Blake nods.
“Rod,” says Clarissa, and I can tell from the way she says my name that this is going to be a very serious conversation that I’m not going to enjoy. “Mel and I have been talking.”
“When?”
“When you went to the restroom after the show.”
“So what…I can’t go to the restroom anymore without you talking about me?”
“You’re already missing the point.”
“What is the point?” I ask.
Mel leans forward, at least as much as he can because he is wearing a seat belt. “For starters, we’re no longer going to accept any help from Blake.”
Did I hear that correctly? Are they severing ties with Blake instead of me? Did they realize that this whole nightmare is his fault?
“Huh?” says Blake. I don’t mind that he said another word. He can say, “Huh?” as often as he wants.
“It wouldn’t be fair,” says Mel. “He’s your cousin, and we can’t in good conscience let him continue to find us gigs, all things considered.”
“What things considered? What are the things?”
Mel and Clarissa both sigh.
“Are you kicking me out of Fanged Grapefruit?” I ask.
“We were thinking more that the band should take a break,” says Clarissa.
“A break? A gosh-darn, flipping break?” (I do not say “gosh-darn” or “flipping.” I’ll let you substitute other adjectives as you please.) “You guys can’t kick me out of the band! Where’s my due process? There’s no Fanged Grapefruit charter that gives you the right to get rid of me! No! I won’t go!”
“It’s a majority vote,” says Clarissa.
“Well, I vote against it.”
“Yeah, okay, we figured that you would, but it’s still two to one.”
I violently shake my head. “I don’t accept this! We created Fanged Grapefruit together! We practice in my garage! I wrote the best verse of the fish and popcorn song! You do not get to kick me out! I refuse to leave!”
“We thought you might feel this way,” says Mel quietly. “If that’s the way you’re going to act, we can’t kick you out. So Clarissa and I are officially quitting Fanged Grapefruit.”
“You can’t quit on Clarissa’s behalf!”
“I quit,” says Clarissa.
“Oh, really? You quit, huh? What are you going to do? Form your own band?”
“Yes,” says Mel.
“It’d better not be called Fanged Grapefruit!”
“It won’t.”
“It’d better not be called anything like Fanged Grapefruit! It’d better not have any references to teeth or fruit!”
“We can’t promise that,” says Clarissa.
“And you’d better not use any of the other names that we rejected! I’ve got a list! I’ll know!” I bellow over the rumble of the engine.
“We don’t like any of those names,” says Mel.
“And you can’t play punk rock!”
“Of course we can play punk rock,” says Clarissa.
“Well, you can’t play any of the songs I wrote! Those are my intellectual property!”
“Everybody contributed to every song we play,” says Mel.
“Then nobody gets to play any of them!”
“Why not divide them up?” suggests Blake.
“I didn’t give you permission to speak again,” Clarissa tells him. “This is between us.”
“I want you both to pay your share of the rent from the time we spent practicing in my garage,” I say, though I’m aware that this may be an unreasonable demand. “And it’s time you started chipping in for gas.”
“We chip in for gas all the time,” says Mel.
He’s right. They do. Clarissa paid for the fuel we’re using at this very moment. “No, you don’t,” I say because I’m not in the mood for truth.
“We understand that you’re upset,” says Mel. “But I hope you understand our decision.”
“I don’t. You both suck.”
“Fair enough.”
“Kick me out of the band if you want,” I say, “but I call the right to burn all the Fanged Grapefruit merchandise.”
“You can burn it,” says Mel, “but you can’t record the fire and post the video online.”
“Yes, I can. That would be the whole point of doing it.”
“No. We don’t accept those terms.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll burn it for my own pleasure.”
“We’re okay with that.”
“I’m not,” says Clarissa. “Someday we’ll wish we still had those stickers and shirts. You can burn your third of the merchandise, but I’m keeping my third.”
“Actually, yeah, I’m keeping my third too,” says Mel.
“You’re not allowed to profit from it,” I say.
“We don’t want to profit from it,” says Clarissa. Or Mel. Does it even matter at this point which one of them is speaking? “We want to keep the stuff as souvenirs.”
“Souvenirs of the time you stomped on my heart!” I proclaim. “So if you’re ever sitting around thinking that you’re a good person, you can look down at your Fanged Grapefruit T-shirt and see that you’re not!”
No! Another tear is forming! I try to blink it away before it gains momentum, but I think it’s too late. The tear rolls down my cheek.
I glance over to see if Clarissa’s noticed, and a tear rolls down Clarissa’s cheek.
It’s hard to tell because it’s dark out and I’m looking at his face in the rearview mirror, but I think a tear rolls down Mel’s cheek as well.
Yep, we’re three punk rock musicians, weeping. How charming.
I have no girlfriend, and I have no band. He did it. I don’t want to be melodramatic, but Blake has successfully ruined my life.
25.
I sort of wish that Mel and Clarissa had waited a few hours to kick me out of the band. We’ve still got a long drive together, and it’s going to be ridiculously uncomfortable. Maybe they were worried that I’d kick them out of the car. Or maybe they were worried that I’d accuse them of waiting until we got home to do their dirty work just so I wouldn’t kick them out of the car.
My prediction is right though. The drive home is ridiculously uncomfortable. It’s late, and we have school tomorrow. I’m sure that Mel and Clarissa would like to get some sleep, but they both stare out the window. Maybe they feel too guilty about sleeping while I’m driving. Or maybe they don’t dare sleep in a car with an angry driver. I don’t know. We’re
