The Sound of Us

by Julie Hammerle

  “No drummers?” I ask, thinking of the Nutty Bar guy again, as usual. My mind always fixates on his forearms, how tanned they are, and muscular, but not in a cartoonish Popeye way.

  “Drummers? Barf,” Brie says.

  Obviously she’s never seen the Nutty Bar guy’s arms.

  As Brie skips a few paces ahead of us, I ask, “Who’s Tromboner Dave?”

  “Nobody,” Kendra says. “A heaping pile of no. I just wanted you to hear Brie’s crazy dating theory. Can you believe her?”

  “She’s obviously put a lot of thought into this.”

  “As soon as she starts dating a tenor who weighs less than she does, I’m giving her so much shit.”

  When we get to Chandler Hall, instead of doing the normal Kiki thing and heading back up to my room alone, I follow the girls to Seth and Andy’s room. This is my first official sojourn to the boys’ floor, and it’s a bit of a culture shock. I’d passed by plenty of times on my way in and out of the building, but I never stopped in. I always kind of acknowledged its existence without entering, like the reptile house at the zoo or something.

  The sign at the end of the hall says “Unit Six” in big letters, but someone took a marker to it, changing it to read “Unit Sex.” The girls and I pass the open door next to the sign and I notice half a dozen guys lounging in the summer RA’s room playing video games. I’ve never even seen the inside of my RA’s room, and that’s how she wants it. This guy is hosting parties. It’s like a whole other world down here. We girls step over lines of people lounging against the hallway walls like addicts in a crack den and hurry past an open door framing a shirtless guy playing a trombone.

  Kendra nudges me. “Tromboner Dave,” she says.

  We stop in the middle of the hall, between two doors right across from each other. One door says “Seth and Andy.” The other says “Norman and Jack.”

  Brie knocks on Seth’s door and we wait a few seconds until it flies open. There’s Seth, standing there smiling at us, smiling at me like I’m an actual person or something.

  A disgusted sound leaves Brie’s throat as she steps into the crowded room. “Ugh. What are they doing here?” Then she puts on a fake smile and swans over to the windows.

  Seth and Andy’s room is packed with Bertrand’s students as well as campers from the other classes, which appears to be the reason for Brie’s disappointment. Mary and Kendra are climbing to the top bunk where Sad Mezzo is perched, picking at a box of doughnut holes. Andy is on the bottom bed. Norman’s over by the desks talking to a couple of other really talented kids I remember from the first day of camp, the day we all sang on stage in the auditorium—Finley Chen, the tenor, and Philip Towers, the baritone. Two sopranos—Daffodil Tenegren and Yvetta Moriarty—stand with Brie near the window, where the three of them whisper frantically as Seth grabs my arm and leads me in.

  He pauses in the middle of the room, right in front of the TV. “Everybody,” he announces, “Kiki’s here.” He says it like it was an inevitability, like they’d been waiting for me this whole time.

  Kendra beckons me over. “So, this is Unit Six.” She plucks a devil’s food doughnut from the box between her and Mary and breaks off a small piece.

  “Do you guys hang out here a lot?” I ask.

  Kendra shrugs. “Usually it’s just Norman, Andy, and me, but we thought, hey, it’s Friday night. We should get everyone together.”

  I nod. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Dude,” she says, “you’re one of us.”

  I smile. I’m one of them. I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about me before. At least not anyone in real life. My Twitter friends probably think that; but at my high school, I’ve always been Beth’s dorky friend who tags along to stuff.

  Kendra points to the bottom bunk. “Get comfortable. Norman’s making us all watch the pilot of Project Earth. He wants to educate us. Have you seen it?” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard it’s kind of dumb.”

  “Oh,” I say. My love of Project Earth was one of the biggest points of contention in my friendship with Beth. She was always accusing me of putting the show above her. I will not make the same mistake with these new people. “I’ve never seen it,” I say.

  Norman holds up a “one minute” finger in the faces of Finley Chen and Philip Towers. He runs over, eyes on me, wide, scolding. “Not you too?” He shakes his head in disgust. “You haven’t seen Project Earth?”

  “Nope,” I say as Seth hands me a bottle of water. Dana, forgive me.

  Norman purses his lips. “Well, it’s high time you were introduced to the greatest television show of all time. High time all of you were,” he shouts to the room. Then he’s talking to me again. “Do you know the premise?”

  “Nope. Definitely not.” I sip my water.

  “It’s about a group of alien invaders who have taken human form and are hiding, like spies, in society. And then there are all the government agents charged with tracking them down. It’s kind of like Battlestar Galactica meets Alias. Tell me you’ve seen those shows at least?”

  I shake my head. This is killing me. It is physically killing me not to talk about this show or those other shows. What did I just get myself into?

  “You guys are lucky to have me,” Norman tells the room. “I’m about to give you all an education.”

  I take a seat on Andy’s bed, as the door flings open and two guys come rushing in, shouting hellos. One guy is a small blond kid wearing glasses with thick plastic frames. The other is the tall shirtless guy I saw playing the trombone across the hall. Tromboner Dave.

  Dave and his friend stop in the middle of the room, and the little one pulls a six-pack of beer out from under his shirt. Whoa, I think. The rules. I look over at Brie to see her reaction. She’s whispering in Daphne’s ear while sneering at Tromboner Dave and his friend.

  Andy leaps from his bed. “Eric, you can’t have that in here.” He scurries to the door and shuts it, blocking the beer from passing eyes.

  “Don’t worry about it, man.” Eric, Dave’s friend, pops open a beer and hands it to Tromboner Dave. Then he grabs one for himself. “Anyone else?” he asks, scanning the room. No one takes him up on it. I think it’s because this whole camp situation is too new. We’re not sure yet what we can get away with, how serious the teachers are about kicking us out. No one wants to be the test case.

  Tromboner Dave and Eric sit on Andy’s bed. Dave is right next to me, and he’s still shirtless.

  Eric shakes my hand. “I’m Eric.”

  “Kiki.”

  Andy leans over both guys and says, “Have you not met? This is Eric the Hermit. He never leaves his room, except for special occasions like this one. He even stayed in his room for finals last year, hence the reason he’s in summer school. And this shirtless wonder is Tromboner Dave. He plays the trumpet.”

  “Ha,” says Dave, clearly not amused.

  “Dave,” Norman shouts from across the room, “Kiki has never seen a minute of Project Earth. Can you believe it?”

  He looks down as if noticing me for the first time, a slight, appraising grin on his face. He has a long, black ponytail, a sparse trail of hair on his chest and stomach, and a mustache and goatee that form a little square around his mouth. Kendra described him as a “heaping pile of no,” which seems kind. If I were looking for an actor to play him in my life movie, I’d ask central casting to bring in every guy who fits the description of “sketchy band member who can’t get his own girls, so he hits on all the front man’s rejected groupies.”

  “I’ll explain everything to you, Kiki, don’t worry about it.” Dave pats my knee, but instead of moving his hand, he leaves it there.

  I respond, “Nnngh,” then I shift my legs so Tromboner Dave has to move his hand.

  He motions to Eric for another beer, which he hands to me. I appraise it as if it’s a bomb or a spider or something equally disturbing. I’ve never had a drink before in my life, even though I’ve been to a fair amount of high school p
arties with alcohol. This guy Matt Carroll always has people over at his mom’s house because she’s out of town every weekend. Beth loves (or, well, loved) dragging me along as her designated driver. I’m pretty sure no one’s ever even offered me beer before.

  I glance at Brie, who’s watching me. “Thanks,” I say to Tromboner Dave, “but no. I don’t drink.”

  He takes the beer back and downs it. “Principles. I can respect that.”

  Norman shuts off the lights as the familiar shot of Earth from space pops up on the screen. “There’s no way all of you are going to catch up over the course of the next five weeks, but hopefully seeing a few episodes of this show will compel you to watch the entire series from start to finish on your own time. If you hate it, I don’t think we can be friends anymore, and I’m glad we’re getting all of this out of the way now before I get too attached to you. I will shut up now.”

  He drops to the floor and backs up so that he’s leaning up against the bed, a few inches from my feet.

  Tromboner Dave scoots over, so close I can smell him. His odor is a cross between sweat and, I think, baby oil. “If you get scared, I’ll hold your hand.”

  I drink the rest of my water and pray not to vomit.

  Throughout the show, Tromboner Dave keeps whispering information to me about Project Earth. I make a game out of it. He tells me some stupid tidbit, usually wrong, and I ask him a follow-up question, to steer him even further off the path of correctness. By the middle of the second episode, I kind of want to murder him.

  Tromboner Dave points to the screen. “Okay, so, Dana. She’s the daughter of the head of the Department for Alien Extraction. I think she’s probably actually an alien, but that hasn’t been revealed yet.”

  Wrong, so wrong. “Why do you say that?”

  “It just…wouldn’t that be amazing? For the main character to be an alien? It would be, like, the ultimate audience mind fuck.”

  No. No, it would not. It would be stupid and obvious and reckless, and I would be on Twitter in a heartbeat along with thousands of other people to bitch and moan about how Project Earth completely screwed the pooch. “I guess time will tell if you’re right,” I say.

  “I will be right,” he says, “you’ll see. And it will be amazing.” I feel his face next to mine, and I turn to look at it out of pure curiosity. And then, somehow, his lips are on my lips. Just like that. Out of nowhere. One second we’re not kissing and the next second we are. A shirtless guy whom Kendra generously described as a “heaping pile of no” has his beer-tinged mouth on mine. I pull away as fast as it hits me and I look around the room to see who’s watching. No one is. The sun has gone down and the room is dark now. The only light comes from the TV screen. I notice movement in one of the corners. It appears two other someones are making out as well. I wipe the Tromboner Dave residue from my mouth.

  So that’s what kind of party this is. Back at Matt Carroll’s house, people used to go upstairs to hookup in private, but in college, I guess there isn’t a lot of space to go around. You’ve got to get your jollies where you can. I lean back and start peeling the label from my empty water bottle.

  Tromboner Dave sits back, too, and now we both have our backs against the wall next to Eric and Andy, who are leaning forward, elbows on knees. Dave edges toward me and, even though the words “heaping pile of no” keep flashing in my brain, I let him kiss me again, for the sake of research, because no one has ever wanted to kiss me before and odds are no one will ever want to kiss me again.

  It keeps going through my mind that this is my first kiss. My first kiss is with a smarmy, shirtless guy who knows fuck-all about Project Earth and who smells like a sweaty baby. Seems about right.

  Dave shoves his tongue into my mouth and licks my teeth and lips, which is weird and reminds me of those dreams people have where their teeth fall out of their mouth whenever they touch them with their tongue, but still I reciprocate. I mimic his actions, which he seems to like. A lot. He starts kissing me with more vigor, his tongue like a piston working overtime. And then his hand comes up and rests atop my left breast. I pull my face away, plucking his hand from my body. I wipe my mouth and scoot as far over on the bed as physically possible, plopping my butt on top of Andy’s pillow.

  Gross. I am gross. This whole situation is gross. The worst part is kissing this guy is probably the best I’ll ever be able to hope for. That’s a depressing thought.

  I count to three hundred before standing up. Tromboner Dave doesn’t try to stop me, but Norman follows me out of the room.

  “Hey, wait. You’re leaving?” he asks, pulling the door closed behind him. “Do you hate Project Earth? Tell me you don’t hate Project Earth.”

  I shake my head. “I’m just tired. And it’s almost midnight, right? Curfew?”

  “Phew.” He smiles. “Okay. It was nice to see you outside of class. Come hang out with us again.”

  I muster up a grin as he disappears into Seth and Andy’s room. Then I head down the hall, my eyes filling with tears, stupid, pointless, regretful tears. As I pass by the RA’s room, I notice a familiar face watching the TV where a couple other guys are embroiled in a very serious video game battle. I pause in shock, without even realizing it, and the Nutty Bar guy, probably sensing someone staring at him, glances at the door. He raises his hand in greeting, but I pull my eyes away and dart toward the stairwell, not wanting him to see me in my current state.

  But then he’s calling after me. “Hey…hey.” He doesn’t know my name either. He grabs my arm and says one more time for good measure, “Hey.”

  I blink a few times before turning toward him. “Hi.”

  “You okay?” His eyes search mine.

  I nod.

  “You sure?” He holds my gaze, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

  I try to nod again, but I feel my eyes welling up and saliva starting to pool in the back of my mouth, which still tastes like Tromboner Dave, like beer and, I think, salami. God, he’s disgusting. What did I just do? I let his tongue poke around my mouth like it was hunting for treasure, is what I just did. I know, intellectually, that kissing a gross guy doesn’t make me gross. And I know, at least according to my sister, that I can expect a lot of regrettable spit swapping in my future. But why did it have to happen on my first kiss? That’s just unfair. First kisses are supposed to be perfect, special, and something you want to remember for the rest of your life. I’d forget this kiss with Dave five seconds from now, if I could. I grit my teeth and plaster something resembling a smile across my face. “I’m fine. Really. Just, you know, school stress.”

  The Nutty Bar guy frowns and glances toward Unit Six, as if looking for the real answer. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” I step toward the wall so that a couple who are hanging all over each other can pass between me and the Nutty Bar guy. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks down at the floor. Feeling a little brave, I ask, “Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”

  “Jack.” He glances back up at me.

  I recall a sign I saw earlier. “Jack, as in Norman’s roommate?”

  “You know Norman?”

  “He’s in my voice class.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kiki.”

  “He’s never mentioned a Kiki.”

  “He wouldn’t have,” I say, feeling just the teensiest bit crushed. “I kind of started hanging out with him tonight, actually.”

  “Just tonight?” Jack snorts. “Tell me you weren’t at his Project Earth viewing party.” He moves next to me, hands still in pockets, and leans against the wall. Another pair of students is walking toward us.

  “You knew about that?”

  “Norman is relentless. He’s obsessed. He has this fantasy that he gets everyone in the dorm to start watching the show and then we’ll hold these massive viewing parties in our room every night. I think he thinks it will get him laid. I don’t know how. I’m not sure liking Project Earth has ever gotten anyone laid, that I’m aw
are of.”

  The approaching students, a guy and a girl, stop right in front of me and Jack. They’re definitely older than us, college students instead of high schoolers. “What are you two doing out here?” the girl asks.

  “Talking,” Jack says.

  That’s when I realize who they are. They’re two of the building’s other RAs.

  The guy RA looks at me, then Jack, then me again. He narrows his eyes. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “She’s headed upstairs.” Jack comes to my rescue.

  The guy RA keeps his eyes on me and waits several beats. “We’re doing one more lap. When we get back to this spot, you two had better be gone.”

  We norehygbv xbvd.

  After the RAs turn the corner, I say, “I just spent the past several hours listening to Tromboner Dave talk about how he thinks Dana’s an alien and how that would be the most amazing thing ever and I sat there like an asshole and agreed with him.”

  “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Honestly. The dumbest. And you’re almost as dumb for not calling him on it. How did you not slap him in the face?” He bites his lip, suppressing a grin.

  “I have amazing self-control.”

  “Evidently.” Jack’s eyes are soft and now he’s officially smiling.

  “I was trying to be polite.”

  “To Tromboner Dave? Don’t bother. The guy’s a tool.”

  “He is?”

  “Ugh. The worst. We had to ban him from Chet’s room because he’s such a sore loser.” He points to the RA’s room down the hall. “And he’s a sore winner. The guy’s just sore.”

  “And does he ever wear shirts?”

  “He never wears shirts. It’s disgusting.”

  Then there’s a pause. The banter stops. I don’t know where to go from here. I kissed Tromboner Dave, the massive tool who has a dumb goatee and never wears shirts and smells like a sweaty baby who just ate a salami sandwich. That thought, I’m pretty sure, will never leave me for the rest of my life. It’s like I’m suddenly a different person, like I don’t even know myself anymore, like I need to go upstairs and dissect it in my journal before taking a hot shower and washing the entire night away. I open my mouth to say good night, but Jack pulls his hands from his pockets and starts drumming on his thighs.