Falling for the boy with the guitar.

Most people could never feel what i’ve felt, seen what I’ve seen, or experience what I’ve experienced. The bright lights are almost blinding, but I’ve gotten somewhat used to them. They change from venue to venue. At least I can usually always see the first few rows of screaming fans. Mostly the craziest girls take up the front row. You see them mouthing my name, cause the music is louder than all their voices combined.

All I have to do is smile, and wink from under my shaggy bangs, and they begin screaming like the building is on fire. All I can do is laugh silently to myself and keep strumming along to my guitar. This baby never fails me. It’s been going strong for a year and a half now. Over a hundred concerts, in over 20 states.

I looked over to center stage, only to see Forrest pleasing the crowd like usual. The girls have a thing for him. It’s like as soon as they hear his voice, it’s the end of the world, and every heart in the room, melts. He always has a way to make a girl weak in the knees. Although he’s three years younger than myself, at fifteen years old, my brother can drive any crowd wild. His voice is like his secret weapon. He can carry on an entire concert without cracking a single note.

I’d guessed there was a reason we put him in charge of vocals. He was definitely a performer. He knows how to use up a stage. You’ll always see him climbing on things and running around, making the crowd go nuts. Most boys his age would never dare do half the things that Forrest does. He continues to get up in front of a crowd of twenty thousand people, night after night, without an ounce of fear in his body.

All the way at the far left of the stage is my other brother Andre, strumming along with his bass. Unlike, Forrest and I, Andre has the sense of humour. He can do anything to make a girl laugh. His dirty blonde hair and shades get the ladies’ attention, then his jokes capture their hearts. It’s hard to make the fans laugh when Andre’s there. It’s kind of his forte. Andre and I get along better than Forrest and I do, only because we have less of an age difference. Andre is only a year younger than me, so we can relate better.

But the three of us, rarely ever fight. Whenever Andre takes off his sunglasses, revealing his honey-brown eyes, the crowd errupts into cheering.  The sound is strangely familiar. Almost like a standing behind an airplane when it’s taking off. It happends every single time we come out on stage. Andre took off his glasses and tossed them into the crowd as Forrest finished the last word of the song.

“How is everyone doing tonight?!” Forrest asked the crowd of screaming fans.

“Thanks for coming out tonight!” He thanked them.

“We love you all!” Andre added.

“Goodnight everybody!” And with that, we all gave a final bow, and the lights faded to black. The whistles and chants were almost louder now, due to the lack of music. In the dark, we all made our way to the big staircase which led back stage.  These big guys in black shirts led us through the low tunnels, until we made it to our dressing room that had “BURNHAM” written on it.

 I handed my guitar off to our manager and headed to the mini fridge in the corner of the room for a soda. Forrest already had one in his hand. His brown hair was slightly damp from the sweat. He flipped it to the side, out of his eyes.

“That was sick.” He said, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice. I just laughed because I knew he’s actually exhausted. He’s always the first to pass out on the tour bus, while Andre and I are usually still awake on the internet or making crazy videos. Our managers don’t like it too much that we go on Twitter and Facebook, but even our parents agree that regardless, we’re still teenagers.

“I saw at least ten Burnham shirts in the front row tonight.” Andre added, while propped up in a lazy boy looking into a mirror.