Sing It Out

**Gerard’s POV**

This sucks.

My life sucks.

I’ve spent the last three hours sitting at a desk listening to crappy kid bands sing/whine some really crappy songs. Literally the closest we’ve gotten to anything decent is an acapella group who sang When I Come Around, and even that was less than spectacular.

Now, I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything, I know that these are just kids, but even for kids they suck. I guess you can blame it on the “popular” music these days. Everybody was singing that stupid Nicki Minaj song about a snake for years until it became old. That was annoying as hell. Now there’s only one band left. They signed up literally 2 minutes before the closing. I took a look at the only information I had been given on them.

The Californians

Wow, that’s a crappy name. I bet there’s not even a story behind it, they just couldn’t think of anything else.

Shut up, Gerard, I thought, don’t be so rude. They’re just kids. Give them a chance.

Yeah right, I argued with myself, they’re probably a bunch of boys who think they can sing but can’t.

I took a look at the names: Alex, Seth, Caz, and Sam.

That’s what I thought. A bunch of boys. That’s almost all we’ve seen today: crappy boys trying to be cool so girls like them.

I groaned and let my eyes slide over to Frank, who was sitting next to me. He smiled at me shyly, shrugging. He’s been acting so weird ever since the band got back together. I wonder if he didn’t actually want to come back. Nah, that can’t be it, he jumped for joy when I asked him about it.

The next band was onstage now. I looked up, expecting to see a bunch of boys in flannel button-up shirts and dress shoes. that’s all we’ve seen all day. But the band onstage was nowhere close to anything I’ve seen today. They... they reminded me of us.

The drummer, for starters, was just setting up. He had unbrushed blond hair hanging in his eyes, and his eyeliner was perfect, you could even tell from back here, where we were hidden from the performers. He was wearing a Fall Out Boy shirt, and I couldn’t help but wonder where he got it. That band broke up years ago. He was wearing black, ripped up skinny jeans, his combat boots over them. His expression looked like he wanted to kill somebody.

The bassist was now plugging in his amp. He had sort of natural brown hair, and he looked like the kind of boy that sits in a corner by himself all day writing poetry or drawing. I felt a twinge of sympathy for him, knowing my past, and how my life was when I was his age. He looked so worried, so terrified that anything could go wrong.

The guitarist was now making sure last-minute that his guitar was properly tuned. His bright red hair was incredibly distracting, and he looked like the kind of kid who smirks for no reason, and would punch your lights out if you so much as looked at him the wrong way. He was wearing an MCR shirt, actually, and I felt slightly prideful. Very few people had stayed faithful after the reband, because our music was so different than it was before.

And the last boy... was a girl. She had long blue hair down her back, and she was standing there, awkwardly, as if she wasn’t sure what she should be doing. She must be the singer, because she didn’t have any instruments. And she was wearing... she was wearing my clothes. She was wearing an outfit identical to the one I wear at my shows. A gray tank, black skinny jeans, and combat boots. Comfortable and cool. I like her already. She looked like she was ready to kick ass.

I looked at Frank. He was smiling at the girl. I felt a twinge of... jealously? But why? I felt the urge to protect her, I guess. I miss my little Bandit so much, I just want somebody to care for. Ever since the accident, I’ve stocked up on pet fish to keep me company. I’m such a loser.

The announcer’s voice came on over the speakers.

“Please welcome The Californians!” Some half-hearted cheering came from the audience. Everybody in the audience was there to see his or her own child. Why was no one cheering for this band?

“Please introduce yourselves.”

The blond drummer kid spoke into his mic first. “Hi! I’m Seth! I like skateboarding, Green Day, and playing drums... obviously. A little bit about our band: clearly we aren’t from California, seeing this is a Colorado contest. We created our band when we were all grouped together for a group project in sixth grade. Each group had a state, and we were, go figure, California. So here we are, The Californians!”

So they did have an interesting backstory. I’m liking this band more and more by the minute.

The red-haired dude nudged the brunette, shy guy, and he began to speak.

“Uh, hi. I’m Alex. I like math and science. My favorite band is Sir Sly.”

What a nerd. I wonder if he gets beat up a lot in school. I sure hope not. I hate teenagers, they have no mercy for anybody.

The red-haired guy began to speak.

“Heyo Colorado, I’m Caz! I love MCR, Green Day, and show tunes. My favorite song is Blood, and I enjoy creeping up behind people and yelling, ITS CAZZZZZMANIA TIME! I freak a lot of people out.”

He looked toward the girl, and I expected her to speak, but instead Caz continued.

“I’ll be speaking for Sam here too, and before you tell me that I can’t do that, hear me out.”

What the hell?

“Sam is mute. If you don’t know, that means she doesn’t talk. I know it doesn’t make any sense for a singer to be mute, but I’ll get to that. She has the most detailed backstory of all.

“Sam is not mute by choice. So don’t tell her that she’s an attention whore or whatever, because she’s not. I’ve known her since she was a chatty little girl. I was almost glad when she shut up.”

Sam smiled at this remark, but it was obvious that she was slightly hurt by it.

“See, whenever she tries to talk, she will feel an explosion of pain in her head, like a supernova. It will immediately cause her to pass out from the pain. We aren’t really sure what causes this, but it started when her father died four years ago.”

Poor girl.

“This, however, does not affect Sam’s singing, leaving it as her only form of communication. And before you ask, no it doesn’t work for her to just sing all the time. It actually has to be a song. She writes her own songs though. It’s her favorite way to express how she feels."

Wow. Wow that’s amazing. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t talk.

“Now, about her personally. She is obsessed with My Chemical Romance. Like, seriously obsessed. She tells me all the time (not verbally obviously) that Gerard Way is her idol.”

Oh. I felt my cheeks heat up and I had to hit Frankie’s arm when he giggled.

“She is a recovered anorexic, so yay for her for being able to overcome that.”

How? She still looks so skinny! All of my instincts are telling me to feed that child. Now.

“She is still technically clinically depressed, but she’s so damn positive all the time that it’s hard to tell.”

I feel so bad for her. I just want to hug her and tell her that everything will be alright. Fatherly instinct, I guess.

“She is single, but sorry guys, she’s gay. Don’t try anything. I already did and it didn’t work out well for me.”

He winked at the audience, and Sam hit him. I bet the poor girl gets bullied at school for everything. Being mute, gay, depressed. But she looks so happy. How does she do it?

“Without further ado, our first song will be a cover of Green Day’s American Idiot.”

Ooh, Green Day. I already know that my vote is for this band. Wait no. Gerard you idiot, listen to them first.

Caz hit the first riff on his guitar, and damn, he was good for a kid. His fingers moved so expertly, he has to of been playing since he was very young. Only 2 seconds into the song, and I was already enjoying it.

Sam confidently stepped up to the microphone, and I’ll admit, I was a little nervous for her. How does she do vocal warm-ups if she doesn’t talk?

But all worries left me as she sang the first line.

“Don’t wanna be an american idiot.”

Her voice was perfect. It was the perfect blend of hardness and softness. Not too sweet, not too punk rock. Perfect. I sat mesmerized by her voice the rest of the song. I felt strangely proud of her. For overcoming so much. And she looked like she was having so much fun. When she wasn’t singing, she was dancing around, a wide smile on her face. I was disappointed when the song ended. Sam flashed a thumbs-up at the audience and smiled a million-dollar smile.

Caz then looked up and wiped the sweat off his face. Wow, these kids play like they mean it.

“Thanks guys! Our next song will be Give ‘Em Hell Kid by My Chemical Romance, followed by 21 Guns by Green Day, followed by Sit Still by Grouplove. We won’t be stopping in between those songs, but we will stop before the last one. It’s a surprise.

I sat in awe as they played Give ‘Em Hell Kid, which was one my personal favorites. Sam sung like she meant it, hair plastered to her face with sweat, eyes full of hate, singing to release the words she couldn’t say. I felt her pain.

21 Guns was just as perfect. Sam’s voice captured the sorrow of the song perfectly, hitting every note, and still expelling all the pain she couldn’t release, just softer now, sadder. I found myself mouthing the words with her.

The last song I had never heard before today, but I made a mental note to listen to Grouplove. It was catchy and carefree, and all four performers where dancing around the stage like kids, having the time of their lives. I was sad when it ended.

Sam stepped up to the mic to tell us the name of the last song.

“This last song we have been working on for quite a while, but it’s still a little shaky. The song itself is fine, but well, there’s words in it.”

What?

“Wait that’s confusing. I mean that there is a part where the singer says something, in a normal voice. And Sam is going to say it. We’ve successfully accomplished it before, but, ah, let’s just say we’ve had several band rehearsals cut short for trips to the hospital. I know that she can do it, she just has to believe in herself.” He looked pointedly at her. Clearly, they’ve had this conversation before.

“Without further ado, I present to you SING by My Chemical Romance. Wish her luck."

Sam’s aura of confidence was gone now as she stepped back up the the mic, taking a deep breath.

“Sing it out, boy you’ve gotta see what tomorrow brings.”

I shivered at the familiar words. This song fit her so well, even just the little I knew about her life.

“Sing it out, girl you’ve gotta be what tomorrow needs.”

I hope she’s really listening to the lyrics. I hope she connects and sings her heart out. I couldn’t care less if she said those two measly words or not. That’s not true, I’d be very proud if she did. But if she couldn’t, I wouldn’t care one bit. This girl needs to sing for all she’s worth.

“For every time that they want to count you out, use your voice, every single time you open up your mouth.”

I wanted to cry. This girl’s music is her only way of communicating. How does she get along. I could feel the angst, the hate, the frustration in her voice, all the words she could never say. But I also felt the comfort, the love for music. The love for singing.

“Sing it for the boys, sing it for the girls, every time that you lose it sing it for the world.”

I hoped that every time she had a bad day, every time she felt like she was done, that she went home and sang her heart out. I hoped that every time she lost it, she poured her heart into her songs and belted out the words she so desperately wished to say.

“Sing it from your heart, sing in until your nuts, sing it out for the ones that’ll hate your guts.”

I hope she took all of the anger she had for the kids who were mean to her, and sang it right into their faces. I hope she sung out all of her worries.

“Sing it for the deaf, sing it for the blind, sing about everyone that you left behind.”

I hope she sung for her dad. She launched into the second verse, and it was just as powerful as the first.

You could tell that people obviously told her to shut up a lot back when she talked, because there was a certain fire in her eyes when she said “Raise your voice, every single time they try and shut your mouth.”

She belted out the second chorus, and I felt a tear slide down my cheek. She was putting everything she had into this song, and it was beautiful.

She started the bridge, and I began to feel anxious. Of course, she hit all the notes perfectly, but time was ticking, and she looked nervous.

“Generation nothing, nothing but a dead scene, product of a white dream, I am not the singer that you wanted but a dancer, I refuse to answer, talk about the past sir, wrote it for the ones who want to get away.”

She took a deep breath, and her head snapped up, I swear she looked me directly in the eye.

“Keep running.”

The crowd cheered.

She did it. She said it. She said the words. Tears were streaming down my face, and I’m sure I looked like a fool, but I was proud.

The song ended, and the crowd burst into a round of applause. She took a bow and looked like she wanted to say something, but of course she couldn’t.

“Dude, are you okay?”

It was Ray.

I wiped my face on my sleeve. “Yeah, just damn fatherly instincts. I’m so proud of her, you know?”

Ray smiled. “Yeah, that was pretty amazing. I can’t imagine how it must feel to have all your words trapped inside yourself. Did you see how much work it took to say two words? It looked like she was going to pass out.”

“I know who I’m voting for.” That was Mikey.

“I think we all do, Mikes. They deserve it.”

I looked over at Frank, who had been surprisingly quiet this whole time. He was crying a little too. Nice to know I’m not alone. I slid over and rubbed his back soothingly.

“She, she just, said it. She sounded so confident.” He sobbed.

“I know buddy, I know.”

“The effort she must have put into that, just saying that.” He hit his head on the table, as if to clear it.

“Unbelievable.”

At that moment the announcer’s voice came over the speakers once again.

“The judges now have half an hour to decide who wins. The performers should use this time to change and get cleaned up, prepared to meet our guests.”

“Thirty minutes,” Mikey said sarcastically, “how will we ever decide who to choose in that amount of time.”

I giggled. “Are we all in agreement that The Californians won?”

“Hell yeah.”

Thirty minutes later, all the performers were sitting in the audience, fidgeting from the nerves, and the announcer was onstage holding an envelope.

“Third place goes to... Cereal Swag!” A bunch of boys wearing their pants too low approached the stage to collect their award.

“Second place goes to... The F Sharps!” That was the acapella group.

“And first place goes to... The Californians! Congrats you guys, you deserve it!” I was standing behind the wings watching this. The joy in Sam’s made me so happy, I can’t explain it. I just want her to feel good about herself. She deserves this.

“You guys are probably anxious to meet your judges.” The boys and Sam nodded furiously. “Well, please welcome... My Chemical Romance.”

We stepped onstage. Alex fainted, Caz started jumping up and down like a small child, and Seth was screaming. And Sam... Sam was frozen in place, her eyes the size of saucers. She didn’t move. Not one inch.

The announcer told the rest of the kids that they could leave, and the crowd filed out, leaving no one in the audience. Wow, The Californians really didn’t have anybody here to cheer for them.

An official-looking woman brought us to a conference room and then left us there. We were supposed to become acquainted, apparently. Everybody took a seat, except for Sam, who was still frozen, just now in the doorway. Eyes wide, mouth partly opened. I had a strange urge to say something along the lines of ‘trying to catch flies?’

Dad jokes, wow Gerard.

Caz got up and spoke soothingly to Sam, who was still unmoving. “Come on, sweetheart. Take a seat.”

She shook her head and blushed sitting in the chair closest to her, almost missing and falling, but Caz grabbed her. She was bright red now, her face slackened, her muscles tensed as if she was ready to spring. Caz sat down next to her.

I smiled a friendly smile in her direction. “Hey guys. Congratulations! You guys were awesome.”

“I totally agree,” Frank stated, “Caz you shredded that solo in Give ‘Em Hell.”

“Um, er thanks.” Caz blushed. He didn’t seem to be a kid who was lost for words a lot, so he must be really flattered.

Mikey made a noise of approval. “Alex, that bass playing was really good, and that bass was wow. Where did you get it?”

“Uh... Allegro music.” Alex was obviously a shy kid, not used to complements. He reminded me of Mikey when Mikey was his age. So young and scared...

I realized now that Caz and Frank were now talking about the riff in Na Na Na, Ray and Seth were talking about some metal record, and Mikey and Alex were talking about the quality of bass guitars. Well, Mikey was talking. Alex was trying not to faint again.

Sam hadn’t moved. She was still frozen in her spot, eyes wide. I motioned for her to come over here, but she didn’t move. I got up and walked over to her, her eyes followed me the entire way.

“You’re a really good singer, you know.”

She blushed, and said ‘thank you’ in sign language. That was actually the only thing I knew in sign language, so I hope she doesn’t try to communicate anything else.

“That was really brave of you, saying that. Frank and I actually started tearing up.” That was an understatement. “It must suck, having all your words bottled up inside.”

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but she couldn’t. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she grabbed a notepad and pencil from her bag. I waited patiently as she began writing. About four sentences in, I realized that tears were silently falling from her eyes. She handed me the paper.

Gerard, you are very literally the reason I’m still alive. I’m not exaggerating. There was a time in my life where I had nothing. No band, no words, no dad, no mom, I hadn’t even realized that I could sing yet. Your music was the only thing I had left. I’m Not Okay was my favorite. My mom used to get mad at me for blasting it all the time. There were many, many times, when I was about to just be done, I was ready to kill myself, but I listened to some MCR, and I didn’t. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.

“That means so much, Sam, you have no idea.” It really did. Tears were once again springing from my eyes. “You don’t have a mom?” I was worried that I had asked something too personal, but she grabbed the notepad and scribbled off another note.

Ever since my dad died, she doesn’t really care about me. She feeds me, but that’s about it. I live off of money from our band’s gigs.

“I’m so sorry. I know how you feel. You heard about Lindsey and Bandit, right?” I cringed.

She nodded.

I’m so sorry.

“It’s alright. Getting the band back together helped me get over it. But I still feel like I’m missing something, you know? I miss having a daughter to take care of.”

I know how you feel. I miss having a dad.

I was about to say something when the official lady walked in.

“Times up guys, say goodbye.”

I was disappointed. I loved talking to little Sam. She’s like the daughter I never had. The kids packed up their things and got ready to go. They were leaving the door when I saw Sam stop and tug on Caz’s sleeve.

“Wait.” He translated and looked at Sam. Everybody stopped and looked to see what she needed. She turned around at looked at me, straight in my eyes. What was she doing? She opened her mouth, and then closed again. Opened it and then closed it.

“Sam? You alright?”

She took a deep breath.

“Thank you.” She said in a voice clear as a bell.

Then her hands shot up to her head and she crumpled to the ground.

Notes

Well that was weird. It's 2am here and I'm really tired.

I'm sorry if non-singers really don't understand this chapter. The words we sing have a lot of meaning to us and we try to feel them when we sing.

I actually cried while writing this haha

PLEASE CRITICIZE ME

xoxo

~Chloe Rose