status (luke hemmings)

eight

Which, in a way, was exactly what he was about to get.

Mr. Liar grinned, a sinister one. "See, boys, I called this emergency meeting to talk about--"

"Luke." Ashton, Michael, and Calum coughed simultaneously, rolling their eyes.

They were already 18388583% done with the conversation. They, of course, were the biggest members of Luke Hemmings's support club, but they still were hungover from the night before and had no incentive to listen to their manager tear Luke to pieces.

Mr. Liar clapped again, an ineffective attempt to bring energy to the sleepy boys. "Actually, no. It's about all of you."

They all exchanged glances, now paying attention. That didn't sound good.

"Boys, you're at the peak of your careers right now. Everyone's talking about 5 Seconds of Summer. Everyone wants you. You've got a solid second album and your ratings are through the roof. You've got a solid reputation, which isn't easy at your age, and, on behalf of everyone at Modest!, we congratulate you for this achievement."

This spiel just added to the confusion. The four boys scratched their heads, unsure of what to make of this.

Modest! never gave out high praise--unless they wanted something.

Mr. Liar continued, "And now that you've done all this hard work, it's time to have some regulated time off."

"Regulated time off?" Michael repeated, his eyes glassy. His idea of a decent vacation was playing X Box in his parents' basement back in Australia with unlimited beer, but that probably was not what Mr. Liar was talking about.

"Yes, Michael! Regulated time off. Put down the bass guitar for awhile!" Mr. Liar's eyes continued to flicker mischievously. "Or, whatever it is that you play. Vocals? Drums? Piano? Anyways--"

Calum interjected, "Actually, I'm the one who plays bass, but--"

Mr. Liar ignored him again and continued on. "You know, I always thought you boys were different. You were motivated. You were inspired. You had this dream of exceeding everyone's expectations. You wanted to achieve something great by sticking to your morals. What happened to those chaste, Christian boys you once were?"

"We grew up," Ashton mumbled feebly. "It's healthy."

Mr. Liar didn't respond. Instead, he cleared his throat, reaching into his coat pocket for four small slips of paper. "Boys, you can't keep disobeying orders. The media actually notices what you do now. You can't keep performing drunken stunts and expect them not to notice! And, to be completely honest... You all are showing symptoms of the early stages of methomania."

"Wait. What the hell is methomania?" Michael raised his eyebrows. "Does that have to do with meth? Because, I swear, I haven't--"

Before Mr. Liar could respond, Calum interjected, "Not meth, idiot. It means alcoholism."

Alcoholism? Mr. Liar thought they were alcoholics?

"We're not alcoholics, Mr. Lia--Li." Luke corrected quickly, like the 'chaste, Christian boy' he should be. Plus, it was true--he was almost positive none of them were alcoholics.

Almost.

Mr. Liar again chose to ignore the young band members and continued, "Boys, Modest! has thought long and hard about this, and we've found a solution to your problem."