Whiplash

I really don't know how it started. How did I get accepted into this band - I'll never know. Well, technically I do know how and when it started, but I just can't quite understand how I was picked; I was definitely not the best guitar player one could find. There are so many good musicians out there, how did he see me as one of them?

I was only a first year guitarist, waiting for my tutor in the classroom; he was running very, very late. Suddenly, the door flung open, but it wasn’t who I was expecting. Instead, a tall boy with oily, black hair coming down to almost his shoulders, hiding his face, walked in. I had seen this boy before, but I couldn’t recall from where. His hair was slightly messy, all shaggy as it swooped downwards, and his dark outfit didn’t look as if he had spent his time on it. Everyone fell silent. His eyes darted around the five of us sitting in a circle, instruments in hands. We were supposed to be practicing the tabs our teacher gave us the other day - a fourth year song. Nobody dared to make a sound as the stranger’s cold eyes observed us.
After several seconds of silence he lift his hand up in the air, waving it as if we are a bunch of idiots. “Play,” he ordered, looking amused
I kept my gaze on the boy. He stood over us like a crow, his spine crooked and arms crossed on his chest. He clutched the coffee in his hand every time he heard a wrong note, grimaced in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. He looked as if he was about to die of a heart stroke when the wrong chords mixed into one.
I laughed slightly; I didn’t think the composition was all that difficult. This earned me an unamused glare from the boy. He raised his eyebrows, suddenly realising that I wasn't practising. He half-opened his mouth, looking as if he was about to say something, his eyes piercing into me. He never got to finish as Mr Toro walked into the door, panting as if he had been running. The man in the black trench coat and black tie turned to him and smiled, revealing small teeth and almost invisible dimples. Everyone stopped playing as Mr. Toro's stick clashed down on his stand twice. The man in black took his spot behind him, one hand in his pocket as the other one squeezed the coffee cup. The cup looked as if it was about to bust.
"Uh - class, this is Mr. Gerard Way." He was sweating at his hairline that held an afro type hairstyle, shaking nervously. "He…” Mr Toro seemed very nervous, which was unusual for him. “Mr. Way is a very, very talented musician, especially in the aspect of vocals, bass, and" -he drew a hand to direct towards all of us - "guitar,” Gerard didn't look a year older than twenty, and I'm twenty-two, so him conducting us seemed a bit ridiculous to me. "He... He - uh - ... Gerard-"
"I'd like to hear you all play. I have a band in need of a few guitarists. Sound good?" His voice was smooth as he talked with the left side of his mouth. I suddenly wished I had skipped to do any observations last.
"Ray-" Mr. Toro cleared his throat. "I mean... Mr. Toro is actually one of the guitarists that plays for me." I chuckled silently, earning a small glare from Gerard once again, or should I say, Mr. Way?
His lips suddenly twitched upwards and his eyes lit up with an enthusiastic fire as he spun around on the heels of his shoes. "Let's start with you!" He exclaimed, turning over to the youngest girl in the group. She shrunk under his gaze, blushing wildly. She was only thirteen and fuck, she was amazing. To be fair, she started professional lessons at age six. I don't know why she's in the beginners class. "A little young..." Gerard muttered, taking a good look at the girl. He then straightened his back and shook his head in disapproval. "Those eighteen or above, please, meet me across the hall." He walked towards the entrance in wide, self-assured steps. He stopped in the doorframe, not looking back at us.
"First year, only," he added, not turning around before taking off again and disappearing behind the corner.
I stood, shaking in my shoes. Why am I so nervous? Mr. Toro says I have beginner’s luck!
I crossed the hall, single filed after the person in front of me. It was Brandon. He always fingers the wrong note, he’s never gonna make it. In front of him was Brian, his chin high up in the air. God, I wish I could play like him. He's going to make it 100%. I mean, his best friend is a drummer that can sing. They're going to go big. It's quite easy to see.
"I really just want to hear you guys play it," Gerard said softly, looking up at us from his chair. "On one, okay?" He said as we all sat down. His hand began to wave, and for a moment, I was confused. Everyone else must've been too, because none of us played.
Gerard looked annoyed as he sighed. "When my hand goes down, it's one. When it cuts to the side, it's two. When it goes up, it's three. So on and so forth." He pinched his temples, taking a long breath. "Let's try again." His hand waved the air and he mouthed the numbers. Brian and I played, but Brandon and Courtney froze still, their mouths gaping open. He waved his hand to cut us off. "Are you two going to play or sit there like the music is going to fucking radiate from you?" I blinked. Did he just.... God damn. "You know what? Floppy Hair, you're up." Brian stiffened, looking at Mr. Way before lifting his guitar into position. I was still flabbergasted. Mr. Toro never cussed like that and never made fun of anyone. Brian began to play, just to be cut off by Gerard.
"Mother of fuck!" Gerard blew a fuse, slamming his fist on the note-stand. "You! Go! One! Two! Three!" I came in on four, and he relaxed visibly. He tapped his foot on the shiny parquet until I hit the wrong chords, wrong string, and wrong section at the wrong time.
"Sorry, kid. You don't have it," he gave me a sly smile and a wink before turning away from me, and that’s when I realized that I was scared and furious. I'm not sure why I was so scared, but my heart hitched and stuttered, sending off loud booms into my ears.
“I’m sorry, can I try-” I start, stumbling over my words, noticing Gerard cock his head to the side.
“Can you try what? Fucking fail again? You are not going to make it, dumbass,” he retorted sharply and I was taken back, not knowing what to say in response.
"Let's try again, Pretty Face." he turned to Courtney. She played the melody perfectly, and he smiled in relief, his face wearing an impressed look. Brian and Brandon played it perfectly as well.
I was the only one to fuck up, unlike ever. I was not the worst player in the first year group, and my failure hurt me.
Gerard dismissed me, not even looking my way. Just me. I knew it then that I had to prove him wrong. I can play these charts and harder! I'll show him! I swear! Fuck your beginner luck. I don't believe in it.
My anger boiled as I walked back, and saw Mr. Toro hang his head in disappointment. There was nothing fair in this- I was the first one to play in front of that really snappy, moody bitch! Okay, that might be me right now, but still. Fuck.
"Sorry, Iero. Maybe next time," Gerard called from the door before sighing. "I heard you had talent. You're also the only person to start on one in this group, but that was horrible." He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “The biggest fucking failure I’ve seen in the last year or so. The big failure before you was a little girl who had never held a guitar in her hands before. If I was you, I’d move my focus away from music, you have no future in it,”
He turned to make his way down the hallway. I cursed under my breath, wanting to crush the walls of the building. I sat in the back of the classroom, putting my guitar back into its case. Mr. Toro only glared then nodded, realizing I didn't feel like playing. I'm so disappointed in myself and so pissed at that guy. Who does he think he is? Seriously?
Mr. Toro congratulated Brian along with a "see you at practice." My anger still had yet to cease. This only made it worse. When I got home, I instantly yanked my guitar out. I had pondered tremendously before deciding that I'd prove Gerard wrong. I’d make him look like a fool. I'd make Brandon, Courtney and, most importantly, Brian look like a bunch of fools. I'd make any guitar player look like a fool, even fucking Jimi Hendrix.
I fumbled the tabs, yelling steady streams of profanities. When I get mad, there's no stopping it.
Not even the law.

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