“I’m going to throw up. All over your shoes. And hairy legs.”

“Shut up, you piece of shit. I shaved yesterday,” Jackie said, fiddling with the waist of her skirt subconsciously. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re too pretty and someone’s gotta bring you back down to this earth, you angel, you,” Devin planted a kiss on Jack’s cheek before reaching his arms over his head in a speedy stretch. “Hate you.”

“I hate you more,” she replied, tuning her guitar for the umpteenth time before their set. “Why are you nervous?”

“I’m always nervous. Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous. You’re making me nervous with your nervousness. Stop talking. Save your voice,” Jack said quickly. Truth be told, her stomach was churning. This was one of the first concerts they had played that was at max capacity at a stadium. The crowd was hyped, but mostly because of the act following their band. My Chemical Romance was set to play after The Semiformal Psychopaths. Jack knew the crowd wanted the headliners, but they weren’t set to come on until an hour after her band was finished.

“I’m going to throw up.”

---

It was like being high out of your mind but sleeping it off with alcohol at the same time. In short, it was exhilarating. Jack had always dreamt of being part of a huge band, but she had never imagined it would headway to something like this. A sold out show. At the Staples Center in Los Angeles. The crowd was chanting, “Se-mi-for-mal. Se-mi-for-mal!” She exchanged a grin with Devin, the singer, and felt Joshua, their bassist, slap her ass “for good luck”, like he claimed.

“Are you fucking ready?” He shouted, but the roar of the crowd drowned his words out. Jack just nodded furiously, her shaggy black hair spilling in every direction over her shoulder. She saw Devin take one last deep breath before pulling the microphone to his mouth.

“Los Angeles! Are you ready to rock your shit off?!” He screamed, running a hand through his greased up hair. He did the classic ‘I can’t hear you!’ schpiel, getting the crowd appropriately hyped up. Their drummer did the countdown, and they were off. Autopilot took over and the notes flowed from the back of her head, down her throat and through the tips of her fingers hammering down on the frets of her Fender.

This was living.

Josh was headbanging on top of an amp. Devin was dangerously close to diving into the pit. Alexandria was killing it up on the drum rise.

This is perfection, was the only tangible thought floating through Jack’s mind.

Once they ended her first song, Jack flipped her hair back from off of her face so she could get some more air on it. Her chest, buckled down under layers of vests and leather, heaved and threatened to pop a few of those layers off.

Over the crowd’s roar, a singular, high-pitched “What the fuck that was AMAZING,” sounded out of stage left. She whipped her head around to see somebody standing in sidestage, his hands still cupped on either side of his mouth after screaming at them. He let them fall back down into raucous applause when they made eye contact and only after he gave her both two thumbs up and two middle fingers. The lights shining in her eyes made it nearly impossible to see who this guy was, but Jack didn’t care. Jack was in the zone.

Whenever you see your favorite band live, the set always-without exception-goes by too fast. Before you know it, you’re outside on the pavement by their bus with your ticket in hand, wanting nothing more in the world than to have it signed. You’d give your left kidney for that selfie you could take with the lead singer. And then it’s all gone in a whirlwind of clanking gear in the back of the bus, cigarette smoke, and forgotten tickets and wristbands scuttering by on the wind on the pavement below. You’re sitting on the street curb feeling like you just had sex, what with the sudden quiet after the storm, and that cigarette between your lips is your life force.

Jack’s own set of course went by too fast for her liking. Before they knew it, they’d gone through the list and were being helped off stage by the guitar and drum techs. Jack always made sure to thank them profusely, because their jobs were oftentimes thankless and underpaid. She’d been there before.

The crowd was still roaring as they packed up their gear into the back of their own bus. “Guys,” Josh panted as they exited the stage, “I can’t believe we just rocked the hell out of that.”

“I can believe it. Because we’re just that good, bitches,” Devin said, flipping his hair into Jack’s. They all locked arms with each other and exited the backstage area. But they weren’t prepared.

Barely teenagers wearing crop tops and thigh highs were screaming for them. Devin, in particular. And it wasn’t as if you could blame them; Devin was incredibly good looking and had enough charisma to seduce anybody, girl or guy, he wanted. It was almost scary, Jack thought. What these poor girls didn’t know, as they handed him sharpies to sign their breasts (to which Devin adamantly refused, mostly because they were blatantly underaged), was that Devin was pining over his boyfriend that he had left in order to go on tour. It was tearing him up inside. Maybe those girls didn’t care about that. They just would have cared that he had a boyfriend at a point.

Devin was an Equal Opportunity Flirter: he made everybody feel wanted. Whether they were by him or not, though, only he knew. The rest of the band follow him as he led the line, signing left and right.

“I can’t,” Jack began to say.

“Even,” Josh finished for her. “You can’t even. I know you can’t. Because I can’t even.” Josh shouted to her to be heard about the roar of the crowd.

“These people don’t even know who we are,” Alexandria noted, signing with the rest of the band though.

“Maybe not, but they seem to care an awful fucking lot, so put on your happy face Alex,” Devin sang, causing many teenage girls to surge forward over the bar.

“We all know I don’t have a happy face. So shove it, boss man.”

“Is MCR setting up right now?” Jack asked, not sure if that was a stupid question or not. Most of them except Devin were new to the large show scene, so maybe they all had the same question.

“I’d imagine so. After they finish tearing our set down and packing it up, theirs will be set up.” Devin grumbled with a sharpie cap between his teeth. “Oh, I love you too sweetheart,” he said to a girl with hearts for eyes. “How endearing,” he said to us as he turned around, clutching the small amount of letters and drawings he’d been handed.

“I actually didn’t know we had an actual fan following. Like this, you know?” Josh said, appraising the small stack Devin had under his arm.

“We? You mean, ‘me’,” he laughed. “I’m just fucking with you. We actually do have a surprising base. You guys should take a look at maybe working on the community I built or, you know, answering fan mail or managing our website. Or anything to do with publicity, really. Just an idea,” Devin said, booping Jack on the nose on his way back to the break area backstage where the water was.

“I still think he likes you,” Alex said flatly, her eyes flickering over to where Devin had been standing mere moments ago.

“I thought he was gay,” Jack admitted, and then immediately shook her head. “And I still think there’s nothing there because we act like we’re brother and sister.” Alex shot Jack a pointed look, which Jack shrugged off.

“I still think it’s time to get high as fuck,” Josh said, pulling a bag from the inside of his jacket

They were all about to head out through the back stage door when a pair of hands gripped the back of Jack's jacket, pulling her back inside.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” The man yelled, grabbing Jack by the shoulders and shaking her gently. The juxtaposition of his two actions confused her so she froze, staring level into his amber eyes.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!” She shouted back, a little more than slightly annoyed. Then the stage lighting came on, and she realized who was accosting her in the gentlest way possible. “Fuck, you’re Frank Iero.”

---

“And you’re insanely talented at that guitar. Like, damn. How? Why? I’m going to get kicked out and MCR’s going to eat you up, I just know it.”

“Please don’t tease me like that. Not that I don’t love my sweet little band. Because I do. This is all coming out wrong and I blame you because I had no idea who you were for a second,” Jack droned on mechanically. The weed hadn’t even been passed by her in the circle. Thinking about it, she hadn’t even made it to the circle before Frank Iero grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her backstage again.

“Nah man, I’m kidding. Stay in your band. You guys were super fucking good and I never want to play another show after you because we’re going to sound awful,” he said, grinning. Jack couldn’t help the chuckle bubbling up inside of her. “Who am I kidding, we’re going to sound amazing, like we always do. And you guys should open for us every show we ever play, because then I’d be able to see you more.”

“Who fucking knows man. We’re just getting started. Maybe you’ll eventually be opening for us,” she slung back at him. She registered shock in his eyes for a millisecond before the corners of his eyelids crinkled and he threw his head back in a laugh.

“Fuck, you could be right. Hey, my retirement counts on this band. That’s all I got going for me, so don’t fuck it up. I’m counting on you….”

“Jack. My name is Jack. I’m a girl named Jack.”

“Short for Jacqueline?”

“Short for Jacqueline.”

“I’m not going to lie, when I heard of Jack the Lead Guitarist of Semiformal Psychopaths, I did not imagine an incredibly attractive black widow wielding a Fender like she was born with it,” Frank said smoothly, all trace of joking gone from his tone.

“When I heard of Frank Iero of My Chemical Romance, I did not imagine a smooth talking, all words, no show, motherfucker trying to get into my pants.” Jack crossed her arms, waiting a split second before erupting into laughter. “Okay. That was mean. I was completely joking.”

“So you think I’m all talk and no show? Huh? Well. Let’s see what you think of this show, then. And we’ll talk after!” Thankfully Frank took the joke well, but Jack was beginning to think that boy had a grin permanently affixed to his impish face.

It sunk in, what he had said. ‘We’ll talk after.’

“Shit. All jokes aside, I would love to talk after. But I don’t think we have long before we have to get on the road,” she said, wringing her hands together. Fuck. She would have loved to chat with Frank Iero and really pick his mind about guitar techniques and the latest Fender models and playing sold out shows. She wanted to know everything.

“That blows,” he said unsympathetically. “Stay until we’re done and I’ll buy you coffee. Don’t be a bitch.”

“I’ll try. But no promises.”

The emcee of the stadium was announcing them: “Allllll the way from Belleville, New Jersey, we have…..”

“Oh, come on!” Frank was throwing a guitar over his shoulder, selecting a pick from the top of another amp.

“We’ll just have to see!” Jack threw her hands up in the air. This was too much pressure. Having to commit to coffee with Frank Iero in between fragments of his internationally renowned band being introduced at the Staples Center. What a fucking day.

“I better see you,” he gave her a point with his pick in between his fingers as he backed onto stage, seconds before they plummeted into the chords of Thank You For The Venom.

Jack was panting on the sidestage, trying to get a full breath in to comprehend what had just happened. Frank was headbanging. Ray was powerstancing. Mikey was Mikey, back and center with his Mustang bass. And Gerard was wrecking it in the best way possible on vocals. His black hair shone under the harsh lights, a stark contrast against the blood red tie he had around his neck. For a split second, his eyes flicked over to hers, and she could have sworn he winked.

“I think MCR is trying to kill me,” she told Devin exasperatedly when she finally made her way back to her band.

Notes