Breakout (26 page)

The sun, and the fact that Skye and Meron and Katie are walking up ahead of us and doing their annoying three-headed-hydra thing—whispering and then all looking at us and then whispering again and busting out laughing—makes Keenan and me decide to just stop and grab a seat on the jungle gym until they’re out of sight.

We climb up on the parallel bars and hang our feet down and we are like leopards sitting up lording over the little scrubby gazelles that look at us fearfully and stay away.

“They’re so dumb,” Keenan says, watching Skye, Katie, and Meron leave.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“I didn’t really like Meron anyway,” he adds.

“Nah.”

Then neither of us talks for a while.

Finally I say, “Almost four thousand plays this morning.”

“Yeah,” says Keenan.

I tilt my head to the sun. “It will be cool to write a new song,” I say, “like Mr. Darren said.”

Keenan is quiet for a second. I wonder if after last night he’s sick of me and done with our dreams about all the band
stuff or what, but then he says, “If we wrote three more songs, then we could make an EP. Hey, maybe we can scrape our money together and get seven-inches made.”

“Ooh, let’s get the red vinyl that’s kinda see-through,” I say.

“And we could do our own artwork and sell them over at Sonic Boom.”

“Yeah,” I say. I like those ideas. Things with Keenan and me seem to be fine. I sort of want to ask him if he’s mad, but I don’t. Maybe we are just going to move on to the next thing like we used to.

“Hey, guys.”

I look down, squinting through green sunlight blobs, and there is Valerie. She’s ditched her black wool hoodie and has this cool lavender Sister’s Secret T-shirt, the one with the two hands cupped like they’re hiding something. There’s no one with her.

“Hey,” I say. “You like Sister’s Secret?”

“Nah.” She smiles and I get that she’s joking. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I say, and I kinda do feel fine, for the first time all day.

Some little kids run by screeching. One bumps into Valerie’s hip.

“Hey,
watch
it!” I bark at them, and it’s funny to see them get so scared to death that one of the little freaks trips and falls and gets a face burn on the blue rubber playground surface but then doesn’t want to cry in front of us and runs off. I’m about
to laugh at that but then I see that Valerie is looking after the kid all concerned so I hold it in.

“I thought we played really well last night,” she says. “It was probably tough for you.”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“Still,” she says, “my dad was saying how tight we sounded. He plays bass so he kinda knows. He said you had a good tone, Keenan.”

This makes Keenan sit up. “Cool,” he says.

“And he said you had a unique voice, Anthony.”

“Unique?” I say. “You mean like crappy and screwing up the words and stuff?”

Valerie rolls her eyes at me but also smiles. “It was only our first show,” she says.

“Yeah,” I agree, and I like the sound of that. I think I will be using that phrase, “only our first show,” a lot in the next couple weeks.

And what Valerie just said is kinda like what Mr. Darren said, because it means there will be more chances. Last night wasn’t the only one. Well, it was the only chance at
that
show. But if the next show could be awesome, then who would even remember last night? And if the one after that was even better, and so on …

And maybe that’s sorta how it works, all of it, step by step, show by show, Fat Class by Fat Class, flax muffin by flax muffin … like mastering a level of
LF
, but more. Like maybe all of these campaigns in my life are long, and I am in these bands of brothers and we fight, level by level, slowly getting there.

Maybe it didn’t all need to happen last night.

“You guys rocked,” I say to Valerie and Keenan again. Even though I told them already, I want them to know how great they were, and in spite of everything this whole stupid week, they still got up on that stage and nailed it. Better than me. Better than everyone else. They were rock stars. Maybe that’s why the crowd still applauded. I made it all about me. But what the audience saw was a band.

“Thanks,” says Valerie. Then her face scrunches. “Hey, so, you guys like the Zombie Janitors, right?”

“They rock,” I say.

“I heard you guys saying that you’d been learning songs from
Arcane Sweater Vest
,” says Valerie, “so I checked it out. The beats are great.”

“I know, right?” I say, and for the first time in what feels like forever I have that feeling like, how cool is it to hear a girl say that? And I realize that what I feel around Valerie, and what made it hard to feel like she didn’t like my song or the choice about the lyrics, is
respect
.

Now she puts her hands half in her jean pockets but then pulls them right out again. “So, well, I was thinking, I’ve been learning them too, and I have a drum set at my house now. My parents said it would be cool if maybe you guys wanted to come over sometime, like to play some ZJ tunes.”

“Nice,” says Keenan. “Like a real band practice.”

“Yeah,” says Valerie. “I mean, that too. Because there’s Rock Band, but there’s only one more show for that, and then … well, if the Rusty Soles are going to start playing at
the Vera Project and stuff next year, then we’re going to need more than just two songs. Also, my dad knows the guy who books the summer shows over at Alki, like on the beach? That could rock … and then … Oh.” Valerie stops and looks up almost like she just got caught. “Well, what do you guys think?”

What do I think? What I think is that I know now that Valerie has the dream too. The Rusty Soles playing Vera, or a beach party? That would be insane!

And I hadn’t thought about this before, but really what she’s talking about is actually only like six months away. By then, everything that we went up against last night will be long gone. No more caring about whether the words are appropriate or anything. And for the first time all year, the rest of eighth grade doesn’t sound like forever. In fact, it’s barely enough time to get a set together, an EP …

But then I remember that seconds are ticking by and Valerie needs an answer: “Definitely.”

“Yeah,” says Keenan.

But then I have another thought that just pops out. “But I thought you didn’t like my song.” I kinda feel like an idiot for saying it, but I can’t help it.

Valerie blows at her bangs. “Well, just the end, but I listened to it some more and …” She shrugs. “It’s very … you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I might change the words anyway. Who knows?”

Valerie smiles. “Either way. But, um, do you think every song you write is going to have f-bombs in it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” she says, and I’m waiting for her to add “good” or something but she doesn’t and actually I really like how with Valerie there’s this extra level of figuring out between what she says and what she means, like her opinions aren’t all
right there
in your face all the time like
some
people I know. I have to think about what she’s saying.

“So,” she goes on, “are you guys around after Thanksgiving? Maybe we could practice Saturday or Sunday?”

“Yeah,” I say. Keenan agrees.

She smiles and her face squints double in the sun. “Great. We’ll set it up online. Well, see ya later.” She makes a little wave and starts to walk away.

“Later,” I call after her.

Keenan and I leave soon too. We head for the comics shop, walking slow in the sun, and I am thinking about Valerie, and about what she said, and how we’ll need more songs. For practice, shows, EPs, New York, all of it.

Some of these songs might be like “Breakout,” because we are not out of the trenches yet, but I also want to write some songs that feel like today. More sunny.… A song that Valerie would think is cool.

The final movie scene at the end of
Liberation Force 4.5
shows you and your band of brothers celebrating in the streets of Paris, partying all night.

But then bright and early the next morning your commanding officer kicks you out of bed and gives you new orders. You’re being shipped out to the Pacific, departing immediately. You turn to your mates and nod grimly, and then text appears announcing the sequel coming out next summer:
Liberation Force 5.0: Island Honor
. And you feel psyched because now you know that the battle continues. The war isn’t over. It’s on to the next campaign.

There will be more chances to rock.

I can’t wait.

Spend enough time around kids and teens, and their voices start to get in your head. I met the teens who inspired
Breakout
while teaching creative writing classes at a K–8 public school in Seattle, through a program called Writers in the Schools.

Anthony is based on a particular type of eighth grader I taught each year: low-achieving, regularly disruptive in class, and often acting disinterested. Whether he actually is disinterested or not, he doesn’t know how to express himself positively, and may not have been recognized when he tried. It’s a lot safer to fit in by acting out.

One afternoon, I stopped by the after-school rock band club and saw two boys and a girl that I’d struggled with in class absolutely rocking out. They seemed talented and sure of themselves, and so enthusiastic. Afterward, I tried to get them to write about this experience in the classroom to mixed results, but at least we could connect as musicians.

When I started hearing Anthony’s voice in my head and writing this story, I realized how much empathy I had for teens in this moment. Anthony doesn’t want to be a bad kid. But how else is he going to break out of the trap he’s in? I also wanted to present Anthony with the essential challenge of any artist trying to find their voice: when you finally get the stage, what do you want to say?

There’s a reason swears exist in our language. I remember using them as far back as elementary school. After fifteen years in classrooms, it seems to me that while of course it makes sense to have rules about language and conduct, it’s also important to talk about the meaning and impact of
every
word, including profanity. I didn’t set out to write a novel about the f-word, though this manuscript was at one point titled
One Little Word
and briefly
The F-Word
. In the end, those titles seemed to sell Anthony’s predicament short. That said, I do hope that this book can serve as an opportunity for discussion about what words are capable of, whether we’re eighth graders, or former eighth graders.

It took many years to get this manuscript right, and to find an editor and publisher who were willing to champion it. I’m so grateful to Phoebe Yeh for sticking her neck out for this book, and for helping me shape it into something better than I’d ever imagined. Also thanks to everyone at Crown and Random House for getting behind it. I’m indebted, as always, to George Nicholson and the team at Sterling Lord Literistic for believing in this story throughout its journey. Thank you to my readers, who remind me why I do this. And I continue to be grateful to the teachers, librarians, and booksellers who support my work, and to my fellow authors, friends, and family for their love and understanding.

Allied V for Victory,
Kevin