"Is your refrigerator running? Well then you better catch it!"
A story in which an egotistical pop star keeps getting prank calls from a sarcastic girl
Book 1 of 5 in the communications series
One minute I'm minding my business, and the next I'm getting forced to go on a plane to go back to New York. It's not fair. We've only been a band for what, seven months? Management was stupid to do this.
As we all know, management is filled with idiots. First, they yell at us and push us around. Next, they force everyone else to treat us like we're glass, such hypocrites. After that, they force us to do shit we don't even want to do. Then, they go behind my back to get my band member's permission to ship me off. We don't even have an album out yet, and they're already making us stop, retards.
I'm pissed. I'm pissed off. Management wants to separate me from the spotlight by bringing me into the highest populated city in the US. Nice job geniuses.
I'm not necessarily pissed at that since I can just mess with them now. I'm pissed that my bandmates agreed to this. I thought we were a family. Apparently the four of them are.
To add to it all, we got the most shitty flight ever. We're sitting with everyone else, open seating. It's a complete disgrace to what I've worked for. I worked to be above this, and it's what I deserve. I shouldn't be sat next to this sweaty thing that keeps burping.
"Be optimistic," Sergio tells me. Optimistic my ass.
"Oh yeah, sure. Everything is going to be fine with rainbows and butterflies. As soon as I walk into the airport in New York, I'm going to spot a girl wearing some converse that is going to change me into a better man like management wants. We're going to live happily ever after and no challenge is going to get between us because we're soulmates," I roll my eyes, cleaning out my camera roll at the same time.
"I wasn't meaning that, just don't look so pissed off man," Sergio adjusts the headphones he's wearing. This is why I wish Michael was here over Sergio. Michael will let me looked pissed off. Sergio won't.
"Can't help it if this is my face," I roll my eyes, looking into the window across the isle. There are clouds, clouds, and more clouds.
"Smile," Sergio instructs me, but I just glare at him. I'm not a six year old. You can't cue my expressions.
"I'm not a baby," I look the other way. He gives up and looks at his phone, thank gosh.
"Sure you are man," the fat, sweaty man next to me scoffs. My jaw drops, and I turn to him.
"What did you just say?" I crack my knuckles and my neck. His eyes suddenly widen, but he still smirks.
"You just threw a fit like a baby," he gestures to in front of me. This guy is not going to get away with calling me a baby. I connect my fist with his jaw, and his head jerks back into his seat. I repetitively slam my fist into his face before I feel someone hold me back, Sergio. Even with jerking back and forth to try to free myself, he holds me back. The man spits out a tooth, and I smirk. His eyes widen when he sees it.
"Hola Mexicano, no amigo punch," the man addresses Sergio, being racist as hell. Sergio tightens his lips into a straight line.
"You can't tell me he doesn't deserve to be thrown off this plane," I growl at this disgusting excuse of a human being. He has a huge grease stain right on the center of his shirt, the light blue turning darker.
"No one deserves to be thrown off the plane in mid air," Sergio tells me. I roll my eyes.
"You apparently haven't seen this guy here," I spit at the guy, a nice glob of saliva landing on one of his arm rolls. He quickly tries to slap it off.
"Get control of your dog El Chupacabra!" the man screeches, and I loose it. I rip out of Sergio's grip and start nailing him even more. Over and over again, near his eyes and nose, an uppercut, the side of his head, everywhere on his face to teach him a lesson. You don't mess with me, and you don't mess with my band mates. Sergio grabs me and pulls me back. He then stands up, moves me to the window seat, and forces me to sit down, so he's in the middle now.
"Drew Luis Ramos," Sergio scolds me. I roll my eyes and turn towards the window. What I did was just. That man had no place to say anything.
"Oh my god, you two are from the retarded boy band show! Neither of you made the band, right? Cause you suck. Oh wait, no you two made it in cause everyone else sucked more," the man states, taking a picture of the two of us. I try to jump out of my seat, but Sergio makes me sit back down.
"Please don't talk about us or our friends like that," Sergio tells him, but he won't listen. This man is literally what everything horrible aspires to be.
"Why? You guys are all fugly trolls anyways," he flips Sergio off, his face gushing with blood. Sergio pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Look who's talking!" I screech out, and everyone on the plane who wasn't already watching watches. I look around and see several video cameras recording. Management is gong to flip, but I don't care. The world deserves to see me kick that man's ass. I try to get up, but there is something restraining me, my seatbelt. I go to take it off, but there's duck tape around the whole thing. God dammit Sergio.
"Drew, calm down," Sergio informs me. Hell no, this man needs to learn his position.
"Oh, so you're going to let this guy insult not only you, but all of the other guys, and let him get away with it? Wow," I turn the tables onto him. "Not only you, but Michael, Chance, Brady, Mikey, Marcus, Jaden, Devin, Jay, Bloom, Butcher, Cam, Dorian, Miles, Gavin, Jon, Cameron, Timmy, Matthew, Gianni, Santino, Paul, Zach, Dylan, Stone, Lukas, Nate, Jordan, and Alan. Shame on you."
"How did you even just do that?" Sergio takes the attention away from the man and back onto me, looking puzzled.
"Excuse me?"
"How did you just name everyone off without hesitation? I'd love to say I could do that, but I'd flop after I said 24," his eyes are wide in amazement. It's not a big deal. I mean, we did stay with them for a while. We met them at the top fifty, and then they were here until top 30 since I'm assuming he's saying that he could name all of the top 18.
"They were our friends," I snap, and Sergio shoots up in shock.
"Key word 'were' in your book," he mumbles.
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Hitting y'all up with some mergio even though Michael wasn't even in this chapter ooops. It's going to be a struggle finding pictures since 99.9% of my camera roll just consists of Michael oh well
Sorry guys I had major writers block for this. I tried to write on one of my other stories, but I had writers block on that two and now I couldn't update the same story three times in a row welp.
Okay guys, so I was thinking (it was getting deep) and I'm seeing some of my original friends on here start to get off and stop coming on here, and I was like "what would happen if I had to leave Wattpad?" And I got so sad. I've made so many good friends on here that the thought sickens me to leave. I'm in also in love with writing these stories for you guys (if you can't tell) and I'd hate to live without it. That wasn't necessary but it's been on my mind for a while and I needed to get it out
Okay guys the story is picking up fast, so look out
And I only posted 5 chapters and an intro before posting this and it's already and 900 reads, thank you guys so much😭
Goodnight, and preorder Young Blood on iTunes tomorrow (or today depending when you see this)
