by Beth Garrod
And now I had a horrible feeling we were hurtling back to that very same place. We clicked through the gallery of the products they’d just put on sale. With a sinking heart, the pictures confirmed my fears. The new Session merchandise was item after item covered in sexist slogans that seemed like a bad joke gone wrong.
“So let me get this straight.” Tegan was flicking back and forth through the pictures, as if looking for clues. “They think it’s funny to make a guy’s top that says ‘Keep Calm and Date Models’ but the girl’s one says ‘Property of The Session’ right across the front?” She looked physically revolted.
I didn’t understand. Surely no one would buy stuff like this? Could it be an elaborate joke that none of us were getting? There were loads of comments underneath of people finding them hilarious.
Rach shook her head as if she couldn’t – or didn’t want to – believe what we were seeing. She grabbed her iPad back. “We must be missing something…”
But as she clicked, all she found were more problems.
“Are you kidding me?!” Tegan was fuming. “Girls get ‘Rockstar Girlfriend in Training’ hoodies, but guys get ‘Boys Will Be Boys … And Boys in Bands Will Be Worse!’” She was so outraged she kicked the ground. “Who do they think they are?!”
Despite it being a warm summer’s evening the whole atmosphere felt frosty. With each picture Tegan was getting more furious but Rach was getting more heartbroken. She loved them, and all signs were pointing to the fact they’d let her down, big style.
Joke or not, I hated The Session for doing this.
“There has to be more to it.” Rachel’s voice was wobbly. “Here…” She opened up Brian’s Twitter. “He must have said something. There must be an explanation. No one loves the Sessionites more than him. He doesn’t think of his female fans like that.”
Sessionites was the name of their fandom. Rach had been a proud part of it since they’d started. She knew her stuff because, like she predicted, Brian had said something. An hour earlier he’d uploaded a video, which already had over 12K RTs and 32K likes. Relieved, Rach clicked play.
“Oh, hi, guys.” Brian was topless. And in bed. “Guess where I am?” He pulled a long section of pink, curly hair from off screen across his pillow and wound it through his fingers, laughing. “Or should I say, guess who I’m with?” A soft “Oi” came off camera and the hair disappeared. The rustling sound of someone getting out of bed could be heard. “Just wanted to let you know that although tickets for the It’s Only Words tour went quicker than a bottle of Jack Daniels on our tour bus, later today you can get your pre-orders in for the merch. Have you seen it? It’s proper funny stuff. All credit to moi. And let me tell you –” he glanced off camera “– this sexy you know what is already wearing it and she looks f-iiiiine… So –” he pointed down “– link below to get yours. And ladies? Don’t forget to send us pics of you wearing it all. Hashtag ’em #ASessionPossession. And ’member. If people can’t take a joke, tell them – it’s All. Only. Words.” And with that he blew a kiss at the camera and leant out of shot.
Rachel opened her mouth but before she could say a word, one final sound rang out.
The distinct thwack of Brian very definitely slapping a bum. And from the breathy cry of “Brian?!” I guessed it belonged to the girl in the background.
Rach flicked off the power. After a moment’s silence she swallowed and spoke quietly. “Do you think there’s any way it’s not as bad as it seems?” But she already knew the answer. I might as well be the one to confirm it.
“From what we’ve just seen? It’s really not OK.” If we were hoping Brian was going to say it was a joke, what we’d actually got was him making us think he was even more of a sexist creep that we’d thought.
“Y-huh.” Tegan slow nodded. “So far from OK.”
It all felt so wrong. We’d just been working out which talks we were going to see at RebelRocks and had picked ones from people who were bold and ballsy and kick-ass. The kind who weren’t afraid to shout loudly and proudly about what they cared about. About equality. People who called out idiots for being sexist, or for not treating everyone with the same respect. And now it seemed the headliners of the whole festival were a band who couldn’t even respect their own fans enough to treat them as equal.
It sucked. They sucked.
Tegan broke the silence. “Sorry. But we have to do something, guys. HAVE TO.”
But what?
Rach didn’t say anything and leant forward to stroke Mumbles. She didn’t even react as Tegan whispered “Sorry, Rach” as she crossed a line through where she’d earlier written “The Session”. Tegan’s gentle face had hardened into a look of grim determination. “OK … the festival’s called RebelRocks, right? So … don’t we owe it to the festival to stand up for what we believe in?”
I nodded, although wasn’t sure quite what I was agreeing to. Was she seriously about to suggest the three of us could somehow take on the most popular band playing at RebelRocks?
The same band that was the very reason most people had bought tickets?
A band that had a fandom that regularly dragged people on the internet?
Who up until five minutes ago had been Rachel’s hands-down favourite?
Tegan stood up.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” She folded her arms, and spoke calmly and confidently. “We’re going to get The Session to realize what they’re doing is gross.”
Well, us pulling off what a zillion journalists had already tried and failed to do sounded 0% doable. She dropped her voice. “Rach, does that sound OK?”
Rach still looked in shock but managed a nod. With her blessing, Tegan carried on. “And we’re going to get them to stop selling that ridiculous stuff.” It sounded good – but near impossible. “And if they don’t, we’re going to get them kicked off the RebelRocks line-up.”
Oh good. The actual impossible.
This was definitely the most ridiculous idea Tegan ever had.
But before I could stop them, three words emerged from my mouth.
“Count me in.”
CHAPTER
SIX
AARD: SORRY. Can’t make it on Tuesday. How about I get us an appropriate amount of pick n mix (DEFINITION: AN ENTIRE BUCKET OF) and a film for the week after?
Argh. I flopped down on to my bed as my stomach fled on a misery mini-break to my knees.
Another plan I’d suggested to Adam. Another “no can do”. It was making the solitude of revising even more painful. At least this time tomorrow my maths exam would be over. My last one. They’d saved the biggest till last – it was my deal-breaker subject for getting into college, and I had to nail it.
And after that, we were off to RebelRocks.
Another message came through from Adam. Erk.
More bad news? I read it through half-open eyes, as if a slight blur could soften the impact on my emotions.
AARD: Your mum might let us watch it in your room again? Winky face.
My stomach repacked its travel bag and whizzed up to my head, down to my toes then ran out of energy somewhere in my middleish.
As if Adam could casually write those words?! Acknowledge in pixels that last time we watched a film in my room, we absolutely didn’t. It was a two-hour snogfest of such epic proportions I had to apply lip balm every eleven minutes for the next two days to stop them peeling off.
IT’D BEEN BLISSFUL (the snogging, not the face-shredding near kiss-tastrophe). And when Mum asked what I’d thought of the film (Beauty and the Beast) I’d got away with “beautiful … and beasty?”
BLEURGH. Why did those heady days of full-on snogging feel like years ago?
All I seemed to get from Adam now was promises to do stuff another time.
For the fifth time that day, I scanned my memory for more does-my-boyf-definitely-still-like-me evidence, but was stopped in my tracks as he sent me a picture of his sad face.
I think he wanted me to see he was disappointed
too. But all I felt was morally questionable at how I could find someone’s sad face so fit.
I couldn’t keep up with myself. It was like every interaction I had with him (real, typed, whatever) made me feel even more out of control of my own feelings.
Is this what relationships are like? Months worrying someone doesn’t like you, then as soon as you get together you spend the whole time stressing they’re going off you? How is that enjoyable?!
GAH. Maybe I should just be celibate for the rest of my life.
I looked back at the picture of his sad face.
Or not.
I touched up my smudged eyeliner and sent him a photo of me giving a “no worries” thumbs up back. I wanted him to think I was busy and achieving loads, so spent the next thirty minutes arranging my revision notes and reapplying my gold nail varnish so I could casually hold my best pen in shot for a perfectly posed (to not look at all posed) Insta Story pic just in case he was checking.
I was meant to be phone detoxing today. The last few days I’d got sucked into endlessly refreshing the #TeachTheSessionALesson hashtag that Tegan had started the day of the merch scandal. Loads of people were on our side. And seeing them @ the band demanding an apology or tagging the RebelRocks organizers to ask them to take them off the bill was amazing. Buuuut, I wished there weren’t an equal number of people totally slating what we were doing. Saying we couldn’t take a joke. Making assumptions about us: saying we had nothing better to do with our time. That we must be jealous. Or from another fandom.
Or lonely. Or ugly.
Why were people so mean on the internet? Why does caring about something have anything to do with what your face looks like?
The worst stuff had come from an account called @HeyItsTheSessionHQ. They’d started their own rival hashtag #TeachTheSessionHatersALesson, and now there were pages and pages of posts of why we were bitter, desperate losers who didn’t understand humour. Some of the stuff they wrote was so full-on, I was mega grateful Rach had persuaded Tegan to set up a general account to post everything, so they didn’t have our personal ones.
Argh. Why had life chosen the most important time of my school life to throw everything at me? I dropped my phone on the bed, exhausted by everything. Exams. Adam. Now this.
But as I lay there, things got worse. An alarmingly familiar noise wafted up and out of the lounge. My mum giggling. And worse, the sound of a man voice doing the same. Oh please no?!
Their laughing was no laughing matter. I tiptoed to the top of the stairs. The “DO NOT DISTURB” sign was back up on the lounge door. My “I AM DISTURBED” feeling returned.
There was only one thing for it – flee. I packed my bag and dashed out to go to Tegan’s. On the way I messaged Jo. She’d already broken up for uni so was doing loads of shifts at her garden centre job, which she hated.
ME: MUM IS BEING GROSS AND WEIRD AND I’M KIND OF SCARED TO FIND OUT MORE. Do you know what’s going on?
JO: All I know is I don’t want to know.
“…” appeared. I waited.
JO: Sure you’re not overreacting?
Argh. My sister could wind me up even from hundreds of miles away.
ME: OVERREACTING? HOW DARE YOU?! I DON’T OVERREACT?!!!!!!
JO: Sure
ME: I hate you.
JO: Love you too. See you soon
I’d reached Tegan’s so didn’t bother replying. Her house looked like mine – simple, brown, two windows at the bottom, two at the top, the kind you draw when you’re a child. It was only Rach who had the mansion. Tegan had a younger brother and sister, so her house was a constant chaotic battle of them playing up, trying – and failing – to shift the blame on to each other, and their parents trying to tell them off. Tegan did her best to stay out of it, escaping to one of ours whenever she could. But today the rest of her family were out at some birthday party at a ball-pit park (why do little kids have the coolest birthdays when they have all the fun every day of the year?!) so it was just us.
“BELLLLLSSSSSS.” She pulled the door open. “Come on in…” She pointed at the lounge. “Rach’s already here.”
I headed in to find a tidy pile of Tegan’s books and notes lying next to Rach, who was sprawled out on the floor, face up, with a maths textbook open. Which would be more promising if it wasn’t flat across her face.
“Bellsss. Thank cod you’re here.” She threw the book off her face. “My brain is on the verge of a walkout.”
I plopped down on to a sofa, Tegan doing the same on the one opposite. I nudged Rach with my foot. “What does Bear Grylls always say? Positivity, positivity, positivity.”
“But he only has to drink his own wee and wander around forests. I’d much rather do that than…” She rolled over and peered at a paragraph in the book she’d just thrown down. “Translate simple situations or procedures into algebraic expressions or formulae.”
Tegan looked up from her notes.
“But he is called Bear.”
I laughed and threw a packet of crisps at Rach, and one at Tegan. My peace offering for being ever so slightly late.
I was relieved there wasn’t a weird atmosphere between them. Between us. I’d been a bit worried, as we hadn’t seen each other since the bench night, and after watching the Brian vid, Rach had been worryingly quiet in our group. The exact opposite of Tegan.
“So, guys.” I spoke above the rustle of Rach diving straight into the Skips. “I had a really busy morning.”
“Yeah – we saw your story. That nail varnish must have taken forevs.”
“Well, yes. Maybe.” Damn them seeing straight through my attempt at fooling the world. “And maaaaybe I’m kind of ever so slightly behind on my revision schedule.” It was an A3 multi-coloured planner of dreams I’d made at the start of study leave – but it had taken so long to make that by the time I’d finished I was already one day behind the schedule that was on it. “Sooooo.” I held my hands out like weighing scales. “Opinion. The rest of the afternoon, whaddaIdo? Rush through geometry AND fractions? Or pick one and do it properly.”
“Hmmmm.” Tegan looked perplexed. “How well do you know fractions?”
“One eighth.” I pulled my mouth into a sort of flat smile. “Which is half of a quarter, or two sixteenths … right?”
“And how well do you know geometry?”
“Inside angles of a triangle add up to 180°?”
Tegan shook her head. “That sounded too much like a question. So I’d say geometry. Rach?”
Rach nodded in agreement. “Totally. Fractions are easy. Just numbers with lines between them.”
Well, that was one way of looking at them.
“Geometry it is.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. “It’s going to be SO useful for all those rhomboids I never have to draw.”
Note to self: must look up what a rhomboid actually is before tomorrow.
But Tegan wasn’t smiling. She had her hand to her forehead. Something was wrong.
“Teeg?”
“Look what just got posted.” She dropped to her knees and shuffled across the carpet towards us, phone in hand. “Which, incidentally, SUCKS.”
It was the search results for #TeachTheSessionALesson. The top post was a tweet from RebelRocks of a picture of their official statement.
We have seen the response to The Session’s latest merchandise and subsequent social media campaign regarding their headline slot at RebelRocks.
Having spoken with the band their official comment is that their new tour range is “meant to serve as the ultimate reminder that people should always feel able to express themselves and to use their voice in whatever way they see fit. It’s Only Words and we should use them how we want. Freedom of speech is the backbone of music, festivals and especially RebelRocks.”
As organizers we agree. We are responsible for providing the best event for music fans, and with that in mind, are very much looking forward to hosting The Session for their first festival appearance of the year – and selling the
merchandise as advertised. In doing so, we know we are keeping thousands of fans happy.
Here’s to an excellent weekend – less than six days to go until kick-off!
For latest news please check out @WeAreRebelRocks
Whoa. In a couple of sentences the festival had brushed off ALL our effort. All those tweets and comments from hundreds of people around the world.
They’d just bought what The Session had said.
I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach by a horse. A sexist horse.
“SERIOUSLY?? THAT’S SERIOUSLY IT?!” Tegan was at that rage level where you’re so cross you sound like you’re shouting even though your voice isn’t any louder.
Rachel was quiet, staring at the statement.
“Seems so, Teeg.” I felt stuck between them again. “Totally lame. Lamey McLame-ington.”
“Sorry to ask, but do you think…” Rach sat up. She sounded nervous. “That maybe they have a point?” She darted her eyes between me and Tegan as if trying to suss out whether she was about to overstep some imaginary line. “That they’re trying to show people you should be brave enough to say what you want? But we’re putting all this time into trying to censor them?”
She sounded so un-Rach. And I knew why. It was a direct quote from one of the @HeyItsTheSessionHQ’s criticisms of us. So, she’d been reading them too.
Tegan sat back down. I knew she didn’t agree. She was totally up for a fight with The Session but at the same time was cautious about arguing with her best friend. She looked at me for help.
“Erm.” I stabbed around in the brain-dark trying to find something to say that felt right. For the first time in my life I felt nervous around them. Well, this was weird. “Just, er, because they’re a great band –” yes, start positive “– doesn’t make them good people. And if they’re all about free speech, then aren’t we allowed to stand up for what we believe too? Which is not making their female fans feel like second-class citizens?”
