Sorta Like a Rock Star(23)
Both of us ran out of the tent, and we couldn’t stop screaming.
Eventually, the cops showed up with their guns drawn, because someone reported a disturbance.
We were so freaked that we couldn’t even talk.
Mom just pointed to the tent.
The cops actually aimed their guns at the tent and started to talk very mean to the slugs. “You’re surrounded. Come out with your hands up. We can resolve this peacefully.”
It was pretty funny to hear the cops talking to slugs like that, so I started to laugh.
The cops didn’t like that, and started questioning us, and soon they understood that they had drawn their guns on a tent full of slugs, so they had to laugh too.
After Mom had explained the situation, she offered to buy the cops a cup of coffee to make up for the misunderstanding, and when they agreed, we got to ride in the cop car. I asked the officers if they would put on the lights and sirens, and they said, “Sure.”
We rode super fast to the all-night doughnut shop, where Mom flirted with the cops and I got to eat doughnuts in the middle of the night, which was pretty killer.
When the cops dropped us off back at the apartment building, we went inside and, since Trevor had to work in the morning, Mom slept in my bed with me, which was really nice, especially since the bed felt so comfortable after trying to sleep outside on the grass for a night.
What I wouldn’t do to be in a bed tonight.
In the present moment, after taking BBB out for one last pee worrying the whole time that the local rapist murderer will get me, back on Hello Yellow—even though I really don’t feel like it—I force myself to pray for everyone on my list, asking God to help us all be who we need to be. And I pray really hard, even though I can’t feel God tonight, and I wonder if He is mad at me or something, which makes me feel as though maybe my day wasn’t so kick-ass after all.
I’m cold without the comforter, but BBB keeps me warm—his little body inhaling and exhaling against my chest—and I eventually fall asleep.
When I wake, I cannot remember my dreams—but Mom is outside smoking a Newport, and everything begins once again.
PART TWO
Freak Scene
CHAPTER 8
After another frickin’ freezing night in Hello Yellow, my butt has finally thawed and is now all nice and toasty. I’m singing in the back of Donna’s Mercedes. Again, heated leather seats. So nice.
We’re listening to Dinosaur Jr.’s “Freak Scene,” which is my favorite D. Jr. song, pretty much because it is also Donna’s favorite, and I like watching her sing it like a teenager.
Donna is driving too fast, bobbing her head to the beat, singing all of the lyrics at the top of her lungs, her hands pounding out the beat on the steering wheel as Ricky counts inaudibly.
I think it’s funny that Donna listens to songs about freaks, because she is so cool and hip and stylish and smart and together and she is definitely what every woman wants to be as far as I’m concerned—certainly not a freak like me.
Maybe she just listens to music like this so she can relate to her son Ricky and The Five.
Maybe.
But she is rocking pretty damn hard this morning—so much that she even blows through a stop sign, but I don’t say anything, because I don’t want to kill the mood, which is totally rocking, and how often does one truly get to rock out hard-core? Let alone a high-powered attorney who has a murder case to worry about. Sometimes you just have to let crap slide when it comes to adults acting like kids, because that can be a beautiful thing. True? True.
When we arrive alive at the high school, Donna kills the music, kisses Ricky, and tosses me the XXL camo shirt for Franks.
“Your boy Franks should be proud today,” Donna says, and then winks at me before she turns up the tunes again and pulls away.
“Going to play Halo 3 with Mr. Jonathan Franks!” Ricky says, and then we’re knocking on the outside basement door.
Ty kicks open the door this morning, and then Franks and Chad kill off Ty’s and Jared’s spacemen so that Ricky can join the action—just like every other morning.
Before I lose my boys to video games, I say, “Franks, check this out,” and then hold up the camo shirt.
“For me?” Franks says.
“Mommy Roberts made a shirt for Mr. Jonathan Franks and all five members of Franks Freak Force Federation!”
“Cool,” Franks says, taking the shirt from me, admiring the orange lettering and rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger as if the shirt were made of precious fabric—like it’s the original American flag sewn by frickin’ Betsy Ross or something. “Very cool,” Franks says.
“You do see that we are all wearing the same shirt?” I say.
“Also cool,” Franks says.
“We playing a game, or what?” Ty says, and then all of the boys are logging into the virtual world.
Did my boys forget all about last night, or did they already discuss the school board meeting with Franks?
Before I can bring up the subject, just before their minds are sucked into the various Xboxes positioned around the room, Lex Pinkston knocks on the hallway door and sticks his head in. “Um, Mr. Franks, may I come in and say something?”
“Mr. Pinkston, all students are welcome in my room. Enter.”