Singing One Last Song [1]

My eyes lingered around the room as I desperately tried to gain back my look of interest towards the interviewer. I swear, she was as boring as tree. She was monotone, she seemed like she was forced to interview us with a look of annoyance on her pimply face, leaving us on edge as to whether she would snap at us if a word was said wrong, or meant otherwise. All in all, she seemed to just want to get the interview over with and head back to her warm apartment, or house. Wherever she may be occupying at the moment.
The interviewer, who's name has temporarily slipped my mind, scheduled an appointment to obviously interview my band, Broken Rockets for Alternative Press. Throughout the whole interview, my best friend, Marci, who also happened to be our lead singer, had the most courage to answer all the questions regarding the band. And in full detail, if I may add. As opposed to Nina, who plays bass, would simply nod if the question would only have a yes or no answer. I'm sure it wasn't that she was lazy, but due to the fact that she just didn't like the interviewer's look of disgust plastered on her face. But other than Nina, Vada and I were the most quiet. Vada played drums, while I took over lead guitar. There was nothing much to say about "the band" except that we all had the same ambition and succeeded in the end.
"Okay, thank you, Marci. Now, Hanna, don't think I forgot about you and Vada." the interviewer smirked which caught me by surprised. Luckily she didn't notice my expression. I turned to look at Vada who only nervously smiled at me and turned her attention back to the pimply faced interviewer. I now had my full attention towards her as she began to open her mouth.
"Hanna, so from what I have heard about you, you have kind of, sort of wanted to be a designer? Is that true?" she asked interested for the first time.
I simply nodded my head. I could see that she seemed disappointed that no words have come out of my mouth yet, but she disregarded it and carried on.
"Interesting, so what made you pursue your musical goal, as to your designer dream?" she dramatically emphasized the word, pursue and held her head on her knuckles, as she awaited my answer.
"I don't know," I said, wanting to make this short and sweet, "but I knew that I love music more than anything in the world and now that I have been given this opportunity, I saw this as a new door opening to a new life. The life of a rock star." I glanced around the group of people surrounding me and they seemed to nod their heads in agreement. The interviewer seemed pleased with my response as she quickly jotted it down in her little notepad.
"Fascinating. So has music always been a first?"
"Always." I replied with a smile.
"And, she's never seen without that black iPod of hers." Marci winked. Everyone giggled, even the interviewer and I. She too, jotted this bit of information down. 'I wonder how fast it will spread if I sarcastically stated that I am absolutely in love with our tour manager?' I smirked at the thought.
The interviewer asked me a few more questions, then turned her attention to Vada. The interview droned on forever until she asked Vada her final question. Then, as soon as she noted the last of Vada's words, she stood up and thanked us for our time. We shook hands, took a group picture, and off she went; out the door until next time, that is.
Marci plopped down on the couch causing a thud that echoed in the room, "God! I thought that interview would never end!"
We all laughed and I sat down next to her, "Well, you're the one that answered most of the questions and you seemed pretty entertained. I wouldn't be the one saying that line if I were you." I giggled.
"Well, someone had to answer those god awful questions and none of you were willing to answer them!" she said defensively. We all laughed at her and sat at various spots in the room.
"Okay, so I'm starting to get sick of staring at these hideous walls. Can we please go now?" Vada pleaded. We all started laughing even more than before. She simply shook her head with a smirk on and took that as a 'yes' and walked out the door. The three of us followed her to God knows where she's going.
There's a story at the bottom of this bottle.
results.results.results!