Breakout (12 page)

Below the player is the string of comments and you can only see the first six:

As I am looking at them a little bubble pops up saying “New Comment!”

I refresh the page and look at the plays and now it says 2,395.

Eleven plays in like a minute.

The new comment says:

I stare at the screen.

I stare some more at the screen.

I am staring at the screen and then I refresh again.

I wait a few seconds and click again.

Again.

I cannot believe this.

I scroll through more of the comments. There are the usual jerks—and I’ve been one of them, who post a mean
comment just to do it because the point of the Internet is that you
can
—but it’s only like three or four and the rest are freaking out and excited and saying how much they love the tune and that’s
my
tune they are talking about.

I find six comments that seem to be from girls and give contact info like Comment 38:

And then other things like Comment 29:

The UK. We’re basically the Beatles.

Or Comment 6:

There are cold beads of sweat dripping down my armpits and I can’t believe this, I absolutely cannot believe this. I call Keenan back and we freak out some more, reading comments to each other, talking about touring England, what new guitars we’d buy, what kind of sweet entertainment system our
tour bus should have, and on and on. And then I keep reading, refreshing, and when I look up the plays have risen up to 2,609, and outside it is dark.

All I do is read comments and refresh the playlist until it’s time for dinner.

Heading downstairs, I consider telling my family because this is amazing, but then what if they freak out about the swears and want me to take it down or something? Because that is
not
an option. For the moment I think staying quiet is the best idea so that’s what I do.

Then I spend the rest of the night watching the numbers and reading the comments and texting with Keenan about how our band is
famous
and we wonder if record labels are going to call or if this means something or nothing but either way we are blown away and one thing I write to him is:
This is what it must feel like!
and what I mean is what it must feel like to have your band blow up and to be a real musician. It must feel like this every day, and if that is the case, then that is unbelievable.

I think about what I wrote on my wish list last night and here it is and it’s not a wish, it’s actually happening, right now. And I have this weird sensation, like there are kids
looking at computer screens not just from our school but all over the world and listening to this song and who are they? Who do they think I am? They probably imagine me as some chiseled little boy-band hipster with emo hair, not as just me.

But no, I don’t need to worry about what they picture because
just me
is who wrote the song. So what if they’re a little surprised when they see me
on tour in Europe!
It won’t matter, and besides, famous musicians can work out every day and drink fruit smoothies and hire personal chefs to put flaxseed in all their meals and
whoa
.

This is all totally happening.

And then I wonder if Valerie is out there somewhere, a friend sending her the link to the song, and I wonder what she thinks. And does she dream about things like New York too? Does she also picture the club having concrete walls or does she imagine it a little more pro, like maybe with a drum riser and velvet curtains over the walls? I think about sending her a message. I don’t have her number but I know where she is on the social media sites (maybe now and then I’ve looked at what photos she’s posting). I haven’t friended her yet, though, because, I don’t know, what if that feels stalkery? Which is funny because it takes no thought at all to follow someone who you are
not
into in the way that I am maybe into Valerie.

But it’s okay. I can play it cool. I’ll see her tomorrow, and for now there is just being here with this happening.

Actually, I won’t just see Valerie tomorrow. It will be everyone. All my classmates, and what will that be like now
that
this
is happening? I feel a burst of nervous energy. Excitement, or worry? I can’t tell.

Better to just watch the numbers.

I refresh the page again.

And again …

And again.

There is some kind of feeling like I have never had before when I wake up on Monday morning and I am instantly awake and my heart is racing. I check the stats on BandSpace while I’m still lying in bed.

Those numbers didn’t go up as fast overnight as they had during Sunday and I am maybe disappointed by that, but whatever. It is pouring rain outside and so Dad gives me a ride to school and I eat my blueberry flaxseed muffin (just like my personal chef will want me to eat) on the way.

As we are pulling into the school parking lot, my guts start to do backflips and I feel a little queasy: how many kids will know? And what will they think? What if it just so happens
that those few kids who made jerky comments online are actually all my classmates, because Seattle can be kind of a picky music town, and what if I’m an outcast? But no that’s stupid.

I need to relax.

When I get out of the car it happens to be mostly little kids around. They’re clueless, so I settle down a bit. Big breath. No problem.

Inside, though, the middle school wing feels crowded and I have to fight the urge to look around at everyone and see who is staring at me or pointing or snickering or not even noticing or what.

I tell myself to act like rock stars do. When SilentNoize arrives at a show, they walk right past the press and Jake Diamond has his silver-rimmed mirror sunglasses on and he keeps his head perfectly straight like he doesn’t notice a thing.

That’s what I try to do. Because also, maybe it will just be business as usual.

But then I see Blake and Natty from my class and they are looking at me and they are laughing. I immediately worry that they think the song is dumb but then when they catch me looking, Blake makes the devil horns with his hand, index and pinkie fingers up, the international sign of rock. “Yeah, Anthony!” he says.

This makes a bunch of other kids look up and that includes some seventh graders and also a few eighth graders and it happens all around me and it’s like I can’t tell who is looking at me like they
know
and who isn’t. And even Blake’s grin is hard to read: is he serious or sarcastic? What if he isn’t even
talking about the song? But of course he is. Ugh! It’s like my brain has split into two voices that are shouting at me at the same time and one is saying,
He didn’t mean it he hates it
, and the other is saying,
He loves it you are a rock star!

I feel like basically I have no idea. Does Jake Diamond ever wonder these things? Probably not. He always seems
sure
.

So I just keep walking, hoping I look like I’m taking it in stride, and when I get to my locker Keenan is there and that’s when I see that he looks completely different.

He’s wearing a black Kneebacks T-shirt with a glittery skull design on it, and he’s put some kind of junk in his hair and the front is sticking up and it’s so different from his normal shaggy mop. He falls against the side of the locker beside me.

“Hey,” he says, and then gazes up and down the hall at the passing kids, a smirk on his face. “Tons of people know.”

“Cool,” I say, trying to match his tone even though my insides are still flipping around like a fish on a dock.

“Almost three thousand plays.” Keenan says this just a little bit louder and I look up at him kinda like
What is with you?
But then I see that he is looking over my shoulder and when I turn, there is Skye at her locker with Katie and Meron and as soon as their alien female radar picks up on me looking in their direction, the three of them immediately throw their heads together like they are some kind of three-headed hydra and they are all whispers and giggles and I turn away fast because there is nothing you can do when the evil females ignite their uni-brain. But then I notice that Keenan is still staring at them, and looking maybe a little hurt. As of Friday
he had that uni-brain with Skye but now his transmission has been cut.

I punch his shoulder. “Hey,” I say, “forget about her. She’s missing out on a rock star, remember?” This makes us both grin and Keenan manages to nod a little. I realize that Keenan’s new outfit is probably to make Skye jealous.

“I never liked her that much anyway,” he says, and that is maybe the biggest lie ever but I let it go and we turn to head to class.

“Hey, Anthony.” Suddenly the three girls are standing right in front of us, and Skye is smiling big.

At me.

She’s holding her books in front of her in this innocent pose like she just stepped out of a movie from the 1950s. Her hair is down and it looks more styled than usual. Plus she’s got more makeup on than normal. I have to say, she really looks hot, and that must be terrible for Keenan. I glance over and he’s kind of frozen in the headlights. This is bad, and I’m not sure what to do. Should I act friendly like I usually would? It was one thing to say mean things about her to Keenan, since I was trying to help him get over being dumped, but I don’t feel like I can be mean to her now. We’re friends, well, and exes too, but …

And yet then I am also wondering: did she hear the song? And if she heard it, what did she think? And, man, she looks really cute.

All of these thoughts have me just standing there again, and I realize that I need to say something, and I just mumble,
“Hey,” and hope it sounds friendly enough for Skye and cold enough for Keenan.

“We all think the song is
amazing
,” says Skye, and when she says it she is definitely just looking at
me
and it is like
uh-oh
. I find myself thinking about swimming with her at Magnuson Park last summer. She looked hot in her bathing suit. And she didn’t care how I looked in mine.

“It’s really good,” Meron adds, and then, as if things weren’t confusing enough, I see that Meron is aiming a similar kind of innocent dreamy look
at Keenan
. Skye doesn’t seem to mind this. Behind them Katie is checking her phone, bored.

And I notice Keenan noticing this look from Meron and this makes him brush at his special new hair and that does hook a quick glare from Skye but then she tosses
her
special new hair and gazes back at me.

This is insane.

“I’ve probably listened to it like a hundred times already,” says Skye.

“Thanks,” I say.

“So good,” says Meron. She looks pretty hot today too, with her hair in these cool braids.

“Thanks,” Keenan mumbles.

“I mean,” Skye goes on, “your song … it’s like you knew
just
how I felt. How everyone feels.” And she is oh-so-very-evil because she reaches out and does that girl thing where she touches my arm to make her point and I feel her fingers and then the sharp edges of her newly purple-glittered fingernails. “It’s really deep.”

Keenan definitely notices this.

And I am just standing there trying to figure out what to do about this and thinking
Oh no
but also thinking
Sweet
but then
Oh no!
again.

“It’s really deep,” Meron says again to poor Keenan, and then she does the touching
his
arm thing and that snaps him out of a trance where he was maybe staring sadly at Skye.