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Description
In the dim lighting of the basement of some bar, Frank peeked over the head of all the other smelly people in the crowd towards the stage. Soon he'd be up there himself, all those bloodshot, makeup-darkened eyes looking at him. Whether in awe, or envy, or disgust, he didn't give a fuck. All he cared about was being the center of attention. But right now, Frank shifted on his feet as he watched the opening band clumsily set up their gear. They were all clearly older than him (which wasn't hard to be, as Frank was only 18), but, in comparison with the skill and experience of the bands who would be playing later, they were just babies.

The blonde bassist, a guy with angular facial features but hair like a girl's, stood awkwardly with his knees bent inward. He was a skinny kid, with girly white glasses and long bony fingers. He looked like he should have been at home on Myspace, not in a place like this. Onstage, for that matter. He looked like he could barely hold up that huge blue bass. The strap was drawn up tight and looked like it'd knock him over if he didn't keep himself balance.

The guitarist, however, seemed a lot more pro at all this, with the confidence he gave off, his face solid and concentrated. He had a dorky haircut, though, and equally dorky glasses which kind of ruined the effect. Frank observed that his hair was pretty curly and he could easily grow an awesome 'fro if he wanted to. He looked like he'd be a nice guy. In contrast to the guitarist, the drummer had this intimidating look about him, like he'd punch Frank in the face just from looking at him too long.

And, finally, there was the lead singer, passing the mic back and forth between his hands anxiously like a baseball. He had long black hair that curled around his cheeks and jaw and he wore a little bit of red makeup—not enough to look ridiculous, just enough to emphasize his huge green eyes. His mouth was a funny shape, Frank noticed. It seemed sort of slanted to one side, and seemed more indented at the corners, if that made any sense.
The guy wasn't fat, Frank also observed, but he probably could have been skinnier. Maybe it was just his big baggy hoodie that made him look bigger than he was—he had a rather delicate face that didn't quite match the rest of him. Or perhaps this illusion of overweightness was just from him standing next to that scrawny bassist.
Either way, once they were set up, the singer tapping the mic on his chin, looking around with those big round eyes, away from the crowd, some guy in the corner took out his own mic and announced,

"Ladies and gentlemen, My Chemical Romance!"

There was some half-assed cheering and the band started up their first song. To Frank's surprise, as soon as they started, everything was My Chemical Romance. The singer was bursting with energy, already sweating from all his crazy movements. The guitarist was still pro and the bassist was still lanky and awkward, and the drummer pounded his drums like some unlucky guys' faces. Frank pushed forward through the crowd and avoided the mosh pit, which was not typical for him. This time, he just stared up at his new favorite band. His mouth was slightly open and when the singer winked at him, he grinned madly.

***

Backstage, Frank shuffled around until he spotted the girly hair of the bassist from before. He plodded over the gross, sticky floor and found the other members of MCR as well. He introduced himself excitedly and told them how awesome he thought they were.
"Hah, thanks!" the singer scratched the back of his head and tousled his stringy black hair that was now hanging in his face. It seemed longer and it didn't have that weird 'mushroom' bump like it did earlier. It suited his face better like this, Frank thought subconsciously, and he just gazed for a bit while the band flushed over having their first fan.

Their conversation carried on as such: The band thanked Frank for his kind words, and they introduced themselves ("I'm Gerard," the singer told him, "and this is my brother, Mikey, who plays bass, Ray on guitar, and Otter on drums.") and Frank then told them that his band was up soon and it'd be so fuckin' sweet if they stayed and watched. They were all excited by this and agreed to stay (all except Otter who mumbled something about having to feed his cat). Frank grinned from ear to ear and ran a hand through his spiky red faux-hawk.

***

"Pencey Prep!" the guy announced.
This was Frank's moment. He had to prove to those Chemical Romance guys that he was cool enough to hang with.

The music started. Frank screamed into the mic ferociously. He looked out at that cheering crowd, silhouetted from the spotlight shining on his face. He managed to make out Gerard and he nodded to him. At this, Gerard's eyes got real big and he made this goofy smile that made him look more like a chic than he already did. He brought a pale hand to his cheek—like he thought he might be blushing— then covered up his silly smile. Frank smiled into the mic and looked away.

Description
In the dim lighting of the basement of some bar, Frank peeked over the head of all the other smelly people in the crowd towards the stage. Soon he'd be up there himself, all those bloodshot, makeup-darkened eyes looking at him. Whether in awe, or envy, or disgust, he didn't give a fuck. All he cared about was being the center of attention. But right now, Frank shifted on his feet as he watched the opening band clumsily set up their gear. They were all clearly older than him (which wasn't hard to be, as Frank was only 18), but, in comparison with the skill and experience of the bands who would be playing later, they were just babies.

The blonde bassist, a guy with angular facial features but hair like a girl's, stood awkwardly with his knees bent inward. He was a skinny kid, with girly white glasses and long bony fingers. He looked like he should have been at home on Myspace, not in a place like this. Onstage, for that matter. He looked like he could barely hold up that huge blue bass. The strap was drawn up tight and looked like it'd knock him over if he didn't keep himself balance.

The guitarist, however, seemed a lot more pro at all this, with the confidence he gave off, his face solid and concentrated. He had a dorky haircut, though, and equally dorky glasses which kind of ruined the effect. Frank observed that his hair was pretty curly and he could easily grow an awesome 'fro if he wanted to. He looked like he'd be a nice guy. In contrast to the guitarist, the drummer had this intimidating look about him, like he'd punch Frank in the face just from looking at him too long.

And, finally, there was the lead singer, passing the mic back and forth between his hands anxiously like a baseball. He had long black hair that curled around his cheeks and jaw and he wore a little bit of red makeup—not enough to look ridiculous, just enough to emphasize his huge green eyes. His mouth was a funny shape, Frank noticed. It seemed sort of slanted to one side, and seemed more indented at the corners, if that made any sense.
The guy wasn't fat, Frank also observed, but he probably could have been skinnier. Maybe it was just his big baggy hoodie that made him look bigger than he was—he had a rather delicate face that didn't quite match the rest of him. Or perhaps this illusion of overweightness was just from him standing next to that scrawny bassist.
Either way, once they were set up, the singer tapping the mic on his chin, looking around with those big round eyes, away from the crowd, some guy in the corner took out his own mic and announced,

"Ladies and gentlemen, My Chemical Romance!"

There was some half-assed cheering and the band started up their first song. To Frank's surprise, as soon as they started, everything was My Chemical Romance. The singer was bursting with energy, already sweating from all his crazy movements. The guitarist was still pro and the bassist was still lanky and awkward, and the drummer pounded his drums like some unlucky guys' faces. Frank pushed forward through the crowd and avoided the mosh pit, which was not typical for him. This time, he just stared up at his new favorite band. His mouth was slightly open and when the singer winked at him, he grinned madly.

***

Backstage, Frank shuffled around until he spotted the girly hair of the bassist from before. He plodded over the gross, sticky floor and found the other members of MCR as well. He introduced himself excitedly and told them how awesome he thought they were.
"Hah, thanks!" the singer scratched the back of his head and tousled his stringy black hair that was now hanging in his face. It seemed longer and it didn't have that weird 'mushroom' bump like it did earlier. It suited his face better like this, Frank thought subconsciously, and he just gazed for a bit while the band flushed over having their first fan.

Their conversation carried on as such: The band thanked Frank for his kind words, and they introduced themselves ("I'm Gerard," the singer told him, "and this is my brother, Mikey, who plays bass, Ray on guitar, and Otter on drums.") and Frank then told them that his band was up soon and it'd be so fuckin' sweet if they stayed and watched. They were all excited by this and agreed to stay (all except Otter who mumbled something about having to feed his cat). Frank grinned from ear to ear and ran a hand through his spiky red faux-hawk.

***

"Pencey Prep!" the guy announced.
This was Frank's moment. He had to prove to those Chemical Romance guys that he was cool enough to hang with.

The music started. Frank screamed into the mic ferociously. He looked out at that cheering crowd, silhouetted from the spotlight shining on his face. He managed to make out Gerard and he nodded to him. At this, Gerard's eyes got real big and he made this goofy smile that made him look more like a chic than he already did. He brought a pale hand to his cheek—like he thought he might be blushing— then covered up his silly smile. Frank smiled into the mic and looked away.