Chapter Text
The cold air hit John Egbert as he stepped out of his dad's car and onto the snowy sidewalk. It was winter break, and while everyone else was probably kicking back and enjoying the time off, John had a different idea. He was here to get serious.
“Well, Son, I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours, alright? Don’t end up wandering off into the graphic novel section like last time,” his dad said, giving him an exaggerated look.
John chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be quick.”
The bookstore was warm, with the kind of quiet hum that immediately made John feel at home. He shook off his coat and stepped deeper inside, inhaling the comforting scent of old paper and coffee. He had a mission—get a book on songwriting. His guitar had been gathering dust back home, and there was no better time to start writing music than now, right?
He wandered through the aisles, skimming the spines of various books, feeling the familiar tug of all the other sections—the sci-fi, the fantasy, even the graphic novels. But no distractions. He needed something practical. Something that would help him figure out how to write songs that weren’t just terrible riffs and bad lyrics.
As he rounded a corner, though, he caught snippets of a conversation—one that, at first, he couldn’t ignore.
“Pete is not the lady killer you think he is,” said a voice, dripping with sarcasm.
John paused, squinting toward the sound. That voice. Rose Lalonde. It had to be her. You knew her from your Psych 1 class from this fall’s semester. You didn’t know she lived in your hometown!
Curiosity got the better of him, and before he could stop himself, he was walking toward the back of the store, where he could see two blondes near the shelf: a guy and Rose, locked in some kind of heated debate.
“Dude,” the guy was saying, waving his arms around like he was trying to explain something complex, “Pete’s got that it factor! I mean, the dude’s the face of the band! Without him, the whole thing falls apart. He’s got the swag, the charisma—he’s a lady killer, you know?”
Rose, as usual, wasn’t buying it. “Pete doesn’t do anything except strut around on stage like he’s god’s gift to music. The only thing he’s killing is his own credibility.”
The guy frowned, but Rose wasn’t done.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, crossing her arms with that sharp, detached look she always wore, “Pat could be more than the sad, quiet guy in the back, if people would actually pay attention to him. He’s the one with real talent. But nope, Pete steals the spotlight with his fake charisma. Pat, on the other hand, actually feels something when he sings.”
John felt a small sense of triumph hearing Rose say exactly what he’d been thinking for a while now. Pat was the underrated one, not Pete. But before he could fully process it, he realized that he was standing there, a few feet away, listening in.
And that’s when it happened.
“I think Pete steals the spotlight from Pat, too,” John blurted, surprising himself more than anyone.
He felt his cheeks heat up, but it was too late to take it back now. Both of them looked at him, and Rose didn’t even seem shocked—just mildly amused. The guy, on the other hand, looked like he’d just seen a ghost.
“What—wait—you just said that?” he asked, blinking a few times in disbelief.
John coughed awkwardly, realizing that he might’ve been a bit too eager to chime in. “Yeah. I mean, Pat is the one who deserves more attention, don’t you think?”
Rose turned her head slowly toward John, giving him a look that said she was both impressed and a little skeptical at the same time. “You really think so?” she said, voice dripping with casual indifference, but her raised eyebrow told him she was definitely intrigued.
“I mean, Pat’s the lead singer, right?” John said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s the one who really carries the emotional weight of the band. Pete’s just... I dunno, loud.”
The guy—Dave, Rose’s twin brother, as it turned out—looked at John for a long moment, and then his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Oh, I see. You’re one of those people. You think Pat’s the ‘real’ talent just because he can’t keep his voice in key half the time and sings cheesy lyrics about ‘feeling the world’ or whatever?”
John’s jaw dropped slightly. “I—What? No! That’s not what I mean. I’m just saying, Pete gets all this attention, but it’s Pat who has depth. Pete just shouts and looks cool. But Pat, you can feel what he’s singing. It’s real. I mean, you can’t just ignore that, right?”
Dave rolled his eyes, clearly unfazed by John’s defense of Pat. “Dude, you’re hardcore about this, aren’t you? I get it, I do. You’re all about the ‘sensitive artist’ angle. But that’s not what people want. People want energy. They want Pete. He’s the one getting the crowd moving, not Pat.”
John shook his head, frowning. “No, that’s exactly the problem! People just want what’s flashy. Pat’s not the ‘loudest,’ but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve more. He’s got soul, man.”
Rose, who had been quietly observing this exchange, finally chimed in with a knowing look.
“You two are amusing. But you both know this isn’t going to be resolved, right? No matter how many times you argue about it, you’re both going to leave thinking you’re right.”
John couldn’t help but laugh, relieved that at least she was still being her usual sarcastic self. But Dave, clearly not finished with the debate, raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Fine, fine, we’ll call it a draw,” Dave said with a grin. “But I’ll bet you this: you’d never catch me going to a Pat solo show.”
“Probably not,” John muttered under his breath, “but I’d rather go see someone with substance.”
“Alright, enough with the Pat fan club,” Dave said, suddenly shifting gears. “What about you, man? You play any instruments? I’m guessing if you’re that passionate about music, you’ve got some skills.”
John blinked, thrown off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, yeah, I play guitar. And I sing a little... but I mean, I’m not in a band or anything. Just... for fun, I guess.”
Dave’s face lit up, his grin widening like he’d just found a treasure chest. “No way, man! You should totally come jam with us sometime. We’re always looking for people who actually like music. You in?”
John stared at him for a second, a little unsure of how to respond. His mind was still buzzing from the debate about Pat, and this felt like an entirely new, unexpected turn. Still, he couldn’t deny the temptation to try something new.
“I—uh—well, sure, I guess I could come by. See what it’s like.”
“Hell yeah!” Dave said, practically bouncing with excitement. “We’ll be rehearsing tomorrow afternoon. Text me, and I’ll give you the details. It’ll be fun, no pressure.”
John hesitated but eventually pulled out his phone, accepting the crumpled piece of paper with Dave’s number scribbled on it.
“Okay, I’ll text you. See you tomorrow, I guess.”
As Dave walked off to continue debating with Rose, John felt a strange mix of anticipation and dread settle in his chest. He had no idea what he’d just signed up for, but something told him it was going to be a wild winter break.
Well, at least he’d have a good story to tell when he got back to Prospit Tech.