双语畅销书·怦然心动 Chapter 11 极度紧张
Chapter 11
极度紧张
我发现爸爸对幽默感的理解力与加利特差不多，这让我陷入了极度紧张中。
只要看到爸爸，我就坐卧不安，更别提跟他说话了。但是在星期五下午五点钟左右，我至少在一件事上和他达成共识——我们还不如组织一次烧烤。烧烤给人的感觉会更加，嗯，非正式。可惜，妈妈正在厨房里煎炒烹炸，忙得团团转，指使爸爸和我做这做那，仿佛即将来用餐的是总统大人。
我们擦了地板，给桌子多加了一张活动面板，搬进五把椅子，还摆了桌子。当然，我们摆得错误百出，可是妈妈也不过是把所有的东西重新折腾了一遍。对我来说，这没什么不同，不过反正我什么也不懂，对吧？
她拿出几座烛台，说：“瑞克，你能不能帮我装盘上菜？我想抓紧时间去冲个澡。做完这些你就可以换衣服了。还有布莱斯，你穿的这是什么？”
“妈妈，不过是和贝克一家吃饭。你想让他们觉得自己一文不值吗？”
“特瑞纳和我约定要正装出席，因此——”
“但为什么要正装？”
妈妈把手放在我的肩膀上说：“为了让我们感到一样的不自在，孩子。”
女人哪。我看着她说道：“这是否说明我得打上一条领带？”
“不用，但至少换下T恤衫，穿件带纽扣的上衣。”
我回到自己的房间，在衣柜里巡视着，想找到一件带纽扣的。
好吧，有不少衣服都有纽扣。我有的是奇怪的纽扣。我在心里幻想着抵制妈妈的着装要求，但手里却拿起衬衫开始往身上穿。
二十分钟后，我还没穿好衣服。我非常不满，穿成这样有什么意义呢？我为什么要在意为这顿白痴的晚饭穿什么衣服？我表现得活像个姑娘。
透过窗帘的缝隙，我看到他们过来了。出了院门，走过人行道，穿过大街。就像个奇怪的梦境。他们仿佛飘向我家的房子。他们五个人。
我从床上捡起一件衬衫，把胳膊穿进去，系上扣子。
两秒钟以后，门铃响了，妈妈喊道：“你能去开门吗，布莱斯？”
幸好，外公替我开了门。他跟他们全家打着招呼，就像见到了久别重逢的亲人，甚至分得清马特和麦克。他们一个人穿了件紫色衬衫，一个人穿了件绿色的，所以记住谁是谁并不难，可是他们一进门就捏着我的脸说：“嘿，小弟弟！最近可好？”我十分气恼地发现自己又把他们搞混了。
妈妈从厨房出来，说：“进来，快进来吧。你们全家都来了，这太好了，”她喊道，“利——奈——特！瑞克！客人来了！”
她看到朱莉和贝克太太的时候顿了一下，“呃，这是什么？”她问道，“家里做的派？”
贝克太太说：“黑莓奶酪山核桃蛋糕。”
“看起来真棒！太棒了！”妈妈表现得过于亢奋，我不太相信她的话。她接过朱莉手中的派，飞快地拉着贝克太太进了厨房。
利奈特从角落里冒出来，马特和麦克看见她就笑了：“嘿，利。今晚真漂亮。”
黑衬衫，黑色指甲油，黑色眼影——对于夜行啮齿类动物来说，是的，确实不错。
他们去了利奈特的房间，当我转过身，外公正领着贝克先生走进前厅，我被留在玄关和朱莉在一起。只有我们两个。
她没有看我。她似乎看过了每一样东西，但就是不看我。我感觉自己像个白痴，穿着带奇怪纽扣的古板衬衫呆站在那儿，两颊凹陷，无话可说。这种沉默让我紧张，心脏在狂跳，就像刚跑完百米赛跑或是打过一场篮球什么的。
最重要的是，她看起来甚至比那张白痴报纸上的照片还像照片，不知道这样说你是否能明白。不是因为她今天穿着正装——她没有。她穿了一条普普通通的连衣裙和一双普普通通的鞋子，头发也和平时一样，也许比平时稍微平顺一点点。而是因为，她看着所有的东西却不看我。她把肩膀扭过去，抬着下巴，眼睛闪闪发亮。
我们可能只在那儿站了五秒钟，感觉上却像过了整整一年。终于，我开口说：“嗨，朱莉。”
她瞥了我一眼，一切都清楚了——她在生气。她小声说：“我在图书馆听到你和加利特拿我叔叔开玩笑，我不想和你说话！你明白吗？不是现在，是永远！”
我的脑子飞速地运行着。当时她在哪儿？我没在附近看到她呀！
还有，她是自己听到的？还是从别人嘴里听到的？
我想告诉她，那不是我，那是加利特，全是加利特的错。但她没等我开口，就跑进前厅找她爸爸去了。
于是我站在这里，后悔当初不如在图书馆就把加利特揍一顿，这样朱莉就再也不会跟一个拿智障人士开玩笑的家伙同班了。这时爸爸出现了，他拍拍我的肩膀：“好吧，派对进行得如何，孩子？”
说曹操曹操到。我真想把他的手从我肩膀上打下来。
他上身朝前厅探去，说：“嘿，她爸爸把自己弄得挺干净嘛，是不是？”
我摆脱了他的手：“贝克先生的名字是罗伯特，爸爸。”
“是啊，好吧，我知道他叫什么。”他搓着手说，“我想必须得过去跟他们打个招呼。一起来？”
“不，妈妈也许要我过去帮忙。”
不过，我并没有进厨房。我站在那儿，观察贝克先生和爸爸握手。看着他们在那里谈笑风生，我却被一种奇怪的感觉包围。不是因为朱莉——而是我爸爸。站在贝克先生旁边，他显得很小。是身材上的小。跟贝克先生下巴的轮廓相比，爸爸的脸看上去有点狡猾。这不是你想要的对爸爸的感觉。小的时候，我总觉得爸爸永远是对的，世界上没人比得上他。但站在这儿看着他，我意识到贝克先生想打败他就像按扁一只虫子一样简单。
可是，他的举止还要更糟。看看他和朱莉的爸爸故作亲切的样子吧——就像是在看他撒谎。对贝克先生、对朱莉、对我外公——对所有人。他干吗表现得像个可怜虫似的？他为什么不能显得正常点儿？好吧，或者说，有教养一点儿？他干吗非要假惺惺地演下去？这已经不是为了安抚妈妈那么简单了。这简直让人作呕。
别人都说我就是我爸爸的翻版。这句话我听到过多少次？我从来没有仔细想过它，但现在它让我觉得恶心。
妈妈敲响用晚餐的铃声，喊道：“开胃小吃已经准备好了！”然后她发现我还站在走廊上，“布莱斯，你姐姐和那些男孩去哪儿了？”
我耸耸肩：“在她房间，我想。”
“通知他们开饭了，好吗？然后来吃点冷盘吧。”
“没问题。”我回答说。只要能让我摆脱这种糟糕的感觉，干什么都行。
利奈特的房间关着门。平时我一般会敲敲门，喊一声：“妈妈叫你！”或者：“开饭了！”可是今天这种灰头土脸的状况下，我的手一定是被魔鬼操纵着，扭开门把手，直接走了进去。
利奈特有没有大发脾气、朝我扔东西或是尖叫着让我出去？没有。她根本无视我的存在。马特和麦克冲我点点头，利奈特看见我了，但她的手捂在耳机上，听着音乐，全身上下随之摇摆。
马特——也许是麦克——悄声说：“马上就好。我们这就过去。”就像他们知道我肯定是来叫他们吃饭的。那我干吗还要待在这儿？
不知怎的，我觉得自己似乎是被遗忘了。我甚至不是这些男孩中的一员，我只是个小弟弟。
我并不是刚刚知道这件事，但现在我忽然在意起来。好像突然之间，我在任何地方都变得格格不入了。在学校、在家里……每当我转过身来，总有一个我认识的人永远地成了陌生人。甚至连我自己，都让我觉得陌生起来。
虽然吃上了涂上软奶酪和鱼子酱的小圆饼干，但这对我的心情并没有太大帮助。妈妈就像一只繁忙的蜜蜂，哪里都有她的身影。厨房里、厨房外、端饮料、拿餐巾、介绍菜肴，但她一口也没吃。
利奈特不愿轻信妈妈对点心的介绍——她把自己那份分成油腻的、恶心的和讨厌的等几类。
虽然坐在利奈特旁边，但贝克家的男孩子们仍然不顾形象地把饼干整块吞下去。上帝，我就等着看他们把自己卷在桌子腿上了。
朱莉、她爸爸和我外公坐在桌子另一头，一直在聊着什么，我爸爸和贝克太太坐在对面，能看到我傻乎乎地一个人呆站在那儿。
妈妈轻轻地走到我身边：“你还好吗，亲爱的？”
“我没事。”我回答她，但是她不由分说地把我推到外公那边。“接着聊，接着聊，”她轻声说，“晚饭马上就好。”
我站在那里，聊天的人们条件反射地给我让出一个位置。没人理我，他们接着聊永动机去了。
永动机。
老天，我甚至连永动机是什么都不知道。他们谈起封闭系统、开放系统、阻抗、能源、磁力……就像是加入了另一种语言的讨论。还有朱莉，她正在说着什么：“嗯，如果我们背对背放置磁铁——颠倒磁极呢？”就像她真能理解他们说的东西似的。外公和她爸爸给她解释，为什么她的办法行不通，但他们的回答只是引来朱莉更多的问题。
我彻底茫然了。虽然假装在听他们聊天，可我其实是在努力不要盯着朱莉。
妈妈叫我们吃饭了，我竭尽全力把朱莉拉到一边，向她道歉，她根本爱答不理。不过，这怎么能怪她呢，对吧？
我在对面坐下，心情极为沉重。我为什么没有在图书馆反驳加利特几句？不一定要揍他。为什么我没有当面告诉他这很过分？
等到妈妈给每个人盛上菜，爸爸似乎下定决心要主导餐桌上的谈话。“嗯，麦克和马特，”他说，“今年是你们在高中的最后一年。”
“上帝保佑！”他们同声说道。
“上帝保佑？你们的意思是，很高兴能离开中学了？”
“当然。”
爸爸转着手里的叉子：“为什么？”
马特和麦克对视了一眼，再看着爸爸：“这地方早就让我们不爽了。”
“真有趣，”他环视着餐桌，“高中是我生命中最美好的时光。”
马特——也许是麦克——说道：“真的吗？老兄，那可逊毙了！”贝克太太斜了他一眼，可是他继续说下去，“哦，这是真的，妈妈。无趣的教育理念。限制、批评、服从——我已经完全受够了。”
爸爸向妈妈露出一个“我告诉过你”的隐蔽笑容，然后对马特和麦克说：“那么我想，大学里就没有这些问题了？”
上帝，他怎么了？一瞬间，我抓紧手中的刀叉，做好了和那两个捏我脸、管我叫“小弟弟”的家伙打一架的准备。
我深吸了一口气，试图放松下来，试图潜入平静的水中。这场战役与我无关。
再说，马特和麦克看起来淡定得很。“哦，不是，”他们说，“上大学只是一种可能的方向。”“是的，有几所学校录取了我们，不过我们想先搞个乐队试试。”
“哦，乐队。”爸爸说。
马特和麦克对视一眼，耸耸肩，继续吃东西。但是利奈特盯着他说：“你的讽刺一点儿也不好笑，爸爸。”
“利，利，”马特——或者麦克——说道，“没关系。人人都是这个反应。说得容易，是骡子是马拉出来遛遛，他们一般都是这个态度。”
“好主意。”利奈特说，从座位上跳起来，冲向走廊。
妈妈呆住了，她不知道该拿利奈特怎么办，但这时贝克太太说：“晚餐非常美味，佩西。”
“谢谢，特瑞纳。我们……我们很高兴你们能来。”
大约有三秒钟的时间，大家都沉默着，然后利奈特跑进来，猛地按下CD机的按钮，直到唱片收进去为止。
“利，别这样！这不是个好主意，”马特——或者麦克——说道，“没错，利。这音乐不适合吃饭的时候听。”
“忍着点。”利奈特说罢便调大了音量。
砰，啪！砰砰，啪！蜡烛在烛台上摇摆；吉他的和弦撕裂了空气，声浪几乎能把人吹跑。马特和麦克抬头看着音响，相视一笑，对我爸爸说：“立体声——好棒的配置，罗斯基先生！”
所有的大人都恨不得躲出去，或是关掉音乐，但利奈特站在那里守护着音响，怒视众人。一首歌结束，她把CD拿出来，关上播放器，然后对马特和麦克露出了微笑——她真的笑了——她说：“这是最棒的歌。我只想一遍又一遍地听。”
马特——或者麦克——对我爸爸说：“也许你不喜欢它，但这就是我们的作品。”
“你们自己写的歌？”
“嗯哼。”
他让利奈特把CD递过来，说道：“只有这一首吗？”
马特——或者麦克——笑了：“老兄，我们写了很多，但只有三首录了小样。”
爸爸拿起CD：“这就是小样？”
“是的。”
他盯着CD看了一会儿，然后说：“如果你们自称‘神秘小便’，怎么刻得起CD呢？”
“爸爸！”利奈特厉声说。
“没什么，利。他只是在开玩笑，对不对，罗斯基先生？”
爸爸微微一笑：“是的，”但他又补充道，“我只是有点好奇罢了。这明显不是自制的小样，而我凑巧知道对于大多数乐队来说，租用录音室的成本有多高……”
马特和麦克用一记响亮的击掌打断了他。我对爸爸竟然问起费用的问题感到愤怒，这时妈妈为了弥补爸爸的口无遮拦，支支吾吾地开口了。
“当年我认识瑞克的时候，他也在玩乐队……”
我嘴里的水煮三文鱼忽然变得难以下咽了。当我噎在那儿的时候，利奈特瞪大她那浣熊般的眼睛，喘着气说：“你？玩乐队？你演奏什么乐器，单簧管吗？”
“不，亲爱的，”妈妈定了定神，“爸爸是吉他手。”
“吉他？”
“酷！”马特——或者麦克——说，“摇滚，乡村，还是爵士？”
“乡村，”爸爸说，“千万别笑话我，孩子。”
“老兄！我们懂的。向你致敬，哥们儿。”
“当时，我们乐队想试着录一张小样，可那贵得没边儿。那是在大城市里，竞争激烈。在这里录小样？我甚至都不知道这里还有录音棚呢。”
马特和麦克还在笑：“这里没有。”
“你们去哪里录的？怎么支付得起呢？”妈妈在桌子底下狠狠地打了他一下，于是他补充说，“我只是好奇，佩西！”
马特和麦克俯下身子：“我们自己录的。”
“就在这里？你们自己录？这不可能。”他看起来快要疯掉了，“你们从哪儿搞到合成器的？”
妈妈又踢了他一脚，但是爸爸转过身去对她说：“别这样了，好吗？我只是好奇！”
马特——或者麦克——说：“没关系，罗斯基太太，”他冲爸爸笑了笑，“我们在网上和二手市场寻找卖家。人人都想把手里的旧模拟合成器换成数字合成器，因为别人都这么做了。数字合成器，如果你问我们的话，很烂。丢失了太多的波形。它们不够丰满，而我们显然希望它更雄厚一些。”
外公举起一根手指：“可是CD上收录的是数字信号，所以……”
“没错，不过这是最后也是唯一一个我们不得不妥协的步骤。这是进入这个行业所必需的。人人都想要CD，但是多音轨和压制成双轨的时候，仍然是模拟信号。而且我们负担得起，罗斯基先生，因为我们买的是二手合成器，我们从十二岁那年就开始攒钱了，”他笑了，“你现在还弹吉他吗？如果你愿意的话，我们也许可以，嗯，录一些你的曲子。”
爸爸低下头，起初我不确定他是不是会发怒或是叫骂。然后，他似乎轻轻地哼了一声，说：“谢谢，不过那已经不是现在的我了。”
那也许是爸爸整晚说出的唯一一句真心话。在那之后，他就陷入沉默。他试着偶尔笑一笑，不过，基本上都是在沉思中度过的。我开始有些为他伤感。他是不是想起了年轻时玩乐队的美好时光？我试着勾勒出他当年的样子，穿牛仔靴，戴牛仔帽，肩膀上挎着吉他，弹起威利·尼尔森的曲子。
他是对的——那已经不是他了。
可是，这让我前所未有地感觉自己像是个陌生人，来到了一个陌生的地方。
当聚会结束，贝克一家走出屋门的时候，发生了一些奇怪的事。朱莉碰了碰我的胳膊。那天晚上头一次，她看着我。还是那种眼神，坦率地、单纯地看着我。她说：“对不起，刚才进门的时候我太生气了。今晚人人都很愉快，你妈妈能邀请我们，真是太好心了。”
她的声音很轻，像耳语一样。我像个傻瓜一样站在那儿，看着她。
“布莱斯？”她又碰碰我的胳膊，“你听见我的话了吗？对不起。”
我强迫自己点了点头，可是我的手臂发麻，心脏狂跳，我觉得自己正在朝她靠过去。
然后她走了。在一片欢快的再会声中，走出大门，走进黑夜。我试着平复呼吸。这是怎么了？我出了什么毛病？
妈妈关上门，说：“好吧。我说什么来着？这家人多可爱呀！两个男孩子就和我想象的一样。利奈特，你为什么从没告诉过我他们这么……这么迷人！”
“他们是毒贩子。”
人人都把目光转向爸爸，张大了嘴。
“什么？”妈妈问。
“不这样，他们根本不可能买得起那种合成器，”他盯着利奈特，“是不是这样？”
利奈特的眼珠子都快从眼眶里瞪出来了。
“瑞克，拜托！”妈妈说，“你不能就这样指控别人！”
“这是唯一合理的解释，佩西。相信我，我知道音乐家是什么人。没有别的可能了。”
利奈特叫道：“我碰巧知道他们既不吸毒也不贩毒。你怎么能说出这种话？你是个两面三刀、高高在上、心胸狭窄的白痴！”
片刻的安静之后，他给了她一个耳光，很响，重重地打在她的脸颊上。
妈妈指着他的脸，我从来没见过她这个样子，而姐姐则跑向她的房间，边跑边回头骂着。
我的心怦怦直跳。利奈特是对的，我也差一点儿就要指着他的鼻子说出同样的话了。但外公拉住我，我们一起退到属于我们的角落。
我在自己的房间里转着圈，急切地想和利奈特说几句话。去告诉她，她做得对，是爸爸太过分了。但是透过墙壁，我听到她在大哭大叫，而妈妈正在安慰她。然后，她冲出屋子，不知道跑到哪里去了，然后妈妈又和爸爸吵了起来。
因此，我留在了屋子里。十一点以后，一切风平浪静，但余波仍在。我能感觉得到。
我躺在床上，透过窗户遥望天空，想起爸爸平时有多看不起贝克一家，他是怎么贬低他们的房子、院子、汽车以及他们为谋生所做的一切，他是怎么管他们叫“垃圾”，还嘲笑贝克先生的画。
而现在我发现他们家其实很酷。每个人都是。
他们……很真实。
而我们呢？在这间屋子里，有些东西正在迅速失去控制。
探寻贝克家的世界为我们自己的世界打开了一扇窗，而里面的景色一点儿也不美。
这些东西都是怎么出现的？
为什么我从前都没有意识到？
Chapter 11
The Serious Willies
BRYCE
Realizing that my father had the same sense of humor as Garrett gave me the serious willies. I had the hardest time just looking at my dad, let alone speaking to him. But at about five o'clock Friday afternoon I agreed with him about one thing — we should've barbecued. A barbecue is more, you know, low-key. Instead, my mom was flying around the kitchen, slicing and dicing and barking orders at Dad and me like the president was coming to dinner.
We swept the floor, put an extra leaf in the table, brought in five more chairs, and set the table. We set it all wrong, of course, but all my mother had to do was shuffle things around to make it right. It looked the same to me, but what do I know?
She put out candlesticks and said, "Rick, can you load the dishes and run them? I'd like a chance to get cleaned up. After that you can change. And Bryce? What are you wearing?"
Mom, it's the Bakers. Are you trying to make them feel totally worthless?
Trina and I agreed on a dress-up, so —
But why?
My dad put a hand on my shoulder and said, "So we can all feel equally uncomfortable, son."
Women. I looked at her and said, "Does that mean I have to wear a tie?"
No, but some sort of button-down instead of a T-shirt would be nice.
I went down to my room and ripped through my closet looking for something with buttons. There were lots of buttons, all right. Lots of geeky buttons. I thought about boycotting my mother's dress-code requirements, but instead I started putting on shirts.
Twenty minutes later I still wasn't dressed. And I was extremely ticked off about it because what did it matter? Why did I care what I looked like at this stupid dinner? I was acting like a girl.
Then through a gap in my curtains I saw them coming. Out their front door, down their walkway, across the street. It was like a weird dream. They seemed to be floating toward our house. All five of them.
I pulled a shirt off my bed, punched my arms in, and buttoned up.
Two seconds later the doorbell rang and Mom called, "Can you get that, Bryce?"
Luckily, Granddad beat me to it. He greeted them all like they were long-lost family and even seemed to know which one was Matt and which one was Mike. One was wearing a purple shirt and the other was wearing a green one, so it shouldn't have been that hard to remember which was which, but they came in and pinched my cheeks and said, "Hey, baby brother! How's it goin'?" and I got so mad I mixed them up again.
My mother zoomed in from the kitchen, saying, "Come in, come in. It's so nice you all could make it." She called, "Lyn-et-ta! Rick! We've got com-pa-ny!" but then stopped short when she saw Juli and Mrs. Baker. "Well, what's this?" she asked. "Homemade pies?"
Mrs. Baker said, "Blackberry cheesecake and pecan."
They look wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! My mother was acting so hyper I couldn't believe it. She took Juli's pie, then whooshed a path to the kitchen with Mrs. Baker.
Lynetta appeared from around the corner, which made Matt and Mike grin and say, "Hey, Lyn. Lookin' good."
Black skirt, black nails, black eyes — for a nocturnal rodent, yeah, I suppose she was looking good.
They disappeared down to Lynetta's room, and when I turned around, my granddad was taking Mr. Baker into the front room, which left me in the entry hall with Juli. Alone.
She wasn't looking at me. She seemed to be looking at everything but me. And I felt like an idiot, standing there in my geeky button-down shirt with pinched cheeks and nothing to say. And I got so nervous about having nothing to say that my heart started going wacko on me, hammering like it does right before a race or a game or something.
On top of that, she looked more like that stupid picture in the paper than the picture did, if that makes any sense. Not because she was all dressed up — she wasn't. She was wearing some normal-looking dress and normal-looking shoes, and her hair was the way it always is except maybe a little more brushed out. It was the way she was looking at everything but me, with her shoulders back and her chin out and her eyes flashing.
We probably only stood there for five seconds, but it felt like a year. Finally I said, "Hi, Juli."
Her eyes flashed at me, and that's when it sank in — she was mad. She whispered, "I heard you and Garrett making fun of my uncle in the library, and I don't want to speak to you! You understand me? Not now, not ever!"
My mind was racing. Where had she been? I hadn't seen her anywhere near me in the library! And had she heard it? Or had she heard it from somebody else.
I tried to tell her it wasn't me, that it was Garrett, all Garrett. But she shut me down and made tracks for the front room to be with her dad.
So I'm standing there, wishing I'd punched Garrett out in the library so Juli wouldn't stick me in the same class as someone who makes retard jokes, when my dad shows up and claps me on the shoulder. "So. How's the party, son?"
Speak of the devil. I wanted to whack his hand off my shoulder.
He leans out so he can see into the front room and says, "Hey, the dad cleans up pretty good, doesn't he?"
I shrug away from him. "Mr. Baker's name is Robert, Dad."
Yeah, you know, I knew that. He rubs his hands together and says, "I guess I ought to go in and say hello. Coming?"
Nah. Mom probably needs my help.
I didn't run off to the kitchen, though. I stood there and watched Mr. Baker shake my father's hand. And as they stood there pumping and smiling, this weird feeling started coming over me again. Not about Juli — about my father. Standing next to Mr. Baker, he looked small. Physically small. And compared to the cut of Mr. Baker's jaw, my dad's face looked kind of weaselly.
This is not the way you want to feel about your father. When I was little, I'd always thought that my dad was right about everything and that there wasn't a man on earth he couldn't take. But standing there looking in, I realized that Mr. Baker could squash him like a bug.
Worse, though, was the way he was acting. Watching my dad chum it up with Juli's dad — it was like seeing him lie. To Mr. Baker, to Juli, to my grandfather — to everybody. Why was he being such a worm? Why couldn't he just act normal? You know, civil? Why did he have to put on such a phony show? This went way beyond keeping the peace with my mother. This was disgusting.
And people said I was the spitting image of my father. How often had I heard that one? I'd never thought about it much, but now it was turning my stomach.
Mom jingled the dinner bell and called, "Hors d'oeuvres are ready!" and then saw me still standing in the hallway. "Bryce, where'd your sister and the boys go?"
I shrugged. "Down to her room, I think."
Go tell them, would you? And then come have some hors d'oeuvres.
Sure, I said. Anything to get rid of the taste in my mouth.
Lynetta's door was closed. And normally I would have knocked and called, Mom wants you, or, Dinner! or something, but in that split second before my knuckles hit wood, my hand became possessed by Evil Baby Brother. I turned the knob and walked right in.
Does Lynetta freak out or throw stuff at me and scream for me to get out? No. She ignores me. Matt-and-Mike give me a nod, and Lynetta sees me, but she's got her hands over some headphones and her whole body's bobbing up and down as she listens to a portable CD player.
Matt-or-Mike whispers, "It's about over. We'll be right there,"like of course I was there to say it was time to eat. What else would I be doing there?
Something about that made me feel, I don't know, left out. I wasn't even a person to those guys. I was just baby brother.
Nothing new there, but now it really bugged me. Like all of a sudden I didn't fit in anywhere. Not at school, not at home ... and everytime I turned around, another person I'd known forever felt like a stranger to me. Even I felt like a stranger to me.
Standing around eating little round crackers smeared with whipped cheese and fish eggs didn't do much for my mood either. My mother was acting like an entire swarm of busy bees. She was everywhere. In the kitchen, out of the kitchen. Serving drinks, handing out napkins. Explaining the food, but not eating a thing.
Lynetta didn't buy Mom's explanation on the hors d'oeuvres — she wound up dissecting hers, categorizing the parts into gross, disgusting, and revolting.
Hanging near her didn't stop the Baker boys from shoving crackers in whole, though. Man, I was just waiting for them to wrap themselves around a table leg and flex.
Juli, her dad, and my grandfather were off to the side talking nonstop about something, and my dad was over with Mrs. Baker looking about as stupid as I felt, standing by myself talking to no one.
My mom flutters over to me and says, "You doing okay, honey?"
Yeah, I tell her, but she forces me over to where Granddad is anyway. "Go on, go on," she whispers. "Dinner will be ready in a minute."
So I stand there and the group of them opens up, but it's more like a reflex than anything. No one says a word to me. They just keep right on talking about perpetual motion.
Perpetual motion.
My friend, I didn't even know what perpetual motion was. They were talking closed systems, open systems, resistance, energy source,magnetism ... it was like joining a discussion in a different language. And Juli, Juli was saying stuff like, "Well, what if you put the magnets back to back — reversed the polarity?" like she really understood what they were talking about. Then my granddad and her dad would explain why her idea wouldn't work, but all that did was make Juli ask another question.
I was completely lost. And even though I was pretending to follow along with what they were saying, what I was really doing was trying not to stare at Juli.
When my mom called us for dinner, I did my best to pull Juli aside and apologize to her, but she gave me the cold shoulder, and who could blame her, really?
I sat down across from her, feeling pretty low. Why hadn't I said something to Garrett in the library? I didn't have to punch him. Why hadn't I just told him he was out of line?
After Mom served everyone their food, Dad seemed to decide that he ought to be the one directing the conversation. "So, Mike and Matt,"he says, "you're seniors this year."
Amen! they say together.
Amen? As in you're glad high school's over?
Absolutely.
My father starts twirling his fork. "Why's that?"
Matt and Mike look at each other, then back at my dad. "The regurgitation gets to you after a while."
Isn't that funny, he says, looking around the table. "High school was probably the best time of my life."
Matt-or-Mike says, "Seriously? Dude, it's totally lame!" Mrs. Baker shoots him a look, but that doesn't stop him. "Well, it is, Mom. It's that whole robotron attitude of education. Confine, confute, conform — I've had totally enough of that scene."
My dad eyes my mom with a little I-told-you-so grin, then says to Matt and Mike, "So I take it college is out of the question?"
God, what was with him? In a flash I was clutching my fork and knife, ready to duke it out for a couple of guys who pinched my cheeks and called me baby brother.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Tried to dive down to calmer water. This wasn't my fight.
Besides, Matt and Mike seemed cool with it. "Oh, no," they said. "College is a total possibility." "Yeah, we got accepted a couple of places, but we're going to give the music thing a shot first."
Oh, the music thing, my father says.
Matt and Mike look at each other, then shrug and get back to eating. But Lynetta glares at him and says, "Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Dad."
Lyn, Lyn, says Matt-or-Mike. "It's cool. Everyone's like that about it. It's a show-me-don't-tell-me thing."
That's a great idea, Lynetta says, jumping out of her seat and dashing down the hall.
Mom freezes, not sure what to do about Lynetta, but then Mrs.Baker says, "Dinner is absolutely delicious, Patsy."
Thanks, Trina. It's ... it's nice to have all of you over.
There's about three seconds of quiet and then Lynetta comes in and jabs at the CD player buttons until the drawer slides back in.
Lyn, no! Not a good idea, says Matt-or-Mike. "Yeah, Lyn. It's not exactly dinner music."
Tough, says Lynetta, and cranks the volume.
Boom, whack! Boom-boom, whack! The candles practically shake in their holders; then guitars rip through the air and about blow them out. Matt and Mike look up at the speakers, then grin at each other and call over to my dad, "Surround sound — awesome setup, Mr. Loski!"
All the adults were dying to jump up and turn the thing down, but Lynetta stood guard and just glowered at them. And when the song's over, Lynetta pulls out the CD, punches off the player, and then smiles — actually smiles — at Matt and Mike and says, "That is the raddest song. I want to hear it again and again and again."
Matt-or-Mike says to my dad, "You probably don't like it, but it's what we do."
You boys wrote that song?
Uh-huh.
He motions Lynetta to pass the CD over, saying, "Just the one song?"
Matt-or-Mike laughs and says, "Dude, we've got a thousand songs, but there's only three on the demo."
Dad holds up the CD. "This is the demo?"
Yeah.
He looks at it a minute and says, "So if you're Piss Poor, how do you afford to press CDs?"
Dad! Lynetta snaps at him.
It's okay, Lyn. Just a joke, right, Mr. Loski?
My dad laughs a little and says, "Right," but then adds, "Although I am a little curious. This is obviously not a home-done demo, and I happen to know studio time's cost-prohibitive for most bands..."
Matt and Mike interrupt him with a slamming hard high five. And while I'm getting uptight about my dad asking them questions about money, of all things, my mom's fumbling all over herself, trying to sweep away my dad's big pawprints. "When Rick and I met, he was playing in a band..."
Poached salmon was suddenly swimming down the wrong hatch. And while I'm choking, Lynetta's bugging out her raccoon eyes, gasping, "You? Played in a band? What did you play, clarinet?"
No, honey, my mom says, trying to hold it all together. "Your father played guitar."
Guitar?
Cool! Matt-or-Mike says. "Rock? Country? Jazz?"
Country, my dad says. "Which is nothing to scoff at, boys."
Dude! We know. Total respect, man.
And when our band looked into getting a demo made, it was astronomically expensive. That was in a big city, where there was a little competition. Getting a demo made around here? I didn't even know there was a facility.
Matt and Mike are still grinning. "There's not."
So where'd you go? And how'd you afford it? My mother whacks him under the table again, so he says, "I'm just curious, Patsy!"
Matt and Mike lean in. "We did it ourselves."
This right here? You did this yourselves? That's impossible.He's looking almost mad about it. "How'd you get the gear?"
My mom kicks him again, but Dad turns on her and says, "Stop it, would you? I'm just curious!"
Matt-or-Mike says, "It's cool, Mrs. Loski." He smiles at my dad and says, "We kept cruising the Internet and the trades looking for a deal. Everyone's blowing out their old analog gear for digital because that's the move everyone else has made. Digital, if you want to know our opinion, is weak. You lose too much of the waveform. There's not enough fat to it, and obviously we like it beefy."
My granddad puts up a finger and says, "But a CD's digital, so..."
Exactly, but that is the last and only step we'll compromise on. It's just a necessity of being part of the industry. Everyone wants CDs. But the multitrack and the mixdown to two-track is analog. And we could afford it, Mr. Loski, because we got used gear and we've been saving up our pennies since we were twelve years old. He grins and says, "You still play? We could, you know, lay down some of your tunes if you want."
My dad looks down, and for a second I couldn't tell if he was going to get mad or cry. Then he sort of snorts and says, "Thanks, but that's not me anymore."
Which was probably the only honest thing my dad said all night. After that he was quiet. He'd try to plaster up a smile now and then, but man, underneath it he was broody. And I was feeling kind of bad for him. Was he thinking about the good old days playing in a band? I tried picturing him in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, with a guitar strapped across his shoulder, playing some old Willie Nelson song.
He was right — it just wasn't him.
But the fact that it ever had been made me feel even more like a stranger in a strange land. Then, when the night was over and the Bakers were piling out the front door, something else strange happened. Juli touched my arm. And for the first time that night she was looking at me. It was that look, too, channeled directly and solely at me. She says, "I'm sorry I was so angry when we first came in. Everyone had a good time, and I think your mom's really nice for inviting us."
Her voice was quiet. Almost a whisper. I just stood there like a moron, staring at her.
Bryce? she says, touching my arm again. "Did you hear me? I'm sorry."
I managed a nod, but my arm was tingling, and my heart was pounding, and I felt myself pulling toward her.
Then she was gone. Out the door and into the night, part of a chorus of happy good-byes. I tried to catch my breath. What was that? What was wrong with me?
My mother closed the door and said, "There. Now what did I tell you? Tha
