Sorta Like a Rock Star(24)

Lex enters slowly. He is tall and full of muscles and dumb-looking, but today he has this very sincere look on his face. “Listen,” he says to the room. “Sometimes I say dumb things because I like feel I have to in front of people or something because there’s a lot of pressure on me, being that I’m the QB and all, and well, I know that what I’ve been telling Ricky to say is well, um—not cool.”

“Are you trying to apologize?” I say.

“I’m sorry that I said those things to you, Amber.”

“I’m praying for you every night,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because you need it.”

“Well, I’m also sorry for telling Ricky to say those things to Ryan. I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again. Okay?”

“Did your daddy make you come down here this morning?” I ask—like a total cat.

“Listen, I said I was sorry. It won’t happen again. Okay?”

“No. It’s not okay, because you can’t just erase—”

“Do you like playing Xbox, Lex?” Franks says.

“What?” Lex says.

“Are you a gamer?” Franks says. “Do you like video games?”

“Yeah. Who doesn’t?”

“Are you any good at Halo 3?” Franks asks.

“Beat anyone in this room,” Lex says.

My boys all exchange glances and restrain smiles.

“Why don’t you play a game with us,” Franks says.

“Right now?”

“Homeroom doesn’t start for fifteen minutes.”

“Are you serious?” Lex says.

“You’re on Ricky’s team,” Franks says. “Amber, why don’t you pull up a chair?”

I pull up a chair next to Franks and for the next ten minutes I watch my boys’ virtual spacemen kick the crap out of Lex’s virtual spaceman in every way imaginable. If I had to guesstimate, I’d say Lex gets killed an average of five times per minute, and never even records one kill.

My boys are unmerciful.

My boys are triumphant.

My boys are beautiful.

“You guys are really good,” Lex says when the game is over.

“Bring your friends next time,” Franks tells him. “We play every day before school and at lunch. All are welcome.”

When the warning bell rings, my boys skedaddle like someone yelled fire or something—the lab rats—but I hang back.

“Why did you tell Lex he could hang in our room?” I ask Franks.

“This is everyone’s room. All are welcome,” Franks says.

“Lex Pinkston? Do you know that just yesterday he called me a disgusting single-syllable word for a woman, which I’m not even going to repeat?”

“Maybe if he were in this room more, he wouldn’t have called you that name. Maybe you’d become friends?”

“Are you for real, Franks?”

“No, I’m an illusion,” he says, and then laughs at his own joke—like a moron.

“Have you heard how the school board voted last night?”

“No.”

He doesn’t bring up our saving his job, so I assume my boys didn’t tell him.

“Aren’t you worried about the vote?” I ask.

“It’s of this world.”

“Your wife was pretty pissed when I came to your house last night.”

“You shouldn’t come to my house, Amber.”

“She doesn’t really think I’m in love with you, does she? Why can’t I hug you, Franks? Just once.”

“Why do you do that? Why do you insist on making me feel uncomfortable whenever we are alone?”

“A hug is a good thing, Franks.”

“Not always.”

“Like—when is a hug not a good thing?”

“When it makes someone uncomfortable.”

“I’m down with hugging,” I say. “I hug everyone indiscriminately.”

“Not everyone wants to be hugged.”

“Well, that’s just dumb.”

“Why, because you say so?” Franks says. “Would you hug Lex Pinkston?”

I’m sorta getting pissed at Franks, especially after everything I did for him last night—not to mention how he invited Lex and his buddies into The Franks Lair—but the second bell rings, which means I’m late, so I just leave without answering and go to homeroom, where there is a pink slip waiting for me, so I about-face and walk my little behind down to Prince Tony’s office.

All of my boys are on the bad-boy bench, except Chad who is in Das Boot.

“Amber,” the red-lipped Mrs. Baxter says to me just before I address my boys, “can you come over here?”

So I walk over to Prince Tony’s secretary’s desk.

“I heard about last night,” she whispers. “You certainly have chutzpah.”

“Thanks,” I say, and then join my boys, who are more than a little bit fidgety sitting on the bench of discipline.

“We better not get in trouble,” Ty says.

“Ricky Roberts needs to go to calculus in how many minutes?”

“This don’t seem so good,” Chad says from Das Boot.