Casey Barnes Eponymous (23 page)

Ms. Vernon stalked away.
 
Samantha shrugged.
 
Yull was
the next person to come over.
 
“We
will talk about this later.”
 
He
left.
 
It was then and only then
that Casey allowed herself to look in the direction of Maxine French and Alex
Deal.
 
But they were gone.
 
She looked around and saw their
backsides as they exited the auditorium.
 
“Be right back,” she said to Ben and Sukh.

She entered the hall at the back of the auditorium.
 
From there she saw them.
 
It may have been only for a moment, but
it was enough.
 
Alex Deal and Maxine
French were walking on opposite sides of the hall.
 
They looked stiff and awkward, and there
was zero contact between them.
 
Casey grinned and entered the bathroom just off the hall.
 
She used it and, as she was washing her
hands, the door opened and Eleanor Hoffman entered.
 
“Pretty ballsy song.”

“Thanks.”

Eleanor paused before entering a stall.
 
“I know how nasty Maxine can be.”
 
Casey dried her
hands.
 
“But you shouldn’t play that
song again,” she continued.
 
Casey
stopped and stared.
 
“I wish I could
tell you why.
 
But you really
shouldn’t.”
 
Eleanor entered a
stall.
 

After a confused moment, Casey decided to ignore Eleanor’s
comment. For what differentiates truly amazing rock stars from merely good ones
is knowing that a bad reputation can be a very good thing.

28

A half hour after Ben left without a word of explanation while
Casey was in the bathroom, she knocked on his front door.
 
A lady opened it.
 
Even though Casey thought she was
probably Tricia’s age, she seemed, with shoulder-length curly hair, yoga
clothes, and jangly bracelets, somehow younger.

“Is Ben here?”

The woman shook her head.
 
“Not yet.”

She paused.
 
“I’m
Casey.
 
Ben and I are in--”

“Rock star Casey?”

“Well.
 
If you put
it that way.”

The woman reached out her hand.
 
“I’m Ben’s mom Kate.
 
He’s told me a lot about you.”
 
Casey tilted her head to one side as she
shook her hand.
 
She was confused.
 
“Would you like to come in and have a
cup of tea?” Kate continued, “Ben should be home soon.”

As Kate boiled water she told Casey that she played triangle in
a band once in college, but could never keep the rhythm and ended up getting
kicked out.
 
“I don’t tell that
story to many people,” she concluded.

Casey shrugged.
 
“I’ve screwed up far simpler tasks.”

Kate placed a steaming cup in front of her and sat.
 
“This band’s been really good for Ben.”

“Really?”

Kate nodded.
 
“It’s hard
to keep making friends when you move as much as we have.
 
I know Ben can be hard to read, but
trust me, he’s happy about playing music with you.”

An unfamiliar feeling ran through Casey’s gut.
 
She was pretty sure it was guilt.
 
“Affirmative on the hard to read
score.”
 

Kate smiled.
 
Casey
continued, “He can be pretty
secretive
too.
 
Like he won’t tell me a thing
about his Dad, even though on the first day of school he told the Spanish
teacher that his Dad lives in Paris.”
 

Casey stopped short.
 
Kate’s face, as soon as Casey uttered the word “Dad,” had taken on a
stony look.
 

“Tact is a trait I have yet to master,” Casey said, “Was it a
bad divor--strike that.
 
See what I
mean about my tact?”

Kate still did not say anything.
 
An awkward moment passed.

“Do you have any Stevie Wonder records?” Casey asked.

“Ben told the class his father lives in Paris?”

It was then that Casey finally realized why it was that every
time she brought up ‘Dad in Paris,’ Ben changed the subject.
 
And that was because it was not
true.
 
The fallacy of the claim was
hanging from Kate’s face like the jangly bracelets from her wrist.
 
Casey cleared her throat.
 
Kate stared.
 
Another moment passed.

“I do have a Stevie Wonder album, as a matter of fact,” Kate
said.

“Knew it.”

There was a noise behind them.
 
Casey turned.
 
Ben was walking through the front
door.
 
He threw his bag down and
started to head towards the kitchen, but stopped when he saw Casey.
 
“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Casey said.

Kate looked from Ben to Casey, picked up her tea, and
stood.
 
“I’ll finish this
upstairs.
 
Good to meet you, Casey.”

Casey nodded.
 
“Good
to meet you too.”
 
Kate left but Ben
did not budge from his position a few feet away.
 
“You left without saying goodbye,” Casey
said.

“It seemed like you had other things on your mind.”

“I wanted to see what Maxine French’s reaction was.”

“His too, I bet.”

Casey’s face got red.
 
“No.”

Ben rolled his eyes.
 
“So what, now you’re here to check out mine?”

“
No.
 
I just wanted to know why you left like
that.”

“Because I wanted to.”
 
He paused.
 
“Don’t
worry.
 
It doesn’t mean I’m quitting
Pop Wire.
 
If we get offered a spot
in talent show, I’ll play in it.
 
I
may not enjoy myself very much, but I’ll play in it.”

All feelings of guilt evaporated.
 
“Well excuse me for causing you such great
psychic pain,” Casey snapped, “And you know what?
 
I’m not buying it.”

“You’re not buying what?”

“That playing in talent show is going to be such a chore for
you.”

“It’s the song I have a problem with.”

“And I think you’re just bitching because you always have to be
above it all.
 
Your mom
was telling me how much you
like
Pop Wire.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed.
 
“What else did she tell you?”

Casey paused.
 
“Nothing.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I mentioned your Dad living in Paris and she got quiet and
kind of weird.
 
Then you came home.”
 
Ben did not respond.
 
“What is the deal with your Dad, Ben?”
 
He looked away.
 
“Why can’t you just tell me?
 
Honestly I’m not that shockable.”

“I have to get started on my homework.”

“Ben.”
 

But he just looked at the floor.
 
If Casey had not felt so pissed she
might have looked at his eyes more closely, seen that they were ever so
slightly wet, and maybe, just maybe, deduced that he wasn’t responding because
he was scared to.
 
The thing is,
people don’t look closely when they’re angry.

“You should go,” he said.
 

29

Leigh’s whereabouts were revealed as soon as Casey got home
from Ben’s.
 
She sent an email
saying Casey should call her at a number beginning with a District of Columbia
area code.
 

Casey called.
 
A
woman answered.
 
Her voice was
familiar.
 
“Can I speak to Leigh?”
Casey asked.

“Is this Casey?”

Casey knew why she recognized the voice.
 
It was Aunt Eva.

“Aunt Eva?”

“In the flesh.
 
Hold
on, I’ll put Leigh on.”

“Hi,” Leigh said a moment later.

“You’re alive.”

“Yep.”

“Aunt Eva’s in D.C.?
 
Is that where you went last night?”

“Yeah, at a hotel, editing some political thing. She’s the one
who came and got me last night.”

“She was awake?”

“I’d texted her when we were leaving your place.”
 

“Smooth,” Casey said.

“I kind of wanted to freak you out a bit too,” Leigh added.

“Well played.
 
And,
hey, sorry again about the whole accidental ganja-baked-good-drop.”

“I’m not mad anymore.
 
I even told Eva.
 
She wants
to make a short film about it.”

“Can I play your mother?”
 

“Don’t push it.”

“So what now?”

“She called my parents this afternoon and told them I’m at the
hotel with her,” Leigh said, “We’re all going to dinner in an hour.”

“But what if they drug her drink and whisk you away to boarding
school?”

“Eva said not to worry about the boarding school thing.”

“Why’s she think she can persuade them?”

“No idea.
 
Hey
what’s going on with talent show?”

“We made the cut for second round of auditions,” Casey said.
 
“And…”
 
She attempted to summon the excitement
she felt earlier after the triumph of the Maxine French song.
 
Yet her visit to Ben’s house was
tempering things.

“And what?”

Casey shook her head.
 
“And today we played a song about what a bitch Maxine French is and
brought the house down.”

“You really are crazy.
 
Do you know that?”

There was suddenly a booming knock on Casey’s door. “Insanity
is relative.
 
I gotta go.
 
Call me later?”

“Will do,” Leigh said.

Casey hung up.
 
Yull
came barging in.
 
“What the hell was
that?!”

“This ‘that’ you reference could be a number of things, dear
brother.
 
You’re going to have to
learn to be a bit more specific when requesting informa--”

“That song about Maxine French!
 
That
that.”

“Oh that.”
 
She stifled
a yawn.
 
“Well she is a bitch.
 
I have firsthand knowledge of it.
 
And, based on the reaction my little
gold mine of a tune garnered, I’m not the only person at Walton who thinks it.”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not she’s a bitch.”

“Spoken with the ease of one who has never been tortured by Maxine
French.”

“There are people at Walton who are meaner, who are fat, who
smell…there are
even
people who are gay.”

“Cut the koomba-fuckin-ya chase and tell me what you’re getting
at.”