god’s green hell you’ll ever make it there on your own
. I imagine the facade of the main building at SAIC melting in front of me, like it’s part of a Salvador Dalí painting.
I shake my head to dismiss the image. “Well, I signed up for a class yesterday,” I say. “If that’s okay.”
“Summer school? Yeah, sure. Get a head start. Took it outta the school account?”
“Mm-hm.”
Technically, I could write myself a check out of the education expenses account and run off to Chicago, Santa Fe, L.A., wherever, but that feels messed up. Like, unfair. Gotta say, though, on those nights when he and Mom are clawing it out in the living room, it doesn’t seem quite as unfair after all. And after this crap with Jenn, my (ahem)
future
with Mike is about the only thing keeping me here. I guess I just wanna see where it’s all gonna go. That, and I’d run out of money after about a semester in Chicago.
“Math? Science?” Dad asks.
Leave it to my accountant father to be all practical and junk. I’m not convinced he wasn’t sort of relieved I couldn’t go to SAIC.
“Intro to Art.” It’s a mixed-media class, painting and drawing. Good place to start.
Dad squints at me. “You need that?”
“Prerequisite. Well, elective prerequisite, anyway. For my major.” Which, strictly speaking, is undecided, but’ll have something to do with—drumroll!—
art
. Duh.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do great.” He sits on the bed and pulls on his shoes.
“Going out, huh?” I venture. Obviously he is, but I want to see what he does with it.
“Oh, you know, just for drinks, throw some darts,” Dad says.
“What’s Mom doing?”
He laughs softly. At what, my naïveté? “That’s the million-dollar question, kiddo.”
“Well, don’t drink and drive,” I say.
Dad gives me a mouth click and shoots me with his forefinger and thumb.
With that touching expression, I walk down the hall and through the kitchen. I hear the TV in the living room; Mom’s out there alone. God, couldn’t they just go on a
date
sometime?
I head out to DC without telling either of them where I’m going or when I’ll be back.
Damage Control is this huge box of a building, two stories tall, with this awesome old redbrick exterior. I grab a parking space three rows from the entrance; the lot’s pretty full.
I pay the cover and slide into a dark hallway that opens up into one gigantic room. Onstage, this band Black Dot Society—or BDS, as we
in the know
like to say, because we’re pretentious punk jerks—is setting up their gear, but Nightrage’s trademark red bass drum is at the back of the stage, and their guitarist is fiddling with an amp.
There are no tables or chairs on the ground floor except in back by the bar. A flight of steel stairs climbs along one wall, leading to a balcony surrounding the dance floor in a U-shape.
I don’t see Mike anywhere.
The place is almost at capacity, but the houselights are on and it’s pretty easy to see everyone. If he was here, I’d see him. Bathroom? Not here yet?
Big F’ing joke on me? Discuss.
I mean, he didn’t use the word
date
. Maybe people don’t use that word anymore. I keep telling myself that.
I notice someone waving boa constrictor arms at me fromthe balcony. It’s Gothic Rainbow’s singer—Hobbit. (Clever.) He’s sitting at a table with the other two band members. Brook and Eddie? I climb the steps and head over to them.
I run through the list of questions for the band that I meticulously planned for tonight. I figure my best bet is to be chill, not act all groupie. Guys like to talk about themselves, Jenn has advised. And she should know. For one second, I really wish she was going to be here to help me not look like an ass.
“Hey!” Hobbit goes as I reach the table. “You’re Zero, right?”
“Truer words were never spoken,” I say, sitting.
The guys give me a laugh. Well, it’s a start. Brook and Eddie introduce themselves to me, but we don’t
. I imagine the facade of the main building at SAIC melting in front of me, like it’s part of a Salvador Dalí painting.
I shake my head to dismiss the image. “Well, I signed up for a class yesterday,” I say. “If that’s okay.”
“Summer school? Yeah, sure. Get a head start. Took it outta the school account?”
“Mm-hm.”
Technically, I could write myself a check out of the education expenses account and run off to Chicago, Santa Fe, L.A., wherever, but that feels messed up. Like, unfair. Gotta say, though, on those nights when he and Mom are clawing it out in the living room, it doesn’t seem quite as unfair after all. And after this crap with Jenn, my (ahem)
future
with Mike is about the only thing keeping me here. I guess I just wanna see where it’s all gonna go. That, and I’d run out of money after about a semester in Chicago.
“Math? Science?” Dad asks.
Leave it to my accountant father to be all practical and junk. I’m not convinced he wasn’t sort of relieved I couldn’t go to SAIC.
“Intro to Art.” It’s a mixed-media class, painting and drawing. Good place to start.
Dad squints at me. “You need that?”
“Prerequisite. Well, elective prerequisite, anyway. For my major.” Which, strictly speaking, is undecided, but’ll have something to do with—drumroll!—
art
. Duh.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do great.” He sits on the bed and pulls on his shoes.
“Going out, huh?” I venture. Obviously he is, but I want to see what he does with it.
“Oh, you know, just for drinks, throw some darts,” Dad says.
“What’s Mom doing?”
He laughs softly. At what, my naïveté? “That’s the million-dollar question, kiddo.”
“Well, don’t drink and drive,” I say.
Dad gives me a mouth click and shoots me with his forefinger and thumb.
With that touching expression, I walk down the hall and through the kitchen. I hear the TV in the living room; Mom’s out there alone. God, couldn’t they just go on a
date
sometime?
I head out to DC without telling either of them where I’m going or when I’ll be back.
Damage Control is this huge box of a building, two stories tall, with this awesome old redbrick exterior. I grab a parking space three rows from the entrance; the lot’s pretty full.
I pay the cover and slide into a dark hallway that opens up into one gigantic room. Onstage, this band Black Dot Society—or BDS, as we
in the know
like to say, because we’re pretentious punk jerks—is setting up their gear, but Nightrage’s trademark red bass drum is at the back of the stage, and their guitarist is fiddling with an amp.
There are no tables or chairs on the ground floor except in back by the bar. A flight of steel stairs climbs along one wall, leading to a balcony surrounding the dance floor in a U-shape.
I don’t see Mike anywhere.
The place is almost at capacity, but the houselights are on and it’s pretty easy to see everyone. If he was here, I’d see him. Bathroom? Not here yet?
Big F’ing joke on me? Discuss.
I mean, he didn’t use the word
date
. Maybe people don’t use that word anymore. I keep telling myself that.
I notice someone waving boa constrictor arms at me fromthe balcony. It’s Gothic Rainbow’s singer—Hobbit. (Clever.) He’s sitting at a table with the other two band members. Brook and Eddie? I climb the steps and head over to them.
I run through the list of questions for the band that I meticulously planned for tonight. I figure my best bet is to be chill, not act all groupie. Guys like to talk about themselves, Jenn has advised. And she should know. For one second, I really wish she was going to be here to help me not look like an ass.
“Hey!” Hobbit goes as I reach the table. “You’re Zero, right?”
“Truer words were never spoken,” I say, sitting.
The guys give me a laugh. Well, it’s a start. Brook and Eddie introduce themselves to me, but we don’t
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