Sketch

57 - Sam

Dedicated to thelastadams!  I don't know if this is the final draft of this chapter yet.  I wrote it really fast and I don't know if I like it all that much yet.  Let me know what you think.  Song on the side is what Emmy's singing :)

There are three things bugging the hell out of me when I wake up the morning after Emmy's performance on live TV.  One; the fact that I didn't get to sing with her.  Two; the fact that everyone thinks she likes Vince, thanks to the idiotic blonde presenter.  Three; the fact that Emmy said we were just friends.

I know it was probably easier for her to say that then to explain the whole situation between us, being enemies and then friends, let alone the argument, but it still hurt to hear it coming from her kissable lips.  I'd sulked all evening, much to the enjoyment of Vince who is basking in the glory of being called super-cute by the busty host.  Now though, three hours away from our next rehearsal slot at the studios, I push all of my annoyances and worries aside, focusing on the thought of seeing Emmy again.

I'm transferring my emotions into lyrics at the breakfast bar when Ollie charges into the room, holding out his laptop.

"You've got to look at this."

I peer up from my half-filled page and cock an eyebrow at his enthusiastic expression.  "Good morning to you too."

He sets the laptop in front of me and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.  "Just look at this."

I lean my chin on my hand, my elbow propped on the table, and spin the screen around so I can see it.  "It's our homepage."

He nods.  "Yeah.  Look at the views."

I follow his finger to the bottom left of the screen and my eyes widen.  "Shit.  What the hell?"

Ollie sinks into the seat next to me.  "One thousand hits overnight.  That's more than we've gotten in six months."

"Wow."  My heart's pounding.  "That's incredible."

Ollie leans around me, grabbing the slice of toast I'm yet to eat.  I don't scold him, my mind too busy processing the new view count that our band page has accumulated in the space of a night.

"And this is all because of Emmy being on TV," I say, more to myself than Ollie, but he hears.

He nods.  "Tanya was right about it getting us known.  Just think how many people will buy our EP," he says, talking around a mouthful of toast.

I cringe.  Our old music is rubbish compared to the stuff we've worked on with Emmy.  Her song is just the tip of the ice-burg.  "I'd rather they waited for our new album."

"Money is money, Sam.  And let's face it, we need money."

I look around at the flat.  If we didn't live here, it would look classy and expensive.  However, with dirty dishes in the sink and a pair of my socks on the living room floor, next to the coffee table that's stacked high with magazines and DVD cases, it looks like a student den.

"To buy stuff with," Ollie says, catching me looking around the room.  "It's not like we live in a skip, but I'd love to buy a new amp and I know Vince wants a new computer."

I bite my lip.  I'd love to get something for Emmy.  "Okay, it's fine if they buy our old material."

"And just think what it could do for us.  We could start our own line of merchandise.  Sketch t-shirts.  Sketch posters.  Sketch badges and bags."

I smile.  "It would be cool to see people wearing our band name."

"More than cool," Ollie replies. "It would prove we've made it.  Imagine walking in the supermarket and seeing someone wearing something that promotes our band?  That would be unbelievable."