by Mindi Scott
I listened, and it didn’t take long to figure out that even though they were inexperienced, with very little stage presence, they were all decent musicians. Xander had called their style “pop-punk,” but, for some reason, I’d kind of thought I was going to be dealing with a boy band that cussed. But there was nothing bubble gum about the loud, fast guitars and drums. It was obvious they’d been inspired by old Green Day or the Offspring, but Scratching at the 8 Ball was doing something much heavier, more complex.
After several minutes of getting a feel for the song, I started messing around until I came up with a bass line. For the past year I hadn’t touched anything but gut strings and I knew my fingers were going to be sore as I got used to steel again, but at that moment it felt good. Really good.
We kept going like that for an hour. They’d play a song through while I listened, then I’d play with them until we were ready to move on to the next. We made it through about five songs, and I found myself getting more and more into it. The songwriting was interesting. Whoever was responsible for the arrangement was pretty gifted.
“That was awesome,” Xander said, standing and wiping his forehead on his sleeve afterward.
After getting past the kinks, I’d played well—at least I thought so—but there was more than the music to consider. For one thing, Brody Lancaster was in this band, and he wasn’t giving off any good vibes. He’d been staring at the floor the whole time, as if he couldn’t even stand to look at me.
I didn’t expect any of us to make a decision right then. I needed to think; they needed to talk it over. But then, right in front of me, Xander said, “If that didn’t convince you guys that this bass-free thing has gone on way too long, I don’t know what will. Are we going to beg Seth to keep playing with us, or what?”
“He’s good,” Taku said, coughing. “And he picks things up super-fast, too. I think it can work.”
“I. Told. You. So.” Xander stabbed the air with a drumstick at every word.
Brody set his guitar on a stand and walked over to the black leather couch, looking like he was deep in thought.
“What do you think, Brode?” Taku asked.
“I think Xander was right,” Brody said quietly. “And he is good. Really good.” Then he looked me in the eyes. “Are you into it? I mean, would you want to play with us?”
Actually, I did want to. This band could definitely be the low-pressure thing I needed. They’d been playing together for more than a year without ever performing live, so there was a good chance that I’d be able to keep off the stage for a good, long while.
I kept my answer for Brody simple so I wouldn’t sound too gung ho. “I think it could be cool.”
“In that case,” Xander said, “do you need to consult your agent?”
Brody and Taku exchanged confused glances.
“My what?” I asked.
Xander laughed and pointed at the Magic 8 Ball hanging from my belt loop. “You always carry it with you, right? If I had one, I’d want its opinion about something like this.”
My face got hot. Asking the Magic 8 Ball questions had been Isaac’s thing. But me, most days I just kept it close and fidgeted with it.
“I think it would be cool to get one of those for the band,” Taku said. “It goes well with our logo and name.”
Xander nodded. “Totally. Seth, I hope yours doesn’t tell you not to join us. I’ve always had this crazy dream of one day being part of a rhythm section that’s made up of more than just me.”
The three of them were watching me, obviously waiting for me to ask the question. So, taking a seat next to Brody, I did it. “Should I play with Scratching at the Eight Ball?”
As I turned the Magic 8 Ball over, Taku read the answer aloud. “Without a doubt.”
5:15 P.M.
I’d never really paid attention to how much drum crap Mikey collected until I was forced to start moving it on my own. I’d been so stoked when I’d left Brody’s that I’d busted on over to Studio 43 to pick up my bass and amp. Brody’s were nice, of course—nicer than mine by most people’s standards—but I prefered the feel of my Fender and was itching to get my hands on it. I hadn’t been this keyed up about music in a long time.
Unfortunately, my speedy grab-and-go plan didn’t work out. My bass was zipped up in its soft case, leaning against the wall and collecting dust right where I’d left it last year. But my amp was behind Mikey’s drum kit with cymbals, stands, and other garbage blocking it in.
I spent several minutes clearing a path. Then I wheeled my amp to the middle of the room and got to work putting everything back in some kind of order. Just as I was finishing, Jared, Mikey, and Daniel walked in. An hour earlier than their usual rehearsal time.
“Dick, I knew you’d come crawling back,” Daniel said, grinning. “I knew it.” Then he turned to Jared. “We can call off that Craig guy, right?”
Now I was going to make everyone all pissed off at me again. Total buzzkill.
Jared was glaring at me. “In or out, Seth. You can’t be changing your mind like this all the time.”
“I’m not,” I said, quickly. “I’m here to get my stuff out of your way.”
Daniel’s smile turned to a scowl. Jared sent more dirty looks at me.
“Don’t worry about it, Seth.” Mikey threw his jacket over the back of the couch. “You can keep your shit here. It’s not like we need that section of wall for anything.”
I shrugged. “I think I’ll just take it anyway.”
Daniel stalked over to the minifridge and pulled out a beer.
“Don’t be like that,” Mikey said to me. “Just because you quit the band for now doesn’t mean you have to clear out for good. We don’t hate you or anything.”
“Speak for yourself,” Daniel said between gulps from his can.
Jared crossed his arms over his chest. “All I have to say is that you’re not taking that amp anywhere. We’ve got a guy coming out here to audition any minute, and I already told him he can use our stuff if he ends up joining us.”
“That’s great,” I said. “He can use your stuff. But the amp is—and always has been—mine.”
I gathered up my cords and strapped my bass over my shoulder. Maybe I could get this all out to the Mustang in one trip and drive away before this conversation really went to shit.
Daniel spoke up then. “What do you need the amp for? Why can’t you leave it here?”
They were all looking at me, waiting for my answer.
I hadn’t expected to be having the “I Joined a New Band” conversation this soon. In fact, I’d been hoping like hell to avoid it until they’d found my replacement and had things under way. For a second, I considered keeping the truth from them and just using Brody’s amp for a while. But Daniel was my friend. I wasn’t going to be a dick and lie to the guy. “I had another music thing come my way, so I’m going to try it out,” I said.
I braced myself for their reactions.
Mikey stood there looking shocked.
Jared headed out of the storage unit without another word.
And Daniel?
Well, he threw his beer at me.
The good news was that Daniel’s aim sucked, so the can slammed full force into the wall next to me instead of my face. The bad news is that it kind of exploded on impact.
I stood there with beer dripping from my hair and clothes while Daniel paced a small patch of cement floor. “What is up with you? All you’re doing is screwing everything up for me lately.”
Maybe I should have argued or tried to explain my side. I was just so tired of it, though. And it wasn’t like he cared what I had to say. “I’m sorry, dude,” I said.
“Fuck you, dude.”
And then he walked out.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30
7:37 A.M.
Fourteen days later. Taku and I finished our zero period math stuff early, so I had time to kill before my first class. Just as I was putting out my hand to get Rosetta’s attention down t
he hall, Carr Goodwin shoved past me. He made his way over to Rosetta, holding out a ridiculously huge bunch of red and white flowers for her. In a voice loud enough that I could hear him even over the morning hallway noise, Carr said, “Roses for my Rosetta!”
His Rosetta? This was news to me.
During the two weeks since I’d joined up with Scratching at the 8 Ball, Rosetta and I had been sitting together in IC class almost every day, talking between classes, and had even met at her country club driving range once. The phobia curing was going nowhere, but I was getting the feeling that things with us were leading somewhere.
Rosetta looked from the roses to Carr’s face. Then she bit her lip, took the bunch, and held it like a baby against her. Carr ran his fingers over his preppy-boy hair, probably to make sure his hairline hadn’t receded farther in those few seconds. He started talking—rambling, from what I could see—and when he shut up, he raised his eyebrows like he was waiting for an answer. Rosetta nodded slowly and tipped her face forward to sniff the flowers.
My mom once told me that girls like it better when guys give one rose instead of a dozen, but I couldn’t see how that would be true. Single roses come from lazy, poor jerks like me. I mean, you can get a single rose at the gas station when you’re filling your tank. Or even at, you know, stupid school fund-raisers. Big, fancy bunches like what Carr brought had to be planned out in advance and shit. And, loser that I was, I’d never thought to do something like that.
Rosetta started talking. From where I was standing, I thought she looked like she was being sort of stern, but it was hard to tell because Carr was grinning and giving his stupid Carr laugh the whole time. He pulled an envelope from his jacket and gave it to her all businesslike.
My view was blocked as Kendall came straight toward me. Just what I needed right now.
“What are you doing two Saturdays from now?” she asked.
I leaned to see past her. Rosetta was trying to hang on to all those flowers and rip the envelope open at the same time while Carr stood there.
Kendall waved her hands in front of me. “Focus. Right here,” she said, gesturing at her own face.
I forced myself to look at her for a second. “Two Saturdays from now? I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
Now Carr was talking again while Rosetta frowned at the card in her hand. I wondered if he was upsetting her. If I should go over and casually interrupt.
“Perfect,” Kendall said, clapping her hands. “We’ll go to the homecoming dance together.”
“What?”
“My dress is red, if that helps you plan. And don’t worry, I won’t wear heels that make me tower too far over you. Do you want to drive or should I?”
I shook my head. “Kendall, I’m not going to any dance.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?”
She pouted. “We’re supposed to be nonenemies, but you totally suck at it. You don’t return my calls. You never want to hang out.”
I had no idea where this was coming from. No one had told me she’d been calling or wanting to hang out. Not that I would have been interested anyway, but still. “This isn’t about you. I’ve been hella busy.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration, either. I’d been spending all my time sitting in class, working at the car wash, keeping up with my homework, playing music in Brody’s dungeon, staying away from Daniel, and making time for Rosetta. For once, my avoidance of Kendall was unplanned.
“Prove it.” Kendall put her hands on my shoulders. “Show me you’re serious about being my nonenemy by taking me to the dance.”
There was no way. No way. My brother and our friends had taken chicks to a few dances over the years, but I hadn’t bothered to go to one since middle school. I’d never heard of a single good thing happening at a dance.
“I can’t,” I said, pushing her hands off. “Besides, you know you’d have a better time with someone else.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, lover.”
And then she walked away.
Whatever indeed.
After she was gone, I glanced back toward Rosetta. Carr had taken off, and Rosetta was opening her locker, so I headed over.
“If those roses are for me,” I said, coming up behind her, “I have to say, you shouldn’t have.”
Laughing, she turned to face me. Such a nice change from moody Kendall.
“That’s what I told the person who gave them to me,” she said. “Can you give me a hand?”
I helped her force the flowers into her locker. When she slammed it shut a second later, some fern stuff was sticking out the door. “Good old Carr,” I said. “What’s he up to?”
Rosetta leaned against her locker. “Oh, just bringing me flower arrangements almost as big as I am. Writing disturbing notes. The usual Carr stuff, I guess you could say.”
I didn’t know this was “the usual Carr stuff.” Since our semiargument about Vicki and Brody, Rosetta and I hadn’t talked about any of her friends. Or my friends either. And whenever we hung out, it was only the two of us—which was exactly how I liked it.
Rosetta handed me the envelope he’d given her. “Read this. Tell me what you think.”
So I read.
Dear Rosetta,
You probably don’t realize that these flowers are symbolic, but they are. Red and white roses represent unity and togetherness, which is exactly what you and I should have. You’ll understand long before I’m president and you are the first lady. I have big plans for our future. You’ll see.
All my love,
Carr
P.S. How does a Rolls-Royce limo sound?
I didn’t know what Rosetta expected me to say, so I went with “Huh.”
“Creepy, right? But Carr thinks he’s being charming. I’ve told him I like being his friend, I like golfing with him, but that’s all it’s going to be. I don’t know what else I can say without being rude.”
“Maybe you should add ‘telling Carr off’ to your personal challenges list,” I said, trying not to let on how much I liked the idea.
“I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
I didn’t want to be uncool, but I had to ask. “What’s the Rolls-Royce thing about?”
“Oh, it’s Carr’s idea of a great ride to the homecoming dance. He asked me to go with him back when he was still acting normal. I’m kind of regretting saying yes now. Especially since I told him that I want to meet him at the dance, but he won’t give up on the hired car idea.”
Even though she didn’t seem to be looking forward to it, it bugged me that she’d agreed to go with him. I didn’t even want to think about what it could mean. “I can help you solve your Rolls problem in time for the dance,” I said. “I’ll borrow a van and get a bunch of guys together. When you’re out walking somewhere, we’ll pull over and grab you. You’ll be so freaked out about being abducted, you won’t care that you’re inside a motor vehicle. See? Instant motorphobia cure.”
As far as jokes go, it wasn’t funny. Luckily for me, Rosetta just kind of scrunched up her nose and said, “Okay, I think you’ve given me a whole new white-van phobia with this idea. Please, please tell me you won’t try it.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She smiled big then, leaned closer, yanked the hood on my sweatshirt over my head, and pulled the strings hard so that my eyes were covered and the opening was tight around my face. “Just for saying that,” she said, “you should have to go to homecoming in a Rolls with Carr.”
There a little bit of light coming through, but I couldn’t see much. “Can’t. I’m allergic.”
She burst out laughing. “To Rolls-Royces? Or to Carr Goodwin?”
“Both. School dances, too.”
“What do you think would happen to you?” she asked, letting some of the tension out of the strings so I could see again. “Hives? Rashes?”
“I’m not sure. It could be serious though.”
“I guess we’ll never know,” I said.
8:38 P.M.
Trevor and I had just finished putting the hoses and scrubbers away at the car wash and were about to leave when Mikey said, “Seth, don’t clock out yet. I need to talk to you.”
Trevor gave me a questioning look. I shrugged in response. If I was in trouble for something, I had no clue what.
After Trevor took off, Mikey locked the door. “I’m leaving on tour in about two weeks,” he said, switching off the neon OPEN sign. “My dad’s stressing about me not being here since he’s busy with the other store and doesn’t want to have to run both on his own. And he doesn’t want to hire someone new to take over, either, since I’ll be back in six weeks.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to let on that my insides were feeling a little twisted all of a sudden. If they were going to close down the car wash until Mikey came back, I was going to be so screwed. My car was falling apart around me; I needed all the money I could get.
Mikey kept talking. “So what I’m hoping for is that between you and a couple of the other guys, we can work something out to keep things running smoothly so my dad doesn’t have to go too crazy. I’m thinking I’ll adjust the schedule so you can all pick up a few more hours to cover me. And you’ll take turns being in charge of opening and closing, balancing the register. Stuff like that. Lyle’s already trained, so I’m thinking maybe you and Ian can give him a hand.”
This idea was sounding way better than having to lose a month and a half of pay. Except for the me-being-in-charge-sometimes part.
“I suck at math, you know,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s simple addition and subtraction. Nobody’s going to make you find the square root of x divided by y or anything like that when you’re putting together the day’s sales here.” He walked around behind the counter and tapped the computer screen. “Besides, the register does most of the work for you. If you’ve got time, I can show you right now.”