The Quarry Girls(6)

“Oh, you guys,” she said, her hands clasped in prayer as she bounced up and down, “please say you’ll do it. We could get discovered!”

Brenda was still wearing her guitar. She turned to me. “What do you think?”

Her voice was even, but her eyes were hot and shiny. She wanted this, too.

I scowled.

“Come on, Heather,” Maureen said, her voice syrupy with begging. “We can do one show, right? Just the first one, and if we don’t like it, we don’t have to play the second.”

She glanced over to Ricky, whose mouth had tightened. He didn’t like that idea, didn’t like Maureen deciding if and when we showed up. He was offering a gift, and we had to take it, all or nothing. Maureen and Brenda must have read the same message, because their shoulders slumped.

I exhaled through tight lips. “Fine,” I said as ungraciously as humanly possible.

The thought of playing in front of a crowd terrified me, but I didn’t want to let Brenda and Maureen down. It wasn’t only that they were my friends, my bandmates. It was also because the year that separated us—they were going to be juniors, me a sophomore—had stretched into an impassable canyon lately, their side all about boys and short skirts and makeup. I couldn’t figure out how to cross, so I’d been doing my best to pretend I was already over there.

“But we’re gonna play an original song,” I demanded. “Not just covers.”

Claude grinned at me, and I sneaked him a little smile back. Other than his height—he was the same age as me but one of the biggest kids in our grade, taller than most dads—at least he hadn’t changed. Claude was steady Freddy, as reliable as a clock (and about as exciting). To be fair, though, he was cute. When he smiled, he was a dead ringer for Robby Benson from Ode to Billy Joe.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ricky said, exchanging a black look with Anton. “It’s no hair off my balls what you play. Just trying to help you girls land your big break. I thought it would be nice.”

Maureen ran over to plant a kiss on Ricky’s cheek. “Thank you! We’re so grateful.”

This behavior, the giggly, flirty brownnosing, was exactly the kind of change I was talking about. Where Brenda had always been easygoing, Maureen was fierce, or at least she used to be. Once, in elementary school, she’d caught some older kids messing with Jenny Anderson. Us Pantown kids had grown up knowing it was our job to look out for Jenny, to make sure she made it to the bus on time and had someone to sit by in lunch, but Maureen was the only one with the nerve to fight for her. A group of northside boys had pushed Jenny off the swing, called her names when she cried. Maureen went at them like the Tasmanian Devil, kicking and spitting and biting until the bully boys ran away.

I think she scared them more than hurt them.

Jenny wasn’t the only one Maureen looked out for, either. Any underdog would do, even me. If someone even thought about making fun of my deformity in Maureen’s presence, she was on them like white on snow. That’s why her gushing made me green. Not jealous. Nauseous. I picked up a drumstick and let it fall against my trap as if by accident. Maureen stepped away from Ricky.

“We should probably practice, then, right?” I said.

“Or we could cruise around,” Ricky said. “See if they’ve got more work for us at the fairgrounds. Maybe score some grass.”

Ant’s eyes slid to me. “Remember who Cash’s dad is, man.”

“No duh, I remember,” Ricky said, but I could tell he’d forgotten. His big mouth had rolled ahead of his brain. Again. Ricky was somewhere in the middle of twelve kids, always trying to be heard, to be seen. My dad said it was a shame they hadn’t all been born on a farm, where’d they come in handy. As long as they stayed out of trouble, though, Dad said it was fine to have that many kids. Some of the boys might even end up at the vo-tech college, he said.

“Don’t matter, though,” Ricky continued. “It’s time to skitty.”

He grabbed Maureen and tugged her out of the garage. She crossed her eyes and flashed us a goofy grin like she was starring in a silly sitcom, she the ever-suffering wife, but Ricky’s grip was pressed so hard into her arm that it turned the surrounding skin white.

“Nice to see you, Heather,” Ant said shyly before following Ricky. I’d forgotten he was still there. I squished up my nose at his back because what was that comment about? I wasn’t the only one in the garage, and besides, I’d just seen Ant two days earlier. It was a small neighborhood.

I had a flash of a memory, Ant falling asleep at our school’s symposium this past winter and accidentally making a moaning noise. He’d tried to cough to cover it, but those of us sitting nearby heard him. He was teased mercilessly afterward even though it could have happened to anyone. Remembering it, I felt bad for him all over again.

Brenda unslung her guitar, finally, and rested it in the stand. “That’s probably enough practice for today.”

“How many people go to the county fair?” I asked. It was beginning to sink in what I’d agreed to.

Claude picked up on my fear right away. “You guys sound great,” he said, nodding encouragingly. “Really good. You’re ready. Are you going to play ‘Jailbreak Girl’ for your original?”

“Maybe.” I shoved my drumsticks into a loop on my set. “Pack it up, Junie. Time to head home.”