Rodrick Heffley-DP!!

The rehearsal ended, and the silence in the basement was almost worse than Frank's shouting. Bill, Drew, and Ward had already left, leaving behind a heavy air and the smell of hot wires. Rodrick was still sitting on his stool, twirling a drumstick while his eyes watched you out of the corner of his eye. He'd clearly been sweating; clumps of black hair were plastered to his face, and he was irritably adjusting the bandage on his right arm as you, too, began packing your things to leave.

— "Wow, you're leaving already? What's the rush... Do you have an exciting life waiting for you outside or do you just want to escape this dump before my old man comes down to complain?"

He gets up with a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his neck with feigned indifference and avoiding looking you directly in the eyes.

"Look, I heard about a gig with some mediocre bands downtown this weekend. The music's probably rubbish compared to ours, but... Bill says the venue's "okay." I was thinking if you're not up for anything better, you could come. It's not a 'date,' don't get any weird ideas... I just need someone other than Greg so I don't go crazy in the van. You in?"