Freddy Jones was a 24 year old young adult. He was a free spirited guy, and loved to play the drums. It was his favorite thing to do in fact. He was lucky to be the drummer in a kick-ass band, call School Of Rock. The band had started when he was 11 years old, and was still going great. He loved everyone in the band, they were all the coolest people he had ever met. Most people are really unlucky, and were in the worst bands ever, and hated the people they worked with. But Freddy was one of the lucky ones, the band ruled, and he was best friends with everyone in it.

Freddy woke up, and looked at his clock. It was 7 o'clock in the morning, time to get ready for practice. He got out of his bed, scratched his belly, and stretched. He walked to his kitchen, and made himself some pop-up waffles. He drank his morning dose of Dr. Pepper, he didn't like the way coffee tasted. Then he went to the bathroom, took a shower, and brushed his teeth. He stretched again, and looked at himself in the mirror, smacking his lips. Some times he hated going to practice, and today was one of those days. He had just gone to the bar with the band the night before, and had a huge hang-over. His head felt like it was going to blow up, and that he was going to die. Dewey, the band's leader/founder, was bound to be having one too. But he still wanted to practice. Freddy didn't get him sometimes, he made no freaking sense. He got out of the bathroom and got dressed into the most mixed up clothes ever. But he didn't care, he didn't know what he was wearing. And his hair looked like total shit, but he didn't care about that either.

He went to his living room, and got his drum sticks. Then he walked to his room again. He didn't have to get anything in there, his feet just carried him there. When he got in there, he looked at his bed, and smiled. He walked to it, and fell on top of it. And before he knew it, he was asleep. He dreamed that Dewey didn't want them to have practice, it was the happiest moment of his life. Of course it was, he was hung-over, he didn't really remember any other memories. Then he heard his phone ring, he thought it was in his dream. But he was wrong… he suddenly woke up, and sat up in his bed. 'Fuck' he thought. It was going to be Dewey, he just knew it, and he was going to be pissed! He finally found the phone, and picked up. He half expected to hear Dewey, screaming at him from the top of his lungs. But once again, he was wrong…

"Hello?" "Is there a Mr. Freddy Jones there?" "This is him." "Oh, hello Mr. Jones." "Hello, may I help you?" "This may come as a shock to you, Mr. Jones." "What is it?" He answered, he was curious to know what would be this important. "It's umm… it's…" "Yes, sir, what is it?" "Mr. Jones, your band member, Dewey Finn…" "Yes, what about him?" Freddy asked, getting tired of whatever game this strange man was playing. "He died. He had a heart attack this morning." Freddy dropped the phone, and fell to the ground, no, it couldn't be true! But why would this man lie to me, he asked himself, and he finally broke down. He didn't get how this could happen, Dewey was so alive just the night before! He didn't believe it! There was no way, and how was the rest of the band taking it? He decided that he should go to practice, hang out with the gang, and comfort anyone who needed it.

He got to Dewey's old apartment, where the band had always practiced, and everyone looked up with happy faces. He didn't get it, what the hell was going on here? "Why the fuck are you guys so fucking happy?" "What are you talking about?" Zack, the guitarist asked. "Dewey just fucking died!" Freddy yelled at all of them. "What?" Summer, the band manager, asked, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. "None of you guys knew?" Freddy asked, shocked. "No." Zack looked at him shocked. Everyone in the room looked at him like they saw a ghost. "There's no way…" Someone said, Freddy didn't know who it was. "It's true…" He said, and sat at Dewey's old place on the couch, the place he would sit when they wrote songs. He didn't believe no else knew. If he was the first one to find out, did that mean that Dewey trusted him enough to tell everyone. And wanted him to know before anyone else in the band? He didn't believe that Dewey trusted him enough for this. He would have thought Zack, or Summer, but not him. He looked up at the confused faces of his other band members. Then thought to himself, 'Bye Dewey, thanks for everything. For getting us into rock, and for starting us out… thanks." And he smiled, and started to weep to himself.