Road Rash (3 page)

That was really the big unknown. Sure, any nerd with a computer can “make a record,” but it usually ends up sounding exactly like what it is: homemade crap. The trick is to make it sound pro. I’ve been playing around with recording for a few years now, and I’ve gotten to the point where I can make some fairly decent-sounding tracks, assuming the other guys do their part. Of course, it’d help to have a good tracking room and some better equipment, but we manage.

The
second
trick is to actually get your music distributed and not just buried somewhere on the internet, where no one even knows it exists.

The answer to that is to partner with someone. As in, a record label. Forget the majors—they’re dinosaurs. But there are plenty of indie labels out there, and we’re hoping to convince one of them that investing in the Sock Monkeys could be a win-win. Okay, that’s not easy—you’ve got to be unique
and
good—but that was our goal. Which is why we need strong original material. Who wants to be in a cover band forever?

Anyway, I was feeling pretty good about my planning … right up to fourth period.

“Yo, li’l sis,” I said as I walked into my next class. Kimber turned and made a face. Kyle and I are seventeen and she’s still fifteen, and she hates it when I remind her of that. So of course I do, every chance I get. Not that she’s a total kid—she’s way smart, which is why she was in my math class as a sophomore.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Fine. I didn’t see Kyle this morning. Is he here?”

“Oh sure, we rode in together. I saw him talking to Justin by the cafeteria this morning.”

That was weird—usually we met up before school started. But I didn’t have time to think about it because we were neck-deep in quadratic equations for the next fifty minutes.

At lunch I grabbed a sandwich and headed over to the tables by the lawn, where I thought I saw Kyle talking to Toby and Justin. But by the time I got there, it was only Justin and Toby.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?”

Toby just shrugged, too cool for school. Justin said, “Not much. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Where’d Kyle go?”

Justin tilted his head toward the science wing. “He went to see Mr. Jacouri about something, I think.”

“Ah. So, we’re on for practice tonight, right?”

Toby glanced over. “I want to have a band meeting instead of rehearsal. My place, seven-thirty.”

“Cool. I have some things I’ve been working on—I’ll bring them tonight.”

After school I fired up my computer and made my roughed-out schedule look good, with different colors showing rehearsal times and gig times and writing sessions. There was a semi-steady crowd at Land of Lights and we couldn’t do the same songs in the same order every night. So I put together a spreadsheet with all the songs we knew and created different set lists
for different nights, varying the songs between nights, as well as the order we’d play them in. While I was at it, I made a table tent asking people to follow us online. That way we could direct them to our band page and post announcements throughout the summer to try to build some buzz. Then I printed out four of everything, hole-punched them, and put them in folders so everyone had their own copy.

Okay, so that was totally anal, but I felt like I’d done an A job of it.

I pulled up at Toby’s house at 7:20—it’d be pretty stupid to be late to a meeting about getting organized.

Toby’s mom answered their massive stained-glass door and let me into the foyer. “I think the boys are in the garage,” she said. “Just go on back, Jack.” I let it go. It must be genetic.

I walked into the garage to find Justin sitting on an old exercise bicycle, just barely spinning the pedals, and Toby throwing darts at the board across the room.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

Toby spoke without turning from his darts. “What’s
up
is you’re out.”

“Huh?”

“Out. As in, no longer in the band.”

“What are you
talking
about?” I looked around. “Where’s Kyle?”

“Kyle’s been and gone, man.” He threw another dart and spun toward me. “You’re always late. You don’t take it serious. We want to get somewhere, and you don’t. So you’re out.”

“What the hell? Yeah, I was a little late getting my gear set up on Saturday, but we started on time.”
No freakin’ thanks to
you
, I thought. “And I take this real serious. Look.” I held out the folders. “I made a schedule for the band this summer. Gigs, rehearsals, writing sessions, set lists … How can you say I’m not serious?”

He ignored them. “Look, numbnuts, let me give you a clue. You’re
not
the boss of this group, and we
don’t
wanna see your stupid little schedule.” He snorted. “You’re out!”

I went from stunned to furious in about two seconds. “I don’t believe this! Glenn Taylor asked me to join Bad Habit the other night, and I turned him down.” I was yelling now. “I freakin’
turned him down
! And you know why? Because I was loyal to this band.”

The second it was out of my mouth, I regretted it. Toby gave his patented sarcastic laugh. “Yeah,
right
. Nate Travis can drum circles around you. You’re not just a screw-off, you’re delusional.”

“So that’s it? No discussion, no vote, nothing?”

“We did vote—it was two to one, so you’re gone.”

Well, that made me feel a little better, to know that at least Kyle was taking my side. Maybe he and I could put something else together.… “So you guys are looking for a new drummer
and
a new bass player, then? Good freakin’ luck!” Kyle and I were a rock-solid rhythm section, and these guys were going to have a hard time finding decent replacements in time to make the gigs at Land of Lights.

He gave me an exaggerated sigh. “God, are you like the retard from hell? Kyle’s not leaving—we got stuff laid out for the whole summer. Shit, we’re playing a big-ass party Friday night.”

Friday night?
This
Friday night? Man, was I a mushroom or what? “So who’s my replacement?”

“Don’t worry about it. We found someone who can actually
play
the drums, not just play at them.” He turned back to the dartboard. “See ya … 
mate,”
he said over his shoulder as he threw.
Thwack
. Bull’s-eye.

I walked out. Justin hadn’t said a word the entire time.

I called as soon as I got home. Kyle didn’t answer his cell, so I called his house. His sister answered.

“Hi, Kimberly. This is Zach. Is Kyle around?”

“Kimberly?” she said. “Wow … what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Can I just talk to Kyle?”

“Okay, hang on. I’ll get him.”

While she went to find him, I tried to figure out what to say. I mean, beyond the obvious question of what the hell.

Kimber’s voice came back on the line. “Zach?”

“Yeah …”

“Umm, Kyle’s not available right now.”

“As in, he’s in the shower or something, or as in, he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

She didn’t answer, which was all the answer I needed. Finally, she said, “What’s going on?”

“Not a freakin’ thing, apparently.” I hung up.

The next morning, instead of looking for Kyle, I avoided him. If he didn’t want to talk, that was fine by me. The more I thought about the whole thing, the more pissed I got. And confused. I mean,
WTF …?
Where do they get off saying I’m not serious? Was all that from my offhand comment to Kyle about having a good time, with or without a deal?

No, this must have been in the works for a while. They already had a big gig lined up, and that doesn’t happen overnight. Plus, they’d have to work the new guy in, and that takes time, too.

So I felt kinda … naked as I went to my classes. I’m not like a super popular guy at school or anything, but the people who
do
know me probably think of me as Zach, the guy who plays drums in the Sock Monkeys. And all the people I usually hung with were either the guys
in
the band or friends
of
the band. So who was I now?

I didn’t feel like talking to Kimber, either, so I slid into my seat in math just as the fourth-period tardy bell finished ringing. Ms. Littleton gave me the eye, but she let it slide. She’s actually pretty cool for a woman who spends most of her day solving for
X
. She saw us playing at an outdoor festival once, and the next day she said she’d enjoyed it and was impressed with my “percussive skills.” She’d even told the class that drumming could be considered a great example of applied mathematics.

But now I was just another loser at school, trying to follow Ms. Littleton’s discussion of polynomials. Then my phone vibrated. Someone was texting me. It couldn’t be Kyle, could it? I mean, it was a total bust to use a phone during class, and Kyle was in history. Unless he’d cut …?

I decided to sneak a peek. It was Kimber. She almost never texted me, and never in class.
I heard. Totally unfair!

I glanced over at her. She was watching me. No smile, no wave. Just looking. I sent a quick
Thx
and looked up … straight into the gaze of Ms. Littleton.

“Well, Zach, what’s the answer?”

Answer? I didn’t even know the question. Hell, I didn’t even know there
was
a question. “Um … I’m really sorry. I completely spaced. What was the question?”

Instead of repeating the question, she slowly said, “Mr. Ryan, I would really appreciate it if you could manage to
un
space yourself for the next forty minutes or so.” I nodded. Whew … I got off easy.

Then she continued, still looking straight at me, “Ms. Milhouse, I’m sure
you
can answer the question.” Crap. We were totally busted.

Kimber just shook her head. “I’m sorry.…”

God, Ms. Littleton was
still
looking at me. I tried to act normal and not squirm as I thought about how I was going to manage without my phone. Oh, I could get it back the next day, but only after my parents had been called down to collect it. And then
they
would take it, and for a lot more than a day.

Finally, she relented and turned to another student. “Mr. Ruiz, can you please answer the question?”

He could, and he did. And that was the last she mentioned it—until class was over.

“Zach,” she said as I was packing up my stuff. “Can I see you for a minute? And Kimberly, you too?”

As the class emptied out, I looked over at Kimber and nodded toward the front of the room. “I don’t want you to be late for lunch—go ahead.” I hung back by my desk. When everyone had gone, Ms. Littleton spoke to Kimber for a minute, then Kimber left.

I made my way to her desk. “Look,” I said. “No excuses. I’m sorry.” I handed over my phone. “It wasn’t Kimber’s fault. I texted her, so it was my bad.”

For some strange reason this made her laugh, then she sort of coughed and got serious. “Thanks, Zach.” She looked at me for a second, like she was deciding what to say. “You’ve studied and practiced for a long time to get your drumming abilities where they are, right?”

“Uh, right.” Where was this going? Had she somehow already heard about me getting kicked? God, did
Kimber
say something …?

“So imagine you’re in the middle of a show. They’re paying you, and you’re trying to do a good job. There you are, drumming away on a very challenging song, and people are listening and getting into it when all of a sudden a couple near the front starts talking, totally oblivious to what you’re trying to do.”

Oh … “Yeah, I’ve been there,” I admitted, nodding. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t.” She handed me my phone back. “I don’t need this—I don’t think that’s really the issue here.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

She looked at the clock. “You’d better get going.”

I started to go, then turned back. “Hey—how come you laughed when I apologized?”

“Remember what you said … ‘It’s not her fault, you can blame it on me’ …?”

“Yeah?”

She smiled. “Kimberly said exactly the same thing.”