Boring Girls Page 10

  xXx

  The ride home was quiet. Yvonne and Edgar fell asleep, and Craig drove silently. Fern and I were still awake, but we didn’t talk. We were all exhausted.

  I sat staring out the window at the night. It was mostly farm pastures and forests, so there weren’t many lights, but I watched the dark shadows as we sped past them, trying to absorb everything that had happened at the concert.

  My hand was definitely hurting and stiff. I guessed it was swelling up. I hoped I hadn’t fractured any of my bones. I thought of the wet, splattering crunch of the guy’s nose and smiled. I was proud of myself for not being afraid of the blood, and not being afraid to help Fern. I admired my own strength. It was nice to know I had it. Never again would I fear anyone, be it Brandi or some psycho at a concert.

  xXx

  Soon enough we arrived at my house. I didn’t want to wake anybody up, so I reluctantly leaned forward to whisper to Craig. Despite the awesome night we’d had, I still didn’t like the guy. But I didn’t want to be rude.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said.

  “Yeah, no problem,” he replied. “I guess I’ll see you at school?”

  “Yep,” I said and climbed out of the car. As they pulled away from the curb, I pranced up the driveway, feeling like a million bucks.

  xXx

  When I walked into the kitchen, my mother was sitting at the table in her pyjamas with a cup of chamomile tea in front of her. My boots were broken, my ears were ringing, and I’m sure I smelled terrible, let alone the fact that I looked awful with my smeared makeup and scraggly ponytails. Her stunned facial expression verified all of these things.

  “I’m fine,” I said before she could say anything. “I just look bad because it was very hot in there and there were a lot of people.”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding. “What happened to your boots?”

  “They broke. They were bad quality, I guess.”

  “How was the drive?”

  “Uneventful. We came straight back. Pretty much everyone was asleep on the ride home. Totally safe.”

  Mom poured me a cup of tea, and I pulled off my boots. Sighing, I plopped heavily into the chair across from her. “It was a pretty fun night, though.”

  “How was the concert?”

  “It was great! This band none of us had heard of opened, and they were only okay. But Surgical Carnage was great! Everyone was freaking out, and there was a mosh pit —”

  “What happened to your hand?” Mom interrupted.

  I looked down. It was really red, and definitely swollen. “Well, I had to help out Fern.” I smiled. “Some guy, a real jerk, sort of assaulted her. In the crowd, he started trying to grab her. So I punched him in the face.”

  “Is it broken?” Mom got up to get me some ice from the freezer. As she wrapped it in a cloth, I moved my fingers. My hand definitely hurt, but my fingers all moved.

  “I don’t think so.”

  She handed me the ice and I pressed it to my hand. “So you punched a guy in the face?” She was frowning, and I realized that I should probably try to take some of the glee out of my story.

  “Well, I had to. What else could I do? I had to get him away from her.”

  “But weren’t you there with any boys? Didn’t they help?”

  “There were a lot of people there, but I was the closest.” I scowled. “Besides, you can’t always wait around for some guy to save you.”

  Mom fumbled for words for a moment. “That’s true. But I don’t think . . . I don’t know if . . . I don’t know if that was the best idea . . .”

  “Mom, nothing happened. It was like self-defence. I hit him good to get him away from Fern, and then we immediately got away from him.”

  “What did the police say?”

  “Nobody called the police,” I retorted. Mom didn’t get it. Why, once again, was I surprised? “I took care of it. The guy was an idiot.”

  “Was Josephine okay?”

  “What does she have to do with anything?” It hit me right away that I’d lied and said that Josephine was going to be at the concert with us. Stupidly, I tried to recover. “Of course she was fine. She wasn’t there when it happened. She’d gone to the back area of the club, with this other girl, Yvonne.”

  Mom studied me. I could tell she didn’t believe that part of the story. “Well. I guess it was a tough situation, and I’m glad you helped Fern,” she said. “But, Rachel, you have to remember, people can be unpredictable. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I can take care of myself,” I said.

  “Just promise me that you’ll do your best to stay away from tricky situations like that.”

  “I do already. I promise.”

  We said goodnight and headed to bed. I washed the makeup off my face, got changed, and crawled under the covers. My journal sat on the nightstand. I wrote:

  Riding through the night on blackened wings

  Singed with blood and vengeance, hear the angels sing

  The demon crawled inside me when you hurt my friend

  Don’t get mad at me when I know I must defend

  I crack your face and the blood spills out

  No one’s going to hear you if you scream and shout

  Your blood is on my fist and my teeth are bared

  This is what you get for trying to make me scared

  FOURTEEN

  My hand wasn’t hurt too badly, and by the time I went to school on Monday, the swelling had mostly subsided. I was still riding high from the concert, and even though I was back to wearing my old winter boots, I felt unstoppable. As I walked through the halls that morning, I couldn’t help but scan for Craig. Part of me hoped I’d see him. I knew he respected me for what I had done, but the first friendly face I saw was Josephine.

  As we waited for Mr. Lee to begin art class, she noticed my hand. “What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said nonchalantly. “I was at a concert and this guy got out of line. I had to step in. I punched him in the face.”

  “What?”

  “It was a Surgical Carnage concert.” I muffled a yawn behind my hand. “Metal music. I went with Fern and a few other friends.”

  “You punched someone?”

  “He was groping Fern in the mosh pit. I was right there. Someone had to stop him. I think I probably broke his nose.” I smiled.

  “You were in a mosh pit?” Josephine twisted her lips, confused. “Punching people?”

  “Just him.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think he’s the one you should be asking. There was blood all over his face.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Not really.”

  Mr. Lee started talking, and we were silent, listening to him outline the day’s assignment. Boring — a coloured pencil drawing of an apple. Each table would be given a different variety of apple and we’d have the length of the class to sketch it as accurately as possible. He came by our table and put a bright green Granny Smith in front of us.

  Josephine and I worked quietly for a little while. I could tell that Josephine disapproved of what had happened, but she wasn’t saying anything. Just like my mother. It was becoming more and more apparent that I had been right all along. No one could truly understand me, unless they got me. And it seemed like Fern, and a few of her friends, were the only ones even coming close.

  “So how was the concert?” Josephine finally asked. “Other than what happened with that guy?”

  “It was a lot of fun,” I said. “Really cool people. Great band. It was in St. Charles, so we got home really late. It was definitely after two in the morning.”

  She was quiet again for a while, and when she spoke, her voice sounded timid. “You know, I would have liked to go.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I said. “You’re not in
to the music.”

  “So? It still would have been fun.” Her voice was small, and part of me knew that she was nervous to talk to me about this. But at the same time, it really was ridiculous. She would have hated the concert. She didn’t even like Fern!

  “I don’t think you would have liked it. And there wouldn’t have been room in Craig’s car for you anyway.” I lifted my nose a bit, focusing down at my drawing as I shaded.

  “Who’s Craig?”

  “Oh,” I waved my hand casually, “he’s that guy from last fall with the Bloodvomit shirt. With the long hair. I used to have a crush on him, but we’re just friends now.”

  “Oh.” Josephine scribbled at her drawing for a bit, and then abruptly put down her pencil crayon. “Rachel, do you like me still?” Her voice wavered as if she was going to cry.

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course I do. Don’t be silly.”

  “It’s just that you don’t seem like the same person anymore.” She was getting more upset, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “We used to go shopping all the time, we’d talk about guys, you know. I feel like you’re really pushing me away.”

  “It’s just because I’ve made a few new friends. You’re jealous.”

  “I am not jealous!” I glanced at her and saw her eyes shiny with tears. I had to look away. “I just . . . you’re my best friend!” She wiped her eyes.

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d been feeling so great all weekend, and here was Josephine, trying to make me feel like shit. “You have other friends, you know,” I muttered. “From Our Lady. Why can’t I have other friends too?”

  “Of course you can. It’s just . . . I try to make an effort to include you and invite you to meet my friends, and you just act like what you do is so special, like I could never fit in with your friends or something.”

  I glanced up at Mr. Lee. He was focusing on some other kid’s work and not paying any attention to us. I didn’t want a scene. “You already know Fern. You could fit in with her,” I said. “It isn’t about who my friends are. It’s about what we do. You would have hated that concert.”

  Josephine scowled. “Yeah. Well, you know what I told you about Fern. I wouldn’t be so quick to become her best friend.”

  “Oh, really?” I turned on her, narrowing my eyes. I had to really concentrate to keep my voice low. “Well, I heard some stuff about you too, Josephine.”

  “What?”

  “About your mother’s boyfriend,” I hissed. “About how you slept with him. And that’s why you and your mother moved away.”

  She stared at me, speechless, her eyes round and wet. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “What do you know about that?”

  “Everyone knows.” I was being a jerk. I knew it. But she had to understand what a hypocrite she was, spreading rumours about Fern, when she also had rumours going around about her.

  “That’s . . . you . . . you don’t understand . . .”

  I shook my head in disgust, mainly at myself, and tried to soften my voice. “Listen, it’s your business. All I’m trying to say is that you should be careful when you’re spreading gossip. Because there’s gossip about you too. If you don’t want people talking about you, don’t talk about other people.”

  Josephine stared at me, her shoulders shuddering as she tried not to burst into tears, then she finally got up and hurried out of the classroom. Mr. Lee watched her and then looked at me. I shrugged and went back to my drawing.

  I did feel bad. Josephine had been my first real friend, and I understood why she would be jealous that I was meeting people and having fun without her. She had been catty and immature about the Fern rumours. But still.

  xXx

  When she returned and silently resumed her apple drawing, I leaned closer to her. I was ashamed of myself. I knew I should pity people like Josephine, who weren’t strong enough to be happy with themselves and needed to put other people down to make themselves feel less jealous. “Hey,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I said that.”

  She looked at me sideways. “It’s none of your business, what happened in that situation.”

  “I know.”

  “I won’t say anything bad about Fern again. But you have to promise that you will never, never mention that stuff to me ever again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I mean it, Rachel.”

  Obviously Josephine had been through something bad. Yvonne had made it seem like this scandalous, funny thing, with Josephine salaciously stealing her mother’s boyfriend, but obviously that hadn’t been the situation. I wanted to ask Josephine what happened, but she focused on her drawing for the rest of the class, ignoring me, her cheeks red. I remembered how in the car, it had occurred to me that the guy sounded like a child molester. This seemed like a more accurate scenario, based on the facts I knew and on Josephine’s reaction. I should never have brought it up. There was a big difference between these two rumours, one being a friend in a peacock-killing Satanic cult and the other one having been abused by her mother’s boyfriend. One was ridiculous. The other, possible, and devastating.

  xXx

  At lunch Josephine made small talk but avoided looking at me. She was still upset, and that was fine with me. She had other friends if she wanted to talk about what had happened to her, because she obviously wasn’t going to confide in me. A small voice inside me suggested that no one would want to confide in someone who would treat her situation so callously.

  After school, I shut my locker and slung my book bag over my shoulder. I was about to head down the hall when I felt a tap. It was Craig.

  “Hey,” he said and grinned.

  “How are you?” I asked. He really was cute.

  “Not bad. How’s the hand?”

  “All healed up,” I said, opening and closing my fist to show him.

  “Great. Well, see you around,” he said, then smiled again and headed in the other direction. It was weird. He was handsome and cool, but I hadn’t forgotten that underneath it all he was an asshole. He could smile at me all he wanted. And believe me, I was glad that we were now friendly. It was good having someone else at school I could get along with. But I knew I would never like Craig, not in any genuine way. He’d been so shitty to me that first time in the hall. Sure, maybe I had proved myself to him. But he hadn’t proved himself to me.

  xXx

  Fern called after dinner that evening and asked me if I wanted to go get a cup of tea downtown. Since I had no homework, my parents agreed, so I met her at this nice little tea shop and we ordered a pot of green tea with sliced lemons. I didn’t know much about tea. My parents had always been coffee drinkers, except for chamomile, but Fern was all into different teas.

  “So,” she said. “Do you really want to start a band?”

  “Maybe. I mean, sure. I have a ton of lyrics written.”

  “Have you tried singing?”

  “Not really. I sing along to music in my room. I can kinda growl a bit.” I blushed.

  “Well, I think we should really try.” Fern looked eager. “In class today this idea for a guitar part just struck me out of nowhere. Just this really cool, heavy part. I wrote it down, so when I got home, I tried playing it. It sounded awful without any effects of course, but it’s good.”

  My mind started racing. “So, you’d play guitar. I guess I could try singing. But we’d need bass, drums . . .”

  Fern nodded. “Edgar has a bass. His dad used to be in some jazz band or something a long time ago. I think he’d be interested. I have no idea about a drummer, though.”

  We sat, thoughtful, for a few minutes, sipping our tea. A band! It would be fun. We could play shows. I tried to imagine myself onstage. With a microphone, screaming and growling. In front of a crowd. “I can’t think of any heavy metal bands with girl singers,” I said.

  “I know there are a few, but they aren’t very big.
Craig had a CD, I forget the band’s name. But they had a girl singer. She was okay. But I bet you could do way better.” Fern was definitely serious about this. “We’d be awesome. We’d just have to get together a few songs, and we could play shows and stuff.”

  “What about gear? It’s expensive. You’d need an amp and some effects pedals.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, we’ll have to work that stuff out. But what do you think? Do you want to really give it a try? I could talk to Edgar, see if he’s into it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Sure. Why not?”

  FIFTEEN

  The next weekend, Fern and I met up with Edgar at the same tea shop. Fern and I had talked on the phone every evening that week, fantasizing about going on tour and playing live shows. I’d written in my journal a ton, drafting new lyrics. I’d turned up my DED CD really loud and tried to emulate Balthazar Seizure’s singing voice. I sounded pretty decent. I could definitely rumble and roar and growl and gurgle like he could, but I felt silly doing it. I knew I’d need to practise more.

  We sat at the table with Edgar and laid it out to him. “We want to start a band,” Fern said. “A metal band. We’d like you to be in it.”

  “Really?” Edgar leaned forward, interested. “Doing what?”

  “Can you play bass?” I asked.

  “A little bit, I guess.” He frowned a little. “I mean, my dad has a bass and stuff. I’ve played around on it. But, I mean, to play metal music? That’s difficult.”

  “We’re not saying we’re going to play a show next weekend,” Fern said. “We all need to practise. I’m going to do guitar, and I need a ton of work. It’s more just to see if you’re interested, if you want to be in the band. We’ll figure the rest out as it comes.”

  “What about you, Rachel? What are you going to do in the band?” he asked.

  “Sing. I can do it. I just need to practise. And I have a ton of lyrics and stuff.”

  “What about a drummer? Do you guys know anyone?”

  “No,” Fern said.

  He thought for a second. “We could put up a flyer at the record store or something.”