Your Biggest Fan

51. NOAH

Chapter fifty-one

I’ve been tense all day after seeing those greens in my direction for the first time in months. My mind is so full of static, that cotton fuzz feeling in my ear that makes me want to swing another punch into the face of a bully or whatever similar. If anything, my body is begging for some kind of release—and to wear something good the next time I pass by her to see if I can get those eyes with all that passion looking my way.

Shit, I'd settle for a glare, a scowl, anything.

Banging my forehead on the outside of the front door will have to suffice. If I hit it hard enough maybe it will erase my memory. Or I might need a goddamn lobotomy.

Yeah, that’s it, a good old-fashioned ice pick to the frontal lobe. That ought to do the trick. No more thoughts of her checking me out across the courtyard, no more replaying that moment in my head like a broken record.

I should’ve gone to the skate park to keep my distractions in check. It’s finally warm enough to skate too. Could’ve spent the afternoon busting my ass on the halfpipe.

Or I should have gone to Daniel’s place. I could’ve drowned my sorrows in a few beers and some mindless video games. But who am I kidding? Even with a controller in my hand and a buzz in my head, I’d still be thinking about her.

I need a new distraction.

I bang my head harder. That’s the sick thing about love—even if I have distractions, I fucking miss her. Not having her is like Sampson losing all of his strength when Delilah cuts his hair off. I’m weak and powerless.

I bet seeing me today has her sitting in her bedroom right now, opening up that leather journal and adding my name right next to all the poor bastards who’ve crossed her. I can picture her lipstick mark as she presses a kiss next to my name, the same color that used to stain my skin. I heard there’s a full moon tonight too. Perfect conditions for a curse.

I sigh and press my forehead harder to the door, the number 16 digging into my skin to mark me for stupidity. I don't think a day has gone by where I didn’t replay our fight, unable to mute the things I should never have said. I’ve never stopped feeling like a fuck up.

These last months without Roxanne have been hell. And I’m the one who lit the fire.

My body plows forward and I land right into something tall and hard. Phillips is standing there, his hand on the open door as he pushes me upright with a grip on my shoulders.

“Trying to give yourself a concussion, son?” Those brows crash down into a look of concern, his hazel eyes scanning my face. He’s definitely afraid I might have knocked the last of my brain cells loose.

“Maybe I was hoping it would knock some sense into me,” I mutter, rubbing at my forehead.

Phillips claps a hand on my back, his laugh rattling the door frame. “I doubt anything could get through that thick skull of yours, but come on in and take a load off anyway.”

I follow him inside, dropping my backpack on the couch that’s become my bed. The springs squeak and the cushions are flat now as I sink down, sounding a lot like the internal sigh that’s always coming out of my mouth these days.

It’s been two months of this—crashing here, tiptoeing around to not disturb the neighbors. Things I used to take for granted, like playing music at full volume or stretching out in bed, don’t feel normal now and my back is starting to pay for it.

God, I really fucking miss playing. In this tiny apartment, I can’t exactly let loose without the neighbors complaining even though I can smell their weird food coming down through the ceiling over the water heater in the kitchen.

My storage garage shit is stacked along his bookcases, and every time I look at the guitar I’m tempted to bang out on it anyways until they start stomping upstairs or fisting at the connected walls.

All I can say is it’s been weird because:

A) Living on a couch with no privacy is weird.

B) Living with the principal is already weird. I keep expecting him to realize what a lost cause I am and tell me to hit the road.

C) My stepfather still hasn’t come searching for me with a shotgun in hand, and according to the court records Phillips located, that dirt bike has been in my name the whole time. The title is packed away in my bags, and now I own something that’s mine.

Has been mine.

Dennis must have transferred it to me at some point, but kept it hidden so he could keep using it as leverage. I guess he figured I’d never actually leave, so he’d never have to make good on his threat. Or he didn’t want to deal with the hassle of reporting it stolen, since the paper trail would lead right back to him and me fucking up his reputation.

The weirdest part out of all of this, is that I don’t have to fear for my life every time I step through the front door. I wasn’t so alone either, which is kind of nice, although incredibly annoying at the same time when you set an empty Coke can down on the coffee table and someone is breathing down your neck about it.

“Are you done with that?”

It’s a Coke can, not a fucking ticking time bomb. Why can’t I throw it away whenever I get up? It’s not going to sprout legs and run off into the sunset.

“You hungry?” Phillips shoots me a look over his shoulder as he clatters around the kitchen.

I eye the silent TV. “Little bit.”

Listening to the homey sounds—Phil’s whistling, pots and pans clinking, mismatched plates being set on the table—makes my chest tighten. It throws me back to when I was a kid daydreaming about dance-offs with Mom using a wooden spoon as a mic instead of… this.

Eighteen and quietly existing on my Principal’s couch.

As awkward as it is squeezing in at his small kitchen table, the gingham cushion giving little padding to the wood underneath my ass, I’m fucking grateful. I’d never had the experience of comfortable family meals where I can talk about my day without getting my head bit off, but mostly because Phil didn’t have to take me in.

I’m not the ideal house guest. I annoy him, I’m too fucking loud. An ugly stepsister trying to fit in Cinderella’s shoes.

But Phil, he gave me a safe place to land. For that, I’ll forever be in his debt. I hope I can find a way to pay it forward someday. If I ever manage to get my shit together, that is.

He slides a loaded plate of pot roast my way, eyes zoning in on my water cup that’s leaving a ring around his table. “Everything alright?”

I grab a coaster and set it under the cup. “I’m fine,” I lie with a faint smile, eyes down at the carrot I push around my plate. “Just antsy. Think I’ll go for a ride later to clear my head.”

Talking about my day is one thing, but how do I explain that I’m butt hurt by a girl who won’t look at me anymore?

Phil’s frown says he’s not buying it, and he squeezes my shoulder in that paternal way of his. The way I’ve always craved from a father figure.

“You know where to find me if you need to talk,” he says, and I nod, throat going tight.

It’s nice. Having someone give a damn. Act like a real dad for once.

Ah, fuck it.

“I screwed up,” I blurt out, almost as if the words were beaten out of me.

He settles into the chair across from me, somehow smiling. “There it is. Hit me.”

The legs of my chair scrape against the tile as I jump up, vibrating with too much extra energy now. I grab my glass of water and move over to the kitchen window above the sink, fingertips tapping out a beat against the glass. Outside, the sun bounces off the cars in the parking lot, a couple walking their dog along the sidewalk, and someone in a giant coat is taking the trash out to the dumpster. The drab outdoors is so at odds with the summery warmth spreading through my chest.

I spin to face Phil, my grin about to split my face in two. “Her name’s Roxanne.”

Goddamn, saying her name out loud makes my body warmer. I blow a stray hair off my forehead, tapping harder on the glass as scenes from our story play like a movie reel in my mind.

“We technically met at The Velvet Ostrich at the end of the summer. She couldn’t stand me. I was fucking hooked.” I get stuck thinking about how tiny she looked sitting on that stool, her voice not loud enough to get the attention of the bartender. “It took me forever to get her to let me inside. But when I did, it was like I caught a fever. Every time I breathed around her I got this whiff of ‘wow, we can laugh and be here together.’”

My hands are shaking talking about her. I keep my eyes on the lemon walls around us and gulp down some water, but it does fuck-all to cool my sweat.

“It was like, she gave me a strength that made me feel like I could wrestle a bear with one hand while writing her a song with the other. I can just think of her and feel like nothing is wrong.“ My hand stills against the glass. “After everything she’s gone through, she deserves to watch the world burn. But instead—” A sadness pierces through the delirium in my chest. “Instead she quietly leaves pennies upside down on the sidewalk, hoping to make someone else’s day better.”

I sigh, walking back toward the chair and sitting across from Phil, placing the empty cup back on the coaster. “I blew it. Roxanne and I aren’t talking anymore. We both said things, but I screwed it all up. I quit the band, I…” Head in hands, I stare down at the scratched up tabletop. “It wasn’t supposed to go this way. We’re supposed to be together, she’s supposed to be my girl.”

Peeking up, I find Phil’s brows furrowed behind his smudged glasses. Dude’s a fucking saint for putting up with my ass right now.

“What happened that caused Roxanne to stop talking to you?” he asks, all gentle and shit.

“Well, uh, you see…” I rub the back of my neck, face flaming. “I kept trying to force her to talk to me and stay, and then I accused her of something. Something I had no right to. I smelled cloves on her, and I… Fuck, I hurt her bad, said some pretty harsh things about her drumming, and I don’t think there’s any fixing this one. I was worried and dealing with my own shit, I guess, and angry. It felt right in the moment.”

Phil whistles low. “You’re telling me there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell you could patch things up?”

“I don’t know, man.” I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. “She lit into me pretty good. She told me to fuck off, fell when I tried to stop her from leaving, and she loses her cool sometimes, but she's never lost it like that. And then I just... I couldn't stop pushing.”

The usual shame burns its way through my veins. The facts stand that I lashed out at the woman I love most. Would she ever forgive me for that?

Across the table, Phil hums, spearing a potato chunk and chewing slowly as he mulls it over. “Sometimes hurt leads us to react in ways we later regret. What matters most is taking responsibility and doing the work to rebuild broken bridges.”

“But I really stuck my foot in it this time—”

Phil cuts me off with a raised hand, setting down his fork. “Perhaps start by giving her space, then try reaching out to apologize with zero expectations.” He picks up his knife, sawing into his roast. “If the love you two share is real, things have a way of mending themselves over time.”

I nod, taking any reassurance I can get. My world without her penny flipping spirit in it isn’t one worth living in.

“I don’t know.” I slump down, resting my head on the table. “I want to try.”

“We all make mistakes, kiddo.” Phil’s chair creaks as he leans back. “And from what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound like the worst thing ever.” He gestures at me with his knife in a circular motion. “So I know you can make her yours again.”

I lift my head, offered a ray of hope. “You think so?”

But I know it doesn’t mean anything until I act on it.

“Absolutely. Don’t throw in the towel yet, loverboy. Grovel like you’ve never groveled before and maybe she’ll agree to couples counseling with Pastor Moon.” He laughs and I roll my eyes.

Picking up my own fork, I spear a carrot and pop it into my mouth. “Alright, alright. Lay some wisdom on me then, Philly Cheesesteak. How do you woo a woman after screwing up big time?”

Phillips freezes with his fork hovering over his food, the metal prongs quivering. “You need my advice on getting a girl?”

“You’d know a thing or two wouldn’t you, old man?” I smirk around a mouthful of carrots. Can’t remember the last time, if ever, I asked for girl advice. For Roxanne’s sake? I’ll humble myself.

He goes back to cutting his roast, shaking his head. “Teacher’s lounge is gonna love this one.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it off.” I snap my fingers in his direction. “Now let’s hear it.”

The idea is fun to think about: old man Phillips telling me the ins and outs of dating.

He’s not even that old of a man, he’s got to be in his early 40s. He’s a tall, broad shouldered guy with a crazy amount of muscle mass that is hidden underneath his suits, but is well shown in the way he knocked Dennis out in one go.

“Yeah, you know me, Noah. I’m great at flirting like you buddy.” Phil’s mouth crinkles as he laughs heartily, and I’m starting to regret letting him have the upper hand with my love life woes.

“Want to win back your lady? Here’s what you do.” He scoots his chair closer, elbows coming to rest on the table as he steeples his fingers together. “Women love attention. Give it to her. Be confident, humble. Be yourself. And maybe don’t forget to buy a bouquet of flowers.”

“Flowers?” I try to envision walking up to Roxanne with some frilly bouquet. Something about it doesn’t quite fit her. She needs a bouquet constructed entirely of donuts. “I like to think I’m a smooth operator, but—”

“It’s an easy way to show some affection,” he insists. “Trust me, buddy. Get the flowers, give 'em to her, and you’ll see the results.”

“Yeah I bet ladies really cream themselves over some carnations,” I scoff, earning a solid flick on the side of my head.

“Don’t change the subject, smartass. You want this girl back or not?” Phil points a tan finger at me. “Don’t underestimate the power of flowers. You’ll thank me later.”

I open my mouth to shit talk some more but he holds out a hand to stop me.

“First, give Roxanne space. Let her process and cool down before you stroll in there with sad puppy eyes. Trust me, anything less is gonna poke the bear.”

He’s starting to sound like more of a love guru than a principal.

“Next, an apology gesture with meaning behind it. Flowers aren’t the only thing that’s gonna cut it. This has to come from the heart.” He taps his chest for emphasis. “Bust out that guitar I’ve heard you wailing on from time to time.” I feel my face warm knowing he’s heard me, but Phil keeps on going. “Use your words wisely to show her your regret. That mushy stuff makes you musician types irresistible.” He wiggles his eyebrows goofily and I have to crack a smile.

Phil’s face comes down, turning serious. “Once you’ve laid the groundwork, talk one on one.”

I nod my head. “Give her space, heartfelt gesture, talk it out. I can do that.”

“And flowers.”

“Right.” I smirk. And because I’m nosy, I ask, “Do you always get flowers for that side babe of yours?”

To my surprise, Phil doesn’t miss a beat. “My woman prefers chocolate, actually. But, flowers work fine for the usual side babe.”

“Of course. The side babe.”

Phil leans back and stretches out his arms to link his fingers behind the back of his head. “What can I say? I’ve got the ladies wrapped around my fingers.”

“You must have quite an impressive finger game.” I snort into my water glass, forgetting it’s empty.

“Oh yes. I can really get them to fall head over heels for me.” He exhales a long breath, stretching his arms overhead with a series of pops. “How about you, kid? I always assumed you were quite the lady killer.”

“I’m as good as they come,” I tease, stabbing at another mushy carrot. “But this one, man... she’s different.” I let out a long sigh, and glance down at the scar on my knuckles. That Halloween party was so long ago. “I really care about her, and I want to hold onto that.”

“Noah, I have to say, I am really proud of you.” His hand comes out to pat at my back, the gesture both gentle and firm. There's a warmth in his eyes that makes me think of how a father might look at his son. “It’s great to see you so invested in making things right. She’s a lucky gal.”

The words slam into me with unexpected impact, my throat tightening. “She’s not mine though, and she won’t be until I do something to fix it.”

I stare at my plate, mentally cycling through all the little quirks and details I miss most about Roxanne. The way her nose crinkles when she really laughs, the silver on her necklace fading from how much she sucks on it, the curve of her thumb whenever it’s holding her drumstick. Focusing on past mistakes won’t win her back, though.

Lucky for me, I’ve got my own three step plan now. Even if it has to include shaking my shirt like a complete fucking tool, I’ll do it.

I glance back up to Phil. “Thanks, Dad.”

We both know I’m thanking him for bigger things than only this. I wasn’t used to good fathers, but who needed those when you have a person like Phil?

He doesn’t even try to hide his mirth. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. But only for the next three months,” he says, sticking a finger in his mouth, then jamming it rudely into my ear canal with a wet pop. “When are you gonna get the hell off my couch?”

I jerk back in disgust, furiously wiping away the saliva trickling down my neck as I shoot him a glare. “Yeah, you know what? That’s a damn good question.” Leaning back, I mutter curses and pick up a napkin to stick in my ear, propping my feet up on the empty chair beside me. “Maybe this is my home now. It is pretty comfy here.”

He levels me with his best teacher glare, but I can see the amusement there. “Listen here, wiseass. My hospitality has an expiration date and that happens to coincide with your high school graduation.” He jabs a forkful of pot roast at me. “Enjoy that couch while you can. In three months, I want your skinny rear outta my place.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t really toss me out like that, would you? I mean, you took me under your wing. That sort of love is unconditional.”

“It’s not that unconditional.”

I pretend to look wounded. “I was really starting to make myself at home.” I slouch further down, arms crossed and legs still in the way of the empty chair. “And here I thought we were bonding. Braiding each other’s hair, having tickle fights…”

Phil makes a face. “Keep it up and you’ll be braiding a cast on that busted arm when I toss your butt to the curb.”

“Yeah right, you love nurturing strays like me.” I laugh, then stretch my legs out even further to be a pain in the ass. “Is there a chance of an extension?”

His mouth twitches as he fights back a smile. We both know it’s kind of true. Something in my hapless teen orphan vibe calls to his inner fatherly instinct and has since I first darkened the steps of Bellpond High.

“No chance of an extension, buddy. The clock is ticking. If you don’t get your own place, you won’t be able to bring your side babes over to your spot.”

“Side babes.” I shake my head and sigh. “You are so out of touch.”

When he uses his fork to flick a potato at me, I shut my trap and dig into my dinner.

After we finish, I make my way to the kitchen, my arms full of our dirty dishes. It’s my job to do all of the rinsing, loading the dishwasher, and wiping down the counters, but it’s kind of meditative. Clean things have always made me feel like my shit’s together.

I flop down on the couch next to Phillips where he has Goodfellas up on the TV again, no surprise there. Since living here we have watched that movie together more times than we can count only because the Copacabana entrance scene is the best thing in the world according to him. Tonight I can barely sit through the walk-and-talk, and my fingers start to twitch, digging into my front pocket to touch the small metal.

My thumb traces over the grooves of the penny I’d picked up in the storage garage five months ago, and I bring it into the light.

Hang on a little longer, babe.

The sun beats down on my bare, sun-kissed shoulders as I balance my skateboard on the edge of the empty pool. After months buried under layers of sweatshirts and jackets to fight off the frigid midwest air, the park buried in ice and sludge, it feels good to let my skin thaw out and breathe.

I tilt my face up towards the blue sky and smile, smelling the fresh sour tang of spray paint fumes as Levi and Molly tag some graffiti around the pool walls. It’s not the chemicals themselves that get me high, but it’s how much I’ve missed coming out here to paint on these walls. Spring 1991 is fucking here and summer’s around the corner which means no more school— for good . God, isn’t that a delightful thought?

The changing seasons seem to be a promising metaphor for the shift happening in my own life too, even though it’s been almost three months. Twelve fucking weeks. Eighty-four days of radio silence, of staring at her from across the lunch room.

Fuck, I miss her. Miss the way she fits perfectly tucked under my arm, the sweet scent of her shampoo.

I miss my girl, plain and simple.

Roxanne’s not one to break easy, and I know I’ve got my work cut out for me. I’ve been biding my time, giving her space like Phil suggested.

Step one: give her space. Check .

Step two: come up with a heartfelt apology gesture. Working on it.

Step three: sit down and bare my soul, no jealous bullshit attached. From either of us.

Oh, and don’t forget the flowers. Apparently, girls love flowers.

Squinting against the glare of the sun, I watch a couple of new kids attempt to spin off a nearby ramp, only to end up flat on their ass with a mouthful of gravel. I laugh, but not in a cruel way. More like their complete lack of coordination is cute.

“Yo Noah, you gonna sit there tanning all day or are we gonna shred some concrete?”

I turn down to Daniel standing at the bottom of the pool, his arms stretched out with his board in hand, his mess of dark waves poking out from under a backward cap. It’s almost down to his collarbones now.

“I'm soaking up this weather, man.” I push off down the steep side of the pool, the pull of the gravity making my stomach dip. “Feels good to be back out here.”

Daniel effortlessly pops an ollie, landing it with perfect precision before smoothly transitioning into a manual. “No doubt, bro. You’ve been MIA for months moping over your rocky love life.” He flashes me a shit-eating grin, nimbly sidestepping my half-assed attempt to kick him as I whiz by.

“I was not moping.” Even I hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

Daniel cocks his head to the side a little and I thought not for the first time that he reminds me of a toddler, ready to get into trouble. “You were totally moping.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Was not! ”

“Was too! Face it, you were moping and listening to The Cure on repeat.” Daniel cracks up, then pitches his voice up into a whiny falsetto. “Oh, Roxy! I want to break my pen in half with my hands. But I don’t— I can’t —because then I’d be breaking more than a pen. I’d be breaking my connection to the only thing that’s actually made me happy in this god-awful town: you!”

I flip him the bird. There’s no way he dug out the crumpled piece of paper I wrote my sad feelings inside before I tossed it into the trash after Math class.

But Daniel's not done. He dramatically clasps his hands to his chest. “Your smile, a jagged stencil cutting through my defenses, each word a spray of possibility on my blank-wall life! Tag me, mark me, claim me!”

“Shut up,” I growl, my face heating up.

Our little back-and-forth is interrupted when Molly and Levi come strolling up with cans of spray paint and a boombox hanging at their side. Bust a Move is playing as Molly sets the stereo down, her cropped pink hair glowing in the sunlight.

“Are we ragging on Noah?” she asks with an impish grin and high fives Daniel.

“I hate you all,” I mutter, my already sunburnt cheeks heating up even more.

Levi throws an arm around my shoulders. “Nah, bro, you love us! You’ve gone soft, that’s all.”

I shoot Daniel a pointed glare, hating myself since I forgot that he can have a big mouth after a couple of joints. He’s the only one who knew the full extent of my feelings for Roxanne, thanks to me spilling my guts to him after what happened at the storage garage.

He’d cornered me the first day back to school, after I’d begged him to switch seats so I could give her space. With a deep sigh from my chest, I pulled him to my secret spot underneath the bleachers and told him everything.

I hadn’t given him all the gory details, but I’d hit the highlights: the first time she kissed me, the second time she kissed me, the flirting, the undefined relationship. Specifically, that I think we had too much going on in our lives at the same time. That the timing was bad for our fucked up heads.

All Daniel said was, “No shit you like her. Roxy is awesome.”

Thanks to his gossipy ass, Molly and Levi are up to speed too.

It’s not like I’m ashamed of falling for Rox. Hell no. I’m just not used to wearing my heart on my sleeve like this, and their constant ribbing overwhelms me because I’ve never been in a relationship—let alone in fucking love.

Shrugging off Levi’s arm, I snatch up my board and head for the opposite end of the pool. “Whatever, man. Let’s skate.”

Molly and Levi laugh as they pick up their paint cans from beside their backpacks. “Well, these masterpieces aren’t gonna create themselves,” she says, giving her can of electric orange a good shake. She and her brother exchange a fist bump before walking off toward the pool ladder, probably to go tag the tunnels behind the park.

I watch them disappear around the corner, their laughter bouncing off the empty pool walls. When I turn back around, Daniel is watching me with a knowing glint in his brown eyes that makes me want to deck him.

“What?”

“Don’t trip, Nojo. At least you’re not staring at the record store anymore, hoping to see that little blue and white car cruise by while you pretend to flip through your cigarettes.”

A pained groan tears from my throat. “Wow. What has gotten into you today?”

Christ, what I wouldn’t give for a cigarette right about now. Or ten. I haven’t smoked since that day.

Daniel throws up his hands. “Nothing, nothing! Just saying, we’ve all been there, bro. No judgment.”

I only nod, hoping he’ll drop the subject this time.

But of course, he can’t resist getting one last jab in. “Speaking of your lady love.”

Here we go.

“Yeah?” I aim for disinterest, though by the way Daniel’s eyebrows quirk, I’m not fooling anyone.

“She’s still planning on competing in the Battle of the Bands,” he admits quietly, gauging my reaction with all his hand gestures and ticks. “I wanted to make sure you’re cool with me sticking around as her bassist. No hard feelings or anything.”

My eyes widen. Roxanne’s still going through with the competition? Even after our blow up? I wonder if she hopes that I’ll show up to watch.

The image of her behind her drums burns behind my eyelids, the blue that reflects in her dark hair when the lights hit just right as she slams out intense rhythms, and I get a little giddy at the idea of her looking at me with that energy. It’s when she’s wearing the most attitude.

I swallow and wave off his concern. “Dude, of course. Why would I stop you two from playing?”

I drop my board down and skate over to an empty paint can. If Roxanne’s putting herself back out there, maybe it’s a sign. A sign I still have a chance of winning her over.

“You’re really okay with it, man?”

Meeting his assessing eyes, I nod, hoping my expression reads as chill despite the excitement buzzing in my neck at getting to see her on stage. “Yeah, dude. It’s all good. Go help her win back her cash, get her out of this town.”

Even as I say the words, my gut fights against the sandwich I’d eaten earlier thinking about her leaving. If that’s what she wants, what makes her happy, I’ll have to find a way to deal.

“Right on, man. And hey, you know you’re always welcome to crash with me in Cali after graduation this summer. We could terrorize Venice Beach together!”

Damn, escaping to the West Coast with Daniel, leaving all this painful history behind, is tempting as hell. The California sun on my face, the smell of the ocean and the smooth sounds of our wheels as we roll in empty pools and carve up the boardwalk…

“Yeah, D-bone. I might have to take you up on that,” I say, allowing myself a small smile. “Is Stephanie cool with you taking off solo?”

Daniel shrugs, unbothered and tipping his board up and down with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, we’re enjoying each other’s company while we can this year. We both knew we were never gonna be a forever kind of thing, ya know?”

Can’t say I relate to that. I always knew Roxanne was something, even before I really knew, so when I pictured my future I saw decades of us and music ahead. There was no one else I could talk so easily with, no one I could exist and be myself with. No filters, no bullshit.

She’d be my fucking wife one day.

She was going to be my girl until I couldn’t wake up again. I want her to be my sunshine and wife and best friend and angel and everything.

“Where are you guys practicing?” I ask, trying not to sound too curious.

“At Stephanie’s house mostly,” he reveals. “Her mom hates the noise but Stephanie is kinda killing it on guitar.”

“Stephanie’s playing guitar now?” I hate the way my heart sinks at the news, like everyone’s moving on without me.

“Yeah, acoustic for now though.”

I don’t want to ask, but I need to know. “And who’s singing lead vocals now?”

Daniel’s grin turns so fucking filthy. “Roxy. You know she has some killer pipes.”

At the mention of her name, of her singing , my board slips out from under me. I flail, arms pinwheeling, before crashing down hard onto the unforgiving concrete of the pool.

The impact knocks the wind out of me, pain stinging hot and bright in my left shoulder as I curl in on myself, wheezing.

“Fuck, shit, goddamn son of a—” I hiss, gripping at the pain swelling through my body and breath blowing dirt in my eyes.

“Shit, dude, are you okay?” Daniel’s voice floats down from above, his footsteps drawing closer.

He tries to help me up, but I shrug him off, grunting as I push myself to stand on my own feet. A quick glance at my shoulder shows off the blood starting to well out through the lines of raw scraped skin. The concrete dust makes the cuts look like a jagged octothorp symbol carved into my flesh.

“First wound of the season.” My nose crinkles up when I brush grit and pebbles from the wound. Clearing my throat, I wipe my hands off on my jeans, the heels of my palms red and stinging from the ground. “Roxy’s singing lead now?”

Daniel nods. “Yeah. She was really nervous at first. But you know her, once she got over herself a bit, her voice took over.”

Yeah. I do know . Fuck, I’m so proud of her.

“Huh,” is all I can think to say. On one hand, I hate imagining Roxanne up there on stage without me, shining brighter than ever. On the other, I know how much this all means to her. It’s crazy to think that when I met her she wanted to roast my eyeballs at the thought of singing, but now she is about to take the stage.

She’s conquering her fears, putting herself out there like this, and it’s amazing.

She’s amazing.

I pop my knuckles, ears burning beneath my tangled wave of hair. “Can we please skate now?”

He claps me on the back, careful to avoid my scraped-up shoulder. “Nothing would make me happier.”

The chain around my neck slides against my sweaty skin as my wheels whisper along the concrete for the next couple hours, sucking up the mindless freedom while I still have it. I drift through the day, the sun inching across the sky as we carve the pool, attempting tricks and whooping at clean landings while laughing off bailed attempts.

God, I fucking love skating. Not being held to a certain path, or restricted to a lane where you’re surrounded by others that move the same pace as you. I get to go wherever my heart desires—on a board under my feet.

My shoulders slowly take on a pink tinge as the sweat starts to drip down my back, my body burning up—not from the sun’s rays—because I’m starting to sense the record store staring my way. It’s like this every day I’m here and if I break for too long, the more it stares.

The roll of wheels is the only thing that clears my head, numbing my body and mind and letting me simply exist in the now until I have to stop. I focus on timing my kickflips right, trying to set a new personal best for most rotations in a row.

I get to seven before I fall again and reopen the fucking scrape at my shoulder.

We session the pool for a while longer before moving on to the wooden half-pipe on the other side of the park. We catch big air off the coping, pulling grabs and other aerial stunts. Daniel almost faceplants trying a handstand but somehow saves it last minute, both of us cracking up.

He keeps going, determined to ace it, and when Molly comes back, I crawl back into the pool to join her, spray paint in hand.

I find an empty stretch of concrete near the base of the ladder, the perfect canvas for tagging my latest favorite piece of art. Shaking up a can of black paint, I map out the lines in my head before I cover my mouth with my t-shirt and start to spray the outline of a wishbone, paint hissing out as I shade it in until the lines are dark as night against the sun-bleached cement and overspray sticks to my hands.

Using a deep purple can, I coax the paint out with a flick of my wrist to paint in delicate bursts, each squeeze layering petal after petal until a dahlia blooming takes shape beside the bone. The mixing ball rattles inside the can when I squiggle out the stem to wrap around the right side of the bone.

The wishbone and the dahlia, side by side. Roxy and me. The paint drips and runs in places, imperfect but vibrant and alive, like we were. It’s a little piece of us in this place that’s meant so much to me over the years.

With paint on my fingertips, Daniel and I sprawl on the grass, skin salty and happily exhausted while we gulp at his milk jug of water and bask like lizards on stones. The park’s starting to fill up with a couple of fresh faced twerps we’ve seen with their noses peeking over the fences the past couple of weeks, and Daniel ribs the lanky kid with a patch-up denim vest whenever they stumble on tricks he’d left behind years ago.

It’s a funhouse mirror version of us. The shorter one, with his shaggy hair, reminds me of Daniel when we first met, yelling at me that I needed to commit or else the board would make me its bitch. The taller one, with his bony limbs, could’ve been me.

The next pond brothers.

I laugh when Molly tries to sell more loosies to the baby punks for a buck, and when Daniel and Levi rip a beanie off one of the kids’ heads, throwing it back and forth to each other. But my mind is already drifting…

I take some deep breaths and focus on the breeze hitting my shredded shoulder. It’s the only way I can keep it together when I think about how in less than two months we’ll all be tossing our caps and flipping the bird to high school. Daniel’s got his heart set on LA, chasing his skateboarding dreams and crashing with his cousin, even though his mom keeps harping on about how flaky the whole plan seems. And then I won’t have my best friend around anymore.

Being in a band had been the one thing keeping me running and from spiraling into the dark places in my head, but even that’s been off limits for a while now. These days, all I do is get zonked out riding around Lake Lickrage on my dirtbike with headphones on to distract myself.

I don’t know what Roxanne and her crew are planning to do after high school, but I’m sure their plans all include each other. It sucks to think about everyone leaving, while I’ll end up stuck here alone. The feeling is the same as standing on the edge of a half-pipe, knowing you’ve gotta jump, but not quite sure if you’ll land or be going home with bloody elbows.

I down the last swig from the water jug, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Fuck, when did I turn into such a baby? Sitting here feeling sorry for myself isn’t gonna change a damn thing.

The sun is starting to dip, painting the sky in shades of bruise and flame, so it’s time to head home, find some inspiration in the solitude, and turn that shit into action.

My joints crack like an old man’s, and I grab my board and tuck it under one arm, waving goodbye to Daniel as he demonstrates a heelflip for one of the young bloods. The bloody skin on my shoulder stings like a motherfucker against the sun as I make my way toward my dirtbike.

The metal links of the fence click together when I snag my backpack off the post, and start cramming my shirt and skateboard inside, letting it stick out halfway before swinging the bag onto my back. As I’m about to wheel my bike away from the fence, someone yells from across the street.

“Yo, Noah!”

I turn around, blocking the sun with my hand to spot Ian running up the sidewalk, a square paper bag clutched in hands. If there was ever a time I knew what a deer felt like in the headlights of a semi, it’s right now.

“Yeah?” I holler back, cringing over how shrill my own voice sounds.

“Wait up, dude!” Ian’s still shouting, dodging pedestrians as he hurries. Embarrassment warms my face as I glance around to everyone walking around downtown gawking at us like we’re a couple of brain fried burnouts.

“Okay?” I sigh, leaning my bike back against the fence and putting as little effort into rolling my eyes as someone can when you see a long haired metalhead jogging the crosswalk.

He’s panting like a dog when he reaches me, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat, overgrown hair sticking to his neck. His jeans are rolled up past his ankles, exposing neon orange socks above ripped black Vans.

“Hey, man, fancy running into you here,” Ian wheezes, bracing one hand against the fence post. His eyes immediately fall onto my shoulder. “Shit, looks like you ate it pretty hard. You good?”

“I’ll live. I'm shedding some skin in honor of springtime.” I shrug, regretting it when the scrape brushes my backpack.

“Nice, I can dig it.” A small grin tugs at the corner of Ian’s mouth as he holds up the paper bag, the outline of a record visible. “I know shit’s been kinda weird between us lately, but I picked up the new Megadeth album. I thought maybe you’d want to give it a spin? For old times’ sake?”

I hold back those sarcastic remarks waiting on the tip of my tongue. Watching him run all the way over here makes me feel something suspiciously close to guilt and, instead, I stare him down silently, arms crossed over my bare chest.

“What’s your angle?” I ask, cutting straight to the chase. “Why now?”

Ian’s smile falters and his shoulders hunch inward. “No angle, dude. I just really miss hanging out with you. Talking about music, girls, all that shit. And I thought it was really fucking cool, the way you stood up for that kid at Chris’ Halloween party. Took some serious balls to put yourself out there like that. Made me realize maybe Iron Fillings wasn’t always living up to all that talk about integrity and loyalty and unity and all that jive.”

He offers a shy smile. Which is saying something, since Ian is anything but shy.

“I wanted to extend this peace offering, I guess.” He lifts the record tentatively in my direction, baring all his teeth in a smile as he shakes it, the blue album art peeking out from the top of the bag. “No pressure if you’re not feeling it, but you know you want to hear this. Dave Mustaine’s guitar work is supposed to be insane on this one.”

My radar vision is pinging, telling me that he’s trying to make a real effort to mend fences.

I stare at the record. I don’t particularly like it, but it feels kind of nice. I’d rather close up this school year with no bad blood with anyone, and I’ve already concluded that I’m not that hurt about the whole thing anymore. Hell, a piece of me still wants to kiss Ian on the fucking cheek for kicking me out, or else a lot of the good shit that’s happened since then might never have happened.

Yeah, Roxy is right. Everything happens for a reason.

Those words have stuck with me, playing round and round in my head as I laid on Phillips’ couch where I could only stare at the ceiling and think. For too long, Dennis’ voice had been the soundtrack of my life, telling me that I was nothing, that I’d never amount to shit. I’d let his abuse shape the way I saw myself, the way I moved through the world. That ended now. I was cutting the cord.

I was worth more than his lies, and though the scars he left will never fade, I have to admit that the asshole accidentally forced me into someone stronger. All the weights he stacked on my shoulders, I’ve learned to turn them into my own personal “fuck you” armor. I’ve walked through the fire and emerged on the other side, singed but still standing. I made something of myself, even if that something was a broke kid living on a couch.

I’ll keep proving him wrong every damn day, because in the end, living well is the best revenge.

And I do love a good revenge.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate you saying all that,” I tell him, and I mean it.

The smile Ian gives me is vintage, taking me back to better days spent jamming together in his garage, slamming beers and talking shit. “Yeah, man. So, what do you say?” He shakes the record enticingly.

“Fuck it, why not?” Hanging out at Ian’s place definitely beats sitting around Phillips’ apartment, staring at my amp stacks and feeling sorry for myself.

Ian’s grin widens. “Sweet.”

“But I’m raiding your fridge, and if your mom starts harping on me about the ‘satanic influence’ of metal again, I’m out.”

“Deal.” That smile of his takes on a sly edge. “Although since I’ve got you here, and forgive me for taking advantage of your good mood, there was one more thing I wanted to run by you.”

I don’t say anything back, already regretting my ‘fuck it.’

Ian shifts on his feet, his eyes darting around the sidewalk to ensure we have privacy for this conversation. It’s a far cry from his usual unflappable, alpha dog persona he puts on when he’s running the show with the band. I can feel his nervous energy at the way his tongue is poking at the inside of his cheek.

“The thing is, Riley up and quit on us. No warning, no heads up, she straight up said she didn’t want to be a part of it anymore,” he spills out. “We’ve been trying out replacement singers, but honestly, man? No one’s come close to meshing with our sound the way you did.”

His dark brown eyes lock on mine. “I know there’s some history there, but we’d kill to have you back, dude. If you’re open to considering it, maybe we could get the old crew together tonight, jam a little, see how it feels.”

He wants me to…

“What?”

“We want you back.”

I blank. On the heels of making amends, I’m now fielding an invitation to reclaim my place on the very stage they had me step down from months ago. It’s the absolute last thing I expected to hear today, and I was even half-expecting him to try and sell me some of his mom’s Precious Moments figurines. A pile of emotions are slamming around inside me: shock, nostalgia, want .

Playing shows with Iron Fillings produced some of the most electric, euphoric memories of my life. Why do I want to bear hug the bastard for offering me one last chance at feeling that lightning as we step on stage together?

Except one major roadblock gives me pause.

Yeah, that one. Roxanne will be battling it out with Iron Fillings at the showdown. If I crawl back to Ian’s camp now, that will pit me directly against her in a public duel between our bands.

That makes my fucking gut squirm. She would actually kill me if I faced off against her, and it would completely shatter any good I’d be able to scrape back together with her.

I try to knead out the knots in my neck. “I don’t know man. Shit’s different now. I’m different.”

“Oh, come on!” Ian presses, that grin that I taught him sliding right into place.

There’s another reason I haven’t said no yet. Phillips did say the fastest way to someone’s heart is through a nasty guitar solo. If I handle this delicately, I wonder if I can rekindle everything.

The stakes feel sky high either way. Ian’s hand on my good shoulder is goading me to take the risk that love and rock n’ roll will find a way.

“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t miss the rush of melting faces together,” he grins. “We were fucking magic up there, dude. I know we can tap into that again.”

Shit, he’s not wrong. When our forces aligned, we were unstoppable, the music flowing through us from some fucking divine waterfall.

A new force taps me on the shoulder, the spark of a new idea flashing through my mind. It’s enough to stop me cold for a second.

What if I did rejoin Iron Fillings but played double agent, using it to give Roxanne a leg up somehow? I could purposely tank our sound during the final performance. Or conveniently “misplace” our gear right before we’re set to hit the stage. It’d be a clear path to victory for her then.

But sneaking around bandmates feels scummy, however noble the cause. The old me wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but I’d like to think I’ve sprouted a bit of a moral compass these days. Plus, Roxy has a nose for bullshit—she’d be pissed at me for not believing she could face off with them, even though I know she can, as long as Daniel and Stephanie are up to par on their instruments.

Another thought hits me…

Oh, this could fucking work .

My mouth starts to stretch into grin #3, the one that’s all teeth and fucking charm, as the schemes churn away. I quickly smooth out my face when Ian starts giving me a funny look.

“You know what, I’m definitely intrigued by the idea,” I reply, trying to keep my tone as regular as possible. I don’t need him to freak out yet.

It’s ironic, considering the far-from-calm state I’d been in ten minutes ago. It’s gotta be the new adrenaline talking, and I’ll wake up tomorrow finding to completely regret my decisions and think this is a stupid idea.

I can always blame it on the blood loss from my gnarly shoulder wound.

Yes, I do recognize that ‘this Roxanne’ I’ll be facing off against is the same girl who might hate me even more once this is all over. She’ll see soon enough though, because I haven’t seen the big picture clearly until this moment.

Our love story is threaded through every song we’ve ever sung, every note played in that garage, every lyric whispered between our kisses. I have to try and rewrite the finale we deserve.

Pasting on an agreeable smile, I fight the urge to steeple my fingers. “Fuck it, I’m in.” My voice pitches up again, only this time I’m not anxious. I’m excited.

The tension bleeds out of Ian’s tall frame. “Fuck yes, man! We’ve got some killer new material in the works, and—”

“On a couple of conditions, though,” I interject, channeling my inner Roxanne.

“Okay, sure, let’s hear 'em.” He throws an arm around my neck, steering me towards the sidewalk.

“First off, I want to choose the song we perform.”

“Fine by me. And condition number two?”

“Don’t get mad, but...” I trail off, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

Yeah, the universe really might have a master plan, but this one is mine.