Devin’s eyes flared. “Me? Why me?”
Cody snapped his fingers in front of Devin’s face. “Because I could do it like that, just like I broke it off with my last girlfriend—what’s her name?”
“Debbie.”
“Whatever. But you’re always straddling the fence like it’s a hot girl. You never even would have asked Cheryl out if I hadn’t threatened to tell her you were ready to stalk her. I could’ve had her, too, you know, but I didn’t, as a favor to you. But your wussiness, man, it’s in your face, it’s in your voice, it’s in your music, and if we’re going to get anywhere, it’s time to step up! Testify!” Cody put his hand on Devin’s shoulder. “Look, I’m only telling you what an asshole you are because I’m your friend. I don’t want this to be a game anymore; I want it to be my life, and if you want something to be your life, you have to be willing to risk your life for it, right?”
Devin stood there, unable to speak. Cody shoved him gently backward, then headed for the door. “And you better get out of your lame moodiness and start writing more kick-ass songs, man. We’re hot. People are watching. Time to stop being a poser.”
The door opened and Cody disappeared into the light and sound beyond, leaving Devin among quiet crates and cardboard boxes. That feeling of not being quite a part of things came over him again, hard and heavy. He was watching himself, watching himself, watching.
Cody was right about Karston. Was he right about Devin? Cody was all fire. His father, a former textile worker, had been unemployed for years. Now Cody had a mean-streets rut to rebel against, and no future to look forward to except retail. What did Devin have to overcome? A comfy bourgeoisie life in a million-dollar pre-fab home, so cookie-cutter it was called a McMansion, with a flat-panel TV and Dad’s SUV to truck the band around in? What was he? What was his life? Where was his fire?
No one’s pure, my love…
What was that? A poem? A nursery rhyme?
A song?
Oh yeah, the lullaby his grandma used to sing. It seemed to come out of nowhere to tickle the back of his head the way her hand used to. The few words and notes came to his mind easily, but the rest refused to form. There were angels in it and some kind of monster that took away bad kids. Bad kids like Cody. Was that why Devin was so lame? Because deep down he was still obeying his grandma? Ha.
The line tumbled about in his mind, repeating. Devin rolled it around his head, trying to imagine it with a backbeat. Then it was gone. He put aside the fractured bit of memory for later use, then tried to figure out just what it was he was going to tell Karston. Best to get it over with fast, if he could.
Sighing, he stepped out into the throbbing sounds of the dance floor. A DJ spun house music while the next band set up. As Devin walked along, some people he didn’t know looked at him admiringly. An older girl, maybe a college girl, smiled at him hungrily.
So this is what it’s like to be in the band. Cool.
He smiled back, bemused, detached, until Cheryl grabbed him by the arm and pulled him onto the dance floor.
As he danced with her, smelling the shampoo in her hair that mixed with the smell of her sweat, he cast some nervous glances in the direction of the soon-to-be-former bassist. Karston, of course, was having the best night of his pathetic life. It looked like any girl who couldn’t get near Cody because he was flailing too wildly on the dance floor had zeroed in on One Word Ben and Karston. The poor guy looked awake and happy for the first time in his life, ever.
Devin couldn’t knock him off his perch, not like that. He’d never have this much attention again. No one at Argus High even spoke to the guy. Even Devin only started talking to him because they were next to each other in Bio, and he felt bad for him. Then he made the stupid mistake of mentioning he wanted to start a band.
He couldn’t fire him right now.
He caught a glimpse of Cody at one of the small tables, his hands moving quickly as he spoke to two older kids. They weren’t from school, and they definitely weren’t in college. Cody was sitting back in his chair, a stupid grin plastered across his face as the other two talked to him. He actually looked nervous. One kid was steady, too calm, like a statue. The other was tall, but there was something wrong with his shoulder. It kept twitching. When the twitchy figure tilted, the image of a razor on the back of his leather jacket came into view.
Cheryl noticed Devin stiffen. “What’s the matter?”
The Slits. Cody was talking with two members of the worst street gang in Macy. They dealt drugs, ripped off stores at gunpoint, even got into a little loan-sharking.
Oh. Was that where Cody got the money for the new axe?
“Nothing,” Devin said.
Couldn’t be. Even Cody wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with that crowd.
Was he?
If you want something to be your life, you have to be willing to risk your life for it, right?
Of course he was.
2
Moonlight flashed over Cody’s bleached white hair and ruddy face as he curled up in the passenger seat like some exotic animal. Devin dutifully maneuvered the SUV on the thin road out of town toward the more rural area where Cody lived with his father, stepmother, and five brothers and sisters.
Devin stayed silent, hoping he could remain that way. After about ten minutes, a light rain started falling, misting the black finish on his lawyer-dad’s SUV.
Finally, Cody said, “Didn’t do it, did you?”
Devin shook his head. “It’s a bad move. Where would we get another bassist?”
“Ben. We’ll move him over from keyboards.”
“He doesn’t play bass.”
“He will. And he’ll be better than Karston. He’s got all that stuff hardwired from those piano lessons Mommy forced him to take since he was five. Guy’s a total robot, but he’s our robot.”
“And where are we going to get a bass?”
“Borrow Karston’s. He’s not going to be using it.”
Devin’s voice frog-hopped an octave. “You want me to fire him and ask him to borrow his bass? You psychotic bastard.”
“I’m not a psycho, dude, I’m a sociopath. He’ll do it. He’ll do it just to be near us.”
Devin shook his head. “I do not believe you. You are a piece of work, Cody. You know his mother’s a major bitch on wheels—she’s like Mrs. Hannibal Lecter, totally abusive. She screams at him. She hits him. We’re all he’s got.”
Cody made a face. “Yeah, and my mom was an alcoholic before she slammed into a nice thick pine tree doing sixty on a side street. Boo hoo hoo. It doesn’t change the facts. He can’t play. You love him so much, get rich and then send him to freaking college, so he can learn a useful trade. We’re either serious or this is a game. I’m serious. I’m waiting to find out where you are. So where are you?”
They were driving on a low road surrounded by thick forest. A small car zoomed up behind them and started tailgating. Devin could hear the steady boom-boom of its car speakers mix with the swish of his wipers.
“Damn,” Devin said. The road was slick and he didn’t want to speed up, so he pulled to the shoulder and let the car pass. Two girls gave him the finger as they drove by.
Cody laughed. “Big shot rock star!”
Devin had nothing to say to that.
When his laugh faded, Cody leaned his forehead against the window and looked out at the darkness flashing between the tall trees, uncharacteristically contemplative. He let out a deep sigh.
“Okay. I got kicked out of school,” he said. “Permanently. I don’t need it. I know where I’m going and it doesn’t involve algebra.”