literature

Flexible--Rydon--10

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When Ryan returns to the basement practice room, his dark hair is soaking, plastered to the sides of his head by the water. "So," he says briskly, as though nothing had happened. "You got the spot."

"Y-yeah," Brendon replies and gives Ryan a shaky smile. "Thanks."

Brent meets Spencer's eyes, asking him a silent question, and the drummer nods. Bitterness unfolds in Ryan's stomach. What have they decided? he growls internally. What are they not telling?

"Actually, Brendon," Brent begins in his gawky, stumbling voice. "You're voice was … is … quite amazing and we'd, um, like you to be our … uh … singer," he finishes in a small, slightly squeaky voice, already bracing himself for Ryan's outburst.

"You what?" Ryan spits out. "How … how dare you make the decision without me?! That's not your call to make, Brent! Not yours! It's mine. I'm the singer. I'm the lyrist. I'm the leader."

"No!" Spencer bursts out. "No, Ryan, you're not. We're a band. All of us. We all have a say in what goes. What do you think, Brendon? Do you want to sing?"

Brendon hesitates and Ryan can see everything in the boy's eyes—

He wants to sing, Ryan realizes with a jolt. He loves singing. It's a dream for him.

But then Brendon looks back at Ryan with pleading eyes.

He doesn't want to offend me, Ryan deciphers. He's asking my permission. He's asking me!

Singing is my job. Mine. It shows power and gives one a hold over the others in the band. That's me.

His voice is better than mine.

This boy, this "replacement" for Trevor—No! I can't give him anything more than he already has.

I'm not even that sure of my own voice.

Singing is my job. Mine!

This is no longer the band it once was …

I was the leader, the singer, the poet, a guitarist. Trevor was the lead guitarist, my link to the rest of the world. Spencer the drummer, calm, mediator. Brent the bassist, the background noise to the rest of us.

This is no longer The Summer League.

A new band. A new line-up. This boy, this Brendon, is not just a replacement for Trevor. He'll replace me too, as front man of this band.

No longer The Summer League.


"Sure," Ryan says carelessly. "You can sing. If you want. Go ahead."

"Really?" Brendon breathes and suddenly his arms are around Ryan. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Startled, Ryan blushes and tries to extract himself from the younger boy's grasp. "I, oh, um, you're welcome?" And his voice rises in pitch at the end, creating an uncertain question, sounding an awful lot like Brendon.

But the moment Brendon's arms have released him, Ryan is no longer held down the younger boy's energy and uncertainty.

"And, guys," Ryan begins, no hesitation or question in his voice this time, "we need a new band name."
"The Most Flexible Man in the World" Part Ten. Rydon/Ryden fanfic.

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