The Only Medicine

For some stupid reason, I end up with a detention on Friday afternoon, which I do my best to argue my way out of, unsuccessfully.

“sorry, I have fuckin detention :( ill see u at 7,” I text Mike, scowling.

“lame,” is his reply.

“damn right its fuckin lame.”

“thought u like punishment,” he texts back.

I snort, which elicits a stern look from the teacher. Considering it’s detention, she doesn’t seem to care that much that I’m sitting here texting. Then again, I’m not sure what else she expects me to do for an hour.

My phone buzzes on the table about twenty minutes later.

“Miss Vasquez, I don’t care what you do for this hour, but please turn your phone on silent,” the teacher says. I’m not sure what her name is—I’ve never had her for any of my classes.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

The girl in the seat behind me snickers. There are only five of us unfortunate souls in the Friday detention, which I guess isn’t such a bad number. I’m sure I recognise the girl behind me from a party or something, though. She’s probably one of Jessica’s friends.

I check the phone, and it’s a text from Vic.

“U got detention? serious?”

“I’m sorry. I forgot 2 do some homework,” I text back, sighing.

“did Mike get detention 2?”

That makes me frown. Why would Mike have detention too?

“no, just me. I’ll be over at 7 x” I reply. I sit back in the chair and pray for the next forty minutes to go by as fast as possible.


My backpack rips as soon as I get out of school, which is the second bad thing to happen to me today. That can’t be good. I’m not superstitious, but they say bad luck runs in threes, and the last thing I need is a third dose of bad luck when we’re competing for a spot in the finals of Battle of the Bands. I’m on my knees, picking up books and half of my stationery, when I spot a familiar car still in the school parking lot.

Mike hops out the driver’s side, flicking a cigarette butt over the other side of the car. “You need a hand?”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, scooping handfuls of coloured pencils back into my bag.

“I thought I’d wait for you.”

Ah. That’ll be why Vic thought Mike was in detention too. I don’t quite know how to respond. I mean, I’m beyond flattered that he would wait for me, especially since all the school buses would have left and I would have to wait at least another twenty minutes for a regular bus.

He takes a pile of books from me, then gives me a look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe you waited for me.”

He just shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Fuck. I pounce on him and he catches me, dropping the books, and we crash against the hood of the car, kissing furiously. The strap of my broken backpack slips into the crook of my arm and I let it fall too, ignoring everything except the feel of his mouth on mine and his body beneath me.

“You could’ve just said ‘thanks’,” he murmurs into my mouth, his lips curling into a smile.

“Thanks,” I gasp. One hand slips beneath my hoodie and the other grabs my butt, pulling me tight against him.

After a few minutes, he breaks away.

“We should go,” he says, his face still inches from mine.

I keep my arms around his neck, looking from his full mouth to his eyes and back again. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know, but I don’t think Vic wants to play all the instruments by himself.”

The hood pops back into place as we clamber off it, but there’s still a slight dent. We really cause some damage to poor Vic’s car—first the driver’s seat, and now this. I’m sure he won’t notice, though. Mike helps me collect the books and bits and pieces from my bag, and then we hop into the car and drive to my place to grab my stuff.

Mike waits in the car while I go inside. Mama greets me at the door and immediately starts scolding me for getting detention and being late.

“I know, I’m sorry, Mama,” I plead. “I have to go, though.”

“I should ground you,” she says, but she won’t. She’s never grounded me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, trying to edge past her and get up to my room.

“You’re lucky I love you, mija,” she sighs, letting me past.

I quickly run to my room and discard my torn backpack in the corner, and start filling a different bag with clothes and toiletries. My bass case is leaning against the bed, where I left it this morning.

“Okay, don’t forget that Victor and Vivian will be picking you up at quarter past seven,” I say to Mama as I come back into the kitchen.

“I know, mija. I spoke to Vivian on the phone just before,” Mama replies, reaching for me. I let her fold me into an embrace and kiss my cheek.

“Love you, Mama,” I say.

“Is Vic picking you up?” she asks.

“He’s at home, Mama. Mike’s waiting outside.”

She holds me at arm’s length, studying me. “You smell like cigarettes.”

“Mike smokes.” I don’t know if I should have told her that—she might tell Mike’s parents. I’m pretty sure they know, though, especially if they spend longer than a second in his presence.

“Then why do you smell like it?”

“Uh, I dunno.” God, I can feel myself blushing. “Look, I gotta go, Mama. I’ll see you at the concert.”

She kisses me again. “Don’t smoke, mi querida. It’s a terrible habit.”

I groan. “I know, Mama. I have to go!”

She finally releases me and I race out the door.


Vic is in a foul mood when we finally reach his place. He barely grunts out an acknowledgement when we find him in the garage, his guitar in his lap. Mike leaves me to deal with him by myself, ducking off to his room to get ready.

“Vic, I’m so sorry,” I say, sitting on the couch next to him.

“Why would you get detention on today of all days?” he sighs.

“I didn’t mean to. I just forgot to do some homework.” I forgot to do some homework because I was too busy riding your brother in the back seat of your car. “Just don’t be angry.”

He sighs again.

“I’m here now, though, and we’re going to go and kick ass tonight, and it’s going to be awesome,” I say, trying to change tact. I lie across his lap and look up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Get off,” he laughs. Vic can never stay angry at me, especially if I use the puppy dog eyes. “We have to get ready.”

“I was born ready,” I quip.

His eyes flick to the door, then he clears his throat. “Um, why did Mike tell me that he had detention as well?”

My stomach starts edging its way up towards my throat, the way it always does when Vic asks me questions about Mike.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I lie. “Maybe he did?”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you said he didn’t?”

“Um, I don’t really know.” Fuck. Cool it, Mia. Stop digging yourself a hole.

I expect him to keep pressuring me with questions, but he doesn’t, even though I’m the worst fucking liar in the history of mankind. Luckily Mike decides to come in at that point.

“What’s happening?” he asks, crunching a mouthful of M&Ms. He offers the bag to Vic and me, but I shake my head.

“Not much,” Vic says, taking a handful. “Are you ready?”

“I was born ready,” Mike drawls.

Vic laughs but I blanch—it’s pretty uncanny that we would say the same thing, but it feels like another crack in the façade that is mine and Mike’s relationship around other people.

“Mia just said literally the same thing,” he says.

I let out a little laugh, but it feels false, so I stop.

“Are you all right?” Vic asks.

“Yeah, I’m just nervous,” I sigh. Nervous because I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this charade, not necessarily about the impending semi-final. Although, now that I think about it, that’s giving me butterflies, too.

“Shall we go over the setlist again?”

I nod, anything to take my mind off things. He reaches into his guitar case and pulls out the sheet of paper that we scrawled the setlist on.

“Let’s practice that one again,” I say, pointing to the first song on the list. It’s the one Vic wrote last week.

“All right,” Vic says. “Let’s do it.”


We leave just before seven o’clock, wanting to get there way before time. Mama and Papa Fuentes will be bringing Mike’s drum kit in about an hour. The organiser emailed Vic earlier in the week and confirmed that we’d be the last band on, which means we’ve got a couple of hours before we even play. I can barely stop my knees from jiggling as I sit in the passenger seat of the car. Vic reaches over and offers me his hand and I grab it thankfully, hoping that Mike doesn’t misunderstand. The car is silent except for the sound of him fidgeting in the back seat, tapping away at the tops of his thighs.

As soon as we get to the venue, we sign in at the registration desk and get handed little laminated passes. ‘After Yesterday’ is emblazoned across each of them.

“High rollas right he-ere,” Mike drawls, flapping the pass at me.

I smirk at him and put the lanyard around my neck. Vic clips his to the back of his jeans, and then we go through to the auditorium. It’s a lot bigger than the venue we performed at last time, with a large proscenium arch stage. In fact, I think the stage is wider, too.

“Geez, look how fancy this place is,” Mike says, pointing to the proscenium arch. It’s completely engraved with filigree and comedy/tragedy masks.

There’s a drum kit already set up on the stage, and a couple of people are running leads and taping them down. A woman in a black shirt and skinny jeans is striding around, barking orders into a hands-free microphone.

“Yeah, this is definitely next level,” I murmur. I don’t know if this place is making me more nervous or what.

“Shall we go find our room?” Vic asks.

I nod and we head back out into the foyer. A man at the door notices our passes and points us down the hallway. The hall is dotted with doorways, all adorned with different dressing room numbers. Ours is dressing room six, which is at the very end of the hall. At the last venue, there were two dressing rooms and we weren’t even allowed to be in there until fifteen minutes prior to our set.

There’s a runsheet tacked onto the back of the door; apparently Trigger My Nightmare is playing second. When I spoke to Jaime and Tony earlier today, they’d mentioned that they’d be playing early, but I hadn’t realised how early. I mean, there’s only six bands playing, and I kind of figured they’d play at the very end like last time.


We head back out to the auditorium to meet with our parents and watch Trigger My Nightmare play. Once again, they’re awesome. Jaime spots us in the crowd and points at us mid-song and sticks his tongue out and pulls the devil horns. Their set seems to be over far too soon, and they’re waving and heading backstage to raucous applause.

“What do you think, Mama?” I ask.

Her mouth is pressed into a straight line, which answers my question perfectly. She makes me giggle.

“What time to do you play, mija?” she asks in lieu of a reply. I can tell that this is not her scene at all, but I appreciate her being here all the same.

“Not too far away,” I assure her.

We stand and chat with the folks for a bit, and then we head back to our dressing room. We bump into Tony in the hallway.

“Oh, hey guys,” he says, rubbing his forehead with a small grey towel.

“Awesome set, man,” Mike says.

“Thanks,” Tony smiles. “You guys are on last, right?”

Vic nods.

“Cool. I’ll be sure to watch.” He fidgets with one of the metal eyelets in his ear. “Jaime’s throwing an after party at his house later on, so you guys should totally come.”

The mention of a party makes my mind wander—how do people even end up throwing house parties? Are their parents just never home, or do they just not care? Mama would kill me if I ever tried to throw a house party, and our tiny house can barely fit five people, let alone fifty.

“Well, I’ll see you guys later. See you in the crowd,” he says, wandering off to his band’s dressing room.

When we get into the room, Mike makes a big show of taking a small bottle of Jagermeister out of his jacket pocket. I wrinkle my nose up—Jagermeister tastes like straight poison. Plus, I hate the logo; anything that glorifies hunting is anathema to me.

“We don’t have shot glasses,” Vic points out.

“We’ll just shoot out the bottle,” Mike says. “I don’t have cooties, I promise.” He takes a swig then hands the bottle to me.

At least it’ll probably calm my nerves. I take a mouthful and try not to shudder at the taste and the burn as it goes down my throat. I pass the bottle onto Vic and he knocks it back like a pro.
And then soon enough it’s time for us to perform, so we group hug and then head out on stage.


“Fuck, I’m so sure I fucked up Celebration of an Ending,” I mutter, shaking my head as we walk back off stage.

The whoops of the crowd follow us into the hallway. I’m not sure if they’re cheering for us or just cheering in general—god, I can’t stop overthinking things.

“Nah, you did fine,” Vic assures me, pulling me to him.

“That was fucking awesome!” Mike says, jumping around behind us. “We killed it!”

A couple of members from other bands congratulate us and pat us on the back as we go past.

“You guys were awesome!” says a girl with pink hair, hand on my shoulder. “I loved that second song you played.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

We eventually weave through everyone and get back to the dressing room, which is blissfully quiet. We can’t stay long, though, since they’ll be announcing the winners in a few minutes, and our parents will be dying to see us. I grab my discarded hoodie from the corner and I’m about to follow Vic back out into the hallway when Mike grips my wrist and pulls me to him. I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but I’m interrupted by his mouth on mine.

“Sorry,” he says softly. “I just had to do that.”

“Vic’ll wonder what we’re doing,” I hiss, pulling free. There’s nothing I’d like more than to stay in this room and make out with him, but we can’t be reckless. Plus, like I said, Vic will ask questions.

He just rolls his eyes. I ignore him and head out into the hallway.


Mama envelopes me in a hug as soon as we find her and the Fuentes’ in the auditorium. She murmurs something to me, but I can’t hear her over the hum of the impatient crowd. I just nod and smile and hope it wasn’t a question.

Soon the MC takes the stage and the room quietens.

“Sorry to keep y’all waiting. I think you’ll all agree with me when I say that tonight was a strong show of San Diego talent,” she says, and the crowd cheers in agreement.

She prattles on about sponsors and how tonight would not have been possible without them. Vic grabs my sweaty hand with his and squeezes it reassuringly, and I feel like I won’t be able to breathe again until the MC says our name.

“The four bands moving onto the final round are as follows,” says the MC, and then pauses for effect. “Trigger My Nightmare!”

The audience erupts into whoops and cheers, and we clap and cheer along with them. Fuck yeah—Jaime and Tony totally deserve that.

The MC waits for everyone to quieten, then announces the next band name. It’s not ours, and neither is the next one. We clap politely and wait and my lungs feel like they’re going to burst through my ribs.

“And the final band going through is … After Yesterday!”

At first it sounds like she hasn’t even spoken English, and I turn to Vic for confirmation and he’s screaming and grabbing me and everyone is applauding and yelling, and fuck, we got through, we fuckin’ got through!

People are pawing at me and I’m not sure if it’s Mama or the Fuentes’ or Mike or Vic, but we’re all in a big group hug and someone is still yelling in my ear—it could be Vic, it sounds like Vic.

“We fucking did it!” Mike yells, picking his mother up and swinging her around, despite her cries of indignation.

I collapse into Vic’s arms, unsure if I’m about to laugh or cry. I just moan and he pats my back understandingly. One more round to go.

Notes

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