Pop Kids (40 page)

“It’s not me.” I stare at one of hundreds of framed photos of Kibble, his boxer terrier. “Why don’t you just show it to me? Maybe I could tell you who it is.”

“Massi, I can’t do that. It would be inappropriate. And I know that you’ve seen it already, you’re in the damn thing, you lived it.”

“I really haven’t.” Fantasizing about smacking Alvin around like he’s a blue-haired masochist, I speak to the empty leather desk chair. “And, like I said before, I don’t think it even exists.”

“You know champ.” Behind me, he’s chewing peanuts. He keeps a big bowl of them by the door. “This kinda thing is illegal. This kinda thing can really come back to haunt you.”

Sinatra croons, “I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent record,” pins a Walmart badge to my pea coat, then steps back out of the window.

“Okay, this is all that I’ve heard.” In the reflection of his sporty plaques, I watch my tormentor dust husks from his Polo-shirted beer gut. “There’s an Asian chick in it who is like, twenty one. Supposedly she lives in LA. If I’m really the guy, shouldn’t you be talking to her? I’m still a minor. That would make me a victim of terrible abuse.”

Had this all had happened back when he was still teen-jock supreme, Jerry would have been begging to come to my party. I’m sure he’s curious about the clip, but I swear to Moz this interrogation is mainly out of obligation. However, if the truth got out, he’d come down on me. Hard. He’d have to.
I’ve got to get out of this.

“Nice play Massi, but you’re not gonna score any points with that one.” I jump at the sound of my Screename, as he squeezes my shoulders. “Champ, your teachers have been telling me that you’re fumbling this quarter but I must admit, this kind of foul … this video smut, it just doesn’t seem like you—”

“It’s not me Mr. McCarry,” I insist, holding my breath.

“But your name keeps coming up. Why? Do you know who filmed it? Where was it hosted? Who’s the Chinese girl?” He sighs and beseeches, “Give me something Massi.”

“I’m sorry.” I crane back my neck to make sincere, upside-down eye contact. “I really don’t know anything else.”

“You’re a good kid.”

His inverted image relents. The nut bowl rattles.

“You’re off the hook. But I don’t want to see you back in this office unless it’s to tell me that you wanna try out for the team. And I don’t know what’s going on with you but let’s get those grades and attendance back up, Champ.”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ve just been really tired.” I grab my Sherman and dash to the door. “Shane has been helping me work out after school, and it’s been brutal.”

“Well, that’s good, that’s good.” He laughs. “But you gotta make time for the books too, kiddo. Shane will be the first to tell you that. He’s looking like an early favorite for valedictorian.”

The sun is still out. But it feels like winter. Freezing, tightening my scarf, I power down the campus stairs and dial Stella to tell her what happened, to tell her that I didn’t rat her out, to see if she’d been called into Jerry’s office too—“
I’m a free bitch, baby
.”

I pace in front of the cemetery. Inhaling the spicy smoke of the unseen Grave-cutters’ cigarettes, I redial. “
I’m a free bitch … I’m a free … I’m a…
”

“Hayyyy
Miguelito
!” Cruz stops the rumbling El Camino at the curb. “You need a ride?”

I drag open the flecked door. It feels like it weighs 1000 lbs. Mumbling something about my house, I crumble into the passenger seat. He’s staring.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I say.

“Okay,
Guapo
… it just looks like you’re crying.”

Chapter 64

Tomorrow marks my eighteenth year. I’m not going to clean. I’m going to sleep tonight. Having just covered up my fragile temperament with a chipper birthday-eve face for my folks, I scrub a marinara encrusted casserole dish. Rinsing, I ruminate.

Everything was fabulous. Now it’s all out of control—melting, flipping, freezing-over. I squirt a stream of lavender soap on a wooden spoon and sponge it with vengeance. I want to shut it all down. But things can’t to go back to the way they were before The Premieres. That would be worse than dealing with any of this. I throw my scarf over my shoulder, away from the suds. And Moz only knows what I would do then. I wouldn’t even have the musical to go back to. Though, if I ended it all right now, I could spend all weekend learning my lines and get back in with Nalon. Suds splash on my arm. I roll my sleeves up further. Blake might not make a reality show about me right away. Stella and the rest of The Greats and Extras might never speak to me again. But Holly would be proud of me. As I begin to dry, Eddie hops up onto the counter. I ask her opinion and she agrees. The stunning sober virgin would love it if I stepped down from my attractive position as host. If there were no Premieres, there would be more time for her and I to spend alone. I could finally DV her. She would love that. Pausing my dishrag, I peer out of the kitchen window into the dry night. I should ask her what she thinks about me shutting down The Palace. I should ask her to be my girlfriend. An evening of hiding out in Hogan’s with her sounds perfect—it sounds so quiet against the screaming. I push my earbuds deeper in. I turn up the Smiths and Moz drowns out the distorted nightmarish version of “It Has to Be Me.”

“
Happy birthday to you…”
At midnight, when I reach over my pillows and pick up my phone, Joseph sings to me. “
Happy birthday dear.
What is it now? Snatch?”

“Score.”

“Oh, yeah. Fabulous.
Dear Score, happy birthday to you!
”

I immediately start feeling better.

“Joey, I love the Scarf man, thanks, I haven’t taken it off since yesterday.” I proudly boast before unloading.

Quietly, I review all that has been amiss, and my brother’s uplifting, encouraging words of wisdom put me in a good mood that will carry me through the rest of the day.

This day. My birthday. It has arrived.

“Kiss kiss. Love love.”

“Kiss kiss. Love love.”

Chapter 65

In the Caddy, singing along with Joey Ramone, we park between two empty spots. Responding to an R-rated birthday text from an Extra, I step out of the cretin hop to dignify the quickly filling Valley View lot. This is my runway, and I am pre-maternal Kate Moss. My smile is a Go, my dotted suit is Tops, my shades are Fords, my scarf is unquestionably McQueen, and my new Chucks complement everything. I look great. I’m wide-awake and resolved in my plans for The Premiere.

Birthday, here I come.

Beneath the bright morning, as we lean against the Deville I play the brothers my 2:17 am suggestive video message from Mia. Thirty-two seconds of escalating squeaks build to a very cute, “Happy birthday Score!” We all giggle, hit replay, and then Bickle pulls up.

Throwing open the door of his red Mini Cooper, my muscle runs over to hand me a black and yellow striped Zippo. “Happy birthday Buddy!” Darting back, he pulls four cases of Sterno green and four cases of lighter fluid out from the car.

“Wow. I love it, Thank you.” I admire the ‘Score’ engraving on the lighter as my generous protector loads the inflammable boxes into Lynch’s trunk.

“Hey! Hey Brooke Hogan!” Squeezing next to him, Alvin heroically rescues a Hustler store bag. “Don’t fuckin’ crush those!” He tosses me a liquid-filled, yellow plastic ball. “Try it!”

“I know you asked for that jacket you saw on Kate Moss’s boyfriend.” Lynch grins. “But I didn’t wanna ruin your chances with Holly. I don’t think it’s vegan to fuck someone who wears a leather.”

“Woah!” Pumping a drop onto my finger, I taste the sweet slime.

“Yeah, random right?” As Al snatches the sex lube, tosses back his hair, and squirts a gooey stream into his gaping mouth, Lynch explains, “I couldn’t find banana bread but figured banana cream pie flavored would be close enough.”

Throughout PE, the birthday messages continue to buzz in, and by the end of Biology I’ve heard from almost everyone except Stella. Standing in the small strip of shade, leaning against the cafeteria, I text her, worried. She wasn’t in class.

“We still on for tonight Babe? I’ve got a big Xbox party that I won’t be attending
.”

“
I’m playing hookie and getting ready for you Babe ;) <3 XXXOOOXXX
”

I send back a smiley emoticon as Holly appears with The Boys. Volta is carrying a delicacy that he had overnighted from New York. Singing, “
Feliz cumplianos a ti,”
Cruz lights the candle, then slips me an envelope containing three burned Slayer CDs and two personalized gift certificates—each good for one OJ lesson. On the detailed, professional business cards, a childlike, hand-drawn portrait of Cruz smiles, gripping an anonymous Producer. I fan my gold-leafed gifts, offering for Holly to join me for a course in oral craft. She declines.

“It’s not that I’d think you’d need them. I’d offer you cannoli.” I motion to the Magnolia bakery box. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not vegan.”

“It’s okay Mike, you’re right.” Her pure indigo eyes shame the candle into melting. ”I don’t need them.” She smooches my mouth. “You’ll get your present from me later.”

“C’mon Blow
Culito
,” Volta insists, “Blow!”

I inhale, as the rest join in. “
Blow, blow, blow
… ”

Through lunch the tangible excitement for my birthday follows, bringing with it the rebirth of my anticipation for The Blow-off—my final Premiere. Last night, after confessing my feelings for Holly, my brother avidly alluded that I put The Palace behind me. I’m taking his advice. Tonight I’m going to tell Stella that we can no longer be anything but excessively attractive friends and tomorrow I’ll exclusively do scenes with Holly. On green plastic, my Producer shall know the ingénue.
I’ve only ever wanted you Score. You’re so fabulous. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.
Simultaneously we will explode with joy, then as Moz sings his last song, I will tear myself from Holly, take my speech position, and announce the closing of The Palace. I’ve yet to fill Lynch in on any of this but together, we are working to ensure that the final Premiere will be the pinnacle of magnificence.