Being Henry David

16

Hailey looks smoking hot when she drives over to pick me up for the Battle of the Bands that night. Smudged black lines around her eyes make them smoky and sexy, and she’s wearing this tight black outfit and black leather boots that make her look like a rock star, or maybe Catwoman. Like I said, hot.

“Hailey, you’re gorgeous.” I give her a kiss. Her lips are trembling. So are her earrings, one a red feather, the other black. “You’re going to kick ass tonight.”

She smiles and reaches over to wipe her red lipstick off my mouth. “You too,” she says. But her fingers, shiny with black nail polish, are shaking as they grip the steering wheel. She pulls the keys out of the ignition and holds them out to me with a pleading expression. “Will you drive, Hank? I’m too nervous.”

Automatically I accept the keys, but my blood turns to ice. The last time I drove a car was that day with Rosie, the day of the accident. Just the feel of the keys forces the bitter smell of brake fluid into my sinuses and I see the gray truck coming for us before the memory shuts down. I’m so dizzy I want to rest my head on the dashboard for a while, but I don’t. Forcing the memories away, I cram them into a closet and slam the door.

Today is about Hailey. I have to pull Hailey through this night before I can consider my own ruined life. So we switch seats and I get behind the wheel like everything’s cool, turn the key, put my foot on the brake, and adjust the rearview mirror. Then I turn up the classic rock radio station—some rocking tune by Aerosmith—and give Hailey a cheesy double thumbs-up to show her all is well. Then, with the car jerking forward as I remember how to work the accelerator, we drive off to school for the Battle of the Bands.

The auditorium has been completely transformed into the closest thing a high school auditorium can be to a dance club. White lights are strung everywhere, silver disco balls and stars hang from the ceiling, and a light machine sweeps multicolored beams around the room. The first several rows of seats have been pulled out and put into storage to create a mosh pit–dance floor area in front of the stage.

Two performance areas are set up, splitting the stage in half, both with drum kits already assembled, speakers, monitors, and amps all in place. All the musicians need to do is plug in and play. While one band is in the spotlight, the next band can get ready for their turn on the darkened half of the stage.

“Whoa, this is awesome,” I say.

“Duuuuudes.” A deep drawling voice comes from behind us, there’s Sam, wearing a black T-shirt with the word Zildjian across the front in white letters, his drum brand of choice. Drumsticks stick out of his back jeans pocket.

“Nice set-up, eh?” I ask him.

He sweeps the stage with a sleepy gaze and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Sweet.” The guy is so relaxed I wonder if he has a pulse. I wish he could transfer some of his laid-back calm to the girl currently cutting off all circulation to my arm.

“Hey, guys.”

I turn, see Ryan, and do a double take. He’s wearing tight white pants, a black shirt with a white tie, and shiny black ankle boots. If that wasn’t enough, he’s got a black fedora pulled down over one eye and sunglasses with red frames. The three of us stare at him, taking this all in, not sure what to say. Then Sam snorts, and we all start to laugh.

“What?” Ryan pulls off his sunglasses.

“Nice outfit,” I say.

“Dude, are you wearing makeup?” Sam asks.

“Just a little eyeliner. I borrowed it from my sister.

Come on, we’re rock stars tonight, why not look like it?” He smiles, punches me in the arm.

“Better to play like one than look like one,” I say, punching him back.

“Ah, here they are, Carpe Diem.” Ms. Coleman approaches us, clutching a clipboard. She’s wearing huge dangly earrings that look like disco balls and a silvery shirt that reflects the colored lights sweeping the auditorium. “There are ten bands playing tonight. You’re scheduled here.” She jabs a finger at her list, and we circle around to see.

“Next to the last,” Sam observes. “That’s actually a really good place to be. We’ll be fresh in everybody’s mind when they do the voting.”

“How does that work, anyway? The voting?” I ask.

“It’s based on applause,” says Ms. Coleman. “At the end, the bands line up on the stage, and the crowd cheers for their favorite band. The one with the loudest audience response wins a trophy and two hundred dollars.”

Ryan and Sam exchange crooked smiles, no doubt imagining a crowd gone wild. Would be nice. But I have my doubts.

Hailey buries her face in my shoulder. “Next to the last,” she whispers, and I know what she’s thinking. For her, the waiting will be torture. She’s got all night to be nervous.

“Make sure you’re ready to go on stage at around nine thirty,” says Ms. Coleman. Not waiting for a response, she clutches the clipboard to her sparkly shirt and rushes off.

Within the hour, the Thoreau High School auditorium– dance club is rocking with noise and lights and people, and I’m wishing Joey and Matt were here to share this with me. With Joey on drums and Matt on bass and vocals, we would’ve blown these uptight New England bands out of the water with some of our rocking original songs. Not to brag or anything, but we were pretty damn good. I wonder if Joey’s Uncle Phil actually gave our CD to that guy at the House of Blues. I wonder if his record label ever tried to contact us and I screwed things up for everybody by running away.

At about eight thirty, Hailey is in the girl’s room. Again. She says she just needs to check on her makeup, but I know she’s in there with Danielle and some of her other friends trying to stay calm. I hope it works. Even if her blood sugar is under control, she could psyche herself out so bad that the stage fright could still get her.

The band onstage is this punk group called Snapper, playing a mangled version of a Sex Pistols song. So far, none of the bands have impressed me, so I’m starting to think we might actually have a chance to win some cash. I scan the crowd, and I’m surprised to see familiar faces. Thomas, Suzanne, and Nessa. A grin on my face, I push through the crowd to get to them. I search for Jack too but don’t see him.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” I shout to be heard over the music.

“You think we’d miss this?” Thomas asks, and he gives me a hug that’s more like a pound on the back. “Although this song is causing me actual pain,” he admits. “My band used to do it. A whole lot better too.”

“I can believe that.”

Nessa looks up at me with this shine to her eyes like she thinks I’m amazing, and I won’t lie, it makes me feel really good. Dressed in a clean white shirt and jeans, without all that dark makeup she used to wear, she doesn’t look anything like a street kid anymore. Just another cute girl at Thoreau High. I don’t know how she did it, but Nessa has been able to hold on to a sweetness and innocence in spite of everything that’s happened to her. Jack seems to be suffering more than she is.

“I didn’t know you played guitar,” she says, acting shy with me.

“There’s a lot I didn’t know either when I was with you guys,” I say. “Hey, where’s Jack?”

The three of them exchange a furtive look, and nobody says anything. The blush drains from Nessa’s face, and she goes pale. Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

Suzanne clears her throat and loops an arm in Nessa’s.

“Come on, girlfriend,” she says. “Let’s see if we can go get a program.” The two of them turn toward the back of the auditorium and work their way through the crowd. Nessa glances anxiously over her shoulder at me.

Thomas stands in front of me, arms folded across his wide chest like he’s trying to protect us both. “Jack ran away, Hank.”

I must have heard him wrong. “Ran away? What happened?”

“Not long after you left with Hailey, I caught Jack rummaging through my medicine cabinet. He was stealing prescription pills. I think he took some—antibiotics probably—without even knowing what they were.”

I bury my face in my hands. “Shit. What did you do?”

“Laid into him, of course. Shouted at him, threatened him a little. Did my best to put the fear of God into him. The kid’s a junkie-in-training.”

“It’s not his fault. It’s that guy Magpie who—”

“Look, I’ve seen what drugs do to people. I was pissed, and I was really hard on the kid. I didn’t think he’d take off like that, but I can’t say I’m sorry for yelling at him.”

“But…how could he leave Nessa behind?”

“Probably the best thing he could do for her. We had a long talk with her after he bolted. She’s tired, done with running, and she wants stability. She’s going to stay with Suzanne until Monday morning, and we’ll talk to somebody in child services. Nessa is stronger than you’d think. She’s going to be okay, Hank.”

“And what about Jack?”

“That’s up to him.”

I think about Jack’s hands shaking, his bruised cheek, dark circles under his eyes. The guy is probably deep into withdrawal by now. Maybe even sick from taking too many random drugs from Thomas’s medicine cabinet. Thomas gives me a hard pat on the back. “Try not to worry about this right now,” he says. “You focus on the music. I’ll keep on the lookout for Jack.”

Snapper finishes its second cringe-worthy song, and Ms. Coleman grabs a microphone and takes the stage, silver shirt reflecting lights like crazy. “Next up, let’s hear it for Red Tide.”

The darkened side of the stage is now bathed in light, and the next band launches into a Coldplay song. This group is good, really good. Peering closely at the band members, I recognize the girl with the pink-tipped hair, the lanky lead guitarist with his cap on sideways. It’s Cameron’s band. I want them to be terrible, want to hate their music, but I can’t. The singer is good too, just not as good as Hailey.

“This group is the best so far,” Thomas says as they launch into their second song.

I shrug, not wanting to agree, even though he’s right. Yeah, but the lead guitarist is an a*shole, I want to say. When they finish, the crowd goes nuts, hooting and whistling like crazy.

“Well, I should get going for now, look for the rest of my band,” I say. “We’ll be up in a little while.”

“Okay, Hank, good luck. We’ll be here,” Thomas says, giving me another manly whack on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about anything. We’ll figure it out.”

I head backstage and Cameron is there, basking in the glow of a bunch of people who want to tell him how great he was, so I hang back in the wings, not wanting to deal with him. There’s no way in hell I’ll offer him any praise. To my surprise though, Hailey goes up to him and gives him a long, warm hug. I fight back an attack of jealousy. After all, she’s with me, not him. Right? Well, sort of.

They talk quietly, but within a couple minutes their voices rise and they’re arguing. Again.

“But I don’t want to drive into the city, Cam,” Hailey is saying. “Can’t you get somebody else?”

“I tried. I couldn’t get anybody else,” Cameron says. “Come on, Hailey. You said—”

“I know what I said. And now I’m saying you’re stressing me out. Can we talk about this some other time? Seriously, Cam.”

“But I need to do this tomorrow, Hailey. We can’t talk about it another time.”

She doesn’t need this tonight of all nights. I walk up behind Hailey and stand there like her bodyguard, glaring at Cameron until he notices me. He gives me a double take through suspicious, squinty eyes.

“Nice shirt,” he says.

I glance down. The black T-shirt from Nashville. Crap. I wasn’t even thinking when I put the damn thing on.

“Thanks,” I say. “I like it too.”

“Give it back.”

Yeah, like I’m going to whip it off right now and hand it to him. “No.”

Hailey stands between the two of us, looks ready to burst into tears. “Stop it, you guys. I can’t deal with either of you right now.”

Cameron and I cut smoldering looks at each other, but for her sake, I shrug. “Nothing to stop, Hailey. Everything’s fine.”

She closes her eyes, takes deep breaths to control the tears. “Look, I need to go to the girl’s room. Brush my hair. Whatever.” She walks away, leaving Cameron and me standing there, glaring at each other.

“Why don’t you just leave Hailey alone,” I say. A statement, not a question.

“And who are you to tell me that? I’ve known Hailey since we were in kindergarten.”

“Guess that gives you a right to bully her into driving you around like she’s your chauffeur.”

“I lost my license for that chick,” Cameron says. “She owes me.”

The next band, comprised entirely of girls with blue hair and white leather miniskirts, walks by. His gaze drifts to follow them, not that I blame the guy. But I don’t take my eyes off Cameron’s face.

“Let’s take this conversation outside,” I say. Not to beat him up, just to talk. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

He nods, leads me to a back door, pushes it open and we’re outside in a deserted courtyard. It’s a coolish spring night, but crickets are already chirping in the long grass behind the school.

“So what’s your deal, Cameron?” I ask, stuffing my hands in my back pockets so I won’t hit him. “Are you really that much of an a*shole that you want to get Hailey all upset just before she has to perform? You trying to sabotage her and have her mess up like last year just so you can prove some point?”

Cameron flinches, obviously not realizing Hailey told me the whole story, but then he regains his swagger by changing the subject. “Hey, I can prove that’s my shirt.” He jabs a finger in my face. “My name is sewn into the collar.”

I stare at him with a snort of laughter. “Oh yeah? Your mommy sews name tags in all your clothes? Is that what you’re saying? So little Cammy won’t lose his precious clothes?”

He lunges for me then, tries to pull at the neck of the shirt so he can search for his stupid name tag, but I shove him away with both hands like he doesn’t matter. Can’t get into a fight, not now, when I’m due to play guitar for Hailey in less than an hour.

Cameron comes at me, fists balled, aiming at my nose, but I dodge him, and he swings at the air. I laugh, which just pisses him off more.

Out of the darkness behind the school comes a raspy shout, and the two of us freeze. “Back off,” it says. “Or I’ll kill you.”