Auburn: Outcasts and Underdogs

by Valerie Thomas

  Chapter 2

  September passed by in a blur, seeming to speed up as Charlie, Joey, and I settled into a comfortable pattern. None of us were very involved at school, so we could head straight over to Charlie’s on the same bus and practice for a few hours before dinnertime. We ran through every genre that struck our fancy, trying to find our own sound.

  School let out at two in the afternoon, which meant that even on the days where we practiced for three hours Charlie’s parents were just coming home by the time Joey and I left. His dad and I had a short conversation after the third day of practice, little more than a quick ‘hey, how are you doing?’ I didn’t see much of his mom—unlike his dad, she didn’t park in the garage, so I would have had to go out of my way to run into her—but she popped her head in one time to ask if we wanted to stay over for dinner. Joey and I both said no, because… Well, somehow eating dinner with someone else’s parents just felt weird.

  It was Friday, and after a day of muddling through my classes I was ready to sing my heart out. Charlie, Joey, and I were lined up at the bottom of our school’s parking lot with a few other students while we waited for the school buses to arrive.

  “I came up with some new lyrics,” I said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of my bag. “What do you guys think?”

  Charlie took the paper from me. “Mhm. I like this whole part about feeling like a puppet. What’s a winter tempest, though? And could you sing it for us, so we can get an idea of how you were thinking it should sound?”

  I glanced at the larger group of four freshmen standing near us. No doubt they would hear if I started singing. But I told myself that I didn’t care what they thought. I held out my hand and waited for Charlie to hand the lyrics back to me. “Feeling lost,” I sang, as quietly as I could. “Twisted and confused. Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest. I’m feeling like a kite, torn up by the wind. My colors once so bright, now I just can’t stand…”

  I looked up from the blue-lined page, aware of six sets of eyes on me. Charlie was smiling, but a girl with long black hair and a face nearly as unrefined as mine wrinkled her nose. “What’s that song about?” Her voice was pleasant; it was a bit on the low side, but there was a fullness to it that led me to wonder what she would sound like if she tried to sing.

  “It’s about…” I paused, trying to think of a good way to explain. “It’s about feeling like an outsider, like everyone’s judging you and you just don’t know how to hide from it.”

  She nodded slowly, her mouth drawn into a flat line. “Huh. Okay.” I could tell she was holding something back; I would have asked her to explain, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Maybe she thought the song sucked, or maybe she just didn’t agree with the message behind it.

  “What?” Joey asked her. “It’s not like you’ve ever written a song. And it’s not like we asked for your opinion, either. This is band stuff, so just mind your own business.” On some level, I was pretty sure he was trying to help me out. He just had a strange way of going about it.

  “Well, if I ever write a song, it won’t be some boring funeral march about how no one likes me because I’m weird.” The girl turned her scowl on me instead of Joey. “No offense, but that song really sucks. Maybe you should scrap it and write something new.”

  What got to me, more than what she was saying, was how she said it. So casually, like she was the final authority when it came to my lyrics. “It’s not that bad,” I said. “Maybe it needs some work, but with the right melody and rhythm it would be good.”

  “Honey, the best band in the world could perform it, and it would still be a boring song about how no one likes you.” The condescending way she said ‘honey’ rubbed me the wrong way. We were in the same grade; it wasn’t like she was some adult giving me advice. Even if she had been, I probably still would have bristled at her tone. “Rip it up, throw it away, and write something new.”

  “Just stop!” I shouted, feeling anger well up at her casual dismissal of the song I’d worked so hard on. “Like Joey said, no one asked for your opinion.”

  Joey had a more elegant response: “Seriously, shut the fuck up.” He shrugged, as if that would help smooth the harsh words.

  For a moment, the girl just stood there, a muscle in her jaw twitching as if she wanted to walk up to Joey and punch him. She didn’t say anything, but one of her friends—a tall, dark-skinned girl with black hair and hazel eyes—turned and ran for the main entrance. She made her way inside just as our bus arrived.

  Charlie tapped me on the shoulder. “It’s a good song. Don’t let Jessica get you down. She’s kind of a—um, a b word.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I stuffed the lyrics back into my bag and swung it over my shoulder. “Thanks, Joey.” Having someone stick up for me was nice, even if it looked like he might get in trouble.

  Charlie gestured toward the door of the bus a few feet ahead of us as it hissed open. “Here, Joey, get on first. Once you’re inside, they can’t call you in to the principal.” I doubted that was true, but it seemed like a better plan than just letting him get punished for standing up for me. Charlie and I stood aside as he jogged up the brown, plastic-covered steps.

  “I’m already thinking of a good hook for that ‘one, two, three’ part in the chorus,” Charlie said before starting up.

  “Oh, cool.” My mind was still focused on what Jessica had said. It couldn’t be true; the song had sounded good to me, and Charlie and Joey had liked it. She was probably the only one who thought it was boring, and she’d taken it upon herself to shove her opinion down my throat.

  I glanced in the direction of the front entrance. Jessica’s friend was already walking back toward the bus at a brisk pace, but there wasn’t anyone with her. I let myself believe that she hadn’t found the principal—or anyone else who could punish Joey.

  Once we were inside the bus, Charlie made his way toward the back to sit with Joey, but the seats around them were all taken; I slid into an open one four rows up, moving over so that I could stare out the window.

  The sound of Jessica’s friend jogging down the aisle and coming to a stop near my seat made me turn around. “What’s your name?” she asked, scowling at Joey.

  My seat squeaked as I turned to look at him. “Will Strainer.” He looked at me and winked.

  She nodded. “Hmm, okay then. I’m gonna tell the principal what you said, Will.” She probably expected that to scare him. I had no idea who Will Strainer was, but I couldn’t help laughing as Jessica’s friend took a seat behind me. Joey had won this round.

  Or so I thought. “God, that girl wore so much eyeliner,” someone said from the seat behind me. I was all but certain that the low, smooth voice was Jessica’s, but I didn’t want to sit up to confirm it. “She looked like a raccoon!”

  There was a weak laugh, probably from Jessica’s friend. “She did?”

  “Yeah. She looks like such a skank.” I sank lower in my chair. “Have you seen her hanging out with those two guys every day before the bus picks us up? Bet you she’s hooking up with both of them. Any girl who looks like that has no respect for herself.”

  There was no way they didn’t know I was right in front of them. Jessica’s friend had just been standing there. In my mind, I sat up straight. I glared over the top of my bus seat and gave them a tongue-lashing they’d never forget. In my mind, I explained how I was actually so much cooler than they were, because I was in a band and they were just stupid. I’d be playing in sold-out arenas while they were still worrying about childish things like raccoon eyeliner and who I was or was not hooking up with.

  In reality, I did none of those things. I slowly opened the Velcro patch on the outside of my bag and pulled my iPod out. As I stuck the white earbuds in, I heard more laughter from behind me, but I did my best to ignore it. The sounds of punk rock helped me drown them out.

  I moved over to the window, staring out at the world passing us by. There were trees with brown leaves, green grass, and all the c
oncrete and pastel-colored buildings I’d come to expect from the California suburbs. The unmistakable scent of wintergreen chewing gum wafted over me, but I just kept staring at the passing scenery. There were only three stops until I could get off and escape to Charlie’s garage. With any luck, I’d be gone before Jessica and her friend said anything else.

  The smell of burning rubber filled the bus as the driver pulled to the side of the road at our first stop. I forced myself to look at the street instead of the students passing by, just in case one of them happened to be Jessica or her friend.

  She’s a bitch, I thought. Just like Charlie said. The knowledge did little to help my mood, as my mind kept returning to what they’d said about me. There was no denying my style was different, but they seriously needed an education if they thought that meant I was a skank. So why was I the one on the verge of tears?

  The bus rolled to a start in unison with a new song coming up on my iPod: Feel Sorry for Me by Queen Anne’s Subtle Overdose. They were a band from L.A., just like us. The song struck a chord within me in a way few songs did, perhaps because of what had happened or perhaps because I liked the idea of tying someone down and forcing them to see my side of things, like the man in the song.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the window tap against my temple with each small adjustment the driver made. At some point, we stopped again, but I kept my eyes closed. Time seemed to pass extra slow as I waited for our stop to come.

  Finally, the hiss of brakes signaled our arrival. I opened my eyes and hopped to my feet. Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t help but glance at the seat behind me.

  Of course Jessica was still there. Her friend was gone, but she broke into a small smile when she saw me. It never reached her dull brown eyes, which narrowed with what I could only guess was hostility.

  With as much willpower as I could summon, I forced a sweet smile back at her. “Yeah, I thought it was funny when Joey told you to shut the fuck up too.” It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but as I stepped out into the aisle and made my way to the stairs I felt pretty proud of myself. I hopped down to the curb with the ‘sop’ sign and turned to wait for Charlie and Joey.

  “Will is just some dumb jock in my flag football class,” Joey explained as he walked down the bus steps ahead of Charlie. He looked back over his shoulder. “I figured it would be funny to watch him get in trouble. He’s kind of a jerk anyway.”

  Charlie pushed him forward when he started to slow, gesturing for him to meet me at the curb. “Joey, has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor is mean? And not just run-of-the-mill mean. You’re a piece of work.”

  For some reason, the comment made me laugh. I suppose it just felt good to think of Joey as being just as unlikable as me—or maybe even more. “Aren’t we all?” I asked as the pair came to a stop a couple steps away from me. “I mean, Joey’s just an outcast like us, right?”

  Charlie frowned, but seemed to recognize the words from a week before. He nodded, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “Hell yeah. He’s an outcast like us, and we’re gonna go to my house to play some outcast music.” He hugged me from the side. “How are you feeling, Ash? You looked a little sad when you were getting off the bus.”

  “Oh, I’m good.” I hugged him back for a moment before slipping my iPod back into my bag and beginning the walk to his house. “If anything, I’ll get some new lyrics out of it.”

  “Good. Good.” Charlie kept looking at the ground as we walked. Once, when I glanced back at the two boys following me, we locked eyes, but he quickly looked away. I wondered why he was an outcast, or why he felt like one. We’d gone to the same middle school, but I didn’t remember ever hearing any rumors about him. He seemed so normal and nice. There was a mystery there that I wanted to unravel, but I decided it was best not to push the issue. Maybe he had some family stuff going on.

  We rounded the pavement leading up to Charlie’s garage. Since I was in the lead, I headed for the gray-paneled keypad and entered the four digits of his birthday: 1, 5, 97. In a moment, the gears rumbled to life, revealing the exact set-up we’d left the day before: Joey’s guitar lying flat on the floor, Charlie’s in its case by the wall, and a Swiffer handle that I’d been using as a microphone sitting in front of the two white stools. I headed over to the far wall and set my book bag down.

  The door rumbled again, closing as I grabbed the sheet with my lyrics and crossed to the middle of the garage. I leaned down and retrieved my impromptu mic stand, watching as my friends set up their guitars.

  “So here’s what I was thinking for the one, two, three part,” Charlie said, sliding the white strap of his thin, deep purple electric guitar over his shoulder. He leaned down and frowned at the strings, placing his fingers over them. With little warning, the garage—and likely the whole house—was filled with a trio of eighth notes. Charlie looked up. “Then I can repeat that three times, getting a little louder each time. And that’ll lead into the chorus, which could be really good. We just need a strong hook. What were you thinking for the vocals?”

  “Um…” I held the handle close to my mouth. “One, two, three! Do you see, what you’ve done to me? And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be.” I drew out the final three words, sliding down them like a staircase. I was surprised to see both Charlie and Joey nodding in apparent appreciation.

  Joey stepped forward, twisting one of the dials on his own black guitar. “I can get behind those lyrics. What do you guys think about pulling back with the guitars? If Ashley could crank up the volume and hit some higher notes, I think that would work.”

  “Do you think you could do that, Ash?” Charlie asked, folding his hands over his guitar. “You’d have to get a lot more power behind your voice.” He side-stepped to one of the stools and sat down on it.

  My free hand unconsciously rose to my throat. I considered the question for a moment. Truth was, I didn’t know whether I could do it. But I knew that I wanted to. “Yeah, I can,” I said confidently. With Jessica’s criticisms fresh in my mind, I felt like I couldn’t possibly allow myself to fail.