scratches his chin dramatically. “You know Android is going to be there, right? They’ll be majorly pissed if I give Caleb a slot. . . . Of course that does sound kinda fun. Band fights are always good for party legends, but . . . it’s gonna cost ya.”
“What.”
Ari’s smile returns, this time shading toward mischievous. “Be my date to the party.”
“Ha! No. Besides, I’ll be working with my band that night.”
Ari shrugs, letting his gaze drop to my chest again. He elbows his closest buddy to get his attention, then turns back to me and says, “Let me feel you up?”
Ari’s friends crack up, but it might just be over the terrible shrieking of some poor token female in their game.
“Did you actually just say that?”
“I did.” He grins moistly. I have actually heard females describe his lips as “yummy.” “Thirty seconds. It doesn’t have to be here. We can go to the janitor closet if you want. I’m good. Vanessa Quinn said I had the best hands in school.”
“She would be an expert,” I reply, again almost amazedby his bravado. It would be so sad not to be immune to it. “Can you please stop being so gross?”
Ari just shrugs. “Twenty seconds?”
I huff check my phone. “I’m late. And I’m right about this band. You want them there. You already know you can’t wait to see what Caleb does next, and your vile attempts at bargaining are going nowhere.”
Ari finally groans. “Okay, last offer: you do a Hakalaka Eruption with me at the party.”
“What’s that, aside from probably vulgar and most likely culturally inappropriate?”
“It’s a drink. Just have a drink with me at the party.”
I realize that I need to give him something, so he can save face. “There will be no touching.”
“I’ve still got time to change your mind,” Ari says.
“Believe what you want, but okay, we have a deal.” I allow a handshake.
Ari pulls out his phone and taps. “Just sent the invite to your school email.”
My phone buzzes, and I click to the invitation. Not surprisingly, it’s a photo of a woman’s midriff, with a coconut bra. “Where’s the info?” I ask.
“Under the coconuts.” Ari grins. I tap the photo and sure enough, the coconut coverings pop off and the set times and load-in instructions are written in curves around the flesh beneath. “Very classy,” I say, turning to go.
“I’ll tell Jason you’re coming,” Ari calls behind me. Hisfriends hiss in appreciation of this comment. I pause, consider a comeback, but I knew that was coming, didn’t I? Jason . . . just the sound of the name makes my skin crawl. Remember, this is business . After all, he would. I keep walking.
I find Caleb in the Green Room after lunch. He and Matt and Jon are at a table by the espresso machine. As I approach them, I feel a little swell of pride, or relief, or both. There’s something about a band that immediately conveys strength. Dangerheart has had only two practices and they still have no bassist and yet just the presence of the three of them together suggests potential . They’re like a secret society, and you can’t help but be curious what they’re talking about. Which is funny, because it’s no big secret what bands talk about when they are clustered together: 30 percent is have-you-heard-this-band , 30 percent concerns the deeply technical features of music gear, and the other 40 percent is girls.
The room is full of other band clusters. Guitars in laps, drumsticks out. Two kids are playing around with a theremin, making wacky frequency sounds.
As I weave toward my band, I notice the two girls getting coffees eyeing Caleb. I don’t know them, and I can’t tell if they’re gazing with interest or disdain. Some of both? It occurs to me that there’s an upside to Caleb’s summer meltdown. It makes him seem unpredictable. Passionate. These are good lead-singer qualities, as long as he can exude that without looking like he knows he’s exuding it. Then
“What.”
Ari’s smile returns, this time shading toward mischievous. “Be my date to the party.”
“Ha! No. Besides, I’ll be working with my band that night.”
Ari shrugs, letting his gaze drop to my chest again. He elbows his closest buddy to get his attention, then turns back to me and says, “Let me feel you up?”
Ari’s friends crack up, but it might just be over the terrible shrieking of some poor token female in their game.
“Did you actually just say that?”
“I did.” He grins moistly. I have actually heard females describe his lips as “yummy.” “Thirty seconds. It doesn’t have to be here. We can go to the janitor closet if you want. I’m good. Vanessa Quinn said I had the best hands in school.”
“She would be an expert,” I reply, again almost amazedby his bravado. It would be so sad not to be immune to it. “Can you please stop being so gross?”
Ari just shrugs. “Twenty seconds?”
I huff check my phone. “I’m late. And I’m right about this band. You want them there. You already know you can’t wait to see what Caleb does next, and your vile attempts at bargaining are going nowhere.”
Ari finally groans. “Okay, last offer: you do a Hakalaka Eruption with me at the party.”
“What’s that, aside from probably vulgar and most likely culturally inappropriate?”
“It’s a drink. Just have a drink with me at the party.”
I realize that I need to give him something, so he can save face. “There will be no touching.”
“I’ve still got time to change your mind,” Ari says.
“Believe what you want, but okay, we have a deal.” I allow a handshake.
Ari pulls out his phone and taps. “Just sent the invite to your school email.”
My phone buzzes, and I click to the invitation. Not surprisingly, it’s a photo of a woman’s midriff, with a coconut bra. “Where’s the info?” I ask.
“Under the coconuts.” Ari grins. I tap the photo and sure enough, the coconut coverings pop off and the set times and load-in instructions are written in curves around the flesh beneath. “Very classy,” I say, turning to go.
“I’ll tell Jason you’re coming,” Ari calls behind me. Hisfriends hiss in appreciation of this comment. I pause, consider a comeback, but I knew that was coming, didn’t I? Jason . . . just the sound of the name makes my skin crawl. Remember, this is business . After all, he would. I keep walking.
I find Caleb in the Green Room after lunch. He and Matt and Jon are at a table by the espresso machine. As I approach them, I feel a little swell of pride, or relief, or both. There’s something about a band that immediately conveys strength. Dangerheart has had only two practices and they still have no bassist and yet just the presence of the three of them together suggests potential . They’re like a secret society, and you can’t help but be curious what they’re talking about. Which is funny, because it’s no big secret what bands talk about when they are clustered together: 30 percent is have-you-heard-this-band , 30 percent concerns the deeply technical features of music gear, and the other 40 percent is girls.
The room is full of other band clusters. Guitars in laps, drumsticks out. Two kids are playing around with a theremin, making wacky frequency sounds.
As I weave toward my band, I notice the two girls getting coffees eyeing Caleb. I don’t know them, and I can’t tell if they’re gazing with interest or disdain. Some of both? It occurs to me that there’s an upside to Caleb’s summer meltdown. It makes him seem unpredictable. Passionate. These are good lead-singer qualities, as long as he can exude that without looking like he knows he’s exuding it. Then
Similar Books
