Revenge Of A Band Geek Gone Bad (4 page)

"That was never proven," I said, as Lana laughed at the memory.

"My point is
,
you can't trust that witch.  Besides, Josh is a junior -- and he's
adorable
, Mel!  His eyes are gorgeous."

Oh, man, I could tell by the way Lana was gushing that she was about to develop a new crush.  I didn't need for things to become even more complicated with Josh; it was already pretty weird how he'd just come up to me like he had.

"Look, I don't know if I can trust Josh, either," I admitted.  "What if he has me do something illegal?  I don't want to get expelled."

Lana smiled.  "You know what?  You need some excitement in your life.  Maybe getting into trouble will do you some good."

###

Lana followed me into my house and plopped down at the kitchen table, while I got us sna
cks.  Neither of my parents was
home yet; my dad was still at the hospital, where he's the chief-of-staff and my mom probably went straight from her rehearsal to visit my grandfather.  Last year, my grandpa had a stroke and was placed in a nursing home.  Now he can barely move and has forgotten a lot of things.  I've visited him a few times, but it's very unsettling to see him like that.  My mom, on the other hand, stops by almost every day.

I dug through the freezer and pulled out a carton of low-fat strawberry frozen yogurt.  "Want some?"  I asked, holding it up.

Lana nodded.  "You mean
,
your parents are actually keeping some good food
in here?"  Ever since I've started gaining weight, my mom's been cleaning all of the "bad" food out of the house so we no longer have chips, pretzels, pizza ... or anything else that she thinks I might binge on, like the cream cheese from that morning, which I noticed was now gone.  I was actually surprised to find the yogurt in there.  It was probably my dad's.

"It's healthy," I said, fixing her a cup of it and a slightly larger one for myself.  "It has berries and vitamins and stuff. 
Says so right on the carton."

Lana laughed and dipped her spoon into her bowl.  "Hey, you don't have to justify it to me."

###

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes as we ate.  Finally, Lana asked, "So, how did
he
do in band today?"

By "He" Lana means Ken Samuels.  Only she never calls him by his name —- he's always "he" or "him" or "that bastard" or "that douchebag" or "that pig."

"If you mean Ken, he got first chair again," I said.

"Did he say anything about me?"

I looked at her.  "Did you
not
hear how my day went?  I didn't speak to him at all, so I don't know if he talked about you. But," I added, smiling because I knew this would make her happy, "He got totally yelled at by Mr. Francis in front of everyone.  He was completely humiliated."

Lana cackled.  "Good.  That ass-face deserves it!"

Guess we had yet another name for Ken.

###

After Lana went home, I practiced my flute for a couple of hours then went upstairs to my room to paint.  I didn't even bother to take off The Jeans because I figured I might as well let them be the clothes I got messy. 

For my last birthday, Lana gave me a professional painting kit, mainly because she thought I needed a hobby other than playing the flute.  "It's perfect for you," she said as I opened her gift.  "
It's
artsy and it's the type of thing you can do for hours without having to talk to anyone."

At the time, I'd jokingly told her to shut up, that I'm not that much of a shut-in, but she is right about me loving the arts.  Before my dad started working such long hours and my mom began to take care of my grandfather, they'd take me to
the city to see concerts and visit the museums.  My favorite was the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  The Met is
huge
; it took us all day to go through about a quarter of it, but I loved how every time we entered a different wing, it felt as if we were going into a new world.

As for my own paintings, I've been on a Salvador Dali kick lately.  After Lana gave me her present, I purchased a bunch of art books so I could see what various painters' styles are like.  I really like Dali's.  His stuff is really strange; for instance, he has this one painting called "The Persistence
Of
Memory" that has all of these melted clocks in it.  I love how his stuff looks like one thing at first and if you keep looking at it, you see something else.  So I've been trying to do some Dali-like paintings myself.  Right now, I'm working on one where I'm making everything in my room appear melt-y.

I was in the middle of painting a melted version of my bed (which is harder than it looks because the cover is floral and I had to make all the flowers look distorted) when I heard someone come home.  I looked at my clock (which isn't melted, by the way); it was 9 p.m.

"Melinda!" 
my
mother bellowed.  "Are you home?  Can you come down here, please?"

I dropped my paint brush onto the canvas and raced downstairs.  I could tell that something wasn't right.  I prayed that something hadn't happened to my grandfather.

"What is it?  How's Grandpa?"  I
asked,
when I reached our kitchen.  I paused to catch my breath.  "Is everything okay?"

"Your grandfather's the same," my mom said, "though you really should visit him more often."

"I will," I promised.

"But the reason I was calling you is because of this."  She held up the yogurt container.  "I can't believe you ate half a carton in one afternoon!  You're unbelievable, Melinda."

I sighed.  So this was what she was pulling me out of my room for?  Nice of her to say hello while we were at it!

"I didn't have that much," I explained.  "Lana was here and we each had a little bit.  You can even ask her."  I knew that if my mom decided to actually do that —- and there was about a fifty-fifty chance she would —- that Lana would vouch for me.  She would even lie that she had
all the
yogurt, if it came down to it.

Mom frowned.  "Well, this is your father's and he's not going to be pleased.  Besides, I thought we agreed you don't need stuff like this.  You could've had a piece of fruit."

"It's low-fat yogurt!"  I argued.  "Yogurt's good for you!"

"Not when you have half a carton!”

"I didn't," I repeated.  I could see that it was going to be one of
those
kind
of arguments.

"Look, I don't have time for this," Mom complained.  "I've had a really busy day.  But starting tomorrow, you're going on a real diet, no questions.  I'm tired of worrying about you."

"So don't," I told her.  "I'm 15.  I can take care of myself, okay?"

My mom didn't say anything, but didn't argue with me either, and for that, I was relieved.  She just kind of shook her head as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee.

"Can I go back to painting now?"  I asked, backing out of the kitchen.  She nodded.

But as I turned to go up to my room, she noticed the clothes that I hadn't bothered to change out of.

"My God, Melinda," she cried.  "What happened to your pants?"

CHAPTER 4

I spent most of the weekend in my room practicing my flute and painting.  I learned a whole new section of the Poulenc Sonata, which is the piece I'm planning to play for the band recital later this fall.  I also finished the picture of my room.  I ended up making a smaller painting of the view out my window, too.  I figured I could give to my grandfather the next time I see him, but when my mom got a look at it, she disagreed.  "I don't think it's a good idea to give a stroke victim something where everything looks melted," she explained.

While I kept busy, though, I couldn't fully concentrate.  I kept thinking about my strange ride home with Josh the other day and how he'd gone out of his way to talk to me.  I must've gone over our conversation about a million times, each time wondering what he really wanted with me and if I was just this
geek
on whom he was playing a big trick.  Then again, he'd said that he liked the way I'd played the Hindemith Sonata so obviously he didn't think I was a
total
loser.

I found myself checking online, like, every 20 minutes to see if he wrote me.  There wasn’t much on his Facebook page.  It figures; Josh definitely isn’t the type to post personal photos or to give updates like, “At the game, Smithfield are losers, LOL.”  I'm not big on going online, either; really, who do I even talk to other than Lana, who I see all the time, anyway?  But this weekend, I kept my phone on just in case.  To my surprise, I was actually, well,
disappointed
when I didn't hear from him.  I knew that I could write him first but just couldn't seem to make myself hit "send."

Finally on Sunday night, I heard from him.  Only he didn't e-mail me.  He
called
me and of course, Mom had to be the one to answer my phone when I’d gone to the kitchen to get a drink.  I’ve asked her to not do that, but she never listens.  Her argument is that she and my dad pay for the phone.

"Mel?" she said, calling downstairs.  She cradled my cell in her hand.  "There's a boy named Josh on the phone for you."  She crinkled her brow.  "Do you know who he is?"

My cheeks turned red at the mention of his name.  I prayed she wouldn't notice.  "Oh, he's ... he's just someone from band," I said as I hurried back upstairs.  I took the phone from her and slammed my door shut.

"Hey, Mel!"
  Josh said, as if we were old friends.

"Uh, hi," I replied, quietly.

"How was your weekend?"

"Good."

"And how are you doing?"

"Um.
 
Fine."

Josh chuckled. "Not one for small talk, are you?"

"No, it's not that, it's just that my weekend wasn't very exciting," I quickly explained.  "I spent all of it practicing my flute and painting."  I was sure that his weekend had been full of wild parties.  That's probably why he hadn't gotten in touch with me.

He didn't seem to think there was anything pathetic about what I'd said.  "That's cool that you paint," he replied.  "Did you paint your walls or do you paint pictures and stuff?"

"Pictures," I said, relaxing a little.  "Do you know who Salvador Dali is?  He's this artist and I like his stuff
,  so
I've been trying to paint like he does."

"Yeah, I know Dali," Josh said, again surprising me. "If you like him, you should check out Magritte's work.  He's another dude who painted all sorts of weird things."

I laughed at that and made a mental note to look up Magritte after we were done talking.

"So, anyway, I've been thinking a lot about the whole Kathy thing and I have some good ideas," he said.  "Did you come up with anything?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Because you were painting and everything."

"Yeah."
  I hoped he didn't think I'd let him down but truthfully, I still wasn't totally on board with the "Get Kathy" scheme.

"Well, that's not a big deal.  Why don't I pick you up tomorrow morning and I'll take you to school?  And then I can fill you in."

"Okay!"  After I hung up, I realized that this was the first time that a boy was deliberately going out of his way to spend time with me.  I knew it wasn't a date or anything, but still I wasn't sure whether I should jump up and down in happiness ... or freak out.

###

On Monday morning, I got up a half hour early so I could spend a few more minutes getting ready for school.  Usually I hop out of bed about 20 minutes before the bus comes and throw on whatever's clean.  But this time around, I wanted to look good for when Josh picked me up.

Besides, I'd be moving down to second chair in band, which would be pretty humiliating.  I definitely didn't want to show up in ripped jeans again.  I needed to look dignified.

I finally settled on a long, black skirt and green V-neck T-shirt.  There was nothing I could do about my big ass, but the skirt hid it pretty well and the green looked nice against my brown hair and eyes.  I tugged at my shoulder-length locks, wishing they'd suddenly grow long and curly like Lana's.

Once I'd finished my breakfast —- Mom had laid out her bran cereal and half a grapefruit for me (yuck!) —- I still had a few minutes to kill, so I looked up Magritte's work online.  Josh was right.  I did like his stuff.  Like Dali, Magritte also painted all these bizarre things, like floating body parts.  The one picture that really caught my attention, though, is called "False Mirror."  This is a painting of a blue
eye,
only the blue part is actually the sky, full of clouds.  I printed out one of the images of it.  The eye reminded me of Josh's.

###

Finally, it was time to leave.  I couldn't believe that I was actually looking forward to going to school.  I walked over to Lana's, brushing a piece of lint off my skirt.  I'd told Josh to pick me up there rather than at my place because I didn't want my mother asking me or him all sorts of stupid questions about his driving record and whether he'd ever gotten a ticket.