It’s been a week since Becca’s disillusionment at the studio. She’s still trying to get over it by listening and relistening to our whole discography. I’m at my locker, getting my copy of a rare import Crossfire CD she wanted to borrow, when some guy appears next to me.
“Hey, you Desert McGraw?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Dude, your dad’s band used to be really hot, like when my grandfather was in elementary school.”
No, wait. Is he serious? Is he seriously standing here, insulting me to my face, thinking I haven’t got any feelings whatsoever? “Really?”
“Yeah, man.”
“Then that would make him the youngest twelve-year-old to ever have children to bear a scummy little punk like you.”
He stands there, biting his lower lip. Five feet away his slightly smarter buddy chides, “Bro, you asked for it.”
What a great way to start the day. I walk away without another word.
Liam waits for me outside Smig’s class every day now that Becca hangs out with Hoochie most of the time, making me walk alone to class. He leans on the wall, leg bent at the knee, looking very James Dean.
“What happened, babe?” Babe, that’s new. “Bad hair day?” He thinks he’s being funny. Great, just the kind of support I was hoping for.
I head past him to the classroom. He pulls my arm back. “Sorry, Des. You okay?”
“Fine. Just some jerks getting on my back about my dad.”
“Who?” Liam glances down the hallway, searching.
“I don’t know who. Remember, I’m new here.” Why, does he want to beat them up for me? That’d be kind of chivalrous and cool if he’d do that. “Just some idiots after homeroom. Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I worry.”
“Don’t.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Why?” I’ve been wondering this for a while now. “Why do you care so much about me, Liam?”
“What do you mean?”
Let’s see, what do I mean? “I mean, why do you care so much about me?”
He looks around, turning up his palm. “You wanna talk about this now? The bell’s gonna ring.”
“Yeah, that stupid bell always telling us what to do. You’re right. Forget it.”
“No, wait. Okay,” he begins, trying to think up a response to this impromptu question. “The first day I saw you, when you came in, and Smigla called your name, you looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Then you got defensive and shot everyone a dirty look. At first I thought you were just in a bad mood, but then I found out who you really were, and I felt bad for you, that you had to do that. That must suck.”
“So that’s it? That’s why you’re with me? Because you feel sorry for me?”
“That’s not what I—” He reaches for my face.
I push his hand away. “Well, I don’t need your pity. Give me any other excuse. Tell me you think I’m nice, have a sweet ass, anything, I don’t care, but don’t tell me you feel sorry for me.”
“Jesus, all I meant was…”
“Honestly, I thought you’d say because I make you laugh, or you think I’m smart, or I’m likable.”
“Likable?” He snorts. “You make that difficult.” He turns on his heels and enters the classroom.
Nice. Thanks, Liam. Thanks. So now I’m not likable.
Becca rushes up. “Everything okay?”
“No, everything’s not okay.” I shove the CD into her hands. “Liam’s mad at me.”
Becca’s become immune to my ranting. She leans in, hand resting on my shoulder. “Why? What happened?” Finally some genuine concern.
“Nothing. He thinks I’m unlikable.”
“No!” Her hand flies up to her mouth. She’s also picked up the art of sarcasm from somewhere.
“All right, just forget you all,” I say, starting into class. If this is how my friends are gonna treat me…
“Desert, look, Liam had a bad night last night, okay? Did you even ask him about it?”
No. Not really. The thought didn’t even cross my mind. Pausing at the door, I shake my head. “That doesn’t give him an excuse to—”
Becca cuts me off. “You’re incredible, you know that? His dad started a drinking binge a few days ago that ended with him acting like king of the goddamn universe last night, cursing, screaming at everybody, breaking things. And you know Liam, he watched it all happen without a word. So he’s no doubt looking forward to seeing you, and all you give him is crap?”
Who is she, all high-and-mighty Protector of the Brotherhood? What the hell? You know, who needs this garbage? But then, I remember.
I do. I need this garbage.
I need Liam, and I need Adriana, and I better go apologize. Not just because of the article, but hell, because Liam’s a great guy. Fine, I’ve been stupid.
Ms. Smigla’s talking to a student, a quiet argument about a missing homework assignment. She could easily take all morning convincing the kid of the relevance of cinquains to our lives. I take advantage at Liam’s desk.
“Hey, sorry,” I say stupidly.
He jiggles his pen, the point making little dots in one spot on his paper. “It’s all right.” Without looking up.
“Liam?” I wait for his eyes to meet mine. “I’m sorry. Seriously. I didn’t know you had a bad night. I’m sorry I didn’t even ask.”
“You know, you didn’t even let me finish.”
“Sorry!” How many times does he want me to say it?
“What I was going to say out there was the fact that the words you wrote that day—pleading, crying, trying to connect, those—they struck me.”
They struck him? Okay. “Why? They were just about fans at a concert.”
His eyes scan my face. Those eyes with the ability to make my stomach leap. “Were they?”
I think about this. For about two seconds. “Okay, Dr. Freud, whatever. Liam, don’t read into it. They were just words.” Yeah, okay. I don’t ever write just words. I always choose them carefully. Always.
“If you say so. Regardless of what you think they meant, they made me feel something…for you. That power came to you easily.”
“Power?” Has he been talking to J. C. and the New Age fairies who follow him around?
“Yes, that was the whole point of the assignment, remember? To create a powerful message? You did it easily, and what’s more, you even did it so that we each took different meanings from it. That’s good writing. I liked that about you.”
Oh. “Is that a good enough reason?”
I guess so. I nod, smiling. “Thanks, Liam.”
“And something else,” he says.
“What?”
“You have a sweet ass.”
After school Liam and I kiss, deep and long. I’m really glad we didn’t get into a full-blown fight. When he finally leaves, he winks my way as his brother pulls out of the parking lot. Me, I really don’t feel like going home today. There’s some weird vibes going on over there with my dad, Mom, Marie, and everything. I don’t really want to be a part of it.
So I hang out by the front of the school, near the bus stop. Underneath a big ficus tree I sit. People I don’t even know walk by saying hi to me, waving politely, hoping I’ll say hi, then trying to control their enthusiasm if I do. I feel famous, even though I’m not. I’m not! I haven’t done anything special, ever!
Suddenly Jessie, the hoochie-mama, is next to me, taking the liberty to sit for a little chat, like she’s known me her whole life.
“Desert, what’s up?”
Definitely not that hair. Or those chains. “Hey, Jessie.” I almost called her Hooch for a second there.
“Who you waiting for?” She smacks her gum.
“Nobody in particular. Becca left already?”
“What? Oh, Becca. Yeah, said she had to go home. Probably to play guitar. Weird, right?”
“No. Why would that be weird?” Good, I’m glad I said it.
“I dunno. All that guitar playing she does, like she’s gonna make it big or famous or something like that, right?”
Again, no. Let’s cut to the chase. “Can I help you with something?”
She smiles, then slides her tongue across her lower lip. Gross. “Oye…”
And you thought I was stereotyping.
“Listen, is there any way possible, you know, that maybe some of my friends and me, we could, I dunno, meet your dad in person?”
Isn’t this lovely.
“Why?” I ask.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”
“Yes, why? It’s a legitimate question, no?”
Her face suggests I’m in need of some serious adjustments. “Because your dad’s Flesh, right?”
Oh, my God! She’s right! I should have known that!
“Look. Jessie. I don’t really bring people home to meet my dad. He doesn’t like it. He’s actually very…shy.”
“Really?” Her head tilts, totally not what she was expecting.
“Yeah. People think he’s all cool, you know rock ’n’ roll and beat the system man, all that crap, but he’s really into bubble baths.”
“’Scuse me?” Any sexual attraction she had for the guy is now busted. Good, one less person he needs yearning for him.
“I know. It’s shocking.”
She stares at me, through me. Anyone home?
“And cats,” I add.
“Cats?”
“I know. Please don’t tell anyone, okay? It would be so humiliating if everyone found out.”
Please tell everyone. Everyone you meet, so they’ll leave me the hell alone.
I wander the Grove for a while before going home. Finally, around four, I slip the key into the door, amble to our great room, and find my dad—my workaholic dad who stops at nothing, sitting on the couch, fighting tears.