“Guys, come on, it’s almost midnight,” Rachel says, lying upside-down in the armchair. “Please go home?”
“Ssshh,” Mutavore replies from where she and Jurassic Park III are sprawled all over the couch, eyes fixed on the TV. “Sienna Miller in glasses. Don’t ruin this for me.”
“If we win that contest,” Jurassic Park III says, “we’re buying Rachel a bigger TV.”
“If we win the contest,” Komodo says, “we’ll need to stop hanging out in Rachel’s basement.”
“But we love Rachel’s basement,” Jurassic Park III whines.
Komodo rolls her eyes. “I can see the tabloids now: ‘America’s hottest new band, The Limp Lizards, made an appearance at no clubs and no events this weekend because they were too busy watching terrible movies in a basement in Oxnard.”
“Quiet,” Mutavore snaps. “Sienna and I are having a moment.”
Komodo shakes her head and goes back to refreshing their Misfits VS! page on her phone. The votes for their video have slowed down a little, but it should pick up again in the morning, after the deadline has—
“Oh, crap,” Komodo says.
“What?” Rachel sits upright in the chair. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re down to second place.” Komodo frantically refreshes the page, but the big ‘2’ on their video stays put. “What the hell?”
“Huh,” Jurassic Park III says. “So who’s at #1?”
“Let me check.” Rachel reaches for her tablet and brings up the contest site. “Looks like it’s ‘Moremoremore,’ by Jem and the Holograms. Posted five minutes ago.”
Komodo leans over Rachel’s shoulder to double-check the timestamp. “The deadline is in, like, three minutes!”
“Yeah, they cut it pretty close.” Rachel hits ‘play’ on the video, and tinny music emanates from her tablet’s speakers. “Wow. This is… it’s really good.”
“Crap,” Komodo groans.
“They have a dragon,” Rachel says. “Why don’t we have a dragon?”
“Because we spent all our money on papier mache kaiju and jaeger costumes,” Jurassic Park III says.
Komodo sighs. “I really thought we had a chance at winning this thing.”
“But we suck,” Mutavore points out.
“We suck less than everyone else!”
“Yeah, but to win the recording contract we’d have to beat the Misfits in a Battle of the Bands,” Jurassic Park III reminds her. “The Misfits. That’s not gonna happen.”
“Even if we lost, the publicity would’ve been amazing,” Komodo says. “But then Jewel and the Holodecks showed up.”
“Holograms,” Rachel corrects.
“Whatever!”
“Look at this,” Komodo laments. “We’re supposed to be bonding as a band and instead half the people at this table are on their phones.”
Jurassic Park III elbows Mutavore. “You’re gonna get syrup gunk all over your touchscreen.”
“I’m texting my mom,” Mutavore replies. “She wants me to call her and I’m telling her I’ll do it after brunch.”
“This isn’t brunch,” says Jurassic Park III. “It’s Saturday.”
“What are you talking about?” Mutavore gestures to encompass the entire diner. “It’s totally brunch!”
“You can’t have brunch on a Saturday and you can’t have brunch at two in the afternoon,” Jurassic Park III insists. “We’re having tea.”
“I’m not having tea. There’s no tea. I’m eating bacon, so it’s brunch.”
“There are no time slot restrictions on bacon!”
Komodo groans and buries her face in her hands. “This is why we’re so far behind the Holograms.”
“We’re so far behind the Holograms because we are a terrible band,” Mutavore says. “People only voted for us because our video was funny.”
“Oh my god!” Rachel blurts out, way too loud for a public place.
“Inside voice,” Jurassic Park III says.
“Look,” Rachel whispers, shoving her phone into Komodo’s hand.
“‘Guitarist Aja Leith of Jem and the Holograms was rushed to hospital after an incident at the Starlight Benefit and Gala,’” Komodo reads aloud. “… Holy crap.”
“Is she okay?” Mutavore asks.
Rachel takes her phone back and starts reading through the rest of the story. “They would’ve mentioned it up front if she’d died, right?” She pauses. “Wow, it says a lighting rig fell on her.”
Jurassic Park III winces. “Ouch.”
“Maybe the Holograms will have to drop out of the contest,” Komodo says, a little too eagerly.
There’s a long, awkward silence.
“That’s… not cool, dude,” Mutavore finally says. “She could be really badly hurt.”
Jurassic Park III pipes in with, “Yeah, don’t be a jerk.”
“Okay, okay.” Komodo sighs. “Sorry. That was gross of me.”
“Twitter says she was kept overnight at the hospital,” Rachel reports, still glued to her phone. “Minor injuries. She’s fine.”
“Well, that’s good,” says Jurassic Park III.
“That’s kind of weird though, right?” says Mutavore. “A light rig falling on someone. That’s the kind of thing that only happens in a Mel Brooks movie.”
Absently, Rachel asks, “Who’s Mel Brooks?”
“Oh my god,” Mutavore mutters. “You tiny child. You infant.”
“You’re making that up,” Jurassic Park III says. “That’s not a real thing.”
“I’m serious!” Mutavore insists. “Google it!”
“Fine.” Jurassic Park III pulls out her phone. “But if the NSA asks me why I searched for ‘kangaroo vagina’ and ‘lesbian clone lizard’ in the same day, I’m telling them it was all your fault.”
Rachel and Komodo sprint around the corner and stumble to a halt.
“Why are you guys hanging out behind the storage shed?!” Komodo snaps. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Chill,” Mutavore replies. “The Battle of the Bands doesn’t start until six. We have plenty of time.”
“Is it the ‘New Mexico whiptail lizard’?” Jurassic Park III asks.
“That’s the one.” Mutavore turns back to Komodo. “Besides, we’re gonna get clobbered by the Holograms anyway.”
“Actually, no,” Komodo says, excited. “We’re not.”
“Did you two actually learn to play your instruments?” Jurassic Park III asks. “You know we have a rule about that.”
“The Holograms got into this huge fight with the Misfits,” Rachel says. “Everyone’s saying they’re gonna get disqualified.”
Jurassic Park III looks up from her phone, eyebrows crawling up to her hairline. “Wow, like a real fight?”
Rachel shrugs. “Just a food fight, I think.”
“Dude, who does that?” Mutavore says. “That’s, like… middle school shenanigans. At best.”
“This is incredible,” Komodo says. “If the Holograms get disqualified, we’re back at number one!”
“Well,” Mutavore says. “That’s neat.”
“‘Neat’?” Komodo snaps. “‘Neat‘?!”
“‘The lizard is a female-only species that reproduces by producing an egg through parthenogenesis,’” Jurassic Park III reads off her phone. “‘Despite reproducing asexually, and being an all-female species, the whiptail still engages in mating behavior with the females of its own species.’” She looks over at Mutavore. “Huh. You were right. Lesbian clone lizards.”
“Told you.”
Komodo throws up her hands and walks away in a huff.
“Oh, man,” Rachel says. “We should’ve called ourselves ‘the Lesbian Clone Lizards.’”
“Too late to change it now.” Jurassic Park III pockets her phone. “They already printed the sign.”
“Wow,” says Jurassic Park III. “They set up right across the street.”
“That is so cool,” Mutavore adds. “So freaking cool.”
“They had a holographic t-rex,” Rachel says, stunned. “Why don’t we have a holographic t-rex?”
“Because we spent all our money on crocodile print onesies,” Jurassic Park III replies.
“Leotards,” Mutavore corrects.
“Whatever.”
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!” Komodo shouts from inside the changing trailer’s bathroom.
Mutavore rolls her eyes. “Could you not yell at us while you’re peeing?”
“No!”
“I got a look at Jem before the crowd got really bad,” Jurassic Park III says. “I’m totally okay with losing to her. She’s amazing.”
“She’s nine feet tall and made of glitter,” Mutavore agrees, entranced. “She could step on my neck with those spiky pink heels and I’d say ‘thank you.’”
Komodo exits the bathroom and slams the door shut behind her. “Stop that,” she snaps, adjusting her leotard. “Neither of you are allowed to crush on my nemesis.”
“She’s not your nemesis,” Jurassic Park III points out. “She doesn’t even know who you are.”
“Don’t you realize what just happened?” Komodo paces the length of the trailer. “Not only did the Misfits utterly destroy us in the Battle of the Bands, but now the Holograms have completely stolen the show! Nobody’s going to know we exist! We’re screwed!”
“Okay, but like—”
“If you say ‘we suck’ one more time, I’m going to kick you,” Komodo interrupts. “Do any of you ever take anything seriously?”
“Not really, no,” says Jurassic Park III
“… I hate you all.” Komodo stalks toward the door. “I’m done with this band. I give up. I quit.”
The trailer door slams shut behind her.
Rachel stares at the door. “She’s really upset, guys. Maybe we should do something.”
“Let’s give her a chance to walk it off, first.” Mutavore turns to Rachel. “Hey, can we come over and play video games in your basement?”
“No,” Jurassic Park III says firmly.
“But he has a sniper rifle,” Mutavore whines.
“Do not.”
“But I want a sniper rifle and he has a sniper rifle!“
“I swear to god, if you—”
Mutavore pulls the trigger. The blocky allied NPC on the TV screen is reduced to a fine red mist, and Mutavore picks up his fallen sniper rifle.
“You’re a monster,” Jurassic Park III mutters.
“I can’t hear you over the awesomeness of my new sniper rifle.”
The basement door opens, and Komodo hesitantly makes her way down the stairs. “… Hey, guys.”
“Yo,” Mutavore replies without looking away from the TV.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asks. “You were pretty upset, earlier.”
“Yeah, um…” Komodo sits on the stairs. “I just needed to cool down. I want to apologize for… all that. I don’t hate you guys.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Jurassic Park III says. “Plasma grenade! Plasma grenade!“
“I see it!” Mutavore yelps. “… Crap.”
“I shouldn’t have quit on you,” Komodo continues. “I just got so obsessed with this dumb contest, and… I dunno.”
“It’s okay,” Rachel says. “We understand.”
“Anyway, uh.” Komodo stands and crosses to the center of the room, just behind the couch. “I was wondering if you guys would be willing to let me back in. Into the band, I mean.”
“Okay, first things first.” Mutavore pauses the game and turns around on the couch. “One: you’re always in the band, no matter how many times you throw a hissy and quit. It was true when we were fourteen and it’s true now.”
“I did not throw a—”
“Two,” Jurassic Park III interrupts. “We started this band because it was dumb and fun and gave us something to do on Friday nights. If we’re not having fun, we shouldn’t be doing it. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Komodo says.
“Good,” Mutavore says. “Welcome to the Limp Lizards. Newbie springs for pizza.”
Komodo rolls her eyes. “You weren’t worried at all, were you?”
“That’s not true,” Jurassic Park III gasps. “Your absence was like a void in my bosom. Feel my bosom void, Mutavore.”
Mutavore dramatically lays a hand on Jurassic Park III’s chest. “I can feel it!”
“I’ll order the pizza.” Rachel grabs her tablet and, a moment later, says, “… Oh my god.”
“What?” Komodo says. “Did the Holograms almost die again?”
“No, it’s an email,” Rachel says. “From some club manager. She wants to book us for a show.”
“What, really?” Mutavore says.
“She saw us at the Battle of the Bands,” Rachel says. “She thinks we have a ‘unique sound’ and wants us to play on Sunday night.”
“Who goes to a club on Sunday night?” Jurassic Park III wonders.
“Nobody,” Komodo replies. “It’s not exactly a recording contract, Rachel.”
“Yeah, but it pays,” Rachel says. “Real money. Someone wants to pay us real money to play music.”
“So…” Mutavore says. “Does that, like… make us professional musicians?”
They all think it over for a moment.
“I think it does,” Komodo says.
“Cool,” Jurassic Park III says. “All hail the Limp Lizards!”
Leave a Reply