The Devil Wears Girl Jeans [BEING EDITED]

The Devil Wears Girl Jeans (Chapter 29)

GUYS THIS IS FROM DALLAS' POINT OF VIEW OKAY. DALLAS. DALLAS. DALLAS. ITS RANDOM, I KNOW, BUT JUST GO WITH IT.

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Weekends are pretty much like a huge slide. You start at the top and you're having fun, but as you start to reach the bottom, you realize that you're going to fly into a pile of shit called Monday. Luckily, it was still Sunday for a few more hours, which meant that we were once again in my basement attempting to make music which 75% of the time just consisted of my dumbass brother trying to tune his bass.

Have you ever sat in a room full of people and listened to the conversations around you and realized that you are the smartest person in the room? That was how I felt right now. Seth and Sammy were draped across the cracked leather sofa, talking animatedly about, of all things, chapstick. I kid you not.

Tristan, on the other hand, was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of them, trying to figure out how to order pizza off of the Domino's website. My mom had texted me her credit card details so I could order “a few small pizzas” for us. So much trust.

So much misplaced trust.

“Have any of you guys been able to get a hold of Quinn? Its kinda hard to practice without a lead singer.” Travis pointed out as he fiddled with the pegs on his bass.

“He isn't answering. I literally called him like 30 times in a row. I guess we'll just have to wait for Lacey to get back and see if she knows anything.” Seth yawned, apparently still tired from our outing last night. We hadn't gotten home until 2 am, so I really didn't blame him.

“Did you try calling her too?” I asked, and Seth nodded.

“Line was busy.”

Lacey had been sent out to get candy for us almost an hour ago, which meant that technically we were down a lead singer and a drummer. It was looking pretty grim for us so far, considering today was the day we were supposed to be recording a demo to send out to a few small record companies.

“What's the latest news about our pizzas?” I asked Tristan, who had been silent pretty much the entire time. He was holding up pretty well around us, I noticed. A lot better than I would've, at least. Usually whenever a girl broke my heart (which was basically every week), I just lost it. It was pretty embarrassing since I'm the ugliest crier in the entire world. There was always a lot of snot and sometimes it got in my hair and I bawl and make noises somewhat like a beluga whale try to attract a mate, and my mouth is usually open the whole time. I put Kim Kardashian's crying face to shame.

But Tristan saved all of that for when he was alone, I was guessing. Unless he was like, the emotional Hulk. But I doubted that.

“This site is ridiculous, so I sorta kinda ended up ordering six large pizzas since I couldn't figure out how to go back and change the order. If your mom asks why there's 100 bucks missing from her bank account, blame Seth.” he said, without the usual smug tone he got in his voice whenever he realized that he had found yet another way to potentially screw over his sibling. He was taking the whole Hartley thing pretty badly, even if he wasn't showing it. I knew him well enough to know that, at least.