Greta Van Fleet Imagines

wasabi-sfk

Wendy Williams introduced you, letting you take a seat across from her. The interview was going well up until she brought up the interview that happened last week. It was everywhere. Twitter, Facebook, and every single gossip column. Even Perez Hilton crawled out of the trench he'd been hiding in to report on the situation. Greta Van Fleet was still picking up pace. Their album had just been released and was on track to be the number one album of the week on iTunes. Instead, your album dropped the morning after, knocking them out of first place right before the final tally for the week was taken. One thing you learned about the music industry was to never underestimate dedicated fans.

The video, which had been shared millions of times over, was playing on the screen behind you for the audience. Their interview was on the Ellen show, and being the pot stirrer she is, she asked how they felt about your album even though it had little to do with them. Jake responded that it was a cutthroat market and there were no hard feelings. Josh and Danny both said that they hadn't gotten around to listening, but it was on their list. Finally, Sam just shrugged and said something you couldn't help but laugh at the first time you heard it. "I mean, pop music is so easy to listen to, you don't need much thought to read into it."

The audience in front of you let out a collective ooh, much like the audience on the tape did. You smiled and shifted in your seat. It was bound to come up, after all everyone loves some celebrity drama. The tabloids blew things out of proportion. It wouldn't be surprising to see you photoshopped together on a magazine cover.

"Any response?" Wendy asked, dying to hear a snarky remark. She was practically on the edge of her seat ready for you to spill.

Despite it being everywhere, you stayed tightlipped on the situation. Paparazzi snarked at you while you were out and about, shouting for comments. Digs and remarks had been made against you countless times. If you let every one of them bother you, you would never be able to work in such a cutthroat industry. "Well, Wendy," you said. "Some people have their heads so far up that they have lost touch with reality." The audience was shocked but clapped either way. "I have come to terms that I'm not for everyone, and I'm okay with that."

You knew it was only going to add fuel to the fire. Even though you wouldn't have normally responded, the management teams on both sides thought it would help raise your album streams for both parties. Despite the genres being almost complete opposites, a friendly war was just what you needed.

Sam responded again, this time on Good Morning America's Friday morning show right before they performed. That night, they were in New York for an awards show, where you were performing, to present an award.

You fiddled with the buckle on your costume. You were supposed to sing a different song on the album but trying to milk the publicity of the exchanges between you and Sam, the producers of the show and your management had you perform Wasabi instead. The backup dancers were ready and in their places. A crew member helped you to the hydraulic lift, ready to bring you up front and center. Once the music started, your mind went blank. Muscle memory took over and you went into performance mode. The rhythmic dings brought cheers from the crowd. You began singing, making sure to keep the camera in your eyeline. The crowd sang along. The song wasn't that popular when it first came out but had since blown up, earning the little star and earning the most individual streams.

"I love the way you talk about me," you sang, tipping your head back. "Look at how far it got me."

At that exact moment, you spotted Sam a few rows back sitting next to his bandmates. You glanced over him, continuing the song. The dance breaks over the chorus made it easy for you to manage the lyrics. "All the ugly things you say, come and say it to my face. "You were center stage, moving your prop fan around you and singing. You noticed Josh nudge Sam who instead just looked away. You kept going, feeling the newfound confidence in your veins.

"Best believe," you moved off to the left side of the stage. The camera rig blocked your view of Sam. You crossed back over, looking right at him. He made eye contact this time, not breaking it. The next line came up and you said it right to him. "Hope you like the view. Best believe, you're never getting me."

The rest of the song was sung to the audience and cameras, no longer focusing on Sam. At the end, you stood center stage, relishing in the cheers. As self-centered as it sounded, one single comment was not going to hurt you as much as they wanted. You retreated backstage, taking a moment to breathe. You had a quick change from the tiger printed leotard and latex buckles and half sweatshirt to a black and gold pantsuit. You were waiting for the commercials so you could walk through the crowd without drawing attention to yourself.

Sam was walking toward you, looking down at his phone. He looked up, locking eyes with you. He waved politely, looking around like he was trying to look for a means of escape. You neared him, deciding to introduce yourself civilly. "It's an honor," you said, holding your hand out. "I would hug you, but I am very sweaty."

Sam pulled you into a hug anyway. "I want to apologize for the comment on Ellen."

You waved him off. "It's okay. Didn't you get the point of my song?" You teased.

"Sometimes things just slip out," he said. "I actually love your music. But no one can ever know."

You nearly combusted right there. While reading replies on Twitter, you stumbled across compilations of him shitting on pop music. "You're joking." Sam looked like he was also about to die right then and there from embarrassment. Feeling a twang of guilt from calling him out, you squeezed his arm lightly. "That actually means a lot." Truly. Having such a talented man say that your music was good without cameras or fans or paparazzi around was the sincerest act you could think of.

Sam held out his arm for you to link into yours. "Would you like to get dinner after this? On me."

You nodded. "That's one way to apologize."