Sounds vibrate through my body and my feet force me up and down with the beat of the drums. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a security guard throw himself at a few kids in an effort to stop the moshing. He was unsuccessful just like the guards before him. He must be new, I thought, because all the normal workers at this venue have given up entirely, as the mosh pits are always growing, and never do they cease. Just the way I like it.
I jump higher and wave my arm harder, hoping to catch the eye of that gorgeous bassist towards the back of the stage. I don’t expect him to notice me, engrossed in the music as he usually is, but to my surprise, he looks my way, gives me a nod, and even in the dark shadow his face was hidden in, I can see his beautiful green eyes glisten. “He’s absolutely perfect,” I whisper.
Ryan Beckett: musician, victim of a broken family just like me, high school junior, amazing kisser, mine. It’s been four months since we started dating and I still can’t get over the fact that someone like me can attract someone like him.
It was November, and the new cold was less than welcome. I had known Ryan since second grade. We were never friends, just occasional forced partners on school projects.
My friends had dragged me down to the theater downtown after hearing a local band was playing. I thought I had better things to do with my Friday night-physics homework, my fave! Ha. Ha. The lights didn’t faze me like they do now, and the loud music gave me a ‘noob headache.’ That’s what all the workers said, after they finished laughing at me.
I was in the middle of sweating to death in the mosh pit my friend, Rachel, dragged me into when all the music stopped and everything went black.
The soothing voice of the hottest kid to walk the planet awoke me; Ryan shouted, “Paige! Holy shit…Paige!!!” The sound awoke me and the worry in his voice surprised me.
I wasn’t sure which happened first-me loving this place-the music, lights, sweat and all, or Ryan lifting me up by my shoulders and giving me the best hug I’d ever received once he saw my eyes open.
For the rest of the night, he was worried that I would faint again even though I told him otherwise; Ryan didn’t leave my side until he dropped me off at home. My friends didn’t seem to care that I totally ditched them, probably because they knew how gorgeous I thought he was. We talked about everything from the music I listen to (I used to listen to it very quietly, but after that night, the louder the music, the more content I was with everything else) and the music he listened to, and our tastes in music were very similar. We talked about our families, and why each of us live in one-parent households. We discussed what colleges we were considering. Basically if it was anything of importance, it was involved in Ryan and my conversation that night.
Right as we were pulling up to my ordinary one-story yellow house in Ryan’s gorgeous sky blue mustang (he told me it belonged to his father before it became a royal piece of shit, and when his mother left, they started fixing it up), we were talking about Ryan’s band and how they were trying to get gigs pretty much anywhere, because they want to actually go somewhere. “Yeah, Jake-you know Jake, right? – has been trying to negotiate with the owner of the Echo and have him let us play a set every month, in exchange for some work around there for free. Turns out one of the bands that were booked for next Tuesday night cancelled, so he told us if we painted over all the writing in the bathrooms, we could play at 9:45. Hey, you should come! It’s gonna be epic.”
To be completely honest, I was confused. I should’ve just been thinking that it was just a casual invite, to try to get his music out there. The thing about Ryan Beckett, though, is that his eyes have so much love and sympathy and everything else that’s great about the universe glowing inside of them, even when he’s pissed off. So, I decided to do a little test. “Aw, I wish I could. That sounds like a whole lotta fun, and you guys are awesome. I saw you that time that you played at the school dance last year. But…I don’t think I’ll be able to get a ride.” Okay, I thought, if he offers me a ride, it’s a date. If he doesn’t, it’s whatever.
I watched his eyes drop from mine back to the road, and resisted the incredible urge to slip my hand into his, laid across the stick shift in all its smooth perfection. “Wow, that sucks. I was kinda hoping you could go.” I thought I heard it wrong, but nope. He kept going. “May-maybe…I…c-could take you? I mean I have to be there early to set up and I do really want to see the other bands…but I could pick you up here and then bring you home after.” He was nervous. I think that’s what I loved the most out of that whole thing. I made Ryan Beckett nervous. I couldn’t get over it.
Needless to say, I went. I had an amazing time. I fell in love with the Echo Theater again, even more so than the night that led to that night. I moshed for the first time in my life. I got sweaty and gross and bruised and my hair got messed up and my make-up ran everywhere. I looked hideous, but I adored every minute of it. I got a kiss that night. Not my first, but definitely my best. I don’t even remember how it happened, but it was indescribable.
When ------‘s set was over, I ran backstage through the purple velvet curtains and met Ryan by his bag and case. I watched and admired as his arm muscles flexed when he lifted his bass into the case and zipped it up. So fucking hot! I thought, as I often do when I’m around him. I usually tell him, too, when we’re not surrounded by random groupies for the next band, and then he laughs and kisses me harder and harder every time. “That was exhilarating. The crowd gets bigger and bigger every night! I can’t believe we’re actually getting this far. You know, before you got here Jim told us we’ve got gigs at least twice a month until June. I’m so freaking happy!” He embraced me with a giant hug as soon as his hands were free, and lifted me up as I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders.
Since Ryan and I aren’t so crazy about the band going on now, we decide we’re going to head back to my house. So what do two teenagers do on a Friday night when the girl’s mom is out of town? They make popcorn, watch a few comedies, and play Monopoly. What else? Okay, so that’s not really what we did. Well, we did play Monopoly. It’s each of our favorite game, and we are constantly trying to beat each other. But after that, we maybe went into my room and made out. Just a little.
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On Monday, during the bus ride home from school, I spent the first five minutes observing the actions of Blake and Amber Rollins. Honestly, they’re the most obnoxious set of twins I have ever encountered. Say one of them had to be thrown off a bridge and you had to pick one to save; you’d pick Blake, but then hope that he’d be stupid enough to try to save Amber. I mean, sure, Blake’s a freak, but he’s definitely not as messed up as Amber. Yikes.
I got home and threw myself onto my bed, just in time to feel my phone vibrate in my jeans pocket. I learned to keep my cell on silent: freshman year Rachel happened to text me during chemistry when I had forgotten my phone was still in the normal ringing mode. Ahh, detention, what great memories.
I didn’t even get a chance to say hello when I answered, because Rachel had already gotten into a deep one-sided conversation about this bitch at our school, Erica, and how she apparently called Rachel a slut just because she hooked up with Erica’s ex-boyfriend, Mark. Talk about drama. Well, I guess that’s high school. The thing is, I thrive on drama. Call me a creep, but it’s what keeps life interesting. I love yelling at people. I love calling people names and confronting them when they talk about my friends or me behind our backs. It makes me feel like I matter, because people care enough to mess with me.
Rachel decides that tomorrow in school, she’s going to grab Mark during lunch and make a whole big scene to be sure Erica will see them. I don’t know what she’s going to do after the grabbing of the man-whore, but what can I say? Rachel is full of plans that are organized in the beginning but completely spontaneous towards the end. And yet, they usually end up working. Amazing.
While I was doing my physics homework, I wondered if my teacher, Mr. Thompson, has a wife. I’ve never noticed whether he wears a ring or not. I couldn’t imagine he has someone, unless he met her when he was still young. To tell the truth, he’s not attractive. And I can admit when older men are hot. Like Hugh Laurie? Oh. My. God. But seriously, this guy has no life. All he does is come to school, assign impossible homework, and then gives us ridiculous quizzes after only doing useless labs in class. Rachel and I have a theory that he’s bald on the top of his head because he scratches it right after he scratches his beer belly while he’s on the couch watching TV. See, we don’t think he’s actually one of those real teachers who only owns suits and reads all the time. We think that because he doesn’t teach us anything, and because of his common name and his dark skin, he must be an illegal immigrant.
The house phone’s ringing interrupts my reading of Hamlet for English, and I’m incredibly thankful. Shakespeare’s not exactly my favorite. I answer with a cheery, “Hello?” but my smile drops as soon as I recognize the voice on the other end. Dad. What a useless blob of dead weight.
I fake the necessary “I love you” to get off the phone with him, and hope to god he won’t call again until I turn 40. He doesn’t understand that I don’t want to see his new family, I don’t want to see him, and that believe it or not, my friends and boyfriend are more important to me than him, considering what he did. I mean, when you cheat on your wife, do you really expect for your daughter to respect you the same way she did before? Some people are just completely ignorant.
After every conversation I have with my dad, I always seem to be rather bitchy, so my mom isn’t surprised when I silently put dinner on a plate and trot back upstairs. She realizes how hard this has been for me, and tries not to make it any worse. I love her for that. She’s a really great mom.
I eat slowly and wait for it to be ten o’clock. My mom has a strict sleeping schedule because of her job, so she goes to bed at 9:45 every night. And just so, every night, at 10:00, Ryan comes into my room through my bedroom window. As cool as my mom is, she’s a bit paranoid about me having boys in my room when she’s not home, at night, etcetera. So, he sneaks in, stays for about two hours, and then goes home to his ignorant drunk of a father. I’d really pity that boy if I didn’t know and love how strong he was.
The next morning was hell. I overslept and my mom had already left for work since she had a meeting at 7:30, and Ryan’s phone was dead. You know, it’s always a great morning when I’m forced to walk the 2 miles to school. And just to make my life even more amazing, it started raining about ten minutes from the school so I got a little drenched. Let’s just say my hair looked like a peacock looking for a mate.
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