Written pre-SuWriMo, but that's what I'm using it for. This is version #2. If you find spelling or grammar mistakes, please let me know. Also, if there's ANYthing else that can be improved upon, please share. Anything at all, really. Even if you just liked it I'd appreciate the comment. People never comment me. No one loves me. But, that shall be saved for another journal entry. For now, without any further ado, I present:
Power Chords
Prelude
Emma spat into the sink. “Well,” she said angrily, “John can just bite me, can’t he?” She tossed her toothbrush into a bag, wiped her mouth on one of the fluffy, white hotel towels and left the bathroom. Grinning sarcastically at her best friend and band mate, Natalie, she flopped onto her bed.
“Whether or not he bites you is not the issue,” Natalie replied equally derisively, “It’s all about the solo.” She sat up and turned the television off. Somehow, the morning news wasn’t as interesting as the Great Solo Debate. It was about to turn into a smack down.
“Well, let me tell you something, Sister,” Emma said in a mock dialect, “if he doesn’t back off with that annoying snare drum of his, I’m going to throw it out the van window.” She snatched her hat from the untidy bedside table and shoved it onto her head.
Natalie shot her a look that said ‘You do realize it’s about 85 degrees out and it only promises to get hotter, right?’. “Bad hair day,” Emma explained. “Seriously though. One more outburst like that, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”
Natalie got up and pulled on her jacket. “Right-o,” she said, moving toward the door, “I’m going out for a smoke. If you aren’t packed by the time I get back, I’m throwing your hat out the van window.” She plucked Emma’s hat from the poor girl’s head and bolted for the door.
“No!” Emma shrieked, lurching for the closing door, “You can’t do that! We have a show tonight!” It was too late. Emma could hear Natalie laughing down the hallway.
Emma surveyed the room and sighed. Everything of Natalie’s was packed neatly in her one, small bag. “Goddamn minimalist b***h.” Emma grabbed a dirty T shirt from the floor and tossed it into one of her three large suitcases.
“She’s gonna die if she keeps smoking those unfiltered sons of bitches. And I won’t be arranging her funeral either, so she can forget it,” Emma muttered. “Where’s my other shoe?” Emma held one black sneaker by the laces, scanning the room for its mate. She spotted it under a table. They’d only been in Phoenix for three days and somehow she’d made the rented room look exactly like her bedroom back at home in Philadelphia. A disaster. What would mother say?
A knock at the door interrupted Emma’s frantic packing. “It’s open!” she shouted from under the bed. She saw the door open and a pair of classic Converses enter. They had the words ‘Power Chords’ printed on them. “Hey, John,” Emma said, trying to mask her exasperation.
“How’d you know?” he asked bending down and lifting the bed skirt to get a better look at her. A piece of his long blonde hair fell into his eyes and he tried to blow it back up.
“The shoes,” she replied, crawling out from under the bed. “No one else is lame enough to write their band name on the toes. Not to mention in pink Sharpie.” She stood back up and threw the empty bag of chips she’d been picking up in the trash. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”
He smirked and took a seat on Emma’s unmade bed. “How many gay drummers do you know?” John grabbed her pillow and hugged it.
“One, apparently,” Emma laughed. He looked down at the pillow and threw it aside, looking abashed. “Are you going to sit there or help me?”
“Neither,” John said formally, tilting his head as he always did when he was about to make a subtle joke. That was the reason girls loved him, his predictability. “I’m here strictly on business.”
“Oh, right,” she replied sardonically, “and what business do you have that can’t be discussed whilst helping me pick up my mess?” She ducked into the bathroom, throwing hotel toiletries into a black bag. Emma always sent them home to show her mother where she’d been. It was tradition.
She heard him stand and throw something heavy - probably her blow dryer - into a bag. “A little birdie told me that you were planning on chucking my snare out of the van window?” Emma choked on her own spit. That little smoking rat!
She decided to play it cool. “Would that little bird’s name happen to be Natalie?” Emma poked her head out of the bathroom to see him nodding fervently while inspecting an empty pizza box.
“Did she take it out of context,” John asked, “Or am I going to have to kill you personally?” Emma smiled to herself. She knew John could never hurt a fly, let alone his lead singer.
“It was out of context,” she replied, “I just think we need to iron out solo details a little bit. That’s all.” Emma put her flat iron into the bag and closed it, making sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything in that room.
When she was sure, Emma left the bathroom again to find John standing in the center of the room, looking at her with that notorious confused expression he was so good at making. “What do you mean by ‘solo details’? Everyone loved my solo.”
Emma sighed and placed the bag in a suitcase. “I’m not saying it wasn’t great; I love your solos. It’s just that...you’re a bit of a...” she trailed off, searching for the word. “Well, a ham.” He frowned. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” she said quickly realizing that she might have hurt John’s feelings, “It’s really not. Every great band has someone that loves the camera.”
“And you thought,” John said slowly as if he were coming to a conclusion, “that you were always going to be the center of attention because you’re the singer.”
“No!” Emma said, touching his arm comfortingly, “That’s not-”
He pulled back. “No, I get it,” John said loudly, apparently taking offense to her statements, “You want all the fame. All the glory. And you’re calling me a ham!” He stormed out of the room, leaving Emma shocked. He never erupts like that. This is all Nat’s fault.
Just as the door was closing, Natalie re-entered She was smiling at first, but her expression quickly turned into one of confusion. “What’s up with him?” she asked, worriedly.
“What’s up with him?” Emma repeated in disbelief, “I think you just broke up the band.”
fin
So...opinions?
typicalxtori Community Member 
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