I get up off the sofa and go to the door. Peeking through a crack at the side I see reporters literally squashing themselves against the door.
Bloody hell, they are way too desperate. I mean, sure, we're new, but does that mean we have to have so much attention that we can't actually open the door cause of the press?
I put my hand on the handle, getting out the key to lock it, but it goes all the way down and lights start flashing. I slam the door but I know within the hour there will be pictures of our house all over the internet.
"Great," I groan. I walk back to the sofa to find that Ollie has turned on the 103 inch widescreen TV and is flicking through channels with no apparent purpose. From previous experience I know he'll stay like this and not respond for at least half an hour. I get out my laptop, flip it open and start Googling. I do this every so often so I know when I need to respray my guitar- it kind of ruins the effect if every SlashFlash wannabe has the same as you. Yup, hundreds of pictures of people with their own versions of mine and hundreds of copies of Sam's bass. I'll have to let him know, though he doesn't seem to mind so much. Kita still isn't back, Sam probably picked her up on the way to the gym. It's so obvious she likes him, and I can see he likes her. Why don't they just say it and then there'll be one less press question.
Half an hour later, my guitar is no longer crazy pink and blue swirls like my hair. It's sleek and black, with a double bubblegum and electris diagonal stripe and the words SlashFlash in curling bright lemon yellow letters following the stripes. I start practising the newest song which we all wrote for once, normally Kita writes them, which is fair as she has to sing them.