“We can’t practice when you’re wasted,” she fired back.
“Wasted!” Jarred looked at Hal. “Not even close. Saturday night…yeah, we were wasted then.” He and Hal snorted laughter.
“Unbelievable.” So angry she was shaking, Sloan stalked out to the driveway and slung her guitar onto the backseat of Bobby’s parked car. Performing at homecoming was a big deal to her, along with the dance in the gym afterward. She saw this as a way to repeat the buzz following their Labor Day performance. A way to flick the finger at the cliques of snotty girls who looked down on her. Because they did and had ever since grade school.
Bobby came alongside her. “We can do this tomorrow. I’ll take control of their stash tonight.”
Sloan fought for composure. “We have to nail this, Bobby. Getting this right is important to me. Why does Jarred pull this crap? I mean, weed before a run-through? I always thought we wanted the same thing, but now…”
“He doesn’t smoke that much. Honest. He’s nervous too. We all are. It’s not like most jobs, when we’re playing for strangers. This is our high school. Everybody we know will be there.”
He’d expressed her concerns exactly. This show was different from even Labor Day. Homecoming was the litmus test, and if they bombed…Sloan shuddered just thinking about it.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
She was getting into Bobby’s car when Jarred charged from the garage and took hold of Sloan’s elbow. “Don’t get all pissy on me, Sloan. I don’t like you jacking me around in front of the guys and telling me what to do. You’re my girlfriend, not my warden. I run this group and I make the rules.”
His eyes now looked marble hard, the mellow high gone.
Sloan pried his fingers off her elbow. “Well, if you don’t stop with the drugs, you’re going to meet a real warden one day. We can’t perform if you’re sky-high. I didn’t sign on to your band—or you—to fall on my face!”
“You’re a bitch.”
She ignored him and opened the car door, and Bobby stepped between them. “Hey, bro, just chill. Don’t let my mom come home to find her garage smelling like a joint. She’ll call the cops. I know my mom. Come on, man. Have some respect here.”
A vein throbbed on the side of Jarred’s neck with the tat, making it quiver. He and Sloan had a stare-down. Finally he stepped away. “Take the bitch home. Meet us at the Pizza Shak after you dump her. We’ll wrap up here.”
Bobby got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and looked over at Sloan. She sat with her hands fisted. “It’ll be okay, Sloan. He’ll cool down. Come right back to you.”
She stared straight ahead, swallowing hard. Her and Jarred’s physical fires had cooled. But so had their hours of working on original song lyrics, on tightening verses and melodies, and jamming with everyone to bring something special to a piece. The band played music from other bands for their gigs, but creating original material, getting it noticed, cutting demos, and passing them around was how musicians rose in the ranks. Jarred was music smart, a leader when he put his mind and heart into it. “He’s not as serious about the band, not like he used to be,” she said. “We need him to be a hundred percent if we’re going places after we leave this hole.”
“We all want the same thing,” Bobby said. “He’ll come back around. Wait and see.”
They drove to the trailer park without another word.
The gym was decorated in a 1980s theme. “Why the flashback?” Lani’s friend Kathy Madison asked.
“Zombies, like Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller,’ ” Lani said as they wove their way through the noisy milling throng of kids and toward the side of the gym where the bleachers had been pulled out for seating. The expansive oak floor gleamed in the lights of spinning disco balls hanging from overhead steel rafters. “Since homecoming is so close to Halloween, the committee thought it was a good idea.” Lani had been on the committee and had spent the afternoon decorating the gym, barely making it home in time to change for the game and dance.
“Aren’t zombies over?” Kathy climbed to the midsection of the bleachers, sat, and looked around the crowded floor. “Where are the zombies?”
“It’s a surprise.”
There was a commotion at the door, followed by a few whoops. No zombies entered, just the Anarchy band. Clusters of people parted to let them through. “They were good tonight.” Kathy’s eyes followed the band through the doors to the food table, usually forbidden on the lacquered oak floors, set on thick rubber mats. All food had to be eaten while standing on the mats. No exceptions. A ring of chaperones surrounded the area to enforce the rules. “I don’t see Jarred.”
Neither did Lani. All she saw was Sloan still dressed in black from her performance, her wild blond hair pulled into a ponytail tied with a black leather cord. Watching Sloan slice through the crowd made Lani regret wearing a brown hoodie with the grinning skull outlined in sequins. The outfit that had looked cute in her bedroom mirror now felt childish. Compared to Sloan, she looked like a kid playing dress-up—brown hair, brown eyes, brown clothing. She wasn’t pretty, just ordinary, and she came in a plain brown wrapper.
“Sloan really thinks she’s hot stuff.” Kathy’s gaze narrowed hatefully.
“But she is, Kathy.” Lani said the words wistfully.
“Not to me.” Kathy stared in anticipation as the gym’s double doors were thrown open, but Jarred didn’t come. “So where is Jarred? I’ll bet Sloan said something to make him stay away because she hates sharing the spotlight. Look at everyone smiling at her. He’s the true star of the band, not her.”
Kathy’s words reinforced Lani’s long-held suspicion that Kathy seriously crushed on Jarred and his bad-boy vibe. Lani had never much liked Jarred. In middle school he’d been a notorious bully, especially to skinny, shy Paulie Richardson.
“Control your drool reflex, Kathy. I’m sure he’ll show before the zombies do.” Lani realized she shouldn’t be needling Kathy because she knew what it felt like to carry a hopeless crush, like the one she carried for Dawson Berke. Just then, Lani spied Dawson leaning against a wall, his arms crossed, Paulie at his side. Her heart leaped, then fell with a thud. His gaze was zeroed in on Sloan.
Kathy noticed too, because she said, “Wow! Isn’t that the guy she sang to on Labor Day? He looks like a cat ready to pounce. This might be better than the zombies. I’m getting closer to the action.” Kathy started down the bleachers.
Lani decided to stay put but couldn’t help wondering, If Jarred doesn’t come, what will Dawson do? Her rational voice answered, Make a move on Sloan, naturally. She suddenly felt sad and deflated. Guys were so predictable.
CHAPTER 6
“Where is he?” Sloan got into Bobby’s face.
“No idea. Said he wanted to get something from the car.”
Sloan fidgeted, tugging at the tangled ends of her ponytail. Jarred was supposed to be there. They were a unit, the Anarchy Five. A reporter from the local paper was waiting for them, and Jarred had known about the prearranged interview. Sure, it was small-time, but they needed all the publicity they could get. “Stall the reporter. I’m going to look for him.”
“Sloan, let me.” Bobby held on to her wrist.
Sloan caught the panicked look on Bobby’s face, went hot all over, and twisted from his grasp. “If he’s out there smoking…” She let the sentence trail, menace in her tone. It felt like a rock had settled in the pit of her stomach. Without another word, she pushed through the crowd and jogged outside.
A full harvest moon lit the cold October night sky. Her breath came out in frosty puffs, making her shiver. She crossed to the packed parking lot and began to systematically tour the lines of cars, angry at herself because the band had arrived early with their equipment in two cars and she hadn’t noticed where either had parked. She went up the rows, down the rows, searching for Jarred’s old black Mustang, growing more irritated. What good was having a boyfriend who kept letting her down?
Moonl
ight glinted off tops of cars lightly filmed with frost that sparkled like diamond dust. Sloan’s teeth chattered. Someday she’d go live where it was always warm. She was just about to turn back when she saw the Mustang. Windows of cars around Jarred’s were clear and see-through. The Mustang’s glass was covered with haze from the inside. She’d been right! He was out here getting high and with a reporter waiting in the gym for them. The ass! Sloan seized the passenger side door handle and jerked hard. The unlocked door flew open. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Jarred?”
The haze wasn’t smoke, but instead condensation from human breath. In the backseat Jarred lay panting on top of a girl, both pairs of their jeans shoved down to their ankles, their bare white skin gleaming with sweat. The blast of cold air brought Jarred upright and a scream from the girl. “Hey!” Jarred yelled, groping for his denim waistband and struggling to pull up his pants.
Sloan shot backward, the image of Jarred and the girl seared into her brain. This. Couldn’t. Be. Happening. She turned and ran. Felt no cold. Saw no moon, no other cars, only the light pouring out of the gym. From far away she heard Jarred shouting her name; she was afraid she was about to heave. She made it inside. Bobby was standing just inside the door and caught her, held her. “Sloan—” His words died when he looked into her face.
“You knew?”
Bobby’s expression was a mask of regret but no denial.
She suddenly felt as if she were suffocating. “How long?”
Bobby said nothing.
“I asked how long!”
He shifted his gaze from hers. “A while.”
A crowd had gathered in a semicircle behind him. Sloan threw up her hands and backed away from Bobby, the words Guy Code tumbling inside her head. “Don’t touch me.”
Bobby looked stricken. “Hey, please let me—”
Just then Jarred came up behind her, gasping for breath. “Sloan!”
She whirled, checking him from head to toe. “Good to see you got your pants up. How ’bout the girl in the car? She out there waiting for the big finish?”
He glanced at the circle of onlookers; then his eyes darted back to Sloan. “Let me explain.”
She launched herself, attacking with fingernails to his face, scraping his cheek until it bled. “I hate you!”
He dodged more blows. The crowd edged closer, cheering on the fight, cell phones whipped out of pockets. “Let’s go somewhere. Let’s get out of here.”
“We are over! You hear me? O-V-E-R. And I’m gone from your band too! I don’t need you! I don’t need any of you!” She threw the words at Bobby, Calder, and Hal, scrunched together behind her. “All of you can go to hell!”
“Sloan, stop it! We can fix this. She’s nothing. She means nothing.”
She whirled to face Jarred, heard teachers and chaperones burrowing through the crowd, yelling, “Move back! Step aside. Break it up.”
If the girl meant nothing, Sloan figured she must be worse than nothing. She made fists and attacked again. He ducked, tried to capture her pummeling fists, but she was too quick for him. Nothing. Nothing. The word rang in her ears like a litany. Suddenly she stopped swinging, stepped backward, and with a growl, placed a well-aimed kick hard into his crotch. He doubled over, sank to his knees, gagged, and cradled his junk. “You mean nothing to me!” Sloan shouted, pushed around him and darted into the night, running helter-skelter away from the crowd chanting, “Go! Go! Go!” and the unbelievable pain screaming inside her head and heart.
The zombies were anticlimactic. When they came into the gym stiff-legged and howling, people barely took notice. Everyone was still talking about Sloan and Jarred, often hunched together in small clusters over cell phones watching videos of the blowup. Lani felt sorry for the kids who’d gone to the trouble of turning themselves into the undead. Any other night they’d have been a smash hit. Just not this night.
“Bet there’s ten videos up already,” Kathy said, thumbing furiously through postings on her phone. She glanced up when Lani said nothing. “What? You were here in the bleachers, but I had a front-row seat, and it was awesome. As blowups go,” Kathy amended when Lani just kept staring at her.
“I feel sorry for Sloan,” Lani finally said. “I mean, he was cheating on her. She caught him at it.”
Kathy rolled her eyes. “Well, I feel sorry for Jarred. She took him down in front of everyone! She didn’t have to do that. She could have pounced on him in private. I think she did it for the publicity.”
“Why would she do that? Who needs that kind of publicity? Her boyfriend is a cheating scumbag.”
“I had no idea you and Sloan were so close.” Kathy’s voice held frost.
“You like Jarred and you like thinking he and Sloan are over,” Lani countered. “It’s not her making me feel sorry. It’s you and all the others. Jarred got what he deserved!”
Kathy’s face flamed red. “Yeah, I do like him. So what? I think he’s cool and sexy and his band doesn’t need Sloan Quentin. She’s just trailer trash like her mother. My mom says so. Lots of people say so.”
Her words stung because Lani had listened to other girls trash-talk Sloan, but she’d never spoken up about it, and she wasn’t very proud of it either. A person couldn’t help where she came from or what her family members did. “It’s Sloan’s voice that makes his band popular, you know.”
“Tons of good singers in the world,” Kathy threw back. “All he has to do is look for another girl singer. There’s nothing so special about Sloan.” Kathy wiggled her cell phone in Lani’s face. “I’m going down to compare videos. You can do what you want.”
Lani watched Kathy stomp down the metal bleachers and onto the gym floor, where teachers and chaperones were passing from group to group, urging kids to put away their cells and get back to the homecoming celebration. Lani pulled up her knees and rested her chin. She hadn’t meant to have a fight with Kathy, but dumping the blowup all on Sloan wasn’t fair.
She also revisited what she’d witnessed after Sloan had fled the gym. While onlookers were cheering, Lani watched Dawson say something to Paulie, grab his long coat, turn, and jog out into the night.
Like a knight in a medieval story or a childhood fairy tale, he was probably heading off to rescue Sloan Quentin. She had little doubt that he would succeed.
CHAPTER 7
Sloan ran until her burning lungs and a stitch in her side forced her to walk along the shoulder of the road leading away from the high school. Stadium lights had been turned off and there was only moonlight to guide her. Get away, far away….She struggled to catch her breath, her throat fiery and raw. The night of her perceived triumph had turned into a night of horror and humiliation. People would definitely be talking about the band tonight. And Sloan Quentin’s public meltdown would be topic One. All Jarred’s fault! She’d known things between them had cooled, but to never have seen his betrayal coming…How could she have been so blind, so stupid to not have picked up on it?
She wiped away tears and began to feel the night air bite through her long-sleeved tee and skintight leather pants. With no jacket, she was freezing. She couldn’t go back, though. How could she ever go back? She crossed her arms, shivering as night sounds settled around her. She heard a car come up behind her and the slow crunch of tires on gravel. The car pulled alongside her, and she quickened her pace. The car kept up with her. The passenger-side window glided down. A voice said, “Hey, need a lift?”
She didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t bother to look. “Get lost.”
“Sloan…please, I’m a friend. I won’t hurt you.”
At the moment, she had no friends, but hearing him say her name made her stop. She turned and stooped to see the driver. “Who are you?”
The driver fumbled with the dome light. When it flashed on, she saw a familiar face but couldn’t place it.
“Name’s Dawson Berke. From school? I was the guy standing at the corner of the platform on Labor Day. You sang to me. Made my day.”
Her memory shifted gears. The guy who looks at me in the halls but never makes eye contact. Now she recognized him. “What do you want?”
“You look frozen, and my car’s warm.” He leaned from his driver’s seat and lifted the door handle, pushed open the door. “I just want to help.”
She hesitated, weighed her options. She knew she couldn’t walk all the way back to the trailer park in the cold; she dreaded returning there anyway. She climbed inside, hugging herself. Dawson turned up the car’s heater to full blast, letting the car idle on the shoulder of the road. She held her numb hands to the vent. He turned off the dome light. Through the windshield, moonlight flooded the interior. As feeling returned to her hands, she eyed him warily. “Thanks.”
Dawson watched her warm herself until her fingers stopped shaking. “What do you say we go get something to eat?”
“Whatever.” All she wanted was to get far away from the gym and school.
He pulled onto the road and accelerated. She kept her gaze forward, buckling her seat belt when the car dinged a warning bell insistently.
“Any major food group appeal to you? A favorite place? Doesn’t matter to me.” He was pretty kicked about being close to Sloan after so many weeks of looking at her from afar. He’d been in the crowd on the sidelines in the gym and had watched the whole scene unfold. As soon as she’d split, he’d gone to his car and caught up to her walking alongside the road.
“Not the Pizza Shak. Anyplace else is okay.”
“Couple of places over by the freeway. Chicken, chili, burgers, sandwiches, coffeehouse.” He rattled off the fast-food eateries from memory. He knew them all because on the nights his dad was tied up at the hospital or when he didn’t stay at Paulie’s for supper, he ate at one of the franchises. “I know. Waffles! I like breakfast at night. How about you?”
Dawson’s offer of food reminded her that she hadn’t eaten before the concert. Performance jitters. “Okay.”
Losing Gabriel Page 3
