Your Biggest Fan

6. NOAH

Chapter six

Good god today was one giant shit cake of a day. The first layer hit me when I made my way toward my lunch table and overheard Roxanne mentioning the word “band.”

My steps came to an abrupt halt as I listened in, discovering the painful truth—my band had already moved on. Anger and hurt surged through me like a goddamn breath of fire. Their failure, a lack of crowds, and just straight up fucking sucking is all I wish for them.

Grinding my teeth while trapped in my fantasy of rotten tomatoes being thrown at them, she bumped into me. I thought I’d see a frown paired with evil green eyes, but instead, I was looking into watery ones surrounded by a red face. She looked like she was going to explode, with steam smoke shooting out of her ears.

Then came the second layer. Roxanne, in all her infinite wisdom, decided to pour fucking soda on my head. Apparently, that’s what you do when you’re the one who bumps into someone. That girl is a walking fucking disaster that keeps sucking me into her storm cloud.

It took me an hour to scrub my hair with the shitty soap, trying to get the sticky residue out. And for what? Because she has some inexplicable vendetta against me? She’s the one who started all of this. I was an innocent bystander with unfortunately great hair for soda absorption.

Adding to the layers, the third one was Roxanne confirming my suspicions that she was indeed a drummer. A drummer who’d been kicked out of her own band, no less. It’s like we’re the founding members of Band Rejects Anonymous.

Now, as the final bell rings, all I think about is the skatepark as I race towards downtown. I need to feel the wind in my hair and the glide of concrete. The last thing I need is to deal with Dennis and his inevitable snide remarks about my stained shirt. Whether it’s about me being messy or that I let some girl bully me.

Yeah, I don’t think I’d be able to bear facing his judgment. The half-pipe is better.

I pass the town square and skirt to the left side of the road, approaching the vine covered fences outlining the skatepark when I see Daniel already sitting down with a grin on his face. The beautiful herb I can smell sailing through the air is enough to answer my question about why he looks so damn happy.

Securing my bike on the sidewalk, I’m deploying the kickstand when I hear his skateboard rolling towards me. “Noah! Where the heck have you been?!”

I scratch at my chin when Daniel pops his board up. “I had a shit day.”

His grin only grows wider as I shrug my backpack off. As I do, a faint aroma of cherry wafts up my nose, reminding me again of what happened today.

I sigh, reaching down to grab my board out of my backpack, gently setting it on the pavement. Using my foot to stabilize it, I slide off my jacket and drape it over the seat of my bike.

“What’s with the grin? Got something to cheer me up?” I ask, peeling off my shirt and hanging it over the fence to dry under the hot sun.

“Oh, I got a whole lot of good news for you, dude.” Daniel nods while I run my fingers through my hair, shaking it out. “I’ve been saving this one for you. Just because everything’s been rough lately doesn’t mean you can’t get your mind off things for a bit.”

The lit joint pinched between his two fingers that he seems to pull out of thin air sparks an immediate smile on my face.

“Hell yes, Dani.” I take it from him and inhale, the smoke burning my throat and already turning my bones to jelly. “Yeah, definitely needed this today.”

“It was hard not to sneak it after lunch. But you know Mrs. Lawning would probably chop my dick off if I smelt like weed.” Daniel pauses to take a hit from another joint, speaking through exhale, “It’s like she’s got some sixth sense or something. She always knows when I’m high.”

“Yeah, same with Principal Phillips, man. He can tell for some reason.” I take another quick hit, smoke streaming unhindered from my lips. “Always says I have junkie eyes . If only he knew how many cigarettes we've smoked or beers we've smuggled in the bathrooms, he’d probably rip my head off too.”

“Now I feel like you’re speaking my language, Nojo,” he chuckles, taking a huge rip out of the joint. “I got a serious urge to get trashed.”

I roll my eyes at the nickname and laugh around the filter, resting my elbow up against the rail of the fence. “No parties tonight, my friend.”

I don’t think I could handle being hungover for my second day of school.

Daniel’s smile is contagious as we both take deep drags. Exhaling, I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the sun, soaking in the warmth and the fuzziness moving down my face and into my fingertips. All the bullshit fading away.

“What do you say we blaze it while we skate it?” I ask, grinning at my friend as he stretches his hand out, running it repetitively against the wires of the fence.

He flicks his joint and pushes on his board.“Yeah. Let’s shred.”

Sucking in one last colossal hit, I watch Daniel tic-tac across the concrete, holding the smoke hostage in my lungs for a hot minute before crushing the embers out with my shoe. Scooping up my Dogtown deck, I hop on, rolling around the fence.

Skate gods, please spare me from a face plant today that would make even the great Tony Hawk cringe on his worst day.

My wheels wobble as I pick up some speed on the uneven ground. I beg the universe harder. Seriously, I don’t need asphalt and blood to be the fourth layer of the shit cake.

At least if I did, no one who wouldn’t ever let me live it down came to the park. It remains untouched by anyone other than our tight knit group. It was our own little concrete refuge tucked away for our empty little souls, nurturing a feeling of belonging when we needed it most—or needed to escape from something.

Or someone.

The imagination and freedom we found whenever someone showed up with a can of spray paint was also a perk. The walls, ramps, empty swimming pool, and pipes started out as a blank canvas that became this platform for us to openly express thoughts, and emotions, because no one else in this town really listens. It’s a good way to help displace a lot of negative shit. Once that nozzle releases a cloud of purple, my feelings go with it.

Everything is decked out in graffiti now—colorful sketches, trippy designs, and taggers’ names covering every surface. It's a big outdoor art gallery that we could ride and perform in. I mostly like it because it breathes life into our bleak surroundings. Everything needs a little color.

I pick up more speed, embracing the butterflies in my stomach as I approach the ramp, glancing at the pool walls with our hopes, fears, and dreams brightly painted.

Each image told a story. Our story.

The summer wind blows against my cheeks, my hair ruffling against my ears as I move heel to toe around the edge of the pool. Skating is my therapy. And today, I need to fly.

I’m so lost in my element, blocking out everything except the feel of the grip tape under my feet and balancing atop the halfpipe. Molly and Levi showed up while I crawled onto the top of the pipe, yelling at me to do a few handstands to get the blood pumping. Right now they're just two extra faces in the crowd gathered to watch me possibly eat shit.

If I’m going to stick this trick—a handplant I've been obsessing over from a skate magazine I found in Chicago—I need to be ready and in the zone. I've spent weeks with that page torn out and taped to my wall, studying every grainy detail of the photo sequence until my eyes crossed. Now it's time to make it real.

Taking a deep breath, I kick off, letting muscle memory take over as I visualize every motion. Knees bent, weight perfectly balanced. Then, with a slap of my palm on the vertical face of the ramp, I lever my board perpendicular to the ground, hovering five feet in the air in all my successful glory.

They cheer and I glide to a stop beside my three friends when my attention snaps over to a blonde pausing on the sidewalk near the fence, clapping. A blonde in a pristine white tennis skirt that makes her legs look even darker. Thank you, universe.

My knees give out, and I lose my balance, my board flying out from under my feet. I windmill my arms, falling backward as my deck zips across the park, with Daniel catching me like we’re practicing a trust fall.

He grunts and pushes me upright, patting my back with his sweaty hand while mumbling something, but my focus is still entirely on my board aiming right for those perfect tan legs.

“Board!” My friends all yell in warning, but it’s too late. My runaway deck hurtles towards the girl.

“You good, man? Or did you fall harder for that girl than your last kickflip attempt?” Daniel’s voice finally breaks through and I look over my shoulder at the grin on his face, then back over at the blonde bending to pick up my board.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“Ouchie, that bad, eh?” He pushes me forward. “You should totally talk to her. She was checking you out.”

I wave my hand at him and start ambling over, lightly giving myself a sniff check on my pits, just in case. My eyes shift down to her skirt the closer I get, and I reach out to take the deck, noticing the way her eyes light up the second my finger brushes her pinky.

The strength of her blue gaze freezes me to the spot, and before I know it, we’re both staring a bit too long, with our hands on the edge of the skateboard. My heart pounds against my necklace the longer we stand so close.

“Thanks for saving her,” I finally say, and she nods, not letting go. “I’m Noah.”

“I know who you are,” she replies with a smile that makes my insides twist. “You like skating then, Noah?”

I can’t do anything but smile back as I allow my eyes to freely roam her legs that stretch out beneath that short skirt, her golden hair spilling over one side of her pink polo shirt, her flawless skin damn near glowing in the sunlight. An angelic vision, awakening less than heavenly thoughts. Thoughts of pushing my nose into the pulse against her neck and smelling her sweetness. The corners of my lips twitch up as I imagine it.

Damn, I feel so guilty even thinking about it. She looks like she volunteers at church bake sales in her spare time.

Fighting to contain myself, I wipe my smirk away with the back of my hand. My eyes stay on hers as I lean against the fence post, and her dainty fingers trace my stained grip tape, examining the teal bottom with its assortment of scratches.

“It’s my hobby, yeah.” I knock a knuckle against the metal of the post. “And you? You skate?” I pull my bottom lip behind my teeth. “Your skirt might be a little short for that.”

My eyes flit between each of her cheeks, watching as they go pink.

God, I love when girls blush.

She laughs too, and I don’t miss the way her gaze lingers on my lips.

“No way,” she says, “but I have done some rollerblading though.”

“Rollerblades?” I reach out to brush the bangs from her eyes, wanting to see her properly. “Name, please.”

“It’s Wendy. Wendy Turner”

“Wendy Turner,” I repeat, letting her name drip slowly off my tongue. “I could give you some skating lessons if you want, Wendy Turner. This time, I promise to keep my board close by.” I tap at the deck, her eyes following my hand. “I have to reward you for keeping her safe somehow.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” she says so quietly like she’s trying to keep someone from hearing.

“Do you got someone you don’t want to find out about it?” My eyes immediately narrow in interest, and hers blow wide.

“W—What? Oh, no! Of course not! I was… I...” she trails off, teeth digging into her lip as she looks away.

“It’s alright, Turner. I won’t tell anyone about any secrets you don’t want them knowing. I’ve got plenty of my own, too.” I reach up to touch her chin, gently turning her face back towards me. “So come on... tell me.”

“I’m definitely not allowed to be hanging out with boys, especially here. My dad would have my head if he finds out.”

“You seem a bit old to be under curfew, or is your daddy too strict? I can’t imagine him being too happy with you talking to me right now.” I see the anxiety swirling in her eyes, but there’s also the excitement at breaking the rules with me. My thumb strokes her jaw. “Do you need me to escort you back to your house and keep you away from all the big scary boys?”

Her teeth bite her lip and a tremor passes through her. Damn, I am so far from being this girl’s type and I fucking love it. Even with her reservations, I’m impressed she doesn’t seem to back down.

“My dad’s quite strict, actually. If I got caught, I’d probably end up grounded.” She darts a look to the side. “Which means, if you’re going to teach me... maybe you ought to do it fast?”

My smirk widens to a full grin and I offer her my arm.

“Then I guess we better get started. We don’t want your dad thinking you’re out here being... scandalous, do we?”

My eyes fall to her lips that look so soft, and stay there as she molds against my side, slipping her arm through mine while carrying my board in her other. All gentle curves and warmth against the side of my ribs. I’m sure that her father would be absolutely fucking appalled if he knew that his precious daughter had been corrupted by me in a skatepark full of the wasted youth.

“I don’t mind teaching you fast, but I hope you have good balance, or else your poor feet might not be ready for me.”

I look back at the half pipe and notice Daniel staring at us while sitting around with Levi and Molly. He shakes his head at me as he mouths, “ What are you doing ?!”

“Someone said I was losing my charm ,“ I mouthed back.

I guided her underneath the tunnel right behind the park, the one we usually sit inside whenever we want to get high, drunk, or spray on the walls, and helped her climb onto the skateboard.

She kept a death grip on my neck the whole time, and when she squealed once she started moving, it was a miracle my windpipes didn't get crushed from her grasp. I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while she balanced on the board. As my fingers swiped at some other stray hairs, her body swayed unsteadily, and her blue eyes jumped up to mine when her chest brushed against me.

That smile of hers faded. Replaced by something else. Something that made my heart do a kickflip.

Something that screamed 'more.'

Fuck.

We didn’t make it five more minutes before she had me pushing her skirt up against the painted wall, feeling the heat between her golden legs. The scent of peaches overlapped the cherry Coke and her hands tangled in the back of my hair as her sticky lips blistered the edge of my jaw.

I ran my hand up her smooth thigh, gathering her soft skirt as I traced her curves with my fingertips and gripped onto her hip. Her sharp intake of breath echoed in the tunnel as my thumb brushed against the lace of her panties, teasing her. Just a little shift to the side and...

Yeah. That's it.

Slowly pushing a single digit inside her, she moans my name as she squirms between me and the wall. The sun had already heated the air around us, but her body burned hot against me as I curled my finger, that fire I'm teaching her coloring her skin a beautiful pink.

The moment was over as quick as the wind rushing past my face when going back to my house.

That’s when the fourth and final layer of the day comes when I drop my backpack near the door and throw my shirt in the washer, padding into the kitchen and stopping at the envelope of cash on the kitchen counter and the calendar tacked to the wall.

On August 28th, nestled within the box, my mom’s handwriting proudly proclaims the words “ will be back! ”

Exclamation mark included.

Brooke Ward, the queen of penciled-in schedules since marrying Dennis, can't remember to buy groceries, but boy, does she never fail to mark their return home from his work trips. Similarly, I’m expected to write down any important information they need to be aware of. Fat lot of good that does.

This has only happened once, when I needed someone to take me to pick up my dirt bike from the repair shop.

Predictably, no one did. Because they were out of town. I wised up and started repairing my own bike after I learned how tiring it was to skateboard across town. But I digress.

I glare at my mom’s handwriting as if it might change. Welcome to Casa de Ward, where we communicate through sticky notes and guilt cash. Real fuckin' homey.

Why the hell did Dennis have to jet off on so many trips anyway? And why did my mom always tag along like she was some loyal sidekick? Yeah, marriage and all that, but they leave me with nothing but penciled fucking confusion most of the time.

Pretty sure an actual eternity has passed since I’d last seen my mom, and even the way Wendy felt beneath my fingers felt like it had never happened as I slumped over the kitchen table, mechanically chewing my Cheerios alone.

The sawdust taste is a reminder of how my shitty day had started.

This was the cheerio on top.

The passing week consisted of me sitting in my bedroom and watching weed smoke trickle up the cardboard box colored walls, dancing around my posters until they were rudely disrupted by the blast of the air conditioner. Nights were a bit more lively with the clinking of beer bottles and the buzzing of tattoo needles as Daniel entrusted me with a new leaf design on his ankle while showing me his latest cassette find—some sick hip-hop beats that made me forget about the bagel bites I’d been living off of.

But there’s only so much I can take. The loose strings of my green duvet were starting to look like the most entertaining thing in the world. I wasn’t in the mood to sweat outside, and I’d been so sick of the silence engulfing every corner, so I took matters into my own hands.

I dusted off my amp from the depths of my closet, cranked that baby up to eleven, and blew the spider off my white Kramer guitar.

I hadn’t touched the thing in years, not since I focused on singing for Iron Fillings and realized that I was more of a David Lee Roth and less of an Eddie Van Halen.

The thick strings felt foreign under my fingertips. No matter.

You could say I embarked on a musical journey, strumming along to Foreigner while roaming around my wooden bed frame, occasionally pausing in front of my mirror to perfect my frontman poses.

It was fucking pathetic, I know. At least during one of our skating nights, I managed to persuade Daniel into giving the bass guitar a shot, promising to buy him one if he agreed.

What the hell else was I gonna do with the wad of cash anyway?

It was another desperate attempt to cling to the illusion that I was still part of a band, even if it was in my imagination. Yeah, that was pathetic too. I know. But when you’re young and starving for purpose, your mind gets desperate enough to concoct some pretty wild ideas.

Wendy sightings were rare too, and whenever she did appear, she acted as if she might summon a lightning bolt from the sky for daring to acknowledge my existence.

Oddly enough, that only fueled my wants to disrupt her world further, much to Daniel’s amusement. He would teasingly, and often, remind me about my quest for chasing down a “good girl,” but I had a thirst for challenges. And a chase.

What’s life without a little ruckus and a good pair of pants?

Later, in math—my least favorite subject—I grumble to myself over Daniel’s relentlessness, absently doodling little devil horns over the numbers on the page.

“You’re crazy if you’re looking to smash and dash with Wendy Turner.”

I snort, erasing the horns. “You’re the one who told me to go talk to her.”

“Yeah, but it... Do you really think you’d be able to get with a chick like that? You can dream, my friend.” He laughs at me, twirling his pen. “Even if you could, I don’t think you could actually treat her right. You’d be all excited at first but get bored with her after a few days. It’s not always about the chase, Nojo. The best chicks out there are the ones you want to hold on to. They’ll make your life a lot better than some stupid one-night stands.”

“What’re your secrets about chicks, big boy? I know you like to run your mouth like you’re some player,” I shoot back with a grin.

“Hey, I know chicks! I know how to play the game,” he huffs, lifting out his scented marker and offering a sniff. “I don’t wanna hear about me ‘running my mouth like I’m some player.’ It’s obvious you’re jealous of my game.”

My head drops down as I sigh, shaking my head and laying my pencil down to pull my headphones up my neck and over my ears. This dude literally knew nothing about girls and the sound of Duran Duran was better than him droning on about it. Even if he was bugging me with Wendy, it was better than him trying to force me to ask out Roxanne.

In first period, I avoided even the slightest glance in her direction because I'm sure those greens meeting my blues would’ve ticked her off even more. I’d contemplated making Daniel trade seats with me so I could duck her death rays, but then I thought: why should she win?

Ignoring her wasn’t too difficult anyways, unless I heard her bracelets clinking against the table if she started erasing something a little too furiously. Little did I know that fateful day when she dumped Coke on my head would become the stuff of legends.

Thanks to the storytelling skills of Hayden and Chris, they turned the embarrassing incident into some masterpiece, complete with splashing sound effects.

It seemed every time I turned a corner, I would hear their laughter down the halls, reminding everyone of the day I became a human soda fountain.

I couldn’t escape it. Suppose it’s better than the headline of me getting kicked out of Iron Fillings.

The final bell of the day rings and I shut my trapper before shoving the binder into my backpack. I throw my bag over my shoulder and fling my pencil at Daniel’s head, heading out of the classroom and down the hall fast.

The second I open those blue double doors I toss my jacket over my shoulder and glance to the right. My eyes are on the back of a blonde head walking toward her white Jeep. It makes my palms a little sweaty. Which is a weird as hell reaction for me because I’m not the nervous type, but when it comes to Wendy, I don’t know how to fucking act or talk.

But I have to make Daniel eat his words.

Walking up behind her, I pull my headphones off of my ears and rest my hand against her door. “I can’t let you go that easy without a proper goodbye.”

She flips around instantly, clutching her books to her chest as I startle her. But I spy the obvious signs of her trying to fight off a blush, and my grin softens into something more terrible.

“We haven’t really hung out in school at all, have we? I guess I’ve been missing out.”

“Oh, well... I guess you do have a point,” she stammers, looking up at me with a hesitant smile. “I really have to get going, though. My dad’s waiting for me.”

I step closer, watching those eyes dart around in all directions. “Why the rush? It’s only 3:30.” I adjust my jacket over my shoulder, stretching my hand to her hip. “Here I thought we were supposed to have more of those lessons you said you wanted so bad.”

She gulps hard before whispering back, “I have to be home in time for dinner.”

I move my thumb to her pocket, rubbing it over her jeans. “I don’t think your dad would mind you hanging with me for a little while. Unless you haven’t told him about our little skate lesson?” Rhetorical question, I knew she’d told no one. “Or is it a secret for the two of us?”

She swallows again, this time with a touch of defiance. “It’s not a secret, actually. I’m just too nervous to ask him if I can hang out with you.”

I still see those nerves in the lines between her brows. With a gentle touch, my thumb toys with the loop of her belt. “No need to be anxious, Wendy. I’m sure you’re daddy won’t mind if you’re with me for ten minutes. Rest assured, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Noah...”

“ Wendy .”

“I really have to go...”

“Oh, but I can even give him a call and talk to him myself if you want.”

She attempts to look less nervous like I’d told her to, but her voice is breathy when she blurts out, “What do you mean by ‘be on your best behavior?’”

She gulps again, pulling those textbooks tighter to her chest.

I pull back, grinning down at her.

“If it were up to me, I would be showing you exactly why your dad wouldn’t want you to be hanging out with boys.” A wink implies what I mean with my words as I keep playing with her belt loop. “But I’ll exercise self-control.”

Her eyes go wide and she gasps as I pinch at her jeans. “Can I ask you something?”

I withdraw slightly and study her, seeing the way her eyes dance along the cement before stopping at my crossed ankles.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Can I ask you something... intimate?”

“When you ask like that, how am I supposed to say anything other than yes?” My hand slides up, running fingers along her chin to face me before falling to my hip.

“I want to be able to hang out and kiss you, Noah, I do. But...” She glances around the lot, dropping her voice to a whisper, “But if my dad were to find out about us... You’d be okay with meeting him, right?”

My neck jerks back and I know my eyes bulge out of their sockets. Good god, she really wants her dad to like me. And she’s actually worried about him. I can tell from the way her french tipped nails dig into her books with her iron grip.

“Meet him? He’d probably love me.” My tongue smooths over my lips, and I lean in, waiting for the signal.

In my head, I’m not nearly as confident. Girls don’t usually ask to introduce me to their parents, likely due to my well earned attitude and look. Between the tattoos, the fact that I give tattoos, and my tendency to tear around on a dirt bike, most people have me pegged as a rebel without a cause.

To everyone else, the tattooing is another way for me to act out, the venture adding more to my so-called “bad boy” persona. What it really is, is a way to make art. It doesn’t really matter though, because the spray paint also screams devil child.

Though I suppose it could also be due to the simple fact that I don’t really date. Girls never want me around like that. But god , my want to get with her is so intense that it overshadows any concerns about societal norms at this point.

After feeling a subtle tingle in my fingers against the window of her Jeep, my mind starts to get filled with thoughts of kissing her, running my fingers through her hair. My heart pounds when I get another whiff of her peachy smell, and every thought in my mind starts to swirl together and I feel myself starting to nod.

“I would be.”

She looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and hopeful. “Really? You mean it?”

Do I mean it? Fuck if I know. But it’s the correct answer, because she stretches up to rest her lips on mine, and my hand moves from her hip, up to her waist, my thumb rubbing up her spine.

I can’t believe I’m doing all this to get a kiss.

It's worth it when her body reacts in the same way it did at the skatepark. Her breath quickens and goosebumps race across her skin as I hold her close. Her fingers dig at my back as if seeking out every ridge, each muscle, tracing over the double barbwire tattoo on my bicep.

In a sudden jolt, she retreats, as if now realizing that she shouldn’t be engaged in this forbidden act in the school parking lot. Her hand drops limply by her side, and her gaze flickers around my body before meeting mine with an embarrassed smile.

I smile back, but I keep my head tilted down. All I want to do is whisk her away to a secret hideout and continue what is hardly a make-out session, but alas, I have to restrain and wait.

Patience, my dear lips, patience.

I clear my throat and slide my hands into my pockets. “Are you going to plan our next skating lesson, or will I have to keep stealing you away after school?”

“I guess I do owe you another lesson soon,” she whispers, tucking blonde hair behind her ear. “Maybe I’ll be a bit more of a rebel and steal you away myself. Or maybe... you can give me skating lessons at your house?”

My brain immediately supplies me with thoughts of pulling her pretty skirts off and tossing them on my floor, making a rug out of it.

“Sure thing. We can even skate in my backyard, on the sidewalk. My bedroom.”

She giggles at something I’ve said finally and it’s music to my fucking ears.

“I’m not exactly sure when we’ll do our next lesson, but I do really have to go.” She opens her door and starts to crawl into the front seat. “Will I see you at the Bellpond Blast tomorrow night?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.” I move over to the door and close it for her, then lean against her open window. “Especially not if you’re going to be there.”

With a heavy gut and sad state of arousal— my dick —I stand there, watching her drive off in her white car. I salute her with two fingers as she turns on the road before trudging back to my motorcycle. At least I'm getting somewhere with her.

Just as I’m about to straddle my bike, I robotically reach underneath my arm when I realize I left my helmet in my locker. Dammit.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, I walk back into the school, lazily dragging my fingertips along the row of lockers, humming along to Cherry Bomb coming from somewhere down one of the hallways.

Halfway down the hall I spin the combination of my lock until I hear the click, open it, and grab my helmet, clicking my tongue as I tuck it under my arm. Most days I don’t give a shit if I have a helmet or not. But considering how well this school year is going, I don’t want to press my luck. Wouldn’t want Roxanne seeing me on the streets and throwing another can at my head.

I slide the helmet over my head and start making my way back down. Man. Wendy is worth the extra effort and Daniel will eat it.

As I pass by the same hallway as before, the sound of Cherry Bomb starts up again. Only this time, a voice blasts over the music. Who the hell is even singing after school hours?

My curiosity piqued, I can barely contain my feet from grinding to a halt as I squint down the hall and ever-so-slightly tip-toe closer to the source. Yeah, sure, stop to investigate the weird music coming from Creepy Hallway #4. Brilliant plan.

When I make it to the door outside of the music room, I peek inside through the narrow window, and immediately my heart drops.

Dinosaurs are reborn. Satan's very own garage band has set up shop.

Because right there, behind the drum set, is Ian bashing away with sheer ferocity, his frenzied energy rippling through even the glass. He's committing percussive genocide. Annihilating rhythms. The drum sticks are a blur, each beat perfectly timed, the whole room coming together with every smack.

Even a smile spreads across my face as I watch everyone hammer away. The redhead Roxanne had been arguing with is standing behind the microphone, bobbing her head to the beat, and I catch myself starting to tap my foot along the floor.

No .

I stop tapping my foot.

Annoyingly, I was mesmerized and I find myself inching closer, so close that the front of my helmet dings against the window as if I were a toddler peering into some magical candy store.

They are good. Fuck.

I stare at the lack of tomatoes being thrown at them, my awe curdling into disgust.

When did they recruit a whole fucking orchestra? A second guitarist, a keyboardist, and who knows what else?

My gaze darts around when I spot two green eyes on the other side of the windows from the opposite side of the room. Roxanne’s face mirrors my own, or maybe even worse.

Her eyes are blown wide, her mouth hangs open like a busted screen door, and her nose is scrunched up so far for so long she looks like a statue.

As the solo kicks in, I reluctantly shift my attention towards the new lady guitarist, unable to deny her talent as she shakes her black bob around and gets into it. With each strum, the redhead behind the microphone owns it, strutting around the room.

Jealousy creeps in. Definitely made visible from my nose twitching as my lip curls back in a snarl I can’t control.

She’s good and it pisses me off to no end. Then she does the unforgivable—she takes the microphone cord, twirls her hand to the tempo of the song, then catches the end of the mic after she throws it up in the air.

I have to literally grip the door frame to keep my fists from bursting through the glass.

That was my thing. Who the hell does she think she is?

Thoroughly irritated, I push back and storm out of the school, hoping to never hear that damn song.

I mount my bike, tearing out of the parking lot in a satisfying roar while speeding towards the safety of my house where I can at least count on the stories my mom will tell me about her trip with Dennis to distract my mind from Iron fucking Fillings.

As I weave recklessly through the streets, I grip the handles, my knuckles turning bone white with the pressure as I outrun my thoughts. Normally, riding makes me feel at peace, but after seeing that I can’t enjoy the vibrations underneath me.

I take a sharp turn, the wind slicing against my neck as I come to a stop at a tedious stop sign, leaning dangerously far forward into a front wheel stop from how fast I’d been going. I shouldn’t have worn my helmet because cracking my skull open would at least put that song out of my head.

The back tire slams down, the tension in my shoulders unwinding a bit the closer I get to my house. Until something catches my eye.

There’s a black sheet of paper stapled to a nearby telephone pole with huge words in block letters, orange and white colors all over it. Leaning over, I strain to get a better look.

The words on the paper come into focus:

BATTLE OF THE BANDS.

MAY 28TH, 1991.

WINNERS DECIDED BY ETHEREAL RECORDS. JOIN THE EPIC BATTLE AND TAKE HOME $1000 CASH PRIZE AND RECORDING PACKAGE.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across my face, a glimmer of hope igniting within me until it’s quickly snuffed out. How great that Iron Fillings gets a chance at success while I’m left seething with resentment. Now I’m fucking pissed off again.

I rip the paper out from underneath the staple and crumple it in my hand, hoping it’s one less flyer in the world for them to find.

The perfect way to get out of town and start over. Lucky them.

I continue my journey home, my sulkiness enveloping me like a dark cloud. Graduation looms ahead and I still have no concrete plans for the future, although my grades are good enough to get me into college if I want. I do feel an obligation to make my mom proud since better opportunities were one of the reasons she married Dennis in the first place. But the hard truth is… I still have no real talent or aptitude. No blazing life purpose or career calling. Let alone a fucking clue as to what I want to do.

One thing is certain—I need to venture anywhere that isn’t here. And I want to take my mom with me, to prove to her she can have a better life beyond the prison of this place.

Beyond the prison of Dennis Ward.

I grip my handlebars tighter as if trying to wring answers from the metal. I feel like I’m racing against a ticking clock counting down to some unknown catastrophe. Turning onto Winterberry Loop, I park my bike on the edge of the driveway and hurry my way inside.

My shoes squeak against the floor and everything inside looks the exact same since I left this morning. The missing car keys still not tossed in the bowl on the entrance table are an obvious sign.

I move throughout the house, my eyes shifting from room to room and searching for signs of life. The garage remains empty, and Dennis’ car is absent as expected.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I step into the hallway again, glaring at the red blinking light on the answering machine.

My chest falls in a sigh as I press the play button.

“Noah, dear…” I mouth along with the predictable excuses as Mom starts to ramble, “You know how some of these work trips can take forever! Your dad and I will be home tomorrow. I’ll call you when I can to find out how your first week of school was. Bye bye, love you.”

I roll my eyes at the voicemail, stabbing the delete button. Does she even remember what grade I’m in?

It never fails to piss me off when I hear the same message over and over, knowing full well she has no intention of actually calling me. If my mom left a voicemail, what it really translates to is that they will be a week late and she won’t have the time to call me.

Yes, I know she’s busy jetting around with Dennis and seeing the world, but for once, I wish she would make time for me. You know. Her son .

Now I have to be alone in this house again, with no band practice to turn to and no Daniel to skate with since he's busy working tonight.

I refuse to let those thoughts of Iron Fillings and their probable future record deal dominate my head any fucking longer.

Drowning out the negativity, I crank up the volume on my amp, the sound reverberating through the empty house and my bones. I stare up at the popcorn ceiling while lying on my bed, tucking one foot underneath my knee and getting lost.

My fingers pluck the strings along to The Police’s So Lonely.

Maybe I was a dramatic little shit a lot of the time, but who’s to say it wasn’t a little hilarious? Sometimes there are instances when intentionally amplifying my sadness made me feel better. Made me laugh at myself.

My eyes shift to the posters above my bed while I tilt my head back. They have it all, the freedom to do whatever the hell they pleased, and definitely without having to worry about meeting parents for a simple kiss.

I feel fucking pathetic the longer this song goes on and I compare myself to Joe Elliot and Vince Neil. But if it weren’t for those self-deprecating thoughts and putting myself in this situation, a fire wouldn’t have ignited within me.

I want to take down Ian and that redhead so bad. I want to take back that spotlight and prove that I am more than a mere contender. I want to show them and the world that I was a fucking force to be reckoned with. That they are wrong about me.

No matter how much I want to be like the guys on my walls and rub it in their faces, I don’t have a band, and I probably never will. There is at least one face that came to mind though—Daniel.

The guy had some crazy natural talent at the bass when we played for the first time, and he loved slapping those strings. I bet he’d be willing to start something with me.

The idea alone makes me grin cheek to cheek, imagining him running the stage with me. I was finally seeing some sort of light at the end of the dark tunnel.

Tunnels . Maybe Levi and Molly have some musical talent and can cover the drumming and guitar bases.

The next song on The Police’s ‘ Outlandos D’Amour’ album begins to play, and when they belt out that first name of a girl with green eyes, I catapult myself upright in my bed.

Holy shit.

Now this is a wild idea. A stupid idea. A bad idea.

One that could either lead to greatness or be a complete fucking disaster, but it might work. It could be the chance to create something mind-blowing, a chance to steal back the thunder that had been taken from me.

From us.