by Jeff Strand
She walks over to Blake. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Audrey.”
“I’m…Cousin.”
“Nice to meet you, Cousin.”
“Blake.”
“Cousin Blake, right. Rod told me all about you.”
Blake opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound emerges. A trickle of sweat runs down his forehead.
“Yes, this is Blake,” I say. “He was just offering me a dollar fifty to get him a glass of lemonade.”
“I’ll do it for a dollar and a quarter,” says Audrey with a smile. “So what’ve you guys been doing?”
“I’ve been loading half of those boxes into a truck to be taken to storage, while Blake here paid somebody to move the other half. You sure can’t accuse him of worrying too much about what other people think of him.”
Audrey frowns at me. “Be nice.”
“I’m at maximum niceness,” I say. “Hey, Audrey, you look parched from your bike ride. Would you care for a glass of cold, refreshing lemonade?”
She continues to frown at me. If anybody deserves frowns, it’s Blake. But she hasn’t seen that I’m justified in being extremely rude.
“I’d love a drink,” she says. “Can I get you something, Blake?”
Blake opens his mouth again but still doesn’t speak any words with success. I’m pretty sure he’s fallen madly in love with her. Too bad for him. I win this round.
9.
Blake never did successfully communicate whether he’d like Audrey to get him another glass of lemonade, though I think she took his slack-jawed silence as a yes. As we walk inside my house, she frowns at me yet again.
“What’s your deal?” she asks.
“What’s my deal?”
“That’s whose deal I was asking about, yes.”
“Were you not listening to our conversation last night? He’s like some mad scientist’s experiment to create the world’s worst human being.”
“That’s no excuse for your behavior. This isn’t like you,” says Audrey.
“That’s because my usual personality was developed by not being around Blake. I guarantee that if you’re around him for long, you’ll become three hundred percent ruder too.”
“Maybe. But he just arrived. You should try to work things out.”
I shudder. “Those are the most chilling words you’ve ever said. And I totally get what you’re saying. I’ve tried to be nice, but he is awful back.”
“Why would he want this to be awful?”
“I don’t know! The workings of his mind would require an army of psychologists to figure out! Half of them would run away screaming! The dude doesn’t make any sense.”
“Do you want me to beat him up for you?”
“Yes, please.”
Audrey grins. “That was a joke. All I’m saying is…don’t make this harder for yourself.”
“I won’t,” I say. “Maybe he lives in a place where wild chimpanzees are always jumping down on him from the trees and clawing at his head, and now that he’s in a chimpanzee-free zone, he’s so confused that he doesn’t know how to behave.”
“That must be it.” Audrey rolls her eyes.
“Unless he’s, y’know, the devil.”
“I feel like the devil would have higher aspirations.”
“I’d think so too, but who are we to judge?”
I pour Audrey a glass of lemonade.
“Are you going to let me bring him one?” she asks.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I’m completely on your side, but maybe a peace offering from me will help smooth things over.”
“It’ll probably make him jealous. ‘Argh! She’s beautiful and smart and she brings lemonade to guests? I can’t handle it! I can’t handle it!’” I wish I could say that I did a dead-on impression of Blake, but it’s actually not very good.
“I’ll go out on a limb and say that me bringing him lemonade will not send him spiraling into jealousy over our relationship.”
“I dunno,” I say. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rank his verbal abilities after he saw you?”
“Three. He did eventually produce sound.”
“He was entranced. Which you should definitely take as a compliment, but watch that he doesn’t try to steal locks of your hair.”
Audrey takes a drink. “Is he gonna get suspicious that it’s taking us so long?”
“Maybe. I don’t really see him as a ‘get up to investigate’ kind of guy. He’s more like a Sherlock Holmes who waits for the criminals to walk into his office and confess.”
“You did say he took down all your posters and put up his own. That’s not lazy.”
I shrug. “Fair enough. But I’m not incorporating him into my social life. He’s going to be like Neptune’s moons. You know they exist, but they aren’t an important part of your daily life.”
“Neptune has fourteen moons,” says Audrey.
“Fourteen?” That Audrey knows this is another reason why my girlfriend is awesome…even if it sorta disproves my point.
“Despina, Galatea, Halimede, Laomedeia, Larissa, Naiad, Nereid, Neso, Proteus, Psamathe, S/2004 N 1, Sao, Triton, and Thalassa.”
“Did you do those in alphabetical order?”
“Yes.”
“How did I not know that you could rattle off all fourteen of Neptune’s moons in alphabetical order?”
“I don’t do it very often.”
“Wow. We need to use those in a song.”
“They’re hard to rhyme.”
In case you think I’m an inattentive boyfriend, I knew that Audrey was really intelligent and that she had a head for facts and figures. I didn’t realize she was an astronomy wizard too. We’ve only been together for about three months, which may be why I am always learning new details about her. I don’t think I shared that timeline before. I didn’t want to overwhelm you with exposition too early, but it’s possible that backfired and you thought we’d known each other since kindergarten, in which case I definitely should’ve known that she could name all fourteen moons. Remind me when we get to a slow part, and I’ll do a flashback about how we met.
“I forgot how we got on this subject,” I say.
“You were saying that eventually, you wouldn’t remember if Blake exists or not.”
“Right. He’ll be like Home Alone 5. Was there a Home Alone 5? Maybe, maybe not. Somebody has to know, but it’s not me.”
“I have no idea how many Home Alone sequels there were,” says Audrey.
“Then it’s a perfect metaphor.”
“Okay, I won’t bring him lemonade.”
“Good. I’m not trying to deprive him. He can have all he wants. He can drink lemonade until he looks like a giant yellow balloon. He just has to get it himself.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“Do you want to see a neat trick?” I say.
“Sure.”
“All we have to do is stay inside. He’ll sit out there until he’s dying of thirst before he gets his own lemonade. It’ll be funny!”
“It sounds mean,” says Audrey.
“If letting my cousin dehydrate is mean, I don’t want to be nice.”
“Actually, based on what you’ve said, he’ll have it delivered. We’ll go back out there and he’ll be sipping a frosty beverage with a paper umbrella that makes what we’re drinking look like bathtub water.”
“Blake’s a fan of bathtub water.”
“Drinking it?”
“No. I mean, I hope not. Ew. Why did you put that image in my head? I thought you cared about me.”
“I think you’re thinking about this way too much,” says Audrey.
She may be right. You can definitely make an argument that I’m pettier than I was twenty-four hours ago. (Did he really just g
et here yesterday? Feels like it was seventeen years ago, and I’m only sixteen.)
“Yeah, I probably am,” I admit. “But watch. He won’t come in and refill his own glass under any—”
The door to the garage opens, and Blake walks into the kitchen. “Hi,” he says, going over to the refrigerator. He takes out the pitcher of lemonade, and he refills his glass. He takes a long drink and then pours more to top it off. “Mmm, delicious,” he says, putting the pitcher back in the refrigerator.
It’s definitely in the top five most frustrating times I’ve watched somebody pour themselves a drink.
“See you guys outside,” says Blake, leaving with a wave.
“He did that on purpose,” I tell Audrey. “You think I’m wrong?”
“I mean, uh, I don’t think he poured the lemonade on accident.”
“He knew I’d tell you that he wouldn’t do it, so he did it to make me look stupid.”
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe. Definitely. He knew I was in here saying that he was a jerk, so he behaved like a normal person on purpose. Now I look like the jerk. I look unhinged, right?”
“A little.”
“See?”
“Do you think it’s possible that—and bear with me on this line of logic—he was simply thirsty?”
“I know he was thirsty! What I’m saying is that…”
I trail off because I realize that I will not look back on this conversation with pride. If I want to keep Audrey as my girlfriend for more than three months, I need to calm down.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was on an inflatable mattress, and I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Why did you get the—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I can’t let Blake turn me into a twitchy person. That’s his role, not mine. I’m a well-adjusted kid who works out his problems through his music.
The door to the garage opens again, and Blake walks back into the kitchen, holding an empty glass. “There’s nothing better than a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day, am I right?”
“You’re right,” I say.
“This was freshly squeezed, wasn’t it?”
“Nope. Powder.”
“Well, whoever added the water and stirred really knew what they were doing. Nobody likes gritty lemonade.”
Audrey giggles. I think she mistook his obnoxious comment for an attempt to be amusing.
Blake pours himself another glass. “How long have you two known each other?” he asks.
“Three months,” says Audrey. (Okay, I guess I didn’t need the exposition earlier in the chapter.)
Blake nods his approval. “That’s an exciting time in a relationship.”
I’m pretty sure that the closest Blake has ever come to a romantic relationship involves awkward conversations with girls over the punch bowl at school dances, but I don’t say anything.
Audrey puts her arm around me. “Nonstop excitement.”
Wait. Was she being ironic? Surely, she wasn’t being ironic. Her tone sounded slightly ironic, but I must have misheard. No way was she being ironic.
“I can tell by the vibe between you two that you’re perfect for each other,” says Blake. He chuckles. “I look forward to my wedding invitation.”
Audrey also chuckles.
I do not chuckle.
“Rod said you were great, and I totally see it. You two make sense. You fit.”
“Well, thank you,” says Audrey. “I agree.” She gives my shoulders a squeeze.
He’s not looking at her in a creepy manner or anything, but still, I don’t like Blake complimenting my relationship with my girlfriend. I’m ready for him to go back outside now.
“I hear that Fanged Grapefruit is amazing,” says Blake. “I can’t wait to be in the front row at their next show.”
“There isn’t actual seating,” I say.
“Standing up front then.”
“Sorry,” Audrey tells Blake. “He’s being pedantic.”
One thing I like less than Blake complimenting my relationship with my girlfriend is my girlfriend apologizing to Blake for my being pedantic, even if I was. Next she’ll say she’s attracted to guys who have posters of rats on their walls.
I want to make sure that Blake knows he isn’t welcome at a Fanged Grapefruit show, but this is not the time. Instead I smile politely. (Which is difficult. My face really doesn’t want to contort into a smile right now. It takes a lot of muscle control to make it happen.)
The two of them keep talking and laughing. I consider it a personal victory that I don’t throw back my head and let out a bellow of primal anguish. Why am I the only one who can see the real Blake?
10.
Wow. Chapter ten. I honestly thought I’d have a nervous breakdown before we got here.
I can’t bring myself to provide a transcript of Audrey and Blake’s conversation in the kitchen, but let’s just say they got along perfectly well. It’s not like I started to think he was going to steal my woman, but I guess I’d hoped she’d dislike him as much as I do.
The torture ends when Mel and Clarissa arrive. (Recap: Mel = lead guitar. Clarissa = drums.) Clarissa’s mom is heavily tattooed and has several face piercings, so it’s always odd to see her drive up in a minivan with four kids in the back. I help Clarissa unpack her drums. If Blake offers to assist, I will bash a cymbal over my head, but he doesn’t.
I introduce Mel and Clarissa to Blake. They’re both considerate enough to look like they don’t really want to meet him, though that could be my wishful thinking.
We set up in the garage. Blake goes inside the house, which makes me happy, but then he comes back out, which makes me sad. He sits back down in the lawn chair. There’s a notebook on his lap. I do not know its purpose. I assume I will not like it.
“Mind if I watch you guys practice?” asks Blake.
Mel and Clarissa shrug. Okay, fine. Audrey is hanging out to hear us play. Blake’s welcome to watch as long as he doesn’t interrupt.
“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll warn you right now. We’re noisy.”
“Yeah, we are!” says Mel with pride. “Noisiest band in the state!”
“Scoot your chair into the garage,” I tell Blake. “I have to close the door so the neighbors won’t complain.”
“And so we don’t shatter windows for a six-block radius,” adds Clarissa.
We have never actually shattered a window, except for one time when a drumstick flew out of Clarissa’s hand, but we like to think of our music as being so intense that it could generate a giant sinkhole if we don’t take proper precautions.
“Sounds amazing,” says Blake, bringing the lawn chair into the garage. He sits down again as I press the button. The garage door closes like a curtain. That’s right. Fanged Grapefruit rocks so hard that the curtain closes instead of opens before we begin playing. For the safety of the audience, of course.
The bottom of the garage door hits the cement with the sound of thunder (in our minds).
“Which song first?” asks Mel.
“How about ‘Poison-Tipped Daffodil Man?’” I suggest.
I count us down, and then we launch into the song, which goes:
He’s a poison-tipped daffodil man!
A poison-tipped daffodil man!
A poison-tipped daffodil man!
Better not give him a hug!
There are eight more verses, all with similar impact. Ma Conklin didn’t raise no braggart, but trust me, we sound amazing.
“‘The Night I Drank Way Too Many Blue Raspberry Slushes,’” Clarissa suggests.
“Last night!” I sing.
“A bad night!” Mel and Clarissa sing.
“I said last night!”
“A very bad night!”
“I drank one!”
“O
ne!”
“Two!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
“Three!”
“Four and five!”
“Four and five!”
“Six, seven, and eight!”
“Six, seven, and eight!”
“Nine, ten, eleven, twelve!”
“Nine, ten, eleven, twelve!”
“I drank twelve blue raspberry slushes!”
“Twelve slushes!”
“And then I drank one more!”
“One more!”
“And I realized,” I sing. “Oh yeah, I realized.”
“He realized. Oh yeah, he realized,” Mel and Clarissa sing the chorus.
“I realized, just last night that thirteen—yeah, thirteen—thirteen blue raspberry slushes…” Big finish here. “…was too many blue raspberry slushies to drink!”
At an actual performance, we stick out our tongues to show that they’re all blue, but there’s no reason to do that in rehearsal.
Mel and Clarissa’s harmonizing was off a bit, so we do that one again. Then we switch to “I Love You So Much I’d Blow Up the Moon.” We’re still tweaking the lyrics on that song, but it’s the tender story of a girl whose love for a boy is so strong that she’d destroy a celestial body for him if he asked. He does ask. In the end, the girl learns that (A) it’s extremely difficult to blow up the moon, and (B) if a boy asks you to destroy the moon to earn his love, he’s not worth the trouble. We have to rework the lyrics because, after all, she did make the offer in the first place, so our theme is a bit muddled.
We’re also still adjusting the melody and arrangement, so we go through it several times, stopping and restarting, altering our performance each time. Blake is busy writing in his notebook.
We spend about half an hour on this song. We’re not one hundred percent satisfied with the results by the end, but we all agree that it’s time to move on to “Godzilla Burned My Yoga Pants.” We’ve got that one down pretty well. Then it’s on to “Mr. Dentist, Drill My Teeth but Leave the Rest of My Skull Alone.” (My mom doesn’t like this song. It’s not autobiographical. As I’ve mentioned before, I floss and have good oral hygiene, so I haven’t had a lot of cavities.) During this song we play the prerecorded sound of a whirring dentist drill in the background, which makes the audience cringe, but that’s why we’re punk rock and not gospel.