“Hey, are you single?” he asked her.
The red-lipped assistant slightly nodded. “Yes.”
“Then we got a lot to catch up on.”
McClain followed the assistant out of the door.
“Do you like guys who smoke pipes?” he asked before closing the door.
Meanwhile, the band took a glimpse of the office.
“Wow, this feels real,” commented Kent.
“It is real,” said Skye.
“That’s a nice picture,” Sean pointed at a framed portrait of an older man who is possibly the president, kneeling next to a dog. “I can tell he’s a dog person.”
“I wonder where he is.”
“Probably with his dog.”
“Oh, man,” David said. “I know once that man enters that door, I’m gonna break out in sweat.”
“I’m gonna pee my cargo pants,” confessed Sean.
“Yeah, I think it would be best if you guys didn’t do that to yourselves,” noted Skye.
“This is going to be awesome!” Kent said happily. “After we make this deal successfully, we’re going to become one of the best punk bands in the world by next year.”
“Uh, I don’t think I would call us a punk band.”
“Why not? We play punk rock.”
“Yeah, but some of the songs we play are punk rock. But I wouldn’t call us ‘punk’ in general. I’m just saying.”
“Then what are we?” asked David.
“We’re pop punk.”
“Pop punk? What are we now? 5 Seconds of Summer?”
“Hey, I like 5 Seconds of Summer.”
“Oh. Of course, you do, fan girl.”
“Fan girl? I’m not the one who claims that they like Backstreet Boys.”
“Hey, that is a secret!”
“It’s not anymore.”
“Guys, please,” begged Sean. “Don’t bug about labels. We’re just a band who likes to rock. And besides, when we get older, we might want to paint our faces and wear shoulder pads and platform boots.”
“Platform boots?” inquired Kent. “I’m not a hooker.”
“Since when do hookers wear platform boots?” asked Skye.
“I don’t know but I ain’t wearing them.”
“And paint our face?” David questioned. “What? Like Kiss?”
“Yeah,” answered Sean. “People love them.”
“You mean, used to love them,” Skye corrected.
“No, I know people who still love them now.”
“Who? Your mom? Your cool mom?”
“Hey, don't talk about my mom, Avril Lavigne.”
Skye stood up. “Who are you calling Avril Lavigne?! Dude, I will erase you from the face of the Earth.”
“How are you going to do that?” asked Kent. “Are lasers going to shoot out of your butt?”
“At least my butt don’t look like a bucket of mashed potatoes.”
“Now you take that back!”
“You guys! Calm down!” David ordered. “Skye, sit.” He gestured for her to sit but she didn’t budge. So he put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her down into her chair. “Come on, guys. We shouldn’t be fighting. We’re friends. Bandmates. We’re so close to becoming professional musicians and that’s a lot to let sink in. I don’t know what’s going to happen but we need to stick together no matter what. Because we’re not just friends, we’re family and family is important.”
Kent smiled. “You’re right, David. I can’t fight with you guys. This is our dream. We’re in it and we’re going to share it.”
“Right on,” Skye agreed. “Hey, I’m sorry for saying your butt look like mashed potatoes, man.”
“I’m sorry for saying you fart lasers.”
“I’m sorry for calling you Avril Lavigne,” Sean said to Skye. “I know that you don’t like to be called that so I apologize.”
“Thank you, Sean,” smiled Skye.
“And I hope that I can still hang out with you when you’re with us or with Madeline.”
Skye chuckled. "Madeline still doesn't like you."
"Yeah, I know."
"So whatever happens, we do it together," David said.
"We share our dream together," Skye agreed.
"Hands in," mandated Kent.
The band stood up and they put their left hands on top of one another. As they bounced their hands, they all uttered together:
"One, two, three--"
They threw their hands up, saying, "It's a beautiful day!"
"Should we hug?" asked Sean.
"No way," David replied, sitting down.
"I can smell you all the way over here," admitted Skye. "Old Spice? More like 'Ancient Spice'. I mean that spice got some mold getting in it, man."
David and Kent laughed while Sean made a face.
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