Disclaimer: I only own Evita, Eleanor, and any other characters you don't recognize, but I'm getting the papers signed for Gerard, Mikey, and Frankie soon.

Chapter One

Evita took the CD from the girl and studied it. She leaned onto the countertop and smiled, handing the CD back to her. "Between you and me, you could get this at Best Buy for $12."

The girl's face lit up. "Seriously?"

Evita laughed. "Seriously."

She was smiling contentedly until Adam stormed out. "Carmichael! That's it! You've been killing business!"

Evita glared at her boss. "Maybe if we didn't charge so God damned much for our CDs, I wouldn't have to." Angry, she slammed down the CD she had been looking at. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm sick of this-I wanted to work here for the music, not to rip little kids off. Fuck you, Adam."

She stormed out, letting the glass door swing shut behind her. Her chest swelled with pride until she parallel parked along the curb, several feet past the "No Parking" sign and realization struck. "Oh, shit!"

She let herself into her apartment, where she heard the blow dryer. "Hey El!" Her roommate and best friend Eleanor poked her head out from the bathroom. "Hi there, Miss Evita! How was work?"

"I quit."

Silence. Then: "YOU WHAT?!" The blow dryer turned off, and El, her hair half-straight, half-insane, stalked out in disbelief. "Why? I thought you liked this job!"

"I did. But my boss was an asshole, and I cannot rip little kids off. They were charging $18 for Nevermind!"

El sighed. "You either have to get a job and keep it or pull off this music thing you've been talking about," she said skeptically.

Evita sighed. "I can, El. Boy scout's honor!"

El chuckled. "I fall for it every time." She retreated to the bathroom. "Oh, I'm going out with Cheryl and Nancy tonight."

Evita rolled her eyes. Although she and El were good friends, they didn't get along well with each other's friends. The majority of Evita's friends were guys; she couldn't stand the cattiness and gossip that usually came with girls. El, on the other hand, was much more prim and proper than Evita. She hated the messiness and immaturity that boys often possessed.

"I'll probably hang out with Quigley and Charlie or something. Maybe I'll check out some record stores. You know, for a job?"

"Mmmhmm."

"And then we'll probably hang out here after. Maybe go to a show?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Probably have a wild orgy."

"Mmmhmm."

"We're inviting your mom." "Mmmh-wait, what?"

Evita laughed and ran her hairbrush through her short black hair. She pulled out her black eyeliner and rimmed her eyes with it quickly.

"I don't understand why you put so much on," El commented as she walked through the room, dressed sharply in a tweed skirt and white blouse.

"Where are you going," Evita scoffed, "the Future Feminist Business Moguls of America Convention?"

"Haha, very funny. Actually, we're going out for drinks."

"In that? That outfit looks like it comes with a complimentary stick to shove up your ass."

El said nothing-she was used to such banter.

Evita shook her head and applied her pale pink lipstick. "Alright, I'm going now. See you later. Don't get too bombed... you business women, you sure do hold your liquor!"

She grinned as she shut the door just as a shoe made a loud thud against the wall.

She sighed heavily. She realized now that while quitting your job felt very empowering, after about three hours it wasn't so great. She was still jobless, and it was already nearly 5:00.

As she wandered down the street, she passed a small, run-down looking shop with a phonograph in the display window. Intrigued, she stepped inside. She was surprised to find that despite its old-looking exterior, the shop was a very urban-style record shop.

She walked up to the front counter, where a guy with short dark hair was playing a Game Boy Color.

"Hey, you guys hiring?" she asked amicably.

He shrugged. "Yeah, probably," eh replied without looking up. "How much do you-"

"$10 an hour."

She glared. "If you'd let me finish... how much do you charge for CDs, on average."

This caught his attention. He looked up. "Between $12 and $15, I'd say. Why?"

She shrugged. "I quit my last job because I don't like ripping kids off. It's about the music, not the profit."

"I hear you," he said with a grin. "When can you start?"

"How's now sound?"

Evita had been working at Urban Records for nearly three months now, and she absolutely loved it. Quigley, Charlie, and Tyler were always there, and Josh, her "boss", didn't have any problem with it.

She met the most interesting people everyday. She and Josh would just talk to them, about music, life, whatever. Money wasn't a concern anymore... she actually looked forward to work every morning.

Unfortunately, El didn't feel the same way. Because of Evita's low salary, it put a lot of pressure on El to make enough money to cut rent. After two months, they had agreed that it would be best for them to find their own places. Evita, nearly broke, moved in with Quigley and Charlie. They were brothers, three years apart. The three had been best friends since Quigley and Evita were in second grade. Charlie, who had been in fifth grade, had been the only one to stick up for them in high school. Now, Evita and Quigley were 19, and Charlie was 22.

Stepping to Urban Records, Evita was surprised to see Josh rushing around, mumbling to himself.

"Hey Josh," she greeted him, and he whirled on her.

"You're here! Thank God! There's a signing today! Some band... Chemical Heartache or something? I don't know. They're supposed to be great. They're coming HERE to do the signing!"

"Sweet! What needs to be done?"

"EVERYTHING! Shelves organized, the place cleaned up... oh, it'll never happen in time!"

"Josh, chill out. The place is amazingly clean already. And everyone knows that this place is a wreck anyway. And who gives a fuck if the band likes how it looks? This is how it's always been here... there's no reason to change it now." She paused and though for a minute. "Are they performing afterwards?"

"YES!" Josh exclaimed, panicked. "And we don't have a stage of any sort!" "Have no fear, Josh. My apartment building is putting up tennis courts this summer, but right now, it's just open pavement. My dad's an electrician-he has enough equipment to light new York City... well, maybe not. Maybe Atlanta? Either way, it works."

Josh pulled her into a tight hug. "YOU ARE AMAZING EVITA CARMICHAEL!"

She laughed and patted him on the back. "It's natural."

Right then, Charlie, Quigley, and Tyler burst in. "Dude, there's some band here. They said something about setting up and Chinese food."

Evita stared at Josh. "What time did this band say they were coming at?"

"10 AM."

"Yeah, that would be now."

Charlie and Quigley somehow managed to catch Josh when he passed out.

A few minutes later, Evita found herself on the phone with the head of the construction company that would be building the tennis courts.

"But it's July! The courts aren't being built until September!... Yes, I know the fucking agenda; it's called a calendar!... They're not even painted yet!... Are you a religious man, sir?... Yes? Well Jesus would share his tennis courts... You're going to hell for this, you know that, right?... Yeah, fuck you too, buddy!"

She slammed the phone down. "Asshole," she muttered angrily.

The door opened, and she rolled her eyes when she heard: "It's Evita! Tell her what we have for her today, Johnny!"

She laughed and turned to face Tyler. She had liked him a few years back, when she was a junior and he a senior. She had quickly realized, though, that kissing one of your best friends was more than a little disgusting.

"If Jesus had a huge empty area of black top that was not being used, he'd let a band use it as a stage, right?"

Tyler nodded. "Most definitely," he said solemnly.

"I thought so. Well, a Mr. Thomas Smith is gong to hell for not letting us use his empty black top."

Tyler nodded again. "He is. What a Satanic thing to do."

Quigley burst in just then. "I come bearing gifts!"

"A large stage, perhaps?"

"No, better: smoothies!"

Evita rolled her eyes, but snatched a glass and downed its contents. "We are stageless," she updated him. "Stageless and poor."

"And the town is full of heathens," Tyler commented.

Quigley nodded. "Too true. We could always set up in some other random place. How about... ."

"Yes?" Evita encouraged him eagerly, leaning forward.

"No, I got nothin', sorry."

Evita grumbled. "I need to get out of here. Call up this construction guy and convince him to let us use the unbuilt tennis courts with your amazing social skills."

"Will do!" Quigley said with a wink, and Evita left the store.

Once outside, she took a deep breath and looked around. She didn't see any band-the street was deserted, as per usual.

Just then, Tyrone, a local homeless man and retired jazz musician, wandered down the street. "Hey, Tyrone!" she greeted him cheerfully.

"Hey, sugar, what's crackin', baby?"

"We need a stage for some band to play on today. I can score you some backstage passes if you have anything."

"How 'bout them tennis courts?"

"The guy in charge of them won't let us use them."

Tyrone scoffed. "Lemme talk some sense into that foo'!" He stormed into the store and grabbed the phone from Quigley. Evita watched through the shop window. Five minutes later he reemerged, triumphant. "Baby, you got yo'self a concert!"

"Thanks, Tyrone!"

"Oh, baby, don't you worry 'bout it!" He ambled off, his saxophone case in hand. Josh came sprinting down the street. "Do we have a stage?"

Evita nodded. "Tyrone is a God." As if on cue, Tyrone, who had set up a block away, played a long, high note.

Josh sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God!"

Evita smiled happily. "So we can just relax now, right?" Josh nodded. "Thank GOD!" she exclaimed, happy to be rid of the stress. "So where's this Chemical Heartbreak... Heartache... whatever?"

Josh looked around. "Oh, no! We've lost the band!"

Evita laughed. "Go lie down, Josh. Stop having heart attacks."

He nodded and scurried off, mumbling to himself about stress and therapy. After a few minutes, Evita went back into the shop. Quigley and Tyler had disappeared to God-knows-where, so she put some Guns 'N' Roses on and pulled out her book. She was lying on the countertop, her feet up against the wall, when she heard the door open. "Quigley, I love you, but leave. I will not bear your children today."

She was startled by the unexpected laughter she heard. She sat up and attempted to orient herself. "Sorry sorry sorry, I thought you were someone else. And I swear, I won't bear your children either, I'm not a slut or... " She trailed off as she turned to face whoever it was.

She found herself looking into the deepest hazel eyes she had ever seen. She stared wide-eyed for a few seconds before realizing that she probably looked like a dying tree frog and blinked hard. "Wow, I'm really sorry! I thought you were Quigley, and, um, you're not. But seriously, I'm not a slut or anything, and I don't normally bear people's children, not even Quigley's, and wow, this is embarrassing."

She was looking into the face of the prettiest guy she had ever seen. With black hair that fell down to his chin and pale skin, he was gorgeous.

"Hi," she breathed.

He laughed. "Hey, there."

She hopped down off the counter and adjusted her clothing. "Can I help you?" He smiled. She grabbed the countertop for support.

"Yeah, I'm actually just looking for the band, do you know where they are?" She shook her head. "Sorry, no, I haven't seen them. Have you? I've heard they're really awesome. I've never heard of them, but Josh says they're great. Then again, Josh also thinks they're called The Chemical Heartache, which can't be right. That's like naming your kid Icarus or something." She closed her eyes, realizing she was rambling. "Nope, haven't seen 'em."

He grinned at her. "OK, well, thanks. Oh, and I heard they suck."

She stared at him as he left, enthralled.

Three hours later, the "stage" had been set up, under the supervision of Evita's father, a former guitarist and retired electrician

. Evita strolled up to him, bored out of her mind. The signing had began an hour and thirty minutes ago, but she hadn't been able to meet the band-Josh had asked her to help out with the stage set up.

"How's it going, Dad?" she asked casually, leaning up against a large speaker that had just been hooked up.

"All finished," he said, standing with a smile. "This is gonna be one loud concert."

Evita chuckled. "Thanks for setting this all up," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "It means a lot. Josh will be forever indebted to you." He laughed heartily. "You know I'll do anything to see some kids playing guitar-I miss the old days."

She smiled up at her father. Nearing sixty, he was still youthful looking, and he had the spunk of an eighteen-year-old. "Well, you're all set," he said, wiping his hands on his pants.

Evita smiled and saw Josh walked towards her, looking calm for the first time that day. "I'm glad to see you've fucking relaxed!" she said with a chuckle. He rolled his eyes and smacked her upside the head. "Don't be a fucking loser," he laughed and made his way to the stage to talk with her dad.

She grabbed a cigarette from her pocket at lit up. She saw she father shoot her a disapproving glance, but he said nothing. She chuckled to herself as he asked Josh for a lighter and lit up his own cigarette.

She sat down on the curb and looked around. It was far from beautiful-there was little that was in this part of New Jersey-but she loved the contrast of the dirty apartments and houses against the clear blue sky. She took a drag of her cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke.

"EEEEVVVVIIIIITTTTTAAAAA!!!!!!!" She looked up and saw Quigley sprinting towards her. Before she could say anything, he tackled her, and she dropped her cigarette as she put him in a headlock.

"Get up, you retards," Charlie said as he walked by. "The band needs to do their sound check."

Evita mouthed the words to Quigley as Charlie spoke, wearing a mock-superior expression. As Charlie strode past them, she lashed out and grabbed his ankle, and he fell heavily.

"Holy shit, you weigh a ton!" she wheezed.

He laughed and stood up. "All muscle baby," he said, taking a body-builder stance. He helped her up, and she jumped onto his back. Pulling a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lighting up, she smacked his butt. "Giddy up!" she commanded, and he obediently hurried off to the "stage."

Evita collapsed onto the grass. She, Quigley, Charlie, and Tyler had been playing tackle football for the past half-hour. Josh had asked them to get out of the way while the band warmed up, and Evita's dad advised her to get away from the electrical equipment-she had never had a way with anything electrical. The last time she had dealt with wires had been at Tyler's house-being that her dad was an electrician, everyone assumed she could fix the amp. It blew up.

"I definitely just got the most amazing idea!" she said, sitting up suddenly. Charlie shook his head. "I don't even want to know."

"No, guys, this is amazing. It's like-historical!"

As soon as she relayed her plan to her friends, they all agreed that it was fantastic, even Charlie.

"Where are we going to get one?" Tyler asked.

"Oh, my mom has one," Evita said, and they trekked off to her mom's house.

Twenty minutes later found the four friends in front of Evita's parents' house, the black microwave in the middle of the street. Charlie shook his head. "You guys are so fucked up," he said, but was smiling nonetheless.

Evita waved him off. "Oh, come on, stop acting your age. You know you love it." Charlie rolled his eyes, but came closer to watch. Evita picked up a fork and placed it in the microwave. She then programmed it to run for three minutes. "How is this thing running?" Quigley asked.

"Who cares?" Tyler shot back, watching in amazement as lines of pale blue electricity branched out from the fork like lightning.

The microwave started to buzz and shake, until it exploded out of nowhere. They stood there in silence, staring at the remains of the microwave, which were in flames.

Evita was the first to laugh-she giggled stupidly, and soon was rolling on the ground with laughter. Soon enough, all four of them were doubled over with laughter.

The door to the house swung open, and Evita's mom came storming out. "Evita! What are you DOING?!" she shrieked. Evita stopped laughing and looked at her mom, only to fall into hysterics again.

Her mom sighed heavily. "You are unbelievable!" she said, exasperated, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I'm making lemonade. I'll bring it out in a bit after I check the warranty on that microwave."

After Evita had calmed herself down and was breathing normally again, she sat on the curb, smoking. Quigley was sprawled across her, blowing smoke into her face. "What the fuck, stop it!" she said, pushing him off her.

"Oh, come on, you love it!" he protested, resting his head in her lap.

She rolled her eyes but said nothing. Tyler crawled up behind her and sat on her shoulders.

"Get off me, you cow!"

Charlie laughed and pushed Quigley's head out of the way and sat on Evita's lap. After struggling for a bit, she gave up and took a drag of her cigarette. Because Tyler's body was obstructing her vision, she jumped when she heard someone laugh. "Holy shit!" she shrieked, and Tyler fell from her shoulders. Pissed off, he kicked her in the back, and she turned around and flung herself at him, knocking Charlie and Quigley off of her. "You shit, I'm gonna kill you!" she shouted, and they rolled around, punching each other in the face and stomach.

"Hey there, kids!" Charlie shouted, breaking them up. "Let's cool down, 'eh?" He turned to someone Evita couldn't see and apologized for their "behavior." "I am behaving perfectly fine," Evita retorted, standing up and attempting to brush the mud from her ripped jeans.

Tyler reached out to grab her ankle but she saw it and stepped on it-hard. He howled in pain, and Evita sniggered. "Sorry," she said, and leaned down to help him up.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her down on top of him. "Get off me!" she grunted, and pulled herself up again.

Charlie coughed loudly, and Evita and Tyler stopped fighting to look up. A tall, lanky guy, probably around their age, was standing there awkwardly, his light brown hair brushed down messily.

Evita picked herself up, feeling her face turn red. "Um, hi," she muttered shyly, suddenly self-conscious.

He smiled at her. "Hi, um, is your dad the electrician?" She nodded, letting her hair fall into her face, trying to hide her deep blush. "He's looking for you," the guy said. "Something about your mother panicking about a microwave?"

Evita's eyes widened. "Oh, shit!" She turned to Quigley. "Remember how I was telling you my dad got a great deal on some first-rate appliances?" Quigley nodded. "Yeah, the microwave was one of them."

The guy looked at her weirdly. "I don't mean to be nosey or anything, but... " Tyler grinned. "Oh, she blew up her dad's brand new microwave. It cost like, $300."

"$400," Evita corrected him quietly.

The guy, who was still nameless, laughed. "I blew up a microwave once, with a fork."

"Ha, us too. Well, it was very nice meeting you. What's your name, by the way? I'd like to know it, because I'm about to die a horrible, painful death." The guy laughed. "Mikey. And you are... ?"

"Evita," she introduced herself with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Mikey. So what brings you to the lovely state of trash piles? I mean, New Jersey."

He laughed. "I'm the bassist in the band," he said. "But I'm from Jersey, too." "Oh, whoops," Evita said, blushing even more. "Well, I guess there's no point in avoiding the inevitable." She paused. "Hang on a sec," she said, and rushed inside.

She came out five minutes later wearing a sleek black dress. Tyler stared at her. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked her, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

"I figured I should look nice when I die," she shot back with a shrug, and made her way down the road in her worn-out Converse All Stars.

"You did WHAT?"

Evita cringed as her father screamed at her.

"THAT MICROWAVE COST NEARLY $400, AND YOU BLEW IT UP?! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU,

EVITA CARMICHAEL! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MORE RESPONSIBLE THAN THAT! I TOLD YOU TO GET AWAY FROM THE STAGE SO YOU WOULDN'T MESS UP THE ELECTRICITY, NOT SO YOU COULD BLOW UP MY MICROWAVE!"

"Well, if it's any consolation, we had a really great time. And you always said at my first grade soccer games that it was about having fun, right?" Seeing his angry look, she backed away. "Now, I know that beggars can't be choosers, but could you maybe use the guillotine instead of lethal injection? It seems a lot faster, ya know, and without all that anticipation. I just don't think I could handle that. I'd probably have an asthma attack."

He glared at her.

"OK, so lethal injection it is! Just gimme the time and the date, and I'll be there, Daddy-o!"

He sighed. "You're lucky there's one-year warranty on that thing." Evita stared at him. "What?"

A smile tugged at his mouth. "A warranty. We don't have to pay for it."

She glared at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?

"Hey, watch your mouth!"

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" she screamed. "I can't believe you!" she spat, before turning and storming off.

"There's a fucking warranty!" she said angrily as she sat on the curb where

Tyler, Quigley, Charlie, and Mikey were talking amongst themselves. "They don't have to pay a cent for it!"

Quigley looked at her questioningly. "Isn't that a good thing?"

Evita glared at him. "Well, yeah, but...still!" She paused. "I'm wearing a fucking dress!"

Charlie snorted. "Good point."

"Shut up, fucker!" she said, smacking him upside the head.

"Hey!"

They both stood, throwing insults at each other, and within minutes were in a fist fight. Quigley and Tyler laughed and quickly dove in, fists swinging, leaving Mikey standing on the side awkwardly. He edged closer slowly, trying to break them up. When he was close enough, he tried to physically pull them apart, only to be grabbed by the ankle and pulled into the brawl.

All five of them would have probably been sent to the hospital had it not been for the familiar voice that cut through the air: "Mikey, what the fuck are you doing?"

Everyone stopped, Charlie's foot in Tyler's face and his fist in Quigley's stomach, Evita straddling Mikey [A/N: I wish I was her...*dies* OK, continue..], mid-punch. They all looked up, and Evita nearly died: it was the guy from the record shop! She felt her face heating up.

Mikey coughed loudly, and Evita realized that she was in a compromising position. She laughed nervously, stood up, and offered him a hand. After pulling him up, she brushed herself off; the long dress had been ripped in several spots, including, but not limited to, a huge tear that ran from the side to the middle of the front, exposing the bottoms of the black hot pants she was wearing.

"Oh, fuck," she mumbled, and bit her lip. When Quigley sniggered, she kicked him hard in the shin, quickly shutting him up. She looked back up to see the guy staring at her oddly.

She blushed deeply, and followed his gaze, and looked at her dress. "Oh! Oh, this! Yeah, um...I had a funeral."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, adjusting his square-shaped sunglasses.

She waved away his apology with her hand. "Oh, no, it's OK, it was cancelled."

"What?"

"Oh, well...the funeral? It was mine."

He just stared at her, so Charlie covered for her. "Evita here is a genius, and she blew up her dad's $400 microwave."

The guy loked from Charlie to Evita and back to Charlie before falling into laughed. "Are you serious?"

Evita shrugged. "Well, I didn't know it cost $400!"

Mikey turned to the guy. "Do we have to perform again?"

The guy nodded. "Yeah, they want an encore or something."

"Wait, wait wait." Evita turned to the guy. "You're in the band?"

This time, the guy blushed. "Yeah," he admitted, cracking a smile.

Evita, willing her knees to stop shaking, glared. "What the fuck? I looked like a complete retard before and you didn't say anything?"

He blushed even more deeply. "You were rambling, and I didn't want to cut you off. Besides, you're cute when you're nervous."

Tyler was the first to speak. "Aw, Evita has a cwush!"

"Fuck off!" Evita spat, and let her fist hit his stomach for emphasis.

Quigley laughed. "I think our little girl is growing up."

Evita stood uncomfortably as her friends made fun of her. She should have expected it--being friends with guys made her susceptible to such taunting. The guy grinned. "So your name is Evita?" She nodded, still blushing. "I'm Gerard," he said. She extended her hand for him to shake it, but he took it and kissed it. She stared at him in shock, her mouth hanging open.

Gerard, still smiling at her, chuckled. "I have to go perform, Evita, but I'll see you after the show. Don't blow anything up, OK?"

To be continued...