Holland Road | Mumford & Sons Fan Fiction

Chapter 10

xChapter 10x

Friday, February 8th, 2003

5:11 P.M.

On the Road Again

"Alright, then," I tell Mum, expecting it to be the end our dull conversation.

"Oh, there was something else I have to tell you," she say right before turning on the turn signal.

"Yeah?" I ask and straighten up from my slouched position in the passenger seat.

"You're playing in the praise band this weekend," she says simply. "That's why I'm taking you an hour early--so you can rehearse a bit before worship tonight."

I heave a long sigh. That complicates some things. "You're telling me this now? I don't even have drum sticks."

"They have the drum set there. Won't there be some there? Or can't you just borrow some from someone else?" the woman asks cluelessly.

"That's not quite how it works," I respond.

My mum really is clueless when it comes to my music stuff. It's not that she doesn't like music so much as that she doesn't realize that it's all I have going for me. Or that there isn't a chance in hell that the guitarist will just happen to show up with drumsticks.

"Well how does it work, then, Marcus?" Mum asks, her voice level raised considerably. I notice I can see the whites of we knuckles as she grips the wheel even tighter. I really need to work on keeping my mouth shut around my parents.

"Never mind," I mumble and turn my torso towards the window, back in the hunched over position I was in earlier.

x x x x x

This church smells like old people. And mold. I let loose an elephant sneeze that startles half the bodies in the sanctuary.

"Okay, boys!" an a too enthusiastic woman says, her hands raised in the air. "We're just going to run through a couple songs you should already be familiar with! Is everyone here?"

Nobody answers the strange lady as she scans us with her beady hawk eyes. "Where's the guitarist?"

As if on cue, the is an explosion that comes through the door to the room. A boy, no older than I, starts whirling down the aisle with headphones on, guitar case strapped to his back, drumsticks in hand, and wailing on the top of his lungs.

"EVERYBODY, YEAH! ROCK YOUR BODY, YEAH!" I instantly recognize the song as Backstreet Boys.

A moment later, a lady comes flying through the door, yelling after the boy. "Come here, honey! You forgot something!"

The boy, completely oblivious to who I'm guessing is his mother, takes the drumsticks and starts whacking them on every pew he passes before he gets up to the front of the room, singing as loud as he possibly can.

"BACKSTREET'S BACK!"

I look over to the others around me and silently ask him who this hell this person is. By the confused look in their eyes I can tell they are just as lost as I am.

"Honey, come back here! You forgot your deodorant!" the lady shouts as the boy climbs up onto the stage I'm standing on. The peppy woman that has organizing everything has a huge smile on her face, but I swear her eye is twitching. She yanks the headphones off the boy and says with a sickeningly sweet voice, "Excuse me, sir. Get where you need to be. We're about to begin."

The guy comes over to my right and tosses his drumsticks on the floor. "Hey, you play drums too?" I ask him.

"Nope, not at all," he responds with a laugh.

"Well, could I possibly borrow your sticks?"

"Sure thing," he says. Then, while I'm reaching for them he asks, "What's your name?"

"Marcus. And yours?"

A smirk appears and his face. "Winston Marshall."

{A/N}

Oops.

Also no fluff this time but I made up for it I think. You just wait.

Thank thank thank you for reading! I'm SO UNBELIEVABLY CLOSE to 100 likes! You're the bestestest

(Such a short not omg)