Page 90 of Better in Black
As if on cue, Eric, Kirk, and Matt waltzed into the greenroom. They looked like the Brooklyn hipsters they were, in torn vintage jeans and oversized shirts. They wore matching square glasses, even though none of them needed them, and Eric had dyed his hair purple.
If they sensed a tense atmosphere, they didn’t show it. They walked right past Simon and Izzy with the usual greetings, and launched themselves at the cupcakes on the table.
“Yum,” Kirk said, stuffing his face with a pink cupcake.“Beet.”
Simon glanced at Izzy, hoping to catch her eye, hoping she could read from his expression that he wanted to pick their conversation up again as soon as the gig was over. But she seemed to be avoidinghis gaze. With a smile plastered on her face, she wished the band luck, and headed out of the greenroom (“I have to go meet Clary”) without another glance at Simon.
—
The best part about playing bass was that Simon didn’t have to sing. Usually. But Eric had decided they should close the show with a fan favorite, “Your Love Is Like a 2a.m. Pizza.” On that one, the whole band sang. The crowd roared as they recognized the opening bass line. Simon leaned in to the mic, and for a moment, some of his worries about Izzy drained away. He was playing bass in an actual band with actual fans, and in his off time, he was basically an action hero. He and Izzy had an amazing, solid relationship. One argument, if it even was an argument, wasn’t going to change that. They had worked through much worse. Right now he needed to focus on playing.
Hereallyneeded to focus on playing, Simon thought, as the band hit the chorus—because he quickly realized he was singing the wrong lyrics.
Either that, or everyone else was. The chorus was supposed to go:
“Your love is like a 2a.m. pizza
What I need when I need it
My heart is hot and gooey cheese for you
You’re the spicy marinara of my soul.”
Eric, Kirk, and Matt must have rewritten the song and forgotten tell him, Simon thought, because they were singing,
“Your love is like a stab in the eye
Who needs it, nobody does
Stab stab stab in my heart that’s what you do
You’re the spicy marinara of my soul (please die).”
It didn’t quite have the same ring to it, Simon thought, feeling a bit foolish. It was a jerk move, changing the lyrics without telling him. He spotted Izzy at the front of the crowd, next to Jace and Clary. He grinned and made a face like,can you believe this?She turned away.
“Your love is like a stab in the eye,” Simon sang, when the chorus came around again.
Maybe this version of the song made more sense.
—
Jace was exceedingly polite about how good the concert was, which was how Simon knew things must have gone really badly. The only thing that could stop Jace from mocking the Mortal Instruments was pity.
“The new lyrics on that last song were…an interesting choice,” Clary said. “Very creative.”
“Very something,” Simon agreed. When the show ended, he’d complained to Eric about changing the lyrics. Eric claimed the new words had just come to him in a moment of inspiration when they were onstage. “I opened my mouth and they just came out,” he’d said, but couldn’t explain how Kirk or Matt were able to sing along. Maybe they all played together so much that they had some kind of band ESP thing going? It made Simon a little wistful for the days when he could have spent all his time playing music and hanging out. But that was a version of himself that didn’t exist anymore.
“What did you think, Izzy?” Simon asked. Usually after he played, Izzy embraced him and whispered something blush-inducing in his ear. But now she was just standing beside Clary, looking at him like he was a stranger.
“Sorry, I was distracted,” Izzy said. She held up her phone. “An alert just went out. There’s a Shax demon tearing things up in midtown.”
“And they say nothing ever happens in midtown after ten p.m.,” said Jace, but his gold eyes were glowing. He loved battle and fighting demons, in a way Simon knew he himself never really would. “Text Alec, tell him Clary and I are on it.”
As Clary and Jace started to gather up their things and get ready to leave, Simon wondered if Isabelle would be amenable to going somewhere more private. Somewhere they could finish their conversation. Before he could suggest it, a very short, very pink warlock planted herself in front of them. (She was wearing pink from head to toe, but it was the hot-pink skin that really tipped him off to the warlock thing.) “Shadowhunters, excellent,” the warlock said, somewhat to Simon’s surprise. Usually warlocks weren’t that happy to see them. “Your help is desperately required.”
“What else is new,” Jace drawled.
Clary stepped softly on his foot. “What’s the problem?” she asked, more gently. “We’re in the middle of something right now.”
