44
KURT
Best thing about walking around wearing the
big earphones instead of the tiny earbuds is everyone sees you
ain’t in the mood for conversation. Let your head dip and bob to
the rhythm and that’s even better, tells anyone watching that
you’re really feeling your music, having your moment, and you don’t
need someone coming up to you, interrupting your day, trying to
talk. Ninety-nine percent of the world gets it, sees the big
earphones and leaves you alone so you don’t have to wrestle out a
simple hello. Maybe you throw them a head nod, and keep moving, but
that’s all. Bet if I’d been wearing these the day Jankowski and
Studblatz snuck up behind me in the hall, I’d have kept walking,
never even noticed they were there, gone straight to class, and
never worried about them telling the world I’m a murderer.
End of school looks different with the music
switched on. When all you hear is the wailing guitar and pulsing
drumbeats, watching guys punch and hip-check other guys is almost
poetic, like a music video. People’s mouths open and close, open
and close, probably cussing, maybe screaming, maybe making plans,
but I’ll never really know and that’s all right with me. I don’t
want to know. The music pulls me away, pulls me out of the actual
world, turns everyone around me into players stepping in and out of
my video. It’s like a drug, I guess, though I never much thought
about it, unplugging me from the world, altering reality—
A tug on my elbow steals my drifting attention. I
look down and I see Tina, her mouth moving in almost perfect
lip-sync to the wailing demon in my ears. I increase my head
bobbing, hoping she’ll get the hint—I’M HAVING A MOMENT. CATCH
YOU LATER!—but she just tugs again. Then her hand actually
reaches up and pulls off my left earphone. Man, she is bossy!
“Earth to Kurt. Come in, Kurt!”
“What?” I ask, annoyed until I remember it’s her
music I’m listening to on my recorder—which I still haven’t used
for its intended purpose. I lied to Ms. Jinkle, my speech
therapist, last time we met, told her I left the thing at home.
Truth is I started to record myself but couldn’t stand what I
sounded like, so I erased it, listened to Tina’s mix instead.
“One of my mixes?” Tina asks.
“Naw. It’s the muh-muh-Metal Slayer disc you
ruhripped for me.”
“Oh,” Tina says, and I can tell she’s disappointed
I’m not listening to her Walking in the Rain mix. “What are you
doing for the long weekend?” Tina asks.
“Nuh-nuh-nothing. Lifting and ruh-ruh-resting up
for the guh-guh-game.”
“Wow! You’re a crazy man!” Tina teases. “Who knew
the jock life was so mind-blowing.”
“Muh-muh-maybe I’ll listen to yuh-yuh-your music,”
I add. Tina breaks into a smile, a real smile, not a defensive
smile, and I’m glad I told her that.
“Really? Cool. I can make you some more, you know.
I mean, I’ll bootleg more metal crap for you, but you need to hear
this new guy out of Toronto. His stuff absolutely flows. I’ll have
to listen to it with you, though, make sure your cave-brain is
catching the nuances. . . .”
My phone vibrates in my pocket while Tina continues
trying to persuade me my music sucks and hers is way better. I nod
along, pretending she may have a point, as I pull out my phone and
glance at the text.
The Bat Signal. From Danny’s phone. Shit!
“Got to find Danny,” I whisper, staring at
my phone, texting him back.
I send a reply: Where r u?
“Did you say you’re looking for Danny?” Tina
asks.
“Yeah.” I glance up at her, waiting for my phone to
buzz, expecting it any second.
“That’s funny,” she says more to herself. “I just
saw him a couple minutes ago. Said he’s meeting Bruce or
something?” Tina ends this more like a question, like I’ll know
where they’re meeting.
“Wuh-wuh-where?”
“Don’t know.” Tina shrugs. “He just said
downstairs.”
Downstairs. The locker rooms? The gym?
Feels like a static charge fills the air as the
hair on the back of my neck begins to rise. Still no text from
Danny. “Guh-guh-gotta go.”
“What is it with you guys, anyway? Everyone’s gotta
go, like there’s a big party happening someplace. What’s up with
that?” Tina asks, but I’m already moving down the hall, ignoring
her. Some guy, wrestling with his friend, backs up into me. I shove
him out of my way, shove him too hard. He bounces off the lockers
but I don’t stop to apologize. No time. Something’s wrong. The more
steps I take, the stronger the feeling.