Lucy, Keith and I are in a band. We’ve been playing music together since we were in diapers, banging pots and pans together in the kitchen and annoying the hell out of whoever’s mother was watching us that day. Lucy’s on drums, Keith plays bass and I (Hi, I’m Daisy.) play guitar and sing. Our band is called…well…we don’t seem to have a set name yet, since it keeps changing every week. This week I think we’re The Waffle Slayers. As far as band names go, that is not the most unusual one. A few weeks ago we were Exploding Urinal Cakes. …It was Keith’s turn to pick. Oh, and one more thing.

We suck.

Like, really, really suck.

It’s almost embarrassing.

That’s how much we suck.

We know we suck, too, which is the sad part.

Well, Lucy and I know we suck. Keith is convinced that we’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. He’s in denial. He also tends to get us into all kinds of trouble that we can never seem to get ourselves out of. Why, just last week…well, I guess this is where I start the actual story.

We were gathered in my garage for band practice, like we are everyday because we’re losers and have nowhere else to go. I was sitting on the ratty old couch that I had rescued from the street and tuning my guitar. Lucy was sitting at her drums trying to twirl her drumstick in her fingers and failing miserably at it.

“Hey,” I said, looking up from my instrument, “have you heard from Keith at all today?”

Lucy shrugged, “I was talking to him earlier, he said he’d be here.”

“Well, he’s almost half an hour late. I’m almost ready to kick him out of the band.”

“I don’t think you can do that. We kind of need a bassist,” Lucy said, scratching her blue hair with a drumstick.

“I’m the lead singer. Doesn’t that give me, like, special privileges or whatever?”

“Only for the really good singers.”

I was about to shoot back a snarky comment when Keith was pulling open the garage door and bounded in like an overexcited puppy.

I stared at him, “Stop being so happy, you slacker, you’re late.”

“Don’t you worry my good friend for you both are going to be kissing my ass in a few seconds.”

“Never,” I said.

“Good one,” chimed Lucy.

“Just here me out, ladies,” he said and flopped down on the couch next to me, “I have just scored us a gig.”

We stared at him. “Liar,” I said.

“No, it’s true! And it’s not just any gig, either! It’s a battle of the ban-AGH!”

He couldn’t finish his sentence before I punched him in the shoulder.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” I exclaimed, “We can’t enter a battle of the bands! I don’t know if you’ve forgotten but we suck.”

“Hey, that’s nothing a little practice and alcohol can’t fix.”

“Who are we battling?” asked Lucy, still trying to twirl her drumstick.

“Roller Coaster Rage—AH GET HER OFF OF ME, SHE’S RABID!”

Lucy ran from around her drum set and yanked me off of Keith who had worked himself into the fetal position. He uncurled himself, stood up and brushed himself off.

“That was hardly necessary,” he said in a mature tone.

“I can’t believe you would do this,” I hissed at him.

“But I thought you were “so over” Rodney—“

“I AM OVER RODNEY!” I exploded, “Is that why you think I don’t want to go up against them? ‘Cos that is so not the case, okay? I’m just pointing out the fact that we have basically no talent.”

“Seriously, Keith,” said Lucy, “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that maybe my fellow band mates would have some faith in in The Waffle Slayers.”

“Whoa,” said Lucy, “I thought we were Angels With Pitchforks.”

“No,” said Keith, “We were Angles With Pitchforks last week. This week we’re The Waffle Slayers.”

“But I liked Angels With Pitchforks.”

“Okay you two,” I said, “While you’re both discussing our plethora of past and present band names, I’m going to be praying to the talent gods for help.”

I had meant it as a joke: a simple joke. I mean, I joke all the time. But the moment I said “talent gods” and “help” in the same sentence, that was when he appeared.

“Did someone call my name?” exclaimed the purple haired man in zebra patterned pants that had appeared in our presence in a puff of bright orange smoke.

 -  

We all stared at him for a moment, all of us at a loss for what to say. After a while, the purple haired man had winded down from his flourishing entrance and was standing around awkwardly waiting for us to say something. I took the initiative and spoke first.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Who am I? Why—I am Todd the Talent God. Remember? You called me? No? Well, that’s okay! I’m here to help you. Now, what did you say your band name was?”

“The—uh—The Waffle Slayers,” Keith stuttered.

“The Waffle Slayers?” Todd the Talent God asked incredulously, “Oh, Lord, you guys are gonna be that band that changes their name every week, aren’t you? Tsk tsk, that just won’t do.”

“I love your pants,” said Lucy.

“Do you?” Todd gushed, “Oh, thank you! If you like them I could arrange for you all to have a pair. It could certainly help fashion-wise in your battle of the bands situation—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I held up my hands in exasperation, “Everybody just stop down for a second. Okay, you, Brad, Tadd, Todd—whatever the hell your name is, there will be no zebra print pants—“

“But I like zebra print,” Lucy said softly.

“Yeah,” Todd draped an arm over Lucy’s shoulders, “she likes zebra print.”

“This is not about the zebra print!” I exclaimed, “It’s about the fact that some purple haired nut job had appeared out of nowhere in my garage and is trying to pass himself off as a talent god!”

“You don’t believe me?” asked Todd.

Keith finally decided to speak up at this point, “Well, it is a little hard to believe, buddy.”

“Do you guys want proof?”

“Yes,” I said, “Proof would be nice.”

“Okay, uhmmmm,” Todd drummed his perfectly manicured fingers against his mouth in thought. After a while he snapped his fingers.

“Lucy, my dear, I want you to try that drumstick twirling trick you’ve been practicing for the last month.”

Lucy walked over to her drum set and picked up one of her drumsticks. She looked at all of us, waiting expectantly for something amazing to happen. In one swift movement Lucy had twirled her drumstick around her finger perfectly. She did it again and again with not one slip up.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” I said stubbornly.

“Oh, will you just except the fact that I’m a magical talent god come here to help you so we can move the plot along, please?” Todd said frustratedly.

I harrumphed and sat down on the sofa with my arms crossed.

“Now, you all seem to know how to play your instruments, which is good, but being a band is all about how you sound together, which is a major problem with you guys.”

“I actually think we sound pretty good,” Keith started before Todd held up a hand to silence him.

“And we have to deal with that awful name,” Todd continued, “Let’s choose something fabulous that will stick. How about…Word Recess! Yeah, it’s perfect!”

After a solid week of wardrobe change, haircuts, hair dyeing, lessons on stage etiquette, and constant band practices we were here, at the battle of the bands against Roller Coaster Rage. Todd was convinced we were perfect and their was no way we could lose. I was still wary about the whole thing, but I sucked it up and waited back stage with the rest of my band, while some small trio that sucked even more than we did before Todd was playing. That was when I saw Rodney (the lead singer and guitar player of Roller Coaster Rage), Ruby (the drummer) and Lola (the bassist) walking toward us.

“Oh, God,” I said trying to hide behind Todd. That wasn’t really going to help me though, since I had been forced to dye my hair a bright red, and when you pair that with the yellow leggings I was wearing underneath a black dress. Not to mention the knee-high leather boots I was wearing that made me a good six inches taller than I was.

“Okay, someone explain to me why Little Miss Doomsday is trying to hide behind me,” said Todd.

“Oh, her ex just so happens to be coming this way,” Keith said, tuning his bass.

“Bad break up?” asked Todd.

“Oh you have no idea,” said Lucy, “He practically ripped her heart out and put it through the paper shredder.”

“Thanks, Lucy,” I hissed from my hiding spot, “Thank you. Because that helps me so much. Really. Oh, no.” I straightened up as my ex and his henchwoman strutted past us. They stopped.

“Hey, Daisy,” Rodney sneered, “You’re not trying to hide from me are you? Are you embarrassed?”

The Lola chick snorted, “I’d be embarrassed to if a band like that was going up against a band like us.”

The Ruby chick let out a cackling laugh and flipped her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder. My eye twitched.

“Now, now,” said Todd, “There really is not need to be acting like this. Let’s all be sportsmanlike and move along. I suggest you and your little cronies go away now,” Todd snapped at them.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to be seen with a bunch of losers anyway,” said Rodney, “Good luck, Daisy. You’re gonna need it.” And then he was gone.

“God,” said Todd (haha, rhymes are fun), “Whatever possessed you to date a guy like that?”

I didn’t answer and instead picked up my guitar to practice a song I had practiced a million times already.

When it was our turn to go play, my knees were shaking. Roller Coaster Rage had been absolutely fantastic as usual and no one was going to like us and we were all going to be totally humiliated and someone remind me to kill Keith after this because, oh boy, am I gonna kill him.

I stared out at the see of people, and they stared blank-faced back at me. I turned around to Lucy and Keith, who both nodded at me in encouragement. I gave Lucy my signal to count us off.

“ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!”

The whole venue exploded with sound. Lyrics poured out of my mouth while my fingers flew across my guitar. I could hear the thrashing of Lucy’s drums and the steady beat of Keith’s base and I felt a growing hope in the pit of my stomach. Maybe we could win this. Maybe Keith’s life had been spared. Or maybe that was just gas.

Our song ended, and something I had only been hoping for happened.

The venue exploded once again, but this time instead of music it was the sound of people cheering. People were cheering! For us! I never thought I’d see the day. We, Word Recess, ran offstage to the screams of “Encore! Encore! Encore!” for the first time in our lives and it was fantastic. I can’t begin to describe it to you.

“You guys were fantastic!!!” Todd sang as we ran off stage into his arms.

Soon, but not soon enough, the judging was over and the representative of the venue (a short nerdy guy) ran out onto the stage with his clothes looking slightly crumpled and had a piece of paper in his hands. He had to stand on a stool to reach the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight!” he cheered into the microphone. “And I certainly hope you come back soon! We’ve had some great bands out here tonight, with so much talent, spunk and colour. The winner of the battle of the bands is…”

I grabbed a band mate’s hand in each of my own and closed my eyes, “Please,” I whispered, “Please, please, please.”

“RRRRRRROLLER COASTER RAGE!!” shouted the man into the microphone. The crowd cheered of course, but it was for the wrong people. I felt my heart sink as I watched Ruby, Rodney and Lola glide onto the stage with snotty smiles plastered on their pretty faces. I saw Ruby lean down to whisper something in the nerdy guy’s ear. He smiled at her, and I realized what was happening.

“That slut!” I cried storming backstage, “She totally slept with the representative guy so they could win!”

“Who?” asked Keith, “Ruby?”

“Yes, Ruby, who else? I’m so mad right now you don’t even know! I’m gonna kill them.”

Todd stepped in, “Now, now, Daisy, honey, I don’t think you want to kill anyone.”

“But you gave us talent!” I cried, “You were here to help us win!”

“Excuse me, I am not a “help people win” god, I am a talent god. We’re much more classy. There’s a difference.”

“So,” I said, “Just because we have talent now doesn’t automatically mean we’ll win.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said Todd, “I know you’re all disappointed, but that’s just how the world works. I mean, you’re all beautiful, but there’s going to be someone even prettier than you to steal your spotlight. I mean, look at Justin Bieber. But, what you have to remember is that you’re the ones with the talent, and that’s something they will never have.”

“Yeah,” I said, “Yeah, you’re right!”

“Of course I’m right, darling, now how about I take you all out for a drink.”

“But, Todd,” Lucy said, “We’re underage.”

“Oh, rubbish, I’m a god, I have other advantages than just giving people talent.”

And so, we rode off into the sunset.

(Source: scribbles-and-scratches)