THE ADVENTURES OF FRANK AND RYAN

2

                  

Francis can't play the rhythm guitar. He'd lied. The only guitar he knew how to play was the shitty acoustic guitar in some corner of his room which he hasn't touched in ages.

                He can sing, sure. But only when drunk off of a glass of wine at family gatherings, and when one of his cousins—Diego, it's always Diego—pushes him to the center of the room and begs him to sing some awful Celine Dion song. And it's always My Heart Will Go On. Always.

                What the hell was he supposed to say, though, when faced with Ryan? That whole encounter was embarrassing. Where was Francis's wit? His charm? It's like every imaginary conversation he'd had with Ryan was wiped clean from his mind the moment he met Ryan's eyes. He feels like he could've burned.

                What the hell do rhythm guitarists even do? Rhyme? Rhyme with their guitars? This is all so fucking frustrating. All for one guy. One white guy. One—probably straight—guy. Francis hasn't fell this hard for another straight white dude since Tom Cruise in Top Gun. And Interview with a Vampire. Fucking Tom Cruise. Fucking Ryan. What the hell is Ryan's last name, anyway? Probably some basic white name. Like Smith or Brown or some shit.

                "What hell have I dug myself into?" Francis asks himself, staring at the phone in his hand.

                "Are you going to call anyone any time soon?" Shani asks, her dark legs bare and folded on the couch. "You've been making faces at your phone for the past five minutes."

                "Say, if you liked a boy—"

                "I'm gay," Shani dead pans, flipping through the pages of her magazine.

                "Okay, fine, whatever. If you liked a girl, and the only way you could talk to her would be through her cockblock of a friend—wait, would that make the friend a pussyblock since you're girls and all—"

                "Frank," Shani says, not looking up from her magazine, "for once in your life, can you please think before you speak?"

                "Sorry, sorry," Francis says, rolling his eyes. "Okay, so. You like this girl. Her friend seems like an asshole. But the only way you can contact this girl is by talking to her jerk of a friend, would you do it?"

                "Of course I would," Shani says. "And what's so bad about this asshole of a friend? Knowing you, he probably just looked at you funny and you got offended."

                The thing about having a friend as long as Shani knew Francis was that she knew how Francis's mind worked. This wasn't necessarily a good thing.

                "He didn't look at me funny," Francis says. "He just--well, alright. He looked at me funny."

                Shani raises her eyebrows at him. "Is that seriously it?"

                "No, that's not it." Francis sighs. "I may or may not have accidentally joined a band."

                Shani doesn't even blink. "Really."

                "I don't know, okay? One second I was just walking my way down to the coffee shop--I had a plan and everything--and then I saw him and I just—augh!" Francis slaps himself with his phone. "I don't know what happened! It was like I was seeing shit! Mind control! He was mind controlling me!"

                "We should invite him to curse club, then," Shani says, completely unamused. "Call the asshole, Frank. I'm begging you." Shani doesn't sound like she's begging, at all.

                "Should I really do it?"

                "In the words of a famous sporting brand which I can't be bothered to remember," Shani says, "just do it. See where it gets you."

                Francis pulls the receipt out of his pocket. "Alright. I'm doing it."

                "Okay," Shani says, eyes scanning an article in the magazine. "You do that."

                Francis waits, patiently, for the asshole to pick up. He can't remember the guy's name. Shit.

                The asshole picks up. "Hello? Who's this?"

                His name was a color, wasn't it? Something with a G?

                "Hi," Francis says, trying to sound as calm as he can. "Is this Green?"

                Shani looks at him, with an eyebrow arched. Green isn't saying anything back, though Francis knows he's still on the line because he can hear Green breathing. At least he hasn't hung up yet. Francis calls that progress.

                "My name," Green says, "is Grey."

                Francis has to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. "Sorry," Francis apologizes. "I didn't really catch your name, you know. Back at the cafe."

                "Sure," says Grey. "Why'd you call me?"

                "About the band thing—"

                "Auditions are in a week. It's going to be at the cafe. Ryan's pulled some strings, so we should be able to—"

                "Ryan?" Francis asks.

                 "Let me ask you a question. Do you really want to join this band, or do you just want to use me to get close to Ryan?"

                Francis chews on his lip. He can't tell Grey the truth; that he's not really that interested in the whole band thing. He can't risk looking like a shallow asshole—which he is, but still—in case Grey runs off and tells Ryan, hey, this Francis is really creepy, maybe you should stay away from him and Ryan would be like, yeah, you're right, totally,  let me just ignore Francis for the rest of my life.

                Francis, as much as he hates to admit it, can't risk that.

                "I am interested in your band," Francis says. "Hell, I'll show up in half a week. I'll sing right on stage. I'll bring my guitar and everything and I'll sing, right in front of everybody."

                 Grey stays silent. Francis is afraid, for a moment, that he's somehow made Grey angry.

                Then, a funny thing happens. Grey laughs. Not full blown laughter, no. More like a chuckle. Grey chuckles.

                "Alright," Grey says, "I'll see you on Thursday. Good luck."

                He hangs up. Francis blinks at his phone. Shani is staring at him.

                "You play the guitar?" Shani asks.

                "No," Francis answers. The full extent of what he's brought onto himself hits him slowly. "Not really."

                "Wow," Shani says, unimpressed. "You just screwed yourself over."

                Francis brings his phone to his forehead. "I know."

***

a/n:

as u can see from the shitty quality of this chapter, it's me, drew/@apricock  i can't believe this is a thing AGHSHJ ray where r u