Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

 

The next day passed unbearably slowly. John, of course, wasn’t at school, and Paul texted me all day about how awesome the band was. They were called The Preying Men �" get the pun? It felt like days before I was able to escape.

“You’re going to their gig, right?” Jessica asked, catching up to me as I headed for the bus.

“Yeah,” I said.

“So’re we,” Nelson said. “Pretty much everyone with a fake id is going. All the seniors will be there.”

“You guys have fake ids?” They nodded. “Where’d you get them?”

“We have a guy,” Nelson said, shrugging. “Are you going to be backstage?”

“I’ll help set up, but I want to watch, so I’ll come and hang out with you guys,” I said, trying to sound important and privileged. They weren’t impressed.

“You going to dance with Paul?” Jessica asked, nudging me and winking ridiculously. I had to bite the corners of my mouth to hold back a smile at the idea. If truth be told, I’d been dreaming about that ever since Mom had agreed to let me go to John’s house.

“Dancing’s fun,” Nelson said, “but f*****g’s funner.”

I gave him a withering look. “I’m fifteen. A sophomore. I’m not ready for sex.”

Nelson sighed dramatically.

“You’re such a prude,” Jessica said, as she always did when I reminded her of my virginity. “I had sex forever ago.”

“Me too,” Nelson said, turning dreamy. “And it was so yummy. Derrick was delicious. I’d have sex with him again in a heartbeat.”

“TMI, Nelson,” Jessica said. “And I thought you hated Derrick.”

“His personality, sure. It was like talking to a wall. But the sex was fantastic.”

“As captivating as this conversation is,” I said, faking a pleasant smile, “my bus is here.”

“See you tonight,” Jessica said, quite undeterred.

“Give Paul a kiss for me,” Nelson said as I climbed onto the bus. I heard them laughing as the doors shut.

 

…                     …                …

 

 

I got to the club a little before the band was supposed to arrive, so I leaned against the wall and chilled with a cigarette and a scowl to keep the homeless man with the sign away. As I waited, I noticed a guy about my age sitting on the curb to my right, scribbling in a notebook. Leaning towards him discreetly, I glanced over his shoulder and saw he was drawing a guitar, with incredible detail, in pen. Taking a quick peek at what I could see of his downturned face, I took in the thin cheeks, the long straight nose, and dark, slightly thick eyebrows. His dark brown hair fell in his dark serious eyes. The fingers gripping the pen were long and verging on spidery, with neatly trimmed nails. The bent elbows and knees looked sharp they were so skinny. He was slim, like Paul, but in a more wiry, skinny way. I liked him almost immediately.

“Nice,” I said, turning my eyes back to the drawing. “Are you part of the band playing tonight?”

He turned my way, squinting in the afternoon sun. I was struck by the curve of his shoulders inward, as if he were trying to protect himself. But the gaze he offered wasn’t shy or insecure.

“Uh, no. I’m waiting for a friend. I’m Benny.” He stood, closing his notebook. He seemed to tower over me, yet on second glance, I knew he was about the same height as Paul.

“Are you going to the show tonight?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah. I’m a friend of one of the band members,” I said proudly.

He tilted his head curiously. “I’m a friend of a friend. He knows I’m into guitars, so he invited me.”

“What friend?”

“Paul. Paul Hofner.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? Paul’s, like, my best friend.”

He brightened. “Really? That’s so weird.”

“Yeah, small world.”

“Do you go to our school?”

“No, I’m over at the school up on the hill, Hayward.”

“Oh.” He looked down and I knew what he was thinking: Rich girl.

“Actually, I met Paul when I was around twelve.” There was no need for him to be informed that I knew the exact date I met Paul. “Because our parents wanted us to be, like, their little protégés together.”

“Yeah? I ride the city bus to school with him. It’s how we met. We’re the only two on the bus who go to our school. We talk about music and musicians and, you know, guitars mostly.”

I smiled. His eyes lit up at the mention of guitars. I could tell they were all he thought about. In fact, he sort of reminded me of Paul and John, albeit in a less conceited, more quietly confident way.

“So I guess we’re waiting for the same person,” I said.

“We might as well wait together,” he said, smiling a genuinely sweet, though small, smile.

“Can I see your picture?” I asked, nodding to the notebook.

“Sure.” He flipped through the pages, handing it to me at the picture I’d seen before. I studied the astonishingly intricate drawing. “It’s actually supposed to be my world history notebook. As you can probably see, I’m not so good at paying attention in class.”

“You’re really talented,” I said.

“Only at guitars and only because I draw them every day.”

“You get really detailed,” I said, examining the head and fingerboard. “Do you study guitars or something?”

“I know everything about guitars,” he said, the slightest of self-satisfied notes in his voice. “I have, like, ten books on them. I look them up whenever I’m online. I have tons of posters and stuff, too.” He stopped abruptly, then laughed self-consciously. “I’m kind of stuck on them. I’d rather have a guitar than a girlfriend.”

I giggled, caught up in his effortless charisma, his endearing fawning. “Have you always liked guitars?”

“Ever since I was twelve. Before then, I was a really good student.”

“What changed?”

“I heard “Maps” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I was riding my bike past this house and they were playing it really loud. I stopped and was listening and then Nick Zinner hit that solo. I was hooked.”

“Yeah? And then, what, you stopped caring about school?”

“Basically, yeah. I lost all interest entirely.” He bit his lip. “My parents were none too happy at first.”

“Have you taken any classes on it? The guitar, I mean.”

“Of course. But like I said, I’m not so hot at school anymore,” he said shamefacedly. “I couldn’t stand learning about it. All those notes and the rhythm. And being tested really blows. It made the guitar so…uninspiring. I just skipped that class after a while and failed my way into detention.”

“You remind me of Paul,” I said, smiling. “And John, the guy I know in the band. Paul took all of one music class and gave up. And John never even tried. They just learn by ear. Do you?”

“Yeah…” He sounded somewhat uncomfortable. “Sort of. I don’t, uh, actually own a guitar yet �" “

“You don’t? Really? Why not? I thought you were obsessed.”

He blushed and it dawned on me that he there were probably money problems in his house. I could have kicked myself.

“I don’t have the money,” he said, staring me straight in the eyes despite the blush. “I just borrow a friend’s whenever I can’t stand being guitarless.

I nodded quickly and turned back to the drawing, flustered.

After a moment of awkward silence, he said, “What about you? Do you play?”

I snorted, grateful for the change of subject. “If I played the strings would commit suicide just to get me to stop.”

“Remind me to never let you touch my guitar…when I do actually get one.”

At that moment, a van and a small white Honda drove in and parked in front of us. I recognized one of John’s senior friends in the driver’s seat of the van.

“Is it them?” Benny asked.

“Yup. Are you helping set up?” I asked, sort of glad to have another outsider there.

“That’s what Paul tells me.”

“Me too.”

Benny glanced sideways at me. “Do you know how to set up?”

“Uhh, no.”

“Me either.”

We both started laughing and I could tell we were going to be friends by the time the night was over.

“Hey Meg!” Paul said, bounding from the Honda. “Have you met Benny?”

“Why, yes, I do believe I have. You are the one I’ve been hanging out with this whole time, right?”

“I am indeed,” Benny said. “Hi Paul.” He smiled affably.

“Hi. Wait till you guys hear them. They’re so f*****g awesome!”

“Please don’t tell me you told John that,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I made sure he knows he sucks.”

“Who sucks?” John asked, appearing at my shoulder.

“You do,” I said amiably.

A slow smile curved his lips. I frowned nervously. Then, without warning, he grabbed my head and leaned down, pressing his lips to my neck. A moment later, I had a brand new hickey.

“Damn right I suck,” he said happily.

“John! You a*****e!” I wailed, leaping away far too late. “You’re disgusting! What’s my mom going to say?”

He shrugged. “Wear a turtleneck.”

“I hate you,” I snarled. “I hate you too!” I yelled at Paul, who was doubled over in hilarity. I sent a glare Benny’s way. He quickly tried to hide his smile. I noticed he kept glancing at John inquisitively.

“Ready to start moving?” John asked as if nothing had happened.

“Move it yourself,” I snapped.

He put his arm around me  and actually pushed me to the van. “Now, now, let’s not be so rude.” I glared. “Come on, it was just a joke.” I pushed him away, having no intention of forgiving him. “Please, Meg, don’t be mad. It breaks my heart that you can leave me so unsatisfied. Dearest, darlingest Meg, please forgive me.” He dropped to one knee in front of me. “I’ll do anything, anything at all for your royal pardon.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so stupid.”

“Oh, and while I’m down here,” he said, taking my hands, “will you marry me?”

I rolled my eyes and tried to kick him, but he sprang away, laughing.

“Let’s set up, shall we?” he called and I followed him to the van. How did he always make me forgive him?

His band members, consisting of Jimmy Rascop, the bass player, Chris Thompson, the lead guitar, and David Savidge, the drummer, were all older than me and seemed disinclined to talk to anyone outside the band, except Paul because he held a special place in John’s eyes. And anyways, he could make a wall want to talk to him. They threw equipment and endless rolls of cords into Benny’s and my arms, then turned away with a terse, “Take ‘em inside.” Without much of an idea where they were supposed to go, we dumped them backstage and returned for more.

Benny, surprisingly, seemed able to charm everyone around him and I noticed John had taken to him remarkably well. John had never been fond of tag-a-longs, yet he treated Benny with a condescending affection. Benny, who remained slightly unsure of himself throughout, started to stare at and talk to John the same way Paul did: somewhat awed and in an “I can’t believe you’d talk to me” way. It was sickening.

After they were all set up, Paul, Benny, and I parked ourselves at a booth and watched the guys perform. Paul and I leaned back and relaxed, but Benny sat forward, gazing intently at the guitars. Glancing over at Paul, I noticed he couldn’t take his eyes off of John, who sang lead and played rhythm. They aren’t bad, really, I thought as they ran through their set for the sound guys �" which consisted of three twenty-one year olds who turned up the speakers around the room every now and then. The club was really just an underground, seedy place where all the local bad boys and their s****y girlfriends hung out and smoked endlessly.

John seemed to know his guitar inside and out, up and down, backwards and forwards. The only things he didn’t seem to know were the lyrics. He covered well, making up words and phrases that fit in where the actual lyrics went. Very clever John, but I doubted scouting managers would be impressed.

His bandmates, unfortunately, were pretty average, with no real stage presence. They had relative talent, of course, but none of John’s obvious love of playing, his drive and zeal. They just played; John was the exceptional one.

They rehearsed and tweaked for an hour and a half while the owner of the club moved around, getting everything ready for the opening. When they finished, the owner went up to talk to them. I pulled out a cigarette, handing one to Paul. Benny managed to drag his gaze away from the guitars to glance my way and I handed one to him too. We sat together, smoking and trying to see how far we could blow our smoke. I was betting we could get John to smell it and start craving one. Pretty soon, his eyes were sidling our way. Smiling, we toasted him with our cigarettes and pulled heavily on them. It entertained us.

At six we ate and I answered the third call from Mom to assure her I still lived and hadn’t lost my virginity as of yet, though not for lack of trying. She was “not amused.”

The club opened at seven. The club owner piped in music for the first half an hour. The band, plus three, waited backstage, checking their guitars and milling around nervously. Paul, Benny, and I stuck near John, who seemed to be the only one in the band with the patience to deal with us. John and patience, two words I never expected to put together. The rest of the band only ever snapped at us to get something or get out of the way; they kept tripping over us. That was hardly our fault, though, as we were just standing nearby, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Nervous?” I asked.

John snorted. “Yeah right, me nervous. That’s something that happens every day.”

“Curb the sarcasm, god,” I said. My body was tense and jittery; I had a deathly fear of public speaking and wouldn’t be caught dead on a stage in front of a crowd. I was having a hard time hiding it.

John raised his eyebrows. “Wow, somebody’s in a bad mood.”

“Shut up.”

“No need to get snippy. Just because you’re jealous of me doesn’t mean I have to take your amoral fundamentals.”

I glanced at Paul. “John just said what?”

“Amoral functions?” he said, shrugging.

“Big help.” I turned back to John. “If you’re trying to sound smart, you’re failing.”

“Meg, you’re being annoying and I want you to stop,” John commanded.

Scowling, I bowed and said, “Yes your highness.”

“Hush, I don’t want everyone to know I’m king,” he said in mock dismay. “It’ll make my poor new friend all shy and timid.” He nudged Benny, smiling and batting his eyelashes. Benny bit his lip, self-conscious but obviously happy to have John’s attention.

“Oh, you’re king now, are you?” Paul asked. “Do I get to be a duke or whatever’s the next best thing?”

“Naw, you’re not royal enough,” John said. “Benny, on the other hand �"“

“Nu-uh,” Benny said, stepping away from John.  “No way. I don’t go in for all that s**t. Kings and all that are too crazy for me.”

“Are you calling me crazy?” John asked.

“Yes, yes I am,” Benny said recklessly. I was almost impressed, except then he smiled fawningly. John and Paul smiled too and I suddenly couldn’t tell them apart. Maybe it had to do with the lighting �" or lack thereof �" but I doubted it. It wasn’t anything physical, more the way they interacted, their friendly teasing, their mischievous smiles, their I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-people-think-as-long-as-they-adore-me attitudes, their endless, exasperating charm. If I hadn’t been desperately in love with Paul, I might’ve been taken with Benny �" not John, who was too s****y for me, but Benny had sweetness seriously deficient in Paul and John. But he had nothing on Paul’s smile. Benny was nice, he would’ve made any girl a great boyfriend, but he was a little too wholesome, too sincere. Paul oozed coolness and maturity and tons of experience. Even his eyes, his heavy-lidded, innocent, big-eyed glances that turned my heart upside down, veiled the boundless stores of knowledge I was sure he could tap into.

But I digress.

When they finally got onstage, I left Paul and Benny backstage and joined the crowd of drunken, energetic high school kids mixed in with the usual crowd of high nobodies and their equally high girlfriends who’d claimed the Vault as their own. They were all too high, drunk, or self-centered to notice John’s mess ups, but they were plentiful. All I could do was laugh, though, because he covered his a*s very well.

Pushing through the dancers, I searched for Jessica and Nelson, trying not to separate the couples who were grinding on each other, but it was hard because we were all packed in tight and everyone was up on everyone else. I started for the bar, thinking that was where Jessica would want to begin her night. Glancing back, I caught sight of John, guitar in hand, singing onstage. He seemed so natural up there, so comfortable and in control. It was so clearly where he was meant to be, where he was most in his element. I watched, captivated by the smile always in his eyes, the delight constantly on the edge of his gaze. Jimmy had a solo and John stepped back from the mic. He stood back, just letting his fingers spin and wheel across the strings, his left hand stroking the frets. He did it without even thinking, as if it came naturally to him, as if he was born knowing how to do it.

Suddenly, standing there amongst all those people lost in the magic that was John on a guitar, I felt strangely out of place, like an intruder on something I had no understanding of. Just looking at John up there, you knew he was going somewhere, turning into someone important. He had the talent and, what was more, the passion that it took to make it. I saw it then and there. Music wasn’t a hobby for him, or even a job; it was his life, his beloved. He would be more devoted to his guitar than to any girl in the entire world. And, seeing that, I couldn’t help feeling shallow, trivial in comparison to such astounding fidelity. What did I have that was so vitally important? John, Paul, and very likely Benny would be caught up and ensnared by music, but what about me? All I had was my huge crush on Paul. That was the extent of my dreaming: a boyfriend. Where would I fit in with the three of them?

“Meg!”

Snapping out of my despair, I turned to face Jessica and Nelson, who were pushing through the crowd towards me.

“Hey,” I called, forcing a smile.

“God he’s hot, isn’t he?” Jessica said.

“Who?”

“John,” she said. “I saw you staring at him.”

“Are you falling for him too?” Nelson asked. “Are you going to bang every hottie in every school around here?”

“Shut up, I was admiring his playing. You know, the thing he’s doing with his hands?”

“Well, I think he’s hot,” Jessica said, admiring him openly. “Think he’d go out with me?”

“No,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her. “He’s, like, eighteen, a whole three years ahead of you. Besides, you’re not his type and he’d choose the band over a girl any day.”

“Hm, I feel so much more confident about myself now,” she said, folding her arms indignantly.

“Please, like Meg could knock you off your pedestal,” Nelson scoffed. He leaned towards me. “So what’s up? Where’s your knight? Your chocalety-delectable princeling?” He licked his lips teasingly. I pushed him away, wrinkling my nose.

“Gross, Nelson, you’re disgusting.”

“I bet she’d have her mouth all over him if she could,” Jessica said, giggling.

“You’ve been drinking,” I accused.

“Der, that’s what you do at a club, drink and party,” she said, tossing her head. I noticed the guys around us turning in her direction, checking her out on the sly.

“Are you thirsty?” Nelson asked, holding out his beer. I took it, drinking down a long swig.

“Don’t let me get drunk,” I said. “I can’t afford the headache tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” Nelson said, toasting me and taking a drink.

“By the way, where is your prince charming?” Jessica asked.

“Backstage, staring at the pretty things that make the music. And worshipping the wonderful invention called rock and roll.” I rolled my eyes.

“Ugh, men are so ignorant,” she said.

“Hey, I resent that,” Nelson said.

“Yes, because you’re the shining example of a man,” I pointed out.

“Too true,” he said, lifting his chin proudly.

“P***y,” Jessica said. Nelson smirked. “Come on, I’ll dance with you.” She grabbed my hand and the three of us moved to the middle of the dance floor.

I forced Paul out of my mind for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

...                 …      …

 

 

 

 

            “That was so cool!” Paul crowed as the band packed up. Despite the time (three in the morning) we were all pumped up and running purely on the dregs of our adrenaline from the night. Paul and I were dancing on the deserted dance floor, spinning giddily and laughing insanely. Benny stood nearby, turning his head back and forth between us and the guitars being carted away in their cases, a faintly glowing cigarette between his slender fingers. There was a serious shadow to his gaze that I didn’t expect, but I was growing used to how different he could be from Paul and John.

            “Aren’t they amazing?” Paul said, spinning me around. “God, wait till the talent scouts check them out.”

I laughed breathlessly, more caught up in his sweet smile than the thought of John’s band doing well.

            “Are we going to get some help or are they just going to keep pretending they’re drunk?” Jimmy muttered.

            Paul threw an irritated glance in Jimmy’s direction. I laughed at the look on his face. He brightened instantly.

            “We are drunk!” he shouted. “We are so f*****g drunk!”

            Benny snorted derisively. Paul let go of me and darted to him, pulling him onto the dance floor. Benny let him, complaisantly allowing Paul to decide where he went and we all three spun around, giggling and drained and in desperate need of a meal.

By the time the band was ready to leave, my eyes felt sore and grainy, but I didn’t think I could fall asleep. I linked arms with Paul as we left the club, and when I stumbled �" I’d drunk more than I’d planned �" Benny caught my other arm. I leaned on him and the three of us waltzed outside, laughing and teasing each other.

            John volunteered to drive the van. Paul, Benny, and I piled into the back with the instruments. We drove to each of the band member’s houses, where they unloaded their instruments in turn, said an amiable “See you later” to John while simultaneously ignoring Paul, Benny, and me, then disappeared into their houses. The van wasn’t John’s legally, but he helped pay for gas and the four of them shared the car equally. He was taking it home that night, so we stayed in it and moved on to Benny’s house. I was sorry he wouldn’t be joining us at John’s house. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I felt unusually comfortable around Benny. As he headed to his house, I waved a brief goodbye, hoping he’d be around more often and distract me from my crush on Paul.

            At John’s house, we all settled into John’s bedroom, where they’d hooked up the amps. I waited on John’s bed while they plugged in and tuned their guitars.

“Ready?” John asked, blowing on his reddened fingertips.

“Been ready for hours, get a move on,” I complained, grinning.

            “Ooh, with an attitude like that…you’ll probably get whatever you want. ‘Take Me Home’,” John said and he started playing, Paul jumping in almost immediately. They jammed for several hours, making things up whenever they ran out of songs and singing mockingly about how kind and loving I was. I could have killed myself when Paul sang Frank Sinatra songs at my feet. It was hard to concentrate on rolling my eyes when he looked so adorable. Damn those hormones.

Near six-thirty in the morning, we were all exhausted, the excitement of the night having worn off hours ago. We all camped out on the living room floor and as John drifted off, Paul leaned over.

“Isn’t he cool?”

“John?” I mumbled. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “I think he’s really amazing. Different from the guys in my school. Are they made different in your school?”

I forced my eyes open and gazed blearily at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a crush on him.” I closed my eyes again.

I waited for his come back, but instead, he stayed quiet. I peeked at him from over my arm. He was lying on his back, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Paul?” I murmured. He turned his head, smiling.

“I don’t have a crush on John, thank you very much.”

“No? You sure about that?”

“Of course. Wanna know why?”

“Okay, why?”

“Because I think we’re set up to get hitched.”

We both stifled our laughter, mine slightly more forced due to the anguish I was going through internally. S**t.