How You Ruined My Life

by Jeff Strand

  “Some people like the guy. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Well, they’re wrong.”

  “Let’s say for the sake of argument that he did bribe them,” says Audrey. “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Maybe,” Mel says.

  “No,” Clarissa says.

  “You assume that he has bad intentions,” says Audrey, “but maybe he’s trying to mend fences. Or maybe he genuinely sees the potential of Fanged Grapefruit and wants everybody else to see it too.”

  “Our perfect night is tainted,” I mutter.

  “I disagree,” says Clarissa. “It doesn’t matter how we got an audience. All that matters is that they enjoyed themselves.”

  “How do we know he didn’t pay them to pretend that they were enjoying themselves?” I ask.

  “Ugh,” says Clarissa.

  The four of us are bummed out for the rest of the drive.

  16.

  After dropping off Clarissa and Mel, it occurs to me that if Blake didn’t bribe the audience members, then he has successfully ruined my night by making me think he did. If that’s the case, then he’s very, very good at this whole life-destroying thing. I have to give him credit for his skills.

  Nah. He bribed ’em.

  “I apologize for not believing you at school today,” says Audrey.

  “Do you believe me now?”

  She hesitates. “I believe you more than I did at school.”

  “Audrey!”

  “What? I still have trouble with the idea of him throwing rat guts in his own face! It doesn’t compute for me!”

  “So why are you even apologizing if you still don’t believe me?”

  “Because I feel bad.”

  “Well, you should.”

  “I just want you to consider the idea that if he brought in the audience, he did it out of kindness.”

  “He did it out of evil.”

  “Which makes more sense? That he convinced people to go to the show—through financial means or whatever—because he was trying to hurt you or because he was trying to help you?”

  “The second one makes more sense,” I admit. “And that’s what Blake is counting on. That’s how he operates. If he does things that make no logical sense, then I sound stupid when I accuse him of the truth. It’s kind of genius, if you think about it. But maybe he’s not a genius. Either one of those work. Whichever it is, I promise you that he doesn’t have my best interest or the best interest of Fanged Grapefruit in mind.”

  “Okay,” says Audrey.

  “What did you mean by that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “I meant okay.”

  “You said it in a weird way that doesn’t make me think you meant it.”

  “Fine. So I didn’t fully commit to the okay.”

  “Then don’t commit to the okay. See if I care.”

  Audrey stares out the window for a minute. Then she turns back to me. “Blake made me promise not to tell, but I’m going to anyway. You know those band shirts that a couple of people were wearing at the show?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Blake bought them. He said he knew you didn’t like having him around and that you’d be upset if you found out that he was promoting the show, but he said that he believed in Fanged Grapefruit and wanted to see it succeed, so he was going to do everything he could to help out.”

  “So he did bribe them!”

  “He gave a few people an incentive to have a good time.”

  “I can’t believe you kept Blake’s secret from me!”

  “I didn’t. I blabbed it the same night he asked me not to tell. It’s been, like, two hours.”

  “Well, this is wonderful. What a treat for me that you’re working with my nemesis. Anything else I should know?”

  “We’ll talk about this more when you’re calmer.”

  “Oh, goody. I can’t wait to hear how else you betrayed me.”

  “I didn’t betray you, Rod. I sold Blake a couple of shirts so that he could help you.”

  What about you, reader? Are you on Blake’s side too? You probably think he’s oh-so-charming! Oh, that Blake, what a splendid lad! I think he should be the narrator of this book! Is that what you want? Should I ask him to finish telling this story? We’ll change the title to Blake, Hero of All the Lands, and I bet this book will win all kinds of awards and stay at the top of the New York Times bestseller list for seventy-plus weeks. It’ll get turned into a major motion picture starring Chris Pratt as Blake, and I’ll be played by a CGI ogre. And the reviews will say that the movie isn’t as good as the book because Blake was such an engaging narrator that no movie, even one with Chris Pratt in the lead, can compare! Why am I even still here? I’m done. I’ll switch to a completely different book while we wait for Blake to bring his magnetic personality to these pages.

  “Aha!” said Dr. Rubick, the world’s greatest private investigator. “I know who stole the diamond golden coin!”

  “Who?” asked his befuddled assistant, Mr. Gout. “Who could it have been? I’ve wracked my brains, but I have nary an idea!”

  “It was…” said Dr. Rubick, pointing to Madame Bloom, “her!”

  “I guess that makes sense,” said Mr. Gout, “since she’s the only one in the mansion who’s still alive.”

  “Yes, I stole the diamond golden coin!” Madame Bloom confessed.

  “Are you going to explain your motive and how you did it?” asked Mr. Gout.

  “No. I assumed Dr. Rubick was going to do that.”

  “Actually, I’ve got nothin’,” said Dr. Rubick. “Usually, I’m pretty good at figuring these things out, but I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, what with the stock market crash and all. And I was only half-paying attention to this particular case. Glad I got the culprit right this time though. A lot of innocent people are in prison because of my shoddy work.” Dr. Rubick laughed. “Oh, to have a moral compass again!”

  Hi. It’s Rod. Still here? I want to apologize for my outburst. It was inappropriate. You’ve been kind enough to take this journey with me, and there’s no excuse for lashing out at you in that manner. It won’t happen again. I know that you loathe Blake as much as I do and want to see him punished.

  Still friends?

  No? We’re not? Really?

  But I apologized. I admitted that I was wrong and assured you that it would never happen again. What more do you want? Should I beg for your forgiveness? Should I throw myself onto the floor and grab your leg and plead with you to keep reading? Will that make you happy?

  Fine. Whatever. There are billions of other books you can read, so we’ll leave the second half of this one blank. You can make up your own story. Maybe something about a magical elf who goes on a quest to punch a goblin or something. Or I’ll fill the rest of it with the word derp. Derp. Derp. Derp. Derp. Derp.

  You think I won’t fill the rest of the book with derp? Challenge accepted! Derp. Derp. Derp. Derp. Derp.

  Good luck writing your book report now. What kind of themes are you going to analyze from that, huh? Derp. Derp. Derp. Derp. Derp.

  No, you’re being childish. Here, I’ll mix it up. Dah-derp. Dah-derp. Dah-derp. Dah-derpy derp derp.

  I can’t do it. You’ve invested too much time into my adventure for me to stop telling it. You don’t have to accept my previous apology. I understand. You’re used to book narrators treating you with respect, and I was completely out of line. No excuses. I promise this won’t happen again if there’s a sequel.

  What’s that? You accept my apology after all?

  Thanks. I really appreciate it. We’re in this together. I’ll even try to use fewer parenthetical asides from now on. (Just kidding.)

  Now I forget where I left off. Hold on a second while I skim back.

  Audrey was sayin
g, “I didn’t betray you, Rod. I sold Blake a couple of shirts so that he could help you.”

  I pull up alongside Audrey’s house. There’s still plenty more to say, but her father isn’t the world’s biggest Rod Conklin fan. And if it looks like we’re arguing in the car or making out, he’ll come out with a golf club.

  “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” I say.

  Audrey nods and gets out of the car.

  I’m actually not one hundred percent sure if I should be mad at her or not. Obviously, I’m glad she sold a couple of shirts, even if it was to Blake, but she should have told me about it immediately, right? Maybe? I don’t know. I’ll figure out my feelings later.

  I crank up the car stereo to “vibrate the steering wheel” volume and drive home. Loud music makes everything better, except your hearing. I hope that Blake walked back from the Lane, which would get him home around 5:00 a.m., but when I walk inside, he’s sitting on the living room couch.

  “Great show!” he says.

  “Bite me,” I say.

  Blake frowns. “That’s kind of harsh. Did you think the show went poorly? Was that a smaller audience than usual?”

  “You paid them all to be there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Forty-nine of those people were there because you bribed them.”

  “What a nutty thing to say.”

  “What’s your plan this time, Blake? Why did you do it? What’s your endgame?”

  “I’m not sure where you came up with this conspiracy theory, but all I did was offer a couple of suggestions that improved your performance. Maybe word got out that you were putting on a better show.”

  “Audrey told me what happened.”

  Blake adjusts himself on the cushion. “Did she now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Of course I believe her.”

  “Over your own flesh and blood?”

  “When that flesh and blood is you, yes, absolutely.”

  “I bought two T-shirts from her before the show, and I gave them to a couple of people. That’s not a bribe. That’s advertising. Everybody in that club was there of their own free will.”

  “I’m not saying you kidnapped or blackmailed them. I’m saying you bribed them.”

  “With what?”

  “Money!” I shouted.

  “I may have lots of money, but I wouldn’t squander it on something like that. Not after what you did in biology class.”

  “I didn’t do anything in—” Nope. Not gonna go there.

  “If your girlfriend is making up some story about me paying people to go to your show, that’s between you and her. I gave out a couple of free T-shirts. That’s all.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “If you’d rather believe that I bribed the audience instead of them showing up willingly for a top-notch musical performance, that’s your own self-esteem issue. I choose to believe that Fanged Grapefruit is becoming a word-of-mouth sensation.”

  “You’re not coming to the show next week.”

  “Why? I stood politely in the back. You’re angry because you had five times the usual crowd? I’m sorry, Rod, but that’s wacky.”

  When he puts it like that, it does sound wacky. But I believe Audrey over him, and I believe that Blake has sinister intent, even if I don’t know what it is yet.

  “We’ll discuss it next week,” I tell him.

  Blake shrugs. “That’s fair.”

  • • •

  “He was incredible!” Blake says to Mom as we sit at the dinner table. “It’s hard for me to even describe how much talent Rod and his friends have! I’ve seen some great shows in my life, but this was at a whole different level.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it,” says Mom.

  “You’ll have literally thousands of other chances,” says Blake. “This was no fluke. Fanged Grapefruit is here to stay.”

  Mom smiles. “Maybe they’ll change the name before they make it big.” Mom was never a big fan of the name Fanged Grapefruit.

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “It’s a grapefruit with fangs.”

  “Is the grapefruit playing music?”

  “No. It takes something that an average family would have for breakfast every morning and adds an element of danger. And it’s a surreal image. Dangerous and surreal. That’s us.”

  “What about Fanged Kiwi?”

  “No.”

  “I still don’t get it then,” Mom said. “But I’m glad you are having fun.”

  “Oh, they can’t change the name now,” says Blake. “They’ve got name recognition. It’s all about branding.”

  “Glad to hear the show went well,” Mom tells me. “You certainly put in the hours practicing.”

  “He’s a musical genius,” says Blake. “I’m not saying that he’ll be a millionaire by the time he’s twenty, but twenty-two or twenty-three guaranteed.”

  “Good,” says Mom. “I’m looking forward to retiring and living a life of luxury.”

  I’ll be honest. I have plenty of dreams where my band is so successful that Mom can quit both of her jobs and spend her days relaxing on a beach sipping sparkling beverages while her full-time chocolate distributor feeds her bonbons. I don’t like Blake inserting himself into these dreams.

  Blake winks at me.

  Grrrrrr.

  • • •

  When I go in my room again, it looks like Blake’s posters are another inch farther on my side. I’m sure it’s an optical illusion. Or a problem with my brain.

  • • •

  I can’t fall asleep on the air mattress, so I sleep out on the couch. I can still hear his snoring. Eighty-nine more days to go.

  17.

  I'm going to compress time here and cover the next week like a montage in a movie. The montage will be accompanied by my soon-to-be smash hit single “The Ballad of Blake.”

  Got a cousin named Blake. (Blake! Blake!)

  Yeah, a cousin named Blake. (Blake! Blake!)

  Tuesday morning. Audrey walks up to my locker and says something. The background music drowns out her dialogue, but you can tell that she’s apologizing. I say something that you also can’t hear, but it looks like I’m reassuring her. The volume of the song fades for one line from me. “Blake said that you were lying to me.”

  Audrey looks surprised. Then she looks angry. Though Audrey is petite, you don’t want to see her get angry.

  I give her an expression that clearly indicates that we’re both in this together and that there’s no way Blake will be able to drive us apart.

  Audrey sighs and shakes her head.

  Oh, I can’t stand Blake.

  Wanna throw him in a lake.

  Abandon him during an earthquake.

  Or deny him a slice of cake.

  In English class Blake reads aloud from Falling Leaves of the Life Tree. Ms. Mayson nods approvingly at the sound of his melodic voice. The rest of the class follows along in the book, but I sit in my seat, scowling.

  He keeps me awake.

  And he’s such a snake.

  His face I’d like to break.

  Hope he gets a toothache.

  In biology class Blake walks over to our lab station and jokingly covers his face as if he thinks I’m going to fling something at him. I’m not amused.

  Wish I didn’t have a cousin named Blake. (Blake! Blake!)

  My life would be greatly improved without the existence of my cousin named Blake. (Blake! Blake!)

  Wednesday morning. I drag myself off the couch, exhausted from my lack of sleep. Close-up of the dark rings under my eyes. How much longer can our hero take this?

  He’s a great big ol’ fake.

  Trust him? A mistake.r />
  Think it’s time to make.

  A pointy wooden stake.

  I’m in the cafeteria. They’re serving tacos. Even Blake does not have the power to diminish my enjoyment of them.

  Hope he steps on a rake.

  And spills his milkshake.

  And gets an overcooked steak.

  He’s one I’d like to forsake.

  Clarissa, Mel, and I are practicing in my garage. Clarissa and Mel seem less annoyed that Blake is watching us than I am. Close-up of Audrey, who seems to have the same level of annoyance that I do.

  I’d spend every day walking around with a big grin on my face and whistling merry tunes if not for my cousin named Blake. (Blake! Blake!)

  Yeah, I’d be insufferable about my love for the world around me and my appreciation for all of the beauty in nature, but it’s all messed up because of my cousin named Blake. (Blake! Blake!)

  Thursday morning. When the alarm clock goes off, I’m so tired that I start to cry. (I didn’t actually cry in real life, but it sounds more dramatic this way.)

  I don’t like you, Blake.

  Really don’t like you, Blake.

  You’re quite unlikable, Blake.

  I’m just no fan of Blake.

  Back in the cafeteria for lunch, Blake sits with several other kids. That’s cool. I don’t begrudge him making friends. The more people he has to hang out with, the less time he’ll spend around me.

  There are still other words that rhyme with Blake.

  Like bake and Jake and slake and flake.

  And spake and partake and remake and opaque.

  But I think I’m done rhyming with Blake.

  Fanged Grapefruit is practicing once again. Blake says something. Mel and Clarissa nod their approval. I’m not nodding. You can tell in my eyes that I do not approve of whatever he said.

  [Unbelievably awesome guitar solo.]

  Friday morning. The alarm goes off. I roll off the couch and land on the floor, where I remain unconscious for several minutes. (It’s a long guitar solo.)

  [Guitar solo continues.]

  I walk through the school, bleary-eyed. The other students in the hallway fade away, which symbolizes how I feel all alone in the world. Bet you weren’t expecting symbolism, huh? Then the students all reappear, so you know this isn’t a book about a school full of kids who vanished into thin air.