Knowing they wouldn’t mind me manhandling them, I started elbowing my way through the crowd. Surprisingly though, they gave me dirty looks, like they didn’t know who I was or why I was intruding on their place in line. Weird. I’d expected to get groped along the way. Oh well.
“Let me through, I need to talk to Kellan,” I said, pushing past a trio of girls.
“Wait your turn, dude,” one of them replied. She was wearing a KELLAN KYLE IS MY ROCK GOD T-shirt, so I figured she was blind to the rest of us “rock gods.”
Narrowing my eyes, I told her, “I’m in the band, and I need to speak to Kellan…my bandmate.” Just saying it irritated me. Kellan fan or not, this chick should know me on sight.
She scoffed, like she thought I was blowing smoke out my ass. I was about to set her straight, about several things, when someone in front of her said, “No, no, he is in the band. Drummer, right?” she asked. The pigtails in her hair made her look four. Maybe that was why she didn’t know my instrument. She was still learning what all the different pieces were.
“Bass,” I muttered, shoving my way around them.
Kellan finally noticed the commotion and swung his head my way. It took some jostling, but I finally worked my way through the obsessed K. K. crew to get to him. He didn’t seem happy to see me. “Oh, hey, Griff. Here for the meet and greet? I thought I saw a couple girls wearing Griffin shirts heading down the hall. I bet you can catch up to them if you hurry.”
I was getting battered from behind by his overeager fans, but I ignored them and his comment. “What did the guys say about tonight? ’Cause I had this awesome idea—”
“Yeah, about that…” Kellan grabbed a pen from a fan and started signing a CD case. “I talked to the guys and they feel…well, we feel that tonight isn’t a good night. We need to sit down and plan something first…work it into the lineup. We’ve already got a set plan, you know?” He handed the case back to the fan, then looked up at me. Giving me a dismissive pat on the shoulder, he added, “Maybe tomorrow night, okay? We’ll talk later, when it’s not so crazy.” Grabbing another pen, he started signing something else.
My jaw dropped, and I lost my place in line as the Kellan fans pushed me back. Within minutes, I was on the outside of the circle looking in. Tomorrow? That sounded like a million hours from now. Why the hell couldn’t we just try something tonight? Why the hell couldn’t we wing it? Made no sense to me.
Just as I was debating it, a girl beside me handed me a Sharpie. “You’re with the band, right?”
Frowning, I grabbed the pen. “I am the band,” I told her. Looking confused, she glanced between Kellan and me. Sighing, I grabbed the glossy photo she had in her hand. It was of Kellan, but I signed it anyway—right across his face. The fan looked at the signature like she didn’t recognize it. She thanked me, but her look of confusion didn’t lessen. She had no clue who I was. What the fuck?
Behind me, a couple of girls started giggling. I turned around and they smiled at me with crimson faces. “Oh my God, it’s you. Hand Solo!”
I gave them a sly grin. Finally, someone who recognized me. “At your service,” I said, faking jacking off. I even ended the gesture with an explosion. They squealed and covered their eyes.
After they recovered, one of them stepped forward. She was tall and thin, and the D-Bags shirt she was wearing looked like it had been molded right onto her it was so tight. “You’ve got to sign my shirt,” she stated.
“Gladly.” Taking her pen, I scrawled my name across her chest. She laughed the entire time.
Evan and Matt wandered through the area and, leaving the girls to daydream about me, I cornered my bandmates and asked them about me performing tonight. Like they’d rehearsed it, they gave me the same answer as Kellan—Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. Between this denial and Matt’s absolute refusal to let me play lead, I was fuming by the time we went onstage. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to wait a couple days, but still, I was ready for my moment—a moment that had been denied me for far too long already.
For the first time in a long time, I really paid attention during the show. Kellan made the introductions, Kellan started the songs, Kellan spoke to the crowd between the songs. Every once in a while, he would throw a remark our way, but he was in control of the entire performance, and most of his attention was directed toward the fans, not his bandmates. He’d chat with them, ask them how they were doing, run down the aisle to say hello to the ones in the back. Every question he aimed their way was met with a resounding shriek of approval that made me roll my eyes in annoyance.
Nothing he was doing was all that special. I could ask the crowd if they were having fun. I could run up the aisle way to high-five strangers. I could sing the songs, gyrate my hips, and point at hot girls in the pit. Kellan wasn’t the be-all and end-all of this band. He was just one member. As I looked around the stadium, I began to wonder if the fans knew that. All the posters I could see were for him. I LOVE KELLAN. MARRY ME, KELLAN. WE ADORE YOU, KELLAN. KELLAN IS THE MAN. HAVE MY BABY, KELLAN. Kellan, Kellan, Kellan. I was sick of his name long before the concert ended.
And every night for the next two weeks was a lot like that night. All I heard from the guys when I asked them if I could have a piece of the performance pie was, Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. If we had an off day, they all avoided me like the plague. They claimed they were sightseeing or catching up on sleep, but I didn’t buy it. I knew when I was being blown off. All I could do was sit, stew, and complain to anyone who would listen to me.