The Perfect Game

by Velma


The picture’s from one of the first photo shoots they did. Babies, all of them, and it was completely unprofessional. Some friend of Lou’s who was cheap and would get some headshots so that they could at least start putting together a press packet. Something to give people to try and promote themselves.

Black and white and grainy and Lou hadn’t been happy with the results, at all. He’d tossed them out and told the guys if they were serious about this they’d have to do the real deal. They all agreed, because Lou knew what he was talking about.

Chris had looked over the pictures, and yeah, they were pretty shitty. One of them, though. It caught his eye and he pulled it from the pile, a shot of him and JC and Jesus, it was awful. They looked like they were high school freshmen or something, and there was no way in hell they could possibly look that young.

Chris didn’t think so, anyway. He wasn’t entirely sure why he took it, but he did, slid it into the folds of his wallet and forgot about it. Eight years and four wallets later, the picture was still there.

Justin came across it once, digging in Chris’s wallet for pizza money. He’d raised his eyebrow and started to say something smart about it to Joey, but Joey’d just scowled and grabbed the wallet away, putting the photo back where it belonged and snagging a twenty.

Justin had been appropriately confused, because Joey and Chris never missed an opportunity to tease each other, almost to the point of cruelty. Chris knew, though, that Joey had no room to talk, because he had a picture of him and JC from even earlier, some trip to Disney World and they were both sunburned and grinning and Chris had stumbled across that picture within the first couple of weeks they’d known each other.

He hadn’t teased Joey about it, though. He sort of understood.

It wasn’t like he had a crush on JC. Not really. More like a fascination. And that picture, more than just about any other, seemed to capture them at a particular moment in time. Standing on the brink. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and really fucking clueless.

He’d take out that picture and look at those faces and, well. There wasn’t really any other word for it than marvel. Because neither of them bore much more than a passing resemblance to those guys. It was a landmark of sorts.

Even from those early days, he and JC had formed an easy bond. It wasn’t competitive or fraternal, those were roles they both reserved for Justin. Nor did it have the familiar ease or somewhat awkward sexual tension of JC’s relationship with Joey. Chris didn’t have Lance’s schoolboy whatever it was he had for JC, either. They just sort of hung out and laughed at the other guys. It was nice.

The sports thing started pretty early on. Justin may well have been Mr. Athlete, but he was a one sport kind of guy, and his patience for anything beyond basketball was limited at best. Joey was an absolute loser when it came to athletics. Chris figured that out the day he tried to get out of Joey why on earth he was a Mets fan of all things and Joey’d given him nothing but a blank stare. It was sad, really, but Joey was clearly a lost cause. And Lance, well. Lance was a Packers fan and watched football because he had a thing for Brett Favre’s ass, which hardly endeared him to Chris.

JC, though, JC would watch any sporting event, and had an even better grasp of useless sports trivia than Chris did. He wasn’t an asshole who rooted for the opposing team, either, like some blond freaks.


What really cemented it was Superbowl XXX. The Steelers were taking on the Cowboys, and if anyone hated the Cowboys with the fury of a thousand burning suns, it was a Redskins fan. January 28, 1996, and they were really still a fledgling group but it didn’t matter that day because Chris and JC were brothers in arms, soulmates even, bent on witnessing the humiliation and destruction of the arrogant assholes in the blue and white.

Of course, it didn’t happen that way. Dallas scored in its first three possessions and Chris was so drunk by the end of the half that he could hardly see straight. He didn’t remember much of the rest of the game, except for when Joey dragged him and JC upstairs into his bedroom after they were pretty much ready to pass out.

He probably should have been embarrassed the next morning when he woke up draped over JC, a little wet spot of drool on JC’s shoulder. He didn’t have time, though, because the previous evening’s Rolling Rock was intent on making a reappearance. He was washing his face when JC appeared in the bathroom, bleary-eyed, and rested his head on Chris’s shoulder.

“Fucking Cowboys,” he murmured.

The experience pretty much cemented JC’s place on Chris’s list of Good People.

It became their thing, watching sporting events. Sunday afternoons, whether they were on the road or back in Orlando, if the two of them were in the same city they were in the same room, sprawled on a bed or couch watching whatever the networks had to offer.

JC endured all sorts of things. Like Chris’s diatribe about Scotty Bowman, who could have been the greatest hockey coach ever until he sold his soul to Detroit. The Steelers’ elimination in either the divisional playoffs or the AFC championships a couple years running. JC made dead sure that Barry Bonds’ name was never uttered on the bus, except with the utmost contempt. It was the little things that endeared him to Chris.

Chris did his part, too, putting up the Cowboys dart board they both used for stress relief. The shrine to Cal Ripken went over pretty well, too, if the stupid grin on JC’s face was any indication. It was kind of cool.


1999 was a banner year on more levels than Chris had the attention span to fully comprehend. He had a girlfriend. An event eclipsed only by the lawsuit they waged against Lou the asshole who didn’t know what was best at all.

Well, okay, it was also eclipsed by Mario Lemieux’s elevation from demigod to God-like status when he bought the Penns and saved them from going under. He and JC did a victory dance around Chris’s house when they heard the news. Justin looked at them like they’d completely lost their minds, but seriously, it happened in the same damn week as they announced their split from Transcon and Chris didn’t care what it looked like. He needed something to be happy about.

Dani was great, too. She was smart and funny and she let Chris name her dog after one of his favorite hockey players. Major bonus points there. Things were pretty serious with her. About as serious as he’d been with anyone, Chris figured.

They spent a lot of time together, Dani and Chris, and sometimes he had to bail on Sunday afternoons. It never really seemed to bother JC, who’d just smile knowingly and wave him off, or whistle catcalls into the phone.

So it probably shouldn’t have bothered Chris as much as it did when JC occasionally called to cancel their Sunday afternoons. It’s not like he ever missed any of the memorable games. But it did. Bother him. He’d hang out with Justin occasionally but it was never the same. Dynamics were shifting all over.

It was about that time that Chris changed wallets. The faded black and white picture he found back behind a couple old concert tickets gave him pause. He shook his head as he smiled at it. Stupid to keep it, really. On the way to tossing it out he thought maybe it’d be useful one day for some Behind the Music special, or for mocking JC at the very least.

He got it laminated instead.


Chris found out JC and Joey were together on the Sunday the Redskins lost the divisional playoffs to the Buccaneers. He knew something had to be up because JC was both inappropriately chipper and suspiciously sober as the game disintegrated.

“So,” he said as they were cleaning up, “what’s wrong with you, anyway?”

JC blinked.

“C’mon. I know you too well. You have to be riding one of the highest buzzes of your life not to have been affected by that disaster.”

JC smiled, the sweet, slow smile that always made Chris vaguely jealous, like JC had found a place inside himself Chris would never reach. “It’s not. Okay, here’s the deal.” He turned and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Joey and I, we sort of. It’s happening.”

Chris knew what he was talking about, they’d even talked about it peripherally before, so he just nodded and went back to the dishes. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

JC laughed. “I think not. But it doesn’t seem to stop me from wanting to try.”

It was a good point. Chris thought maybe if he spent more time listening to JC than talking at him he might learn something. But there was that adage about old dogs and new tricks, and he was the jaded goofball, not the schoolboy, and he thought maybe he was done learning.

JC was fearless in ways Chris couldn’t quite get his head around. Chris had survived on his guts, his moxie, but there was a difference between working your ass off to achieve a goal and taking a leap of faith. JC always seemed certain that the ground would be under him when he took a step forward. Chris admired that, but it wasn’t his way.

It niggled at him in a way that was discomfiting, JC and Joey together. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on why, outside of it interrupting with buddy time. He got over it pretty quickly. He knew Joey’s intentions were good and it was pretty clear that JC was happy in a big way to be with him. It wasn’t that Chris wasn’t self-aware, because he was, remarkably so. It was something more like willful ignorance. And after some time the odd little half-twinge he got when he walked in on the two of them curled around each other went away.

He was too busy to worry about it. He and Dani started Fuman and suddenly he had more things on his plate than he really knew how to handle. If there was ever a time for their Sunday gatherings to fall to the wayside, it was then, but both Chris and JC seemed reluctant to end them. So Chris would call from whatever hotel he was in and the two of them would watch baseball and commiserate over how absolutely pathetic the Pirates were and how interleague play was a bad thing because they might be forced one day to root against each other.

Chris really hoped the two teams never met, given that the two times in recent history the Os and Pirates had gone against each other had been the ’71 and ’79 World Series, both of which the Pirates won. JC was too young to remember, and Chris pretended he didn’t, even though he still had a pennant from ‘79 in a box somewhere. It seemed like the least he could do, given what a good sport JC always was.


They got big enough that they were invited to sing at the World Series, which was pretty mind boggling to Chris. He used the opportunity to once again point out to Joey just how hopeless he was about sports, New York teams specifically. Teased him until they showed up at Shea Stadium and were handed what looked for all intents and purposes like Yankees jackets.

“We are not wearing these,” Chris said. “We are not wearing these here. We will be skinned alive by the Mets fans.”

Joey rolled his eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is. The jackets say ‘World Series’.”

“It’s the blue and grey,” JC smiled at him, before turning apologetic eyes at Chris. “How much do you suppose Steinbrenner paid to get the jackets these colors?”

“We’re going to be killed,” Chris said as they walked onto the field. He shoved Justin ahead of him “You first. Maybe they’ll be distracted by your stunning good looks.”

Slim chance, but at least there was some margin of comfort in believing that the boos that greeted the start of their performance were because it pretty much looked to everyone in the stadium like they were supporting the Yankees and not any real reflection on the quality of their singing.

“I think Mike Piazza was checking out my ass,” Lance said as they walked off the field.

“Derek Jeter’s kind of cute,” Justin replied.

“Shoot me,” Chris whimpered to JC. “Please. It’d be a mercy killing. No jury would convict.”

JC just smiled and shook his head.


The excitement of the World Series was curbed more than a little by Chris’s rapidly disintegrating relationship with Dani. Someone somewhere much wiser than him had said not to mix business and pleasure, and he learned the hard way. Dani decided friends would be better than bitter exes, especially since they worked together, so she ended things.

He was bitter anyway.

He was bitter through Christmas and New Year’s and Larry King Live. He was bitter through Joey’s announcement that he was expecting a child, but that was mostly selfless. Part of him was jealous, yeah, because Joey had a kid on the way, but Chris had seen the flash of pain in JC’s eyes when Joey told everyone. The math didn’t add up, and Joey had clearly strayed, but it wasn’t Chris’s business and they seemed to have worked it out.

Chris tried to be bitter through the Superbowl, but they were performing at the fucking Half Time show, of all things, so that was pretty difficult to pull off. The Rams versus the Titans, and Justin was finally interested. He kept walking around thumping his chest and talking about ‘representing for the hometown peeps.’ It was a damn good thing he was tongue-in-cheek about it.

Justin’s newfound interest, though, didn’t change Chris’s desire to watch the game with JC. It increased it, if anything, because Justin, a perfectionist second only to JC, suddenly had all the stats for the Titans memorized and rattled them off endlessly. It wouldn’t have been that bad, given how young a team Tennessee was, but Justin also knew all the personal stats for the players. And wouldn’t shut up about it.

It was a good thing he loved the kid so much. Especially after the Titans lost and Justin pouted for days. Or, at least, until they got to Brazil for Rock in Rio. At which point he was too busy enjoying the sights to be appropriately morose. Some sports fan he was, if he couldn’t hold a grudge for longer than a couple weeks.

Chris drank a lot in Rio. And puked on JC’s shoes. He promised JC he’d replace them, and it was a true sign of their friendship that JC didn’t seem all that upset about it. JC loved his shoes.


Chris got over Dani. While he could stay mad at a sports team for decades, he didn’t have it in him to be that continually upset with an actual person, so they even started hanging out a little. She tried setting him up on dates. It was weird.

He spent a lot of time with JC, too. More than before either of them had been in a serious relationship, really, and as far as he knew he was the single one. It struck him as odd, but he didn’t push it. Until the day there was nothing on but golf, which JC hated, and then, even then JC still sat there and watched with him.

“You, uh. You going to tell me what’s going on?” Chris asked.

JC glanced sideways and shrugged. “Tiger’s got a nice slice.”

“Do you even know what a slice is?”

“Does it matter? I’m sure he slices well. He can’t do wrong, can he?”

Chris sighed. “I think I’m going to need more beer for this.”

JC followed him into the kitchen, hopping up on the counter and kicking his legs against the cabinets.

“Okay, ADD boy, stop pretending to be me and start talking about your feelings. You’re supposed to be the sensitive one.” Chris handed him a beer.

“Joey and I broke up.”

Chris stared. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Maybe a little trouble in paradise, but Joey and JC were stupid about each other. “The baby?” he asked.

JC took a long pull off his beer. “Sort of. Not the baby, specifically. More what it represents, I guess. It’s not like he didn’t try, Chris. He did. And it’s not like he was having some sort of sexual identity crisis, the two of us have been hooking up off and on since high school.”

Chris’s hand tightened around his bottle.

“The thing is, I love him. Joey’s, like. He’s the perfect game, maybe. Happens once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, but mostly it’s an unattainable goal, you know? I woke up a few weeks ago and looked at him and I knew there’d be others. People who weren’t Kelly and who I wasn’t at least marginally comfortable with. I love him too much to lose him, Chris, so I had to let this part go.”

Chris glanced up at JC, expected to find pain and was surprised to see a sort of grim acceptance. “You sure about this?”

“There’s no going back, Chris. We haven’t. I moved out a couple weeks ago. We’ve always been as intimate as lovers, more so in a lot of ways. The intimacy is still there, we’re just not lovers anymore, if that makes sense.”

The thing was, it did. Chris didn’t know of many people who were capable of separating the two, of seeing them as something different, but JC and Joey had always been like that, skirting the lines of commitment. JC was less broken up than Chris expected, but Chris wondered somewhere in the back of his head if maybe the sex didn’t cheapen it somehow, what those two shared.

“How do you move on from something like that?” He was surprised at the question, that he wanted to ask it.

“Joey and I,” JC’s eyebrows furrowed. “Together, like that, it was some sort of fantasy. I think we both knew it wasn’t long term. We were just in denial for as long as possible. We were too close, I think. It was too soon for us to be that comfortable.”

Chris wasn’t entirely sure he understood that, but JC seemed steady, sure of himself, so he didn’t press any further. He grabbed another couple beers from the fridge and nudged JC toward the den. “Come on. We’ll make a golf fan out of you yet.”


And really, things between JC and Joey didn’t change all that much. They were as starry-eyed around each other as ever, but without that thin cord of tension. It was nice to see and Chris was more than a little relieved.

They toured. They hung out. They tried to pretend the Yankees didn’t exist and mourned the retirement of Cal Ripken. Chris thought he actually took that harder than JC did. Chris fooled around with Jeff, this guy on the crew, for a while, but that was never going to be serious because Jeff was a devout Eagles fan and Chris had standards.

Then he started dating Michelle, which was cool. He had a good time with her. She was funny, and had a great body, and she actually knew what a wing was supposed to do. He enjoyed spending time with her, liked her enough to subject her to red carpets and photographers but he couldn’t help feeling like something was missing.

It was about that time that his wallet fell apart again, and in the transferring of contents he stumbled yet again upon the picture of him and JC. His fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the image and despite all efforts to the contrary awareness bloomed and kicked him in the ass. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before, it wasn’t like there hadn’t been signs, but. Well, Christ. You weren’t supposed to lust after your hockey buddy. There were rules. This was one of them. Not that Chris had ever demonstrated interest or patience in following rules before.

It wasn’t like there was really anything he could do about it, either. Make his Mario Lemieux bobblehead make out with JC’s Cal Ripken one? Give him his Willie “Pops” Stargell rookie card, the one he got from his grandpa when he was six and he’d kept in a box in his bedside drawer ever since as a token of his affection? Would that even really work, given that Stargell’s two World Series championships came at the expense of the Os? And could he possibly get any lamer? He didn’t know what to do about JC.

So he broke up with Michelle instead.


He woke up one Sunday morning and smelled bacon. Breakfast foods. He opened a bleary eye and looked at the clock and tried to figure out who the hell would be in his house before noon on a weekend and came up empty. It was nowhere near Wimbledon, so it’s not like he and JC had plans to watch “Breakfast with Bud.” And it seemed rather unlikely that someone had broken into his house to try his “Perfect Pancake” machine. Curiousity overcame his desire to sleep more, and he got up and padded downstairs.

Chris wandered into the kitchen, grunting hello as he grabbed a cup of coffee, not really registering any surprise that it was JC he found there. He appeared to be going all out.

“Did I miss something?” Chris asked, wincing as he took a sip from his mug because Jesus, JC made lousy coffee.

JC shrugged. “I was bored. Figured, you know. I’d make the newly single guy breakfast since he doesn’t have anyone to do it for him.”

Chris raised an eyebrow at him. “JC. It’s been a month. And it wasn’t that hard a breakup.”

“I know,” JC said, “but there’s no time limit on the grieving process.” Chris snorted and set the table.

There wasn’t much on television that afternoon, so they settled on a stock car race which served mostly as background noise while they both worked on individual projects. At some point JC made a snide remark about Jeff Gordon and Chris, highly offended, chucked the first thing he could find at JC’s head.

“’High Fidelity?’” JC caught the book easily. “Don’t tell me you actually read the book.”

“Nick Hornby’s a genius, JC. And seriously, it asks the big questions. What came first, the misery or the pop music – that’s like, the granddaddy of them all, isn’t it?”

“I’d think it’s pretty clear the misery came first, Chris. Otherwise we’d have nothing to sing about.”

“I don’t know, C, how long has it been since you listened to our first album? Because I can pretty much guarantee you misery. And heartburn.”

JC rolled his eyes.

Chris titled his head, considering JC. “I think you’d make a good, what’s her name? The woman Lisa Bonet played?”

“Marie DeSalle,” JC replied. “And I’m not sure how happy I am you’re recasting me in the novel as a woman. I assume you’re Rob, then?”

“As if there was anyone else I could be, what with the incredible music collection and superior taste.”

JC snorted. “Sure. Whatever you say. And if we’re forcing me to be a female, I’d much rather be Laura.”

”Why? Laura’s, like. What does he say? White cotton underwear? She’s old reliable. She’s boring.”

“Did you even read the book? Watch the movie? For anything other than instructions on how to make the perfect mix tape? Laura’s the only one he doesn’t get tired of. Laura’s not the fantasy. She’s the reality.” JC paused. “Maybe I’m tired of being a fantasy.”

Chris glanced sideways at him before he turned back to the race. There was a moment there when maybe he could have said something. But he didn’t. He wondered, though, as he watched a couple cars ram into each other on the screen, who JC’s reality was.


And still there was stasis. The tour wrapped up and everyone went their separate ways but JC and Chris never seemed that far apart. They hosted this awful music showcase together and stood in the wings and made fun of Jennifer Love Hewitt’s sizeable chest and weirdly prominent cheekbones. They talked all the time and JC would send him clips of songs he was working on and Chris would cut out random articles from magazines about feng shui and the European club scene and send them to JC. When Fuman went down in flames, it was JC who came and took Chris out and let him get drunk off his ass and carried him home and put him to bed.

JC was a true friend. Which didn’t stop Chris from wanting more. He just didn’t know how to ask.


It was a few weeks later that Chris stumbled downstairs to find JC in his kitchen. Again. There was music on in the background, James by the sound of it. Chris was not a fan .

“What’s going on?” Chris asked, wincing as the music changed from James to something nasal and vaguely whiny. Some guy singing about how he wasn’t lonely because he had imaginary friends and wow. This wasn’t depressing. Not at all.

JC looked up. “There’s pizza. The Pirates are on in half an hour so I went ahead and ordered.”

Chris nodded and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Sounds good.” It wasn’t until he turned back around that he noticed his wallet open on the table, JC fingering a faded black and white snapshot. “Um. C?” The music shifted again, a different whiny guy, crooning this time about punk rock bands and country music. It was getting annoying and his stomach was rumbling around and why did JC have that picture?

“I forgot to get cash. I needed money for the pizza and so I grabbed your wallet from where you left it last night. That thing’s in miserable shape, Chris, you really need a new one…”

“C.” Chris rubbed his eyes.

“It fell out. I. Chris, where is this from? I don’t even remember taking it.”

“First photo shoot we ever did.” Chris sat down heavily at the table, taking it from JC and setting it carefully back inside his wallet. “Lou was going to throw them out. I don’t know. I liked it, is all.”

“You kept it all these years, man? That’s…”

Chris rested his forehead on the table. “Don’t even start, okay? I have no idea why I kept it, it just. It reminded me of stuff. Us, back then.” He paused as a song he finally recognized came on the stereo. The Cure. He coughed and lifted his head. “’Secrets’, JC? What the hell are we listening to?”

“It’s a CD I burned.” JC looked down at the table, tapping his fingers against it nervously.

“For who? Your high school girlfriend?”

“Nope,” JC glanced at Chris, then away. “For you, actually.” He slid a CD case toward Chris. Voltron cover art. Chris had to smile at that. He looked over at JC, who was studiously staring at the wall, before he looked back at the case, opening it with hands that he was surprised to note were a little sweaty.

“Uh, Jayce?” Chris’s eyes darted from the track listing to JC’s face, then back again. “’Songs for my Pretend Boyfriend?’ Is this… what is this?”

“I don’t know, Chris. Can we just. God, the game’s starting. Let’s go drink beer and scratch our balls and make like this didn’t happen, okay?” JC got up and headed into the den, Chris close on his heels.

“Nuh uh. No way. You don’t give me a CD with Ani DiFranco on it without an explanation, Chasez. That’s like, beyond the pale.”

JC’s lips twitched. “I like that song.”

“And I’m not at all surprised, but stop trying to distract me. What’s the hidden message here, huh?”

“God, you’re dense.” JC shook his head, nervousness slowly shift to amusement as he watched Chris get increasingly flustered. “Look at those tracks, Chris. ‘You’re So Damn Hot,’ ‘Anything You Want,’ ‘Here in My Heart’ – even you can pick up on those subliminal messages.”

“Well, I mean.” Chris paused. “This is a little unexpected.”

JC banged his head against the wall. “Chris, outside of Joey you’ve been the steadiest relationship in my life for pretty much ever. And unlike Joey, when I look at you I see an uncertain future. I don’t have the foggiest idea what would happen if we got together, but I have a sneaking suspicion it would work.” He paused for air.

“Did you just say foggiest?” Chris asked. “Who uses that word?”

JC exhaled loudly. “Shut up, Chris. Shut up, okay? Listen, for once in your life. You and I are nothing alike yet somehow we’ve managed to carve out this space for ourselves that’s pretty fucking amazing. That picture, man. That’s so long ago that I can’t even remember when it happened but you’re still the friend to me now that you were then. Except more. It’s bigger. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“You could hurry up, because the game’s about to start and it’s sort of rude to talk through the National Anthem.” Chris leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the lips.

JC stared.


“You kissed me.”

“I figured I ought to get that in before you had beer and pizza breath.”

“That’s all it took? A stupid mix CD and me making an ass of myself?”

Chris grinned. “Better you than me. It’s been a long time on my end, C. Maybe since that picture, I don’t know for sure. I just needed an opening.”

“So happy to be of service.” JC snorted, sitting down on the couch and pulling Chris next to him and that was pretty much that. This was something they were already good at.


JC got Chris a new wallet for Christmas, a sleek black number. Chris opened it, expecting to find a dollar tucked inside, but he found the black and white picture instead, with a shot of the two of them from the wax museum opening glued to the other side.

“You’re such a sap,” Chris said, but his face hurt from smiling so much.


And that’s the way it went. The Pirates still sucked, but the Steelers looked to at least make the division finals. The Redskins blew, but the Capitals were having a pretty decent season. Chris started following JC to gallery openings, and JC got pretty damn good at Halo. The things they had in common on Sunday afternoons became things they had in common all week long as they began the process of building a life together. It wasn’t a fantasy. But it was just as good.

visual aids:

track listing, "songs for my pretend boyfriend"

1 Pulp - Like a Friend
2 Sugarbomb - Mail Order Girlfriend
3 OK Go - You're So Damn Hot
4 The Donnas - Hey, I'm Gonna Be Your Girl
5 Foo Fighters - Have It All
6 Too Much Joy - Crush Story
7 Spoon - Anything You Want
8 Red Delicious - Want Me
9 Throwing Muses - Shimmer
10 Death Cab for Cutie - Wait
11 Old 97s - Lonely Holiday
12 Otis Redding - These Arms of Mine
13 Ivy - While We're in Love
14 Rhett Miller - Come Around
15 Ani DiFranco - Falling Is Like This
16 Mavis - Only in My Dreams
17 Veruca Salt - Somebody
18 Pete Yorn - Girl Like You
19 The Reindeer Section - If Everything Fell Quiet
20 The 6ths - Here in My Heart
21 Nina Simone - My Baby Just Cares for Me
22 James - Lose Control (acoustic)
23 The Cure - Secrets



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