Losing Gabriel (4 page)

“Told you,” Paulie said out of the corner of his mouth. “You're the Man.”

Dawson changed the subject. “Hey, you still got the second
War Games
?”

“Yeah.”

“After school, then?”

“Great.” Paulie beamed. “Grandma's making lasagna tonight.”

“She makes damn fine lasagna.” Dawson tapped him on the shoulder. “See you later.”

Dawson continued down the hall to first period, hoping he'd run into Sloan, perhaps pass her. It didn't happen, and at lunchtime, he learned from one of the guys on his track team that Sloan and Jarred were no-shows for the day. He was disappointed. She was the only thing that had excited him in this pathetic town. A wave of homesickness washed over him. He missed his old friends and familiar classrooms, even teachers at his high school. His dad should have left well enough alone and worked out some way for Dawson to finish in Baltimore. Dawson scooped up his lunch tray and shoved it through the return window. Snagging the girl would be a distraction until he could split for good.

“C
ome on! Why are you guys dragging? We've got four days to get it together!” Sloan shouted.

The others stopped playing, Jarred and Hal well behind the tempo of Bobby's bass and Calder's keyboard.

“Are you sayin' we suck?” Jarred asked in a slurry voice. “ 'Cause I don't think so-o-o.”

They were practicing in Bobby's garage, the door raised to a show of oaks and maples aflame with autumn color. Coolness nipped the air. They were scheduled to perform during halftime on the football field that coming Friday night for homecoming, but today's rehearsal was a disaster.

Sloan spun, grabbing a fistful of Jarred's sweatshirt. “No,
we're
fine. It's you and Hal who can't keep up. What's wrong with you two, anyway?”

“Just feelin' mellow,” Jarred said, drawing the word out in a slow drawl. He bobbed to one side, his eyes half closed. Hal made oinking sounds and Jarred doubled over laughing. Still holding his shirt, Sloan looked him in the face. He was beyond mellow.

He bowed elaborately. “I'm just happy, babe. You got something against being happy?”

“You've been smoking, haven't you? You know how that makes me crazy. What were you
thinking
?” Jarred and weed were never a good match. When he smoked, he was unpredictable; sometimes he turned hateful and harmful. She pushed him, propelling him backward into shelves of sports equipment. A skateboard clattered to the floor.

Jarred scowled. “Aw, come on, baby. It was just a couple of drags. Right, Hal?”

Hal saluted and the two of them melted into giggles.

“A couple of drags” wouldn't have affected Jarred this much. Sloan glared at him. “Why are you doing this? Four days, Jarred. That's all we've got!”

A furrow dug between his eyes as he tried to focus. “Stay off my case. You don't tell me what to do.” Jarred pushed the skateboard into her ankle.

She winced when it hit the bone. She turned to Bobby. “Get me out of here.”

Bobby put his guitar in its stand. “Yeah, better give it up for today.”

“We quit when I say we quit,” Jarred said. “I run this band, not you, Sloan. This is my band, not yours.”

“We can't practice when you're wasted,” she fired back.

“Wasted!” Jarred looked at Hal. “Not even close. Saturday night…yeah, we were wasted then.” He and Hal snorted laughter.

“Unbelievable.” So angry she was shaking, Sloan stalked out to the driveway and slung her guitar onto the backseat of Bobby's parked car. Performing at homecoming was a big deal to her, along with the dance in the gym afterward. She saw this as a way to repeat the buzz following their Labor Day performance. A way to flick the finger at the cliques of snotty girls who looked down on her. Because they did and had ever since grade school.

Bobby came alongside her. “We can do this tomorrow. I'll take control of their stash tonight.”

Sloan fought for composure. “We have to nail this, Bobby. Getting this right is important to me. Why does Jarred pull this crap? I mean, weed before a run-through? I always thought we wanted the same thing, but now…”

“He doesn't smoke that much. Honest. He's nervous too. We all are. It's not like most jobs, when we're playing for strangers. This is our high school. Everybody we know will be there.”

He'd expressed her concerns exactly. This show was different from even Labor Day. Homecoming was the litmus test, and if they bombed…Sloan shuddered just thinking about it.

“Come on, I'll take you home.”

She was getting into Bobby's car when Jarred charged from the garage and took hold of Sloan's elbow. “Don't get all pissy on me, Sloan. I don't like you jacking me around in front of the guys and telling me what to do. You're my girlfriend, not my warden. I run this group and I make the rules.”

His eyes now looked marble hard, the mellow high gone.

Sloan pried his fingers off her elbow. “Well, if you don't stop with the drugs, you're going to meet a real warden one day. We can't perform if you're sky-high. I didn't sign on to your band—or you—to fall on my face!”

“You're a bitch.”

She ignored him and opened the car door, and Bobby stepped between them. “Hey, bro, just chill. Don't let my mom come home to find her garage smelling like a joint. She'll call the cops. I know my mom. Come on, man. Have some respect here.”

A vein throbbed on the side of Jarred's neck with the tat, making it quiver. He and Sloan had a stare-down. Finally he stepped away. “Take the bitch home. Meet us at the Pizza Shak after you dump her. We'll wrap up here.”

Bobby got into the driver's seat, started the engine, and looked over at Sloan. She sat with her hands fisted. “It'll be okay, Sloan. He'll cool down. Come right back to you.”

She stared straight ahead, swallowing hard. Her and Jarred's physical fires had cooled. But so had their hours of working on original song lyrics, on tightening verses and melodies, and jamming with everyone to bring something special to a piece. The band played music from other bands for their gigs, but creating original material, getting it noticed, cutting demos, and passing them around was how musicians rose in the ranks. Jarred was music smart, a leader when he put his mind and heart into it. “He's not as serious about the band, not like he used to be,” she said. “We need him to be a hundred percent if we're going places after we leave this hole.”

“We all want the same thing,” Bobby said. “He'll come back around. Wait and see.”

They drove to the trailer park without another word.

The gym was decorated in a 1980s theme. “Why the flashback?” Lani's friend Kathy Madison asked.

“Zombies, like Michael Jackson's ‘Thriller,' ” Lani said as they wove their way through the noisy milling throng of kids and toward the side of the gym where the bleachers had been pulled out for seating. The expansive oak floor gleamed in the lights of spinning disco balls hanging from overhead steel rafters. “Since homecoming is so close to Halloween, the committee thought it was a good idea.” Lani had been on the committee and had spent the afternoon decorating the gym, barely making it home in time to change for the game and dance.

“Aren't zombies over?” Kathy climbed to the midsection of the bleachers, sat, and looked around the crowded floor. “Where
are
the zombies?”

“It's a surprise.”

There was a commotion at the door, followed by a few whoops. No zombies entered, just the Anarchy band. Clusters of people parted to let them through. “They were good tonight.” Kathy's eyes followed the band through the doors to the food table, usually forbidden on the lacquered oak floors, set on thick rubber mats. All food had to be eaten while standing on the mats. No exceptions. A ring of chaperones surrounded the area to enforce the rules. “I don't see Jarred.”

Neither did Lani. All she saw was Sloan still dressed in black from her performance, her wild blond hair pulled into a ponytail tied with a black leather cord. Watching Sloan slice through the crowd made Lani regret wearing a brown hoodie with the grinning skull outlined in sequins. The outfit that had looked cute in her bedroom mirror now felt childish. Compared to Sloan, she looked like a kid playing dress-up—brown hair, brown eyes, brown clothing. She wasn't pretty, just ordinary, and she came in a plain brown wrapper.

“Sloan really thinks she's hot stuff.” Kathy's gaze narrowed hatefully.

“But she is, Kathy.” Lani said the words wistfully.

“Not to me.” Kathy stared in anticipation as the gym's double doors were thrown open, but Jarred didn't come. “So where
is
Jarred? I'll bet Sloan said something to make him stay away because she hates sharing the spotlight. Look at everyone smiling at her. He's the
true
star of the band, not her.”

Kathy's words reinforced Lani's long-held suspicion that Kathy seriously crushed on Jarred and his bad-boy vibe. Lani had never much liked Jarred. In middle school he'd been a notorious bully, especially to skinny, shy Paulie Richardson.

“Control your drool reflex, Kathy. I'm sure he'll show before the zombies do.” Lani realized she shouldn't be needling Kathy because she knew what it felt like to carry a hopeless crush, like the one she carried for Dawson Berke. Just then, Lani spied Dawson leaning against a wall, his arms crossed, Paulie at his side. Her heart leaped, then fell with a thud. His gaze was zeroed in on Sloan.

Kathy noticed too, because she said, “Wow! Isn't that the guy she sang to on Labor Day? He looks like a cat ready to pounce. This might be better than the zombies. I'm getting closer to the action.” Kathy started down the bleachers.

Lani decided to stay put but couldn't help wondering,
If Jarred doesn't come, what will Dawson do?
Her rational voice answered,
Make a move on Sloan, naturally.
She suddenly felt sad and deflated. Guys were so predictable.