Blake falls asleep just fine. And he begins snoring.
“Poke him,” I tell Mel. “He doesn’t get to snore in my car anymore.”
Mel jabs Blake in the side. Blake pops awake. “What?”
“You were snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Then you were talking in your sleep in a foreign language that sounds like snoring.”
Blake closes his eyes. “I’ll try to be quieter.”
“No, you’ll stay awake,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because if I drift into the opposite lane, I’ll need you to shout a warning.”
“Can’t Mel or Clarissa do it?”
“I’m telling you to do it.”
“All right, all right.” Blake opens his eyes. “You’re mad because everything you’ve worked for is gone.”
“Maybe there was some confusion,” I say. “Your talking privileges are still revoked. If I don’t drift into the other lane, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
“But—”
“Mouth closed.”
Blake doesn’t say another word. Neither does anybody else. Every time I peek at him in the rearview mirror, Blake looks very pleased with himself. I kind of wish I’d let him sleep.
• • •
We arrive at Clarissa’s house. I want to say, “Unload your own drums, hag!” but that would be needlessly impolite. She gives me a hug when we’re done, but I don’t return it. I let my arms dangle.
When I drop off Mel, he mutters, “See you at school tomorrow.” I want to say, “Not if I see you first!” but that’s weak and too jovial. I could also point out that it’s already tomorrow and that I’ll see him at school today, idiot, but that also doesn’t reach the level of devastating wit that I require. Instead I settle for says, “Kay.”
Blake leans forward. “I’m not sure if you want me to stay in the back so you don’t have to be near me or if you want me to move up to the front seat so you don’t look like my chauffeur.”
“I don’t care where you sit.”
“I’ll stay in the back then.”
“No. Sit up front. I’m not your limo driver.”
(I’ll admit it. Whatever choice Blake made, I’d have demanded that he do the other one.)
Blake climbs into the front seat. “I hope we’re not mortal enemies.”
“Oh, we are so mortal enemies. Remember how I used to pretend to tolerate you? Those days are over. From now on I will only look at you with disgust.”
“Then these next four months aren’t going to be very pleasant for either of us.”
“Four? What do you mean four?”
“Haven’t you heard?”
“No. What? What? What?”
“My parents have extended their cruise.”
“What?”
Blake grins. “Just kidding.”
“You don’t get to joke around with me! We’re enemies! Enemies don’t have playful banter!”
“My mistake.”
Mel walks out of his house and over to the car. “Is something wrong?” he asks. “I looked through the window and saw that you were still here, so I wanted to make sure that everything’s okay.”
“It’s fine. Go back inside and start thinking up new band names.” I back my car out of his driveway and go home.
• • •
Any day at school in which you literally get no sleep the night before is going to be a rough one. But word of the destruction of my band has traveled fast. This is, of course, not long after word traveled fast about my breakup with Audrey.
If it was only the Audrey thing, there could almost be a silver lining. Sorry to hear you broke up with Audrey. So you’re single now, huh? I heard your show at the Lane went really well. But when you get kicked out of your own band for incompetence, that silver lining goes bye-bye.
Not that anybody flirted with me last week. Maybe the ladies were waiting a respectable amount of time before they pounced.
I fail a history quiz. No, the teacher doesn’t grade it on the spot, but when you leave half of the answers blank, it’s not a good sign.
In gym I’m not paying attention, and I take a volleyball to the head. It’s not as bad as a baseball or a bowling ball, but it’s enough to knock me off my feet. Enough to make me kind of woozy. I refuse an offer to go to the nurse because I’ve been the subject of too much discussion already. I don’t want kids laughing about how I had to go to the nurse because I got bonked on the head by a volleyball.
In biology I’m so intent on ignoring Audrey that I spill a full dissection tray on my pants. (Despite the misery of my life right now, I want to be fair and make it clear that we do more in this class than just slice up dead organisms. The timing is purely coincidental.)
As I step out into the hallway after the final bell, Blake is standing nearby with a group of friends. They’re all smiling and laughing as if they don’t have a care in the world. Oh, look. One of them just high-fived Blake. It’s really super that he has such close friends, isn’t it?
I stand at my locker. I finally decide that I’m never going to get my combination right, so I give up.
“You’re at the wrong locker,” says Audrey, walking up to me.
I move one locker to the left. I’m not going to thank her.
“Sorry about your band,” she says.
“No, you’re not.”
“Of course I am.”
I really don’t want her sympathy right now. What I want is for her to say is, Will you take me back? so that I can say, No! Ha! but that’s unlikely. First, because she’s not going to take me back, and second, because if she did, I’d definitely say yes.
“I honestly don’t care if you’re sorry about my band or not,” I say. “If you want to clear your conscience, clear it someplace else.”
Okay, this combination lock isn’t opening either. But hey, if my fingers can’t play guitar anymore, why should they be able to spin a tiny dial to the correct numbers?
I want Audrey to leave before she says something like,
