Flexible--Rydon--11"We could call ourselves The Winter League," Brent suggests with a stupid grin.
"No," Ryan says flatly, giving him a pointed glare. "I'm being serious here."
Spencer scratches his head. "The League?" he says, then shakes his head. "Or, maybe Pyromania?"
"Sounds too reckless," Ryan says, and Spencer resists the urge to point out that Ryan is quite possibly the most reckless person he knows.
"What about Synergy?" Brendon says tentatively. "It means to work together."
Ryan glares him down, silently telling him that he may be the front man, but he's in no way the leader.
"I'll come up with something," he says decisively. "See you all on Saturday, for next practice."
"Oh! That reminds me!" Brendon exclaims and moves to rummage through his guitar case. "I brought a CD as a thank-you gift?"
Spencer meets Ryan cynical gaze and asks the question for him. "How'd you know you'd get in?"
Brendon shrugs. "Just in case," he says and shoves a CD into Ryan's hands. "
Flexible--Rydon--10When 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,
Because I Can't Have You-Rydon"I wish," said Brendon and the dark-haired boy threw himself back onto his seat, sending the office chair rolling across the room.
"What do you want this time?" Spencer asked, sticking his head into the room, Brendon's man-cave. "Smoothie?" He held his hands out to show Brendon the Styrofoam cups. Smoothie Palace. Serving fresh and healthy delights since 2003.
Brendon shrugged and got up to grab one of the smoothies. "Nothing," he said quickly. "I just wish."
"I wish that we could rent a cabin in the mountains, like that one time," Spencer said, clearing a spot on the couch and sitting down amid the open novels and half-filled notebooks. "You can't seem to write anything these days." Harsh, but sometimes harsh was the best way to deal with Brendon.
"But we ended up not keeping anything we wrote in the cabins," Brendon pointed out.
Spencer took a sip of his banana-peach-swirl and raised his eyebrows. "Correction," he said. "Ryan ended up not keeping anything