Boring Girls(43)

“Is that your mom? Awesome!” He smoothly moved the van directly in front of the house, and Mom looked up from her pile of weeds. Her eyes widened as she saw Socks waving frantically at her. To my horror, as I climbed out of the passenger side, he hopped out of the van and extended his hand to my mother.

“Hi, I’m Socks!” he announced.

Immediately my mother’s eyes flicked down to his legs, and she nodded vaguely, as if verifying the nickname. She then took off one of her garden gloves and shook his hand, glancing at me. “I’m Rachel’s mother, Marilyn,” she said.

“Nice to meet ya. I can’t wait to hear Rachel sing,” he said. “I’m gonna be the drummer in the band if everything works out.”

Mom looked at me, and I smiled, lifting my shoulders. “It was nice to meet you today, Socks,” I said, hoping to get rid of him.

“Oh, you too, Rachel,” he said, shaking my hand as well. “I’ll see you next week. Colostomy Hag . . . what a name! Looking forward to it!”

I stood next to my mother as we watched him climb back in the van and pull away, waving at us happily through the window.

“Rachel?” she said.

“Let’s go inside and talk about it,” I said.





SIXTEEN


They sat across the table from me as if I was at a job interview. My father had no idea what had happened, so Mom filled him in.

“I guess Rachel is starting a band,” she said.

He looked at me, and I nodded. “Just for fun. With a few friends. Fern and Edgar, and we just met the drummer today.”

“Socks,” Mom supplied. “They’re called . . . Colostomy Hag.”

A loud chuckle erupted from my father, and Mom was grinning too, even though I knew they were both trying hard to be stern and serious. I smiled, and then we all laughed.

“That’s a funny name,” Dad admitted. “What are you going to do in the band?”

“I’m going to be the singer. I’ve been writing a lot of lyrics, and Fern and Edgar have been working on music. We’re going to rehearse next week.”

I was very surprised that they hardly argued with me, beyond the usual crap about being careful. In fact, after a while of talking about how it wouldn’t mess up school in the fall, they were pretty supportive.

“You’ve always been good with writing, and I think it’ll be great for you to have something to channel that into,” Mom said.

Dad agreed. “I don’t mind this idea at all.”

“It’ll be a fun hobby,” Mom said. All right. So they weren’t going to take it seriously, that was fine by me. They could look at it as a silly little project. And if they looked at it as something that I could do that would keep me off the streets and away from the dreaded booze ’n’ drugs, even better. It still irritated me that they had such little faith in me, but that was fine. Didn’t matter. We had a drummer! We were going to jam next week, and I would finally get to show them how I could wail. I laughed to myself, thinking of Socks and how ridiculous and good-natured he seemed. We had a band. I went to my bedroom and looked up at a poster of Marie-Lise. Sweat poured off her face, makeup smeared, hair flying as she clutched her bass, one booted foot braced on the stage monitor in front of her. Maybe that would be me one day.

xXx

I felt rejuvenated, and for the next few days I threw myself into the housework I’d been assigned. As I weeded the back garden I listened to music on my headphones, studying the vocals, noticing what I liked and disliked about different singers, and making mental notes on what to try at rehearsal. As I hung up the winter blankets from the back closet to air out on the clothesline, I fantasized about being onstage, with people screaming and cheering and knocking each other out in the mosh pit. It was fun, trying to imagine what I would wear and how I would style my hair and do my makeup. Of course I envisioned myself as being the ultimate in coolness, flanked by Fern looking gorgeous and Edgar looking tough, bounding around the stage with his dreads flying. And Socks in the back, looking mean, growling behind the drum kit.

It was all good to think about these things, but before rehearsal as I waited for Socks, I actually felt nervous. He’d picked up Fern, Edgar, and their gear first, and I sat on the front lawn with my lyric book in my lap. I knew it was silly to be nervous: it would be our first rehearsal together. None of us knew what we were doing. Fern had expressed my exact worry on the phone the other night: “What if I suck?”