Zero (30 page)

“Well. That’s okay. You do what’s right for you. You can change your mind….”

“I know. But there’s so much going on…. My dad’s getting help, he just told me. And my art—I have to try again. I have to do this.”

Mike nods again. “Okay,” he says. “I get that. I understand. Sucks. But I get it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Mike says, and sniffs. “Don’t be. You got stuff to do. That’s all right. And I mean, anything can happen, right?”

“You never know….”

“We’ll be passing through in October.”

“I remember.”

“So I mean, we’ll know more about where we’re headed by then, I’d think.”

“Tell me all about it after the show.”

“I will.” He brushes rainwater from my forehead. “Well—I have to go.”

He embraces me again. I hug him back, then release my hold and take a backward step.

Mike looks once more into my eyes and, quite unexpectedly, smiles. It lights his face and eyes and makes my knees weak.

Mike reaches for my head and snatches my cabbie hat. He flips it so the brim goes backward and yanks it over his head. “If you want this back …”

I brush my hair out of my eyes. “I know where to find it.”

“Exactly.” Mike takes a deep breath and nods once at me. “See ya,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Later, skater.”

Mike’s emerald-sapphire eyes sparkle at me one last time. Then he turns, walks to the bus, and leaps on board. I wait, expecting him to pop his head out a window and wave, but he doesn’t. There’s a hiss of air, and the bus starts rolling out of the lot. Still I wait.

A flash of red brake lights reflects on the wet pavement, and I think,
Yes
. He’s told the driver to stop, there’s been a mistake, he has to get off the bus right now and go back to—

The bus turns the corner and is gone.

Dreamer.

But then, I’m an artist. That’s what we do. Isn’t it?

I turn and head back through the station and out to my car. Halfway home, the storm breaks, and sun shines down on the valley. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. Glancing out my window, I wish for a rainbow arching over Camelback Mountain.

Aren’t rainbows supposed to be a promise or something?

I veer toward home and think of my painting, resting in some couple’s car, maybe draped and upright in the backseat, on the way to California right this second. Talk about surreal. I think of Mr. Hilmer and Dr. Salinger. Of Salvador Dalí.

And of Florida.

That’s where I want my birthday tickets for. Florida, round
trip, so I can visit the Salvador Dalí museum. Always wanted to go there. Spain might be a bit too expensive,
ha!
I’ll bring Mom and Dad, because they need to get out of that house for a while. I need to show them, explain him to them,
teach
them. Maybe they won’t get it, won’t get who and what Dalí is all about, but that’s okay.

They’ll get
me
. That’s enough. And if Dad gets his shit together—or at least collected in buckets around his feet, and I think he might—then we’re all going to need some kind of common ground. What better way to do that than art?

I don’t know what’ll happen now. The School of the Art Institute of Chicago seems further away than ever. But I’m going to make it. Somehow, I know I’m going to make it.

And maybe someday, when even
I
least expect it—maybe I’ll get a ticket to L.A., too. Lot of art going on in L.A.

And a lot of music.

Might be cool to feel it out firsthand. Check out the scene. Maybe see some bands. See who’s playing. Just for fun. I mean, I’d hate to wake up in the middle of the night thinking,
What if
? You know?

But not today.

Half the city is bathed in morning light, the other blanketed by clouds sketched in charcoal. But there’s still no rainbow over Camelback. No new promise today, I guess. Or …

Maybe it’s in the backseat of a car headed to California.

First and always, thank you to my beautiful wife, Joy, without whom I would be utterly lost. And probably not know what day it is. This one’s for Tobias. We love you!

For Joel and Teena; Tim and Erin; Matt and Abriel; Bishop and Erin; Michael and Rachel; and Jeff and Anna. Thanks for calling it like it is. And thanks to Greg, Jay, and Tony, who stick around. I love all y’all.

Super ultra deluxe thanks to Jennifer Mattson and Michelle Andelman, my agents, who whipped the story into shape; and to my editor, Suzy Capozzi, who still gets me. Thank you so much! And thank you to Heather, Casey, Ellice, and everyone at Random House who gave me the chance and make it look good.

Here’s to Mr. Breazeale, whose name I probably misspelled; to Fran, Julie, and everyone who read the first drafts back in ’93. I miss you, and thanks. Here’s also to Dana-Lynn, Amanda, and Vivian, my faithful friends and first readers, who tell me the truth.

Many blessings and undying gratitude to the Book Babe/Card Night gang. No one told me you were part of the deal, and I can’t imagine life without you in it now. And thank you so much to the Arizona YA author crew who make the trip all the more enjoyable. You guys all rock, and it’s so awesome to be—well, Joy’s Husband. (Love and ponies!)

Special, crucial thanks to all the bands and fans at Chyro. Talk about a crash course in the music business. On that note, thanks especially to Living Room Casket, Peder Parker, and Just This Once, for letting me play.

For Mom and Dad, and for Tully and Goldie.

For Blueberry, who we miss.

Matthew Sixteen-sixteen.

An unsolicited endorsement: check out
kidsneedtoread.org
. There’s a reason it’s not called “Kids should maybe read sometimes dot org.”

And thank
you
. Hope you enjoyed it. Ssssssee ya!