Band Fags!. Frank Anthony Polito
of our Lives. “I don’t think I’ve seen it since before school started…What’s up?”
Even though I know the bell’s gonna ring any minute, I can’t resist giving Brad the lowdown. “Oh, my God…It’s getting sooo good!”
“Tell me!”
“Well,” I say, “you know Stefano, right?” By whom I’m referring to Salem’s resident Evil Villain, Stefano DiMera. “It turns out he’s still alive after all.”
To which Brad exclaims, “Shut the fuck up!”
“And,” I continue, “he’s going after the prisms.” By which I’m referring to the three different colored pieces of glass that will magically cure Stefano of his inoperable brain tumor once he finds and puts them all together. Thus allowing him to take over the world.
Now you’re probably thinking…Soap operas are for middle-aged housewives and teenaged girls. Not 14-year-old boys. Which they totally are. But I can’t help it if I’m addicted and so is Brad.
“It must be nice having your own TV and VCR right in your bedroom,” he says enviously. Then he throws in, “Too bad it’s a Beta.” Just so I won’t think he’s jealous of me. Even though I know he totally is.
“Shut up!” I say. I can’t help it if my parents won $500 on their last trip to Las Vega$. So my Dad decided to buy a brand new TV and VCR for our living room and give me the hand-me-downs.
“You better call your Mom and make sure it’s okay if I come over,” Brad decides.
“She’s not gonna care,” I tell him. “My Mom totally likes you.”
“I don’t know, Jack…Remember the time me and Max spent the night at your house back in 7th grade and your Mom totally kicked us out in the morning?”
“She did not kick you out!” I remind Brad for the bijillionth time.
“Yes, she did,” he insists. “I’ll never forget it.” At which point, he does his best impression of my Mom, all loud. “‘Jackie! Tell those boys to get the fuck out…Now.’”
To which I’ve gotta protest. “My mother would never say the F-word,” I defend. Because she wouldn’t.
“Like mother, like son,” Brad replies, deadpan.
Though I don’t exactly hear him over the zhit-zhit sound of my pant legs rubbing together as we make our way to class. All I wanted last year was a pair of parachute pants to go with my white sleeveless T-shirt with the orange sun and the Chinese writing on it. Now that my Mom finally broke down and bought me a pair, they’ve gone out of style!
The middle hallway is abuzz with in-between-class activity. A group of Webb Warrior Cheerleaders pass by us wearing green and gold W sweaters, led by Symphonic Band 1st chair flautist Shelly Findlay. Who is no longer going with Bobby Russell, in case you’re wondering. I decided that Shelly kinda reminds me of the lead singer of the German one-hit wonder band, Nena. Remember the ones who sang “99 Luftballoons”? I totally loved that song and practically begged Mrs. Putnam to let us play it for the Memorial Day parade last year. But she had none of it!
I look over my shoulder just in time to catch Shelly’s eye. “What’s up, Fox?” she says, raising her thumb, forefinger, and pinky to give a little semicircular wave.
“Hi, Shelly,” I say, forcing a smile. Then I see her turn to her Cheerleader Friends and start cackling her little brunette head off.
I realize Shelly could be laughing about something some cute boy somewhere said to her sometime. Or maybe she could be laughing at me and my so-last-year parachute pants! I don’t know. All I know is…I feel totally self-conscious right now.
“I’ll meet you at the locker at 3 o’clock,” Brad informs me. Which is when I notice for the first time how suddenly empty the hallway has become. Which is when I go deaf as the 7th hour bell begins to chime.
Brad covers his ears. “Have fun with Mr. Grant,” he teases. Then he disappears into Algebra Land. Where Mr. Bond is nowhere to be seen, pending the imminent arrival of the Man of a Thousand Equations.
I sprint down the hall and into Gorgeous George’s room, crossing the threshold just in the nick of time. Everybody knows if you’re late for Grant’s class, he makes you stay half an hour after school for Detention—just you and him. Which is about the last thing I would ever wanna do!
I’ve gotta say, Brad’s been acting kinda weird, lately. Not weird-weird, but…Ever since he found out I’ve got Mr. Grant for Civics this year, he’s always making comments about him in one way or another. Maybe he’s mad ’cause he’s got Mrs. McKenzie, who’s at least 60 years old. And Mr. Grant’s only like half her age.
“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Paterno.”
The whole classroom bursts out laughing. Though I really don’t give a care. They’re all just jealous because I’m a straight-A student and have been since 7th grade. And with only two more semesters to go, I’m on my way to winning the Student of the Year Award. Right now, it’s between me and Ava Reese, Symphonic Band 1st chair clarinet. Though I found out she got a B+ in Biology last semester. So as long as I don’t get anything less than an A this year, the award is as good as mine!
“Okay, People…Time for Current Events.” Mr. Grant takes up the long metal rod-thingie from the ledge on the chalkboard. Reaching up with it, he pulls down the projection screen from above. Of course, he has to turn around to do this—giving the entire class a shot of his butt. Not that I’m looking or anything, ’cause I’m not. But you can’t miss it, his pants are sooo tight!
“You want me to get the lights, Mr. Grant?” Carrie Johnson volunteers, making me gag. That girl would eat dog food if Gorgeous George told her to, I swear!
“That would be lovely,” he replies, flashing his pearly whites.
Not that I’m staring at him or anything…
After class, Brad walks with me over to my house. My family lives on Shevlin. Which is four blocks south of 10 Mile. In case you don’t know—again, why would you?—Hazel Park borders the city of Detroit on its south side at 8 Mile and extends north up to 10 Mile. Why all the roads running north/south around here are called “something Mile,” I don’t know! All I know is…they start at like 6 Mile, and go all the way up to 30-something Mile. And in Hazeltucky, the closer you live to 8 Mile the less well-off you tend to be. Not that my family is “well-off” by any means—my Dad’s the Produce Manager of a Supermarket. Though I’ve got pretty much everything a kid could ask for.
Like my own 10-speed and Atari 5200. Not to mention my own personal color TV and VCR right in my bedroom. Which is where Brad and I are right now, just finishing up today’s episode of Days of our Lives…
“Now what?” he asks as the “sands through the hourglass” theme finally fades.
“Wanna see my Kristian Alfonso scrapbook?”
Brad gives me a look. Like he’s smelling a fart or something. “Who the Hell’s Kristin Alfonso?”
“Kris-tian Alfonso,” I correct. “How can you not know who she is?”
“Um…Because I don’t,” he replies, sprawling out on my brother’s bottom bunk bed.
“She plays Hope on Days of our Lives,” I inform him. “Duh!”
Hope Williams-Welch, to be exact. The daughter of Doug Williams and Addie Horton, who unfortunately got hit by a car and died shortly after Hope was born 18 years ago. Which was totally fine for Doug, considering he was in love with Addie’s daughter, Julie, at the time he knocked Addie up in a drunken stupor.
The thing is…Hope’s totally in love with this guy named Bo Brady. He’s like a Total Rebel. With long dark hair and a beard. He also rides a motorcycle. He kinda reminds me of this country singer my Mom