What My Failed Emo Band Taught Me About Everything
Ten hard-won life lessons from five years of being in The John Wilkes Kissing Booth.
It’s 2:47 AM somewhere between Barstow and oblivion, and I’m staring at the dome light of our Dodge van while Jory snores into his drum cases as if it’s true love. The heater died in Phoenix, the CD player is held together with electrical tape and false hope, and after gas, food, and merch split, we have exactly $23.47 to split five ways until we reach …