by Paula Stokes
“You need to be up early too,” she reminded me. “I don’t want to hear about you falling asleep in class.”
“Come on, Mom. Please,” I begged. “I’ve never seen Roadkill before. Dad will stay with me and I promise I’ll go right to sleep when we get home.”
She exchanged a glance with my dad. “Your father is probably tired, Micah. He’s had a long day.”
My dad mopped some sweat from his forehead and shrugged. “Never too tired to support local music. Let him stay. We’ll leave before the encore so we can avoid the traffic. He’ll be in bed by midnight.”
“That’s still really late,” my mom started. But I knew she’d give in. My dad had this magical persuasive power over people—they always gave in. Even I would have given in if he’d told me I needed to go home right away.
My mom shook her head but then gave us both a hug and headed for the parking lot. We watched her from the corner of the club to make sure she got to her car okay and then went back inside, threading our way through the crowd until we were at the very front of the stage.
Roadkill came out twenty minutes later, all screeching guitars and booming bass. It was only the third show Dad and I had watched together. Standing there in the dim lights, clapping my hands to the beat, I felt more alive than ever. Back then, all I wanted to do was live in the music world. I wanted to play guitar just like my dad, be in a band, make him proud.
When Roadkill went offstage, I turned toward him, ready to leave.
“Don’t you want to stay for the encore?” His hazel eyes gleamed with mischief.
“But Mom—”
“Will be asleep. She’ll never know. Besides, I can take you backstage to meet Jimmie James.”
Jimmie was a legend. He had gone to Hazelton High and worked at a local record store before his band got signed to a major label. Roadkill toured across the whole country, but they stuck to smaller club venues because they liked the personal interaction with their fans. Jimmie liked to talk about how he’d never forget where he came from.
After the show, Dad took me backstage, just as he promised. Jimmie was leaning back against the wall, sipping from a bottle of water and nodding to people as they walked past.
Dad waltzed right up to him. “Yo, Jim,” he said. “This is my kid, Micah.”
“What’s up?” Jimmie gave me a high five and signed the brim of my Cardinals baseball cap. “I like a man who supports the local team,” he said.
“I like your hair,” I blurted out.
He ran a hand through his mohawk and then winked at me. “It holds all my power.”
“I might have to look into one of those,” Dad said. He and Jimmie laughed. Then my dad turned to me. “Better get you home. School starts early.”
“Right. Stay in school,” Jimmie said. He gave us both a wave as we headed back to the front of the club. The crowd had mostly gone, nothing but a few diehards still lingering about, hoping the band members would make their way to the club bar for a drink eventually. A few of them shook Dad’s hand as he made our way to the door. We burst out into the night, our hair and T-shirts slick with sweat.
“I think I want a mohawk like Jimmie James,” I said.
Dad laughed. “We’ll ask your mom how she feels about that.”
“If she can have tattoos, I should be able to get a mohawk,” I insisted.
“When you’re her age, you can have all the funny haircuts you want.” Dad headed around to the side of the club and I followed him. We walked along the sidewalk, marveling at the painted totem sculptures that lined the way to the Pageant’s parking lot—someone’s idea of art. In the daylight they looked bright and bizarre, like something out of Alice in Wonderland. At night they took on a menacing feel, more like twisted monsters stalking the club-goers.
We ended up trapped in a line of cars on Delmar Avenue, the traffic my dad promised my mom we’d leave early to avoid. Dad started pounding out a beat on the steering wheel as soon as he pulled onto the street, something he always did when he was working on a new song. I didn’t want to disturb him, so I started playing games on my phone. Using my finger as an ax, I decapitated zombie after zombie in the newest version of something called Killdead Enterprises that all my friends at school were playing.
Dad and I finally made it to the highway and headed north toward Hazelton. And then we hit another pocket of traffic—an accident maybe, or road construction. It was too late for anything else. My dad braked hard and I slid forward in my seat, my phone slipping from my hands and ending up on the floorboards.
Dad’s head snapped toward me. “Put your seat belt on,” he said.
“Sorry.” I retrieved my phone and then buckled my seat belt.
The traffic slowed to a standstill. Dad fussed with the AC, muttered under his breath, and then cranked down his window.
I kept looking back and forth from the traffic to my phone. “I’m thirsty,” I said. “Let’s get off the highway and go get slushies or something.”
Dad glanced over at the nearest exit and then back at the string of cars in front of him. “I guess we could.”
We cut through the traffic a lane at a time and exited onto a street I’d never seen before. “What about McDonald’s?” he asked.
“They don’t have slushies.” I pointed down the street to a gas station. “They do.”
Dad glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost midnight. “All right,” he said. He turned into the gas station and pulled into a spot in the almost-deserted parking lot. “Are you coming in?”
I was on a tricky level where you had to kill multiple zombie guards with each slash of your ax to get through to the boss. Then you had to hit the boss fifty times in like ten seconds to beat him. I’d gotten past the level once before, but I was doing better that time. If I could make it through the boss without losing another life, it’d be my best showing ever. “Can you just get me a mix of cherry and Coke?” I asked, without even looking up.
“Sure thing, kiddo,” Dad said. “Keep the doors locked, okay? This is kind of a sketchy neighborhood.”
“Uh-huh.” I barely heard him.
I was halfway through killing the boss when I heard the shots. I thought it was a car backfiring, only when I looked up the only car around wasn’t running—it was sitting at one of the pumps. The older woman pumping gas dropped the hose, got in her car, and drove off so fast she didn’t even put her gas cap back on.
I still wasn’t sure what had happened, but my chest suddenly got tight. My heart began to pound, light and quick, like someone was tapping on my breastbone from the inside. And that’s when I saw the guy come running out of the store. With a mask on, and a gun in his hand. The tapping became a punching. Without thinking, I ducked down in my seat. It took me a few seconds to remember my dad was still inside. Terror can be like that. When your life feels threatened, it’s like this whiteout experience where the rest of the world goes away.
But then the guy disappeared, the gas station rushed back, and I was out of the truck in a fraction of a second.
“Dad!” My feet were flying. My brain racing. I could hear sirens already. I slammed full force into the glass front door of the shop, nearly breaking my wrist in the process. The clerk had locked it.
“Dad!” I screamed again. I banged on the door.
From behind the cash register, a balding middle-aged man looked over with wide, scared eyes. After a minute, he came and let me in.
I pushed past him, my mind making all kinds of bargains with the universe. Just let my dad be okay, and I’ll go to church. Let him be okay and I’ll never be rude to my mom again. I’ll eat my vegetables. I won’t skip class. Please just please let him be okay.
My dad was lying on the floor, motionless. For one brief moment, I felt hope. There wasn’t enough blood. Just the smallest of stains in the middle of Dad’s Boondock Saints T-shirt. But the second I saw his eyes, I knew he was already gone.
Chapter 13
Amber sits cross-legged on
the bed and stares at me for a moment without speaking. Her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t cry. She just shakes her head. Finally, she says, “The universe can be a cruel, cruel bitch.”
“Happy now?” I ask. I do feel strangely better after spitting all that out. Lighter. Or I will, anyway, until she starts yammering on about how it wasn’t my fault.
Amber shakes her head again. “Of course I’m not happy. I hate that you suffered like that. That you still suffer. But I’m glad you finally told me.” For a second she looks like she’s going to hug me or something. But then she exhales deeply and falls back onto the bed. “It has been a mega-exhausting night, hasn’t it? I’m glad we get to sleep in tomorrow.”
“Really? That’s it?” I ask suspiciously. “You’re not going to tell me how the whole thing wasn’t my fault or how I should just let it go or how I should talk to someone about it?”
She looks up at me. “You did talk to someone. Me. And we both know you didn’t pull the trigger. But I’m not going to tell you not to blame yourself.”
“Why not?” I ask, surprised.
“Because I know you. And it wouldn’t help. Plus I get it. I know what it’s like to replay those moments where you make choices that seem so meaningless but then turn out to be major. Like why? Why did I have to do that exact thing at that exact moment?”
“Yes, exactly,” I say. “So many random things had to line up for my dad to die. If I had done one thing differently he’d still be here.”
She nods. “Maybe you’ve just been waiting for someone to tell you it’s okay to blame yourself a little.” She pauses. “It’s okay to feel however you feel. Maybe it’s terrible to say, but I might blame myself a little bit too.”
I fall back on the bed next to her. “It’s not terrible. It’s honest,” I say, looking up at the ceiling.
She turns to face me. “Well I hope you forgive yourself someday, but I think you should be able to take as long as you need.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re the only one who gets it.” And in this instant, I see the Amber I fell in love with again, the girl who speaks her mind and never judges anyone about anything. The girl who understands me like no one else. Maybe there’s a new gloss on her, a Hollywood shine meant to sell records and appeal to the masses, but underneath she’s still partly the same Amber.
I just don’t think I can hold on to her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend lately. I’ve been totally in my own world,” she says.
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the problem. Our worlds don’t overlap anymore.”
“Maybe not.” She blinks hard, a tear taking shape on her pale eyelashes. “So what do we do about it?”
Chapter 14
“So you broke up?” Trinity asks. “But you’re still friends?” She furrows her brow as if this possibility never occurred to her. “And you’re telling me everything is fine?”
It’s Sunday night and I just finished my shift at Denali. My sister is sitting at the long bar right inside the door, sipping a latte and swinging her feet back and forth while she waits for me. She’s wearing these black leather shoes shaped like cats. They have little braided tails on the heels. Where does someone even buy stuff like that? “Yup. Fine enough where you don’t need to intervene on my behalf anymore.” I narrow my eyes. “Amber told me that you called her.”
“Yikes,” Trinity says. “She wasn’t supposed to tell you. I just didn’t want you to mess up a good thing, Micah.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “But hopefully you won’t always have to be my other mom.”
“I don’t mind. You’re a good kid most of the time.” Trinity grins. “So basically she just doesn’t have time to date because of everything happening with the band?”
“More or less.” I’m too tired to get into the whole story. I had to go straight from the airport to Denali and I didn’t sleep much last night.
“I can’t believe you’re this calm. You’re not going to go tag something, are you?” Trinity asks.
“Nope. Maybe if I’m feeling upset later I’ll cut up some clothes.” I glance down. “I might start with those shoes.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “The kittens are epic. Touch and die.”
I reach out to tug on the braided tail of her nearest shoe and she slaps my hand away.
I punch her gently in the shoulder. “Why are we here again? Let’s bail.”
“Just a few more minutes.” She looks down at her latte. The cup is still half full.
I hold up my soda. “I can just pour it in a to-go cup.”
She shakes her head. “I’m almost finished.”
“Fine, but bottoms up. You’re nursing that thing like it’s a glass of two-hundred-dollar champagne.”
The wind chimes over the door clunk musically. Trinity and I turn toward Denali’s entrance. Lainey breezes into the shop with an even taller, thinner girl right behind her. Both of them are dressed in tiny sundresses, their hair impossibly shiny, their skin glittering under the fluorescent lights.
Trinity chokes on her latte, her pale face turning pink. “Holy crap,” she says. “Is that Kendall Chase and Lainey Mitchell?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Do they both work here?”
“Just Lainey, thank God.” If Lainey is a little annoying, Kendall is like Lainey on steroids times ten.
“My friend’s sister plays JV soccer, and she said those two started a trend where they wore their jerseys to school with miniskirts.” Trinity sneaks a look at Lainey and Kendall. “Then the rest of the girls did the same thing and pretty soon the whole district was doing it. And not just soccer either—basketball, volleyball, even some of the softball players.”
“Fascinating.” I swill down a big drink of soda.
Trinity gasps, like she can’t believe I’m not into the latest sports fashion news. “They’re a big deal, Micah. Two of the most popular girls at Hazelton High.”
“Don’t remind me.” I gesture pointedly at her coffee cup. “Your drink is getting cold.”
“Introduce me,” she blurts out.
“What?” I hiss. “Are you crazy?”
“I want to meet them!” Trinity has forgotten all about her drink. She’s staring at Lainey and Kendall now, watching them gesture with their hands as they debate what to order.
“No. Kendall probably doesn’t even know my name.”
“Fine,” Trinity says. “I’ll introduce myself . . . someday.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that.”
Lainey finally decides to order a latte. Kendall moves off to the side, texting on her phone and looking vaguely annoyed.
C-4 strolls up from the back with a box of napkins to refill the dispensers. It’s not his job, and I’m pretty sure he’s doing it only because he heard there are hot, half-naked chicks hanging around. He makes a slow loop past Lainey, a move that she ignores but Kendall zeroes in on.
“Laineykins. I think you’re being stalked,” she says.
Lainey turns around and arches an eyebrow at C-4. “See something you like?”
I almost do a spit take with my soda. It’s the exact thing C-4 said to me when he caught me checking out her legs. She must have heard us talking that day.
C-4 doesn’t even flinch. “You have glitter on your ta-tas.” His eyes linger on her neckline. “If you don’t want guys to stare, you probably shouldn’t sparkle those babies up.”
Kendall’s jaw drops so far she looks like a fish. “Oh. My. God. You perv.” She turns to Lainey. “Can’t you get him fired for that or something?”
“Maybe.” Lainey tosses her hair back over her shoulders. A slow smile spreads across her face. “But I kind of like torturing him.”
“I knew it!” C-4 exclaims. “One of these days, you and me . . .”
Lainey takes her drink from the barista. “In your dreams,” she says with a smirk. Then she strolls across the front of the shop with Kendall behind her. Both of them disappear back into the night.
“They are so awesome,” Trinity says.
I shake my head. “Sometimes you are the smartest girl I know, and other times your mouth moves and total gibberish comes out.”
“Whatevz,” Trinity says. She sighs. “I wish I was that pretty.”
“I wish I was that pretty,” I repeat in a high voice. “You’re just as pretty as they are.”
Trinity rolls her eyes. “You’re a bad liar.” She takes another tiny sip of her latte.
I lean against the bar. “I mean it. You just don’t flaunt it like they do.”
Trinity fingers the streak of green in her hair. “I could flaunt it, I suppose.”
“Please don’t,” I say. “At least not here. I don’t want to have to punch any coworkers for talking about your glittery girl parts.”
Before she can respond, the wind chimes start clunking again. In walks Stacee, Dad’s former bassist, holding a guitar case. Her hair is darker than I remember and she’s wearing pointy black glasses, but I’d recognize her anywhere. She really is the only person I know with more tattoos than my mom.
“Micah!” Stacee’s face breaks out into a smile and she strides toward me like we just had lunch together, instead of going years without talking.
I glance over at Trinity. “More meddling?”
Trinity downs the rest of her latte in one gulp. “No more after this,” she says. “I promise.”
“I’m going to need that in writing,” I say. “Signed in your blood.” I turn to Stacee. “Hey. Sorry I didn’t answer your email. My girl, er, a friend of mine just got back in town and things have been crazy.”
“No problem.” Stacee pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “You look good. You look . . . taller.”
My sister snorts. “Man, it has been a while since she’s seen you, huh?”
I grab the top of Trinity’s ear and give it a gentle twist. “What was that?”
“Ow, ow, ow. Nothing.” She wrestles free of my grip.