#also this episode provides another wonderful example of how awful randy and howard are

[secretsbehindthenine]

*pokes head out of the void*

Hey. You. Have a sneak-peek at the upcoming chapter of the Idol!AU

~

It was a week before the Norrisville High Talent-athon, and he and Howard knew with absolute certainty that 30StM had the first place spot in the bag. Call it what you will—misplaced confidence, overzealous overestimation, shoobish narcissism, or a serious case of teenage hubris—but it was the truth! The whole, gospel-worthy truth. There was just something about the two best friends that separated them from the rest of the clowns and baton twirlers and accordian players that signed up for the talent show. Something major league that no one else had, that they tried so hard to master while Randy and Howard had it on lock since day one. Whatever it was, that special something was their ticket to victory. The coveted Carp-dallion and all its bragging rights for the rest of the school year belonged to them and only them. They were going to bring the house down and leave behind their status as faceless freshmen with nothing at their disposal but their good looks, killer vocals, and Bruce-tacular instrumental work.

And boss-ass equipment. Especially the boss-ass equipment.

“Levander has the best rock gear!”

They were at their usual hangout (AKA, the janitor’s closet closest to their lockers), practically drooling over the industry-grade amps, the top-of-line hybrid electronic/acoustic drum set, and the not-yet-on-the-market keytar Levander managed to nab for 30StM the day before. Had it been anybody else, it would’ve taken an honest-to-god miracle for them to score something this expensive and exclusive. But Levander? All he had to do to get them was ask his dad, who happily complied in the name of supporting young indie artists. Randy knew there must’ve been a lot of perks when your family owned the biggest record label in North America, but he wasn’t expecting said perks to transfer over to the friends of the kid from said family.

“Dude, it’s the straight-up cheese,” Howard called out from his perch atop the stool behind the drum set. “Letting him in the band is probably the smartest thing we’ve ever done!”

As if on cue—with as much grace as a bull in one of those mega-fancy stores that sold the most ornate and fragile-looking decor pieces ever created—Levander came barrelling in, his signature guitar in hand. He greeted the two with a wide grin and the single most horrendous guitar riff either of them have ever heard before in the entirety of their lives. Randy and Howard almost immediately slammed their hands over their ears, cringing so hard that the flinch their bodies did looked more like a violent shudder than a startled jump.

“HOLY SHIT, HE’S TERRIBLE,” Howard called out, his voice barely registering.

Randy hissed at an especially ear-piercing chord. “DUDE, ARE GUITARS EVEN ABLE TO MAKE THAT KIND OF NOISE?”

“I DUNNO, CUNNINGHAM!” The shorter of the two shrugged helplessly. “BUT I THINK WE JUST MADE THE MOST STUPIDEST MISTAKE EVER.”

“YOU THINK?!”

They glanced back at Levander, who was pretty much dead to the world. Eyes shut tight, humming and scatting along to some pseudo-song only he knew how to play. His guitar, the poor thing, cried out like nails on a chalkboard or a cat screeching bloody murder.

“WE GOTTA KICK HIM OUTTA THE BAND!” Howard yelled, half annoyed and half desperate. “OR ELSE HE’S GONNA GANK OUR CHEESE WITH HIS OWN SHIT-ASS PERFORMANCE.”

The black-haired teen vigorously nodded along. “RIGHT THERE WITH YA! JUST ONE PROBLEM—IF WE KICK HIM OUT, HE’LL TAKE ALL OF HIS PRIMO EQUIPMENT WITH HIM. I MEAN, LOOK AT THIS GEAR!”

Howard swept his gaze across the room, only to freeze in place.

“Uh, Cunningham—”

“IT’S AMAZING!” Randy turned his eyes up to the ceiling with a disbelieving chuckle and a wide grin on his face. “I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE HE WAS ABLE TO HOOK US UP WITH THIS KIND OF STUFF.”

The ginger quickly jumped off the stool and stood in front of the taller of the two. He viciously waved his hands in front of his chest.

“Cunningham—!”

“LIKE, I KNOW THE ONLY REASON WE LET HIM IN THE BAND WAS BECAUSE HIS FAMILY OWNS A RECORD LABEL AND HE GETS UNLIMITED ACCESS TO THEIR GEAR, LIKE THAT SICK GUITAR HE CARRIES AROUND LIKE SOME WEIRD PSEUDO-BABY. BUT, STILL! WE SHOULD—”

“CUNNINGHAM!”

Like a bullet, Randy ducked his head down, snapping his eyes towards his best friend.

“WHA—” A pause, followed by narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. “WHY AREN’T YOU COVERING YOUR EARS?”

Howard motioned towards the door. “He stopped playing 30 seconds ago!”

Lowering his hands, Randy turned his head and instantly winced. There stood Levander, teary eyes as wide and round as the glasses he wore. His shoulders were slumped, body hunched forward.

“Hoo boy…” Randy gulped. “He…he heard what I said?”

“Y-You…You used me?” Levander choked out, as if to answer him. He took a step back, planting himself firmly at the threshold between the janitor’s closet and the empty hallway outside.

Twin grimaces plastered themselves across Randy and Howard’s faces.

“Levander, wait—” they both tried to say.

“You used me,” he repeated, harsher. More strained. Like he was holding back either a scream or a sob. “I-I thought…Y-You…Y-You said you—”

“Hold on!” Howard cried right as Randy pleaded, “Hear us out—”

“NO!” Levander ripped his guitar right off of him and threw it onto the ground with a deafening bang. “FUCK NO! I…I…”

He looked Randy straight in the eye, holding his gaze for just a beat. Then—

“I HATE YOU!”