’m used to doing it by myself, so .."
"Okay," Bob said. "I’ll see you around, then."
"Sure." Spencer would definitely see Bob around, because everyone saw Bob, but he was pretty sure Bob had never seen Spencer before in his life.
Bob gave him an awkward wave and headed across the gym, to where Spencer could see one of Bob’s buddies loitering by the big double doors. It was the tall guy with the fluffy hair, the one everybody said ate paste and pencils and, like, chalk. Spencer looked down at the cymbal in his hands, and didn’t pay any attention at all to when Bob left the gym.
He was almost done stashing the drums away when Brendon came bouncing in to put away the xylophone. "Hey, Spence!" he said. "One of the cheerleaders showed me how to do a back flip, and it was awesome. I flipped right into that dog guy. I think he was yelling at me, but from inside the head, it just sounded like ‘Mmmphh mmmmph mmmph.‘" Brendon covered his mouth with his hands to imitate the smothered yelling noises.
When Spencer didn’t laugh, Brendon frowned at him. "What’s up with you?" he asked.
"Nothing," Spencer said.
***
Ryan had ambitions. He wasn’t content with them just sounding amazing in Spencer’s garage, with Crystal and Jackie dancing along to their music. He wanted to sound amazing in front of people who didn’t have Little Mermaid backpacks and the last name ‘Smith.’ He wanted a gig.
And, it turned out, he had a plan for how to get one.
"Prom," Ryan said, flopping down onto the couch in Spencer’s living room. It was incredible that someone as skinny as Ryan could make the whole couch move when he sat on it. Spencer had a theory that Ryan was affected differently by gravity than everyone else on the planet. Or he carried bricks in his pockets.
"Prom," Spencer repeated. "What about it?"
"They’re doing live music this year. It’s just because the prom committee is too cheap to get a decent DJ, but that’s not the important part. The important part is, they’re having auditions on Tuesday after school."
Spencer raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You say auditions to play at prom, and all I can think of is that scene in Back to the Future, where Marty gets dissed by the guy in the ugly suit."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Come on, Spencer. For one thing, we’re better than Marty McFly," he said reasonably, like that was an actual, logical point. "And for another thing, how many good bands can there be? You’ve seen the kids at our school."
It was true. The kids at their school were lame. So lame that it was really embarrassing that Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon weren’t the cool kids. Spencer didn’t want to think about what it said about them that they were weird and unpopular in a school like theirs.
But that wasn’t the point. "I thought you said we still needed something," Spencer pointed out. "I don’t want to play in front of people if you don’t even think we’re ready for it."
Ryan smirked. "I figured out what we need. Jon plays the bass, and I’m going to have him sit in next time we practice. I gave him our music, so he‘ll be ready."
Spencer yanked himself upright on the couch. "Ryan! You can’t just invite people into the band without asking us first."
"But I invited you and Brendon in. That makes it my band," Ryan said. His brow was furrowed and he looked confused, like Spencer was the one being unreasonable.
Spencer maybe sputtered a little bit. "It’s our band. Yours and mine and Brendon’s. You can’t just decide things for everyone."
Ryan still looked a little baffled, but now he also looked upset. "So, what? You want me to tell Jon not to come? Because I think a bass is just what we need. And it’ll free Brendon up to play the keyboard more."
Spencer sighed. He liked Jon. Jon was a senior that Ryan had met when they were in PE together last year, and he was great. Friendly and funny and just generally great. For all Spencer knew, he kicked ass on the bass. "No," he said. "He can come. But seriously, Ryan, you have to check with us about shit like this."
"Right." Ryan nodded earnestly. "I will definitely check with you next time I ask someone to join the band."
Spencer crossed his arms over his chest and made a stern face. "You better. And if Jon sucks, he‘s not in, no matter what you say."
It didn’t matter how stern Spencer was, because Jon turned out to be perfect. He fit right into their sound, and Spencer could hear now what Ryan had known they were missing. It was evident from the first song they played, all four of them, and by the third, they were grinning like loons.
Ryan spun around, clutching his guitar excitedly. It was sort of hilarious to see him so jazzed about something. "So what do you think?" he asked. "Jon’s in, right?"
When Spencer had said Ryan should ask about inviting Jon into the band, he didn’t mean Ryan should ask while Jon was standing right there. He huffed out a sigh. "Yeah. I vote he’s in."
"Me, too," Brendon said. He shot Jon a beaming smile. "You wanna be in our band, Jon Walker?"
Jon laughed and nodded, and then he strummed a chord. "So are we still practicing?" he asked.
"We are," Ryan said firmly. "We need to pick a song for the prom audition."
It figured that just because Ryan was right about Jon, he thought he’d be right about prom, too. Spencer clicked out a count on the rim of his snare and listened as Ryan and Jon played the opening notes and Brendon started to sing.
It wouldn’t hurt for other people to know how fantastic they were.
***
Three bands signed up to audition for prom, and Panic at the Disco was going last. Jon said that was good, because it gave them a chance to scope out the competition, but Spencer thought it just gave them more time to psych themselves out. He was feeling kind of psyched out already, and they hadn’t even heard the other bands play yet. It got worse when they got to the auditorium and saw how many kids were there, way more than were on the prom committee. It was mostly girls, sitting in clumps of threes and fours, but there were some guys there, too.
Since they had a while, Spencer and his group grabbed seats near the back of the auditorium and waited for the first band to come on. Spencer put his feet up on the chair in front of him and slouched down. He wished he hadn’t let Ryan talk him into this.
When the first band came out and started playing, Spencer was comforted by how much they sucked. They were called Because of Perfect Tommy, and they were playing eighties pop that was too old to be cool and too recent to be retro. The tunes were catchy, but the singer couldn’t hit the high notes and the drummer kept rushing the beat.
Spencer was smiling by the time they left the stage.
The second band was called My Chemical Romance, and all the kids in the auditorium started buzzing when they came out to set up. Spencer didn’t know why until Brendon smacked him in the leg and pointed at the blond guy messing with the drums.
Bob Bryar.
Spencer sank a little lower in his seat. Of course Bob Bryar’s band had to audition, too. It was typical. Spencer wasn’t sure what it was typical of, but he knew that the twinge of restlessness in his stomach was typical of Bob in general.
Spencer was scowling at the back of the seat in front of him, so he missed seeing the first notes played, but he couldn’t not look up when the weird guy with the long hair started singing. Spencer had seen him around before, and he’d always seemed quiet and nerdy. A loser, like all of Bob’s friends, but a harmless one. Now … Now he was singing and shouting and thrusting against the mic stand, and ‘harmless’ didn’t seem to describe him very well.
The guy with the fluffy hair was rocking out on the guitar, and the short guy was throwing himself around the stage. There was also a skinny kid who looked like he was focusing really hard on his bass. And then there was Bob.
Spencer loved the drums. He loved playing them, and he loved listening to them. He hadn’t known he loved watching them being played. But he could watch Bob play all day. He laid into the drums more heavily than Spencer did, and Spencer wondered just how strong he was. Wondered if you got Bob out of his school uniform, what his arms and shoulders looked like.
Spencer didn’t know he was staring until Ryan jabbed him in the ribs, and Spencer had to pull his eyes away from the stage. "We’re next," Ryan said quietly. As if anyone could hear him over the song. "We need to get backstage."
Spencer followed Ryan down the aisle, but he couldn’t help looking up at Bob as he walked. Bob kept tossing his head around to the beat, not head banging, but close enough that his hair was flying around his face. Spencer had to concentrate to put one foot in front of the other.
It was easier when they got backstage. Spencer couldn’t see My Chemical Romance, so he could block them out, take deep breaths, and think about his own song. They only had a few minutes before it was their turn to go out, and Spencer needed the time to get his head together.
He was standing near the curtain with his eyes closed when the music stopped. He knew he needed to head out on stage, but he took another long moment to just breathe. When he opened his eyes, Bob was standing a few feet away, staring at him. Spencer knew (because he’d heard other people mention it, not because he’d looked) that Bob had blue eyes, but they looked dark in the dim light backstage. When he noticed Spencer looking back at him, Bob quirked his mouth in a smile.
"Got ‘em all warmed up for you," he said. "Good luck."
Spencer smiled back, before he realized that Bob was probably making fun of him. Like they had a chance when the entire prom committee wanted in Bob’s pants. Spencer brushed past him and took his place behind the school’s familiar drum kit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guys from My Chemical Romance filing out into the auditorium, taking seats in the front row, near Because of Perfect Tommy. He told himself he didn’t care, but then he realized no. He did care. He was going to show Bob Bryar that he didn’t need luck.
Spencer counted them in, and the song took off.
***
When they finished, people applauded. Ryan had been completely right; this was way better than listening to Crystal and Jackie cheer for them.
Brendon, Ryan, and Jon put their instruments away, and they all went out into the auditorium, Spencer still clutching his drumsticks. The prom committee was in a huddle with their sponsor, Mrs. Mosher. They sat in the same row as the other bands, and Spencer did not look to see how anyone else was doing. He let his knee bounce and twirled his sticks.
After what felt like a year and a half, Andrea Hall, the head of the prom committee, stepped out onto the stage. "I want to thank everyone who auditioned today," she said, winking in Bob’s general direction. "And I want to thank everyone who came to support our bands. It was a hard decision, but the band that will be playing at prom this year is … Panic at the Disco!"
Spencer had been certain, completely certain that she would announce My Chemical Romance as the winner, especially after that wink. So certain that it took a long moment for her actual words to sink in. They did it. They were going to play at prom.
Brendon pulled them all out of their seats and manhandled them into a group hug, because he was Brendon and he’d never learned that hugging in front of a bunch of high schoolers wasn’t a brilliant idea. Spencer couldn’t make himself shove him away, though, because it felt like they’d won something, even if it was only the right to play an unpayed gig for people he didn’t like. He heard people in the rows behind them muttering about why Panic at the Disco had really won, but Spencer was too happy to care.
"Hey." Spencer turned to find Bob standing behind him. His short friend was slumping dispiritedly on Bob’s shoulders. Bob shrugged hard, and the guy jumped down and walked over to his other bandmates. "You guys were great."
It didn’t matter that it was Bob Bryar, Spencer had to smile at that. "Thanks," he said. "You were, too." Over Bob’s shoulder, Spencer saw the rest of his band talking to the rest of Bob’s band. There was a lot of backslapping going on.
Bob waved a hand. "I think the committee thought we were too ‘angry’ or something."
Spencer snorted. "Yeah, because rock music is never angry."
Bob smiled at him, more sincerely than Spencer would have managed, if he’d been the one who had lost. "So I guess you don’t need a date for prom, then," he said. Spencer listened hard for mockery, but all he heard was teasing. Despite the fact that Bob was still not as cool as everyone thought he was, Spencer couldn’t help liking him just then. Liking the way he smiled, liking the way he was looking at Spencer like Spencer mattered. Liking the way he had his own set of drumsticks stuck in his pocket.
"I heard that’s why we won," Spencer told him. "All the girls on the prom committee are hoping you’ll ask them, and they didn’t want to ruin that chance. Even Mrs. Mosher."
Bob laughed. Not smugly, but truly amused, like he didn’t know that Spencer was being serious. "You shouldn’t listen to gossip," he said. "I don’t want to ask any of them, anyway."
"No?" Spencer asked. His face felt hot, and he hated that. "You wanna be my groupie, then? You can stand at the edge of the stage and sigh at me wistfully."
The corners of Bob eyes crinkled up when he smiled. Spencer had never noticed that before. "I don’t know if I can pull off wistful, but the rest of it sounds fun."
They were smiling at each other kind of stupidly, just standing there, when Brendon’s voice suddenly said loudly, "No, me and Ryan wanted to hear you guys at that show you played in town, but we didn’t go because Spencer hates Bob."
"Um," Spencer said. The smile slid right off of Bob’s face. "I think ‘hate’ is a strong word."
"No," Bob said. He wasn’t looking at Spencer anymore. "That’s cool." He spun around and walked over to his band. Spencer didn’t know what to say. He bit his lip and gripped his drumsticks tight.
He was still standing like that when Ryan grabbed his arm and told him it was time to go home.
***
Spencer did not mope. He didn’t mope at all, but he did spend a lot of time thinking about the fact that it really sucked that Bob thought Spencer hated him. Because he didn’t. He’d hated that everyone idolized him for no good reason, and he hated it even more now that he knew that there were good reasons. Bob was talented, strong, funny, and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was a dork. And he was really nice, which Spencer hadn’t expected at all.
So, yeah. Spencer didn’t hate him. He kind of, maybe liked him.
He kind of, maybe had a new and detailed fantasy of what it would be like to go to prom with him. (Bob wore a blue vest that matched his eyes. They took off halfway through the dance to make out in the parking lot.)
But the point was, Spencer wasn’t moping. So it was completely uncalled for when Ryan threw a Nerf ball at his head in the middle of rehearsal one night and said, "Quit moping."
Spencer glared at him. "I’m not." He beat out a complicated rhythm, just to show how fine he was.
Beside Ryan, Brendon was nodding. "You’ve been even grumpier than usual about Bob lately, and I didn’t think that was possible. You were talking to him, like, civilly, and I was going to see if you guys wanted to see My Chem’s show tonight. But then you got all," Brendon made a sad face, "and I figured you’d veto it like last time."
"They have a show tonight?" Spencer asked, his sticks stilling in his hands.
"Yeah, at The Mill," Jon said. "It’s a crappy club, but they don’t card."
"We should go," Spencer said.
"We should?" Ryan looked surprised.
"Yeah, we should." Spencer stood up. "Come on."
The other guys looked at each other, but they put away their instruments and headed out to Jon’s old Nova. (Jon was the only one to own a car, which meant he had to drive them everywhere. Ryan had a tendency to gloat about the fact that he was responsible for bringing Jon and his car into their band.)
Brendon slid into the back seat next to Spencer. He buckled his seatbelt and asked quietly, "Are you okay, Spence?"
"Yeah." Spencer felt a little ill, with his heart beating loudly, but he also felt good. He was done not-moping.
***
The Mill was, as advertised, a crappy club. Spencer had never been their before, but Jon knew where he was going, so they followed him inside. It was dark in a way that made it seem like the management was trying to hide the stains and cockroaches, and there was a crowd on the floor in front of the stage, made up mostly of kids their age.
Spencer slipped away from his friends and pushed his way through the crowd, shoving and wriggling till he was right at the edge of the stage. He propped his elbows up on it and stared at Bob hard. He was really hot when he was playing the drums.
Bob shouldn’t have noticed, really, not with all the other people in the club who were staring at the band, but in the break between two songs, while the long haired singer was rambling about expectations and pain and maybe witchcraft, Bob looked straight at Spencer. He looked away, and Spencer felt stomach drop, but then Bob looked back at him. He kept it up, flicking little glances at Spencer all through the set. Spencer knew, because he was staring at Bob the whole time.
When the set was over, Spencer was waiting for Bob to come over, and he wasn’t disappointed. Bob’s hair was sweaty, clinging to his neck and forehead, and he had his hands in his pockets. "What’s up?" he asked.
"You know," Spencer said. "Just practicing my wistful."
A hint of a smile curved Bob’s lips, but it didn’t quite get to his eyes. "Yeah? You gonna be our groupie?"
"I thought. I thought I would be your groupie," Spencer said in a rush. He looked down. Somebody shoved into him from behind, and Bob put out a hand to steady him when he stumbled, curving it around Spencer's arm and holding him upright. Spencer looked back up.
"Your friend said-"
Spencer shook his head and interrupted. "You shouldn’t listen to gossip," he said.
Bob grinned. It lit up his whole face, and Spencer smiled back. "I think I heard that somewhere before." His hand was still on Spencer’s arm.
"So I was thinking," Spencer said, "that I don’t know that much about you. If I’m going to be your groupie, I should be way better informed. Do you wanna hang out sometime?"
Bob shifted his hand, and it made his thumb stroke along Spencer’s arm. "Yeah, I do," he said simply.
Spencer beamed and thought maybe Bob Bryar really was that cool, after all. But he wasn’t sure yet.
He’d decide after their first date.