Coming Clean by Ross Jeff

Chapter One
    The problem with my brother is that he is far too often full of it. Which is why I was skeptical when he said he’d landed me a DJ gig at the local all-ages club.
    â€œFriday night,” he said.
    â€œSeriously, Adam, don’t mess with me right now.” I was in my room trying to beat-match an old soul record with a white label drum-and-bass LP . It was not going well.
    â€œI’m serious, Rob. I got you this Friday night!”
    â€œAdam,” I said, taking my headphones off and silencing the stereo. “DJ Sly does Friday nights at The Disco.” DJ Sly was a ridiculous name for a DJ. The Disco was a ridiculous name for an all-ages club. And yet, at that time, I would have done anything to be DJ Sly playing at The Disco. Proving yet again that life, at its core, is a cruel joke.
    â€œDo you mean the DJ Sly who just recently took a nasty tumble and busted his wrist? That DJ Sly?”
    â€œWhat?” I said. “I never heard about that.”
    â€œThat’s because it happened yesterday, and you, as far as I can tell, have been locked in here for the past week.” He looked at the floor, where there were piles of dirty plates and glasses. Mom had been working double shifts, leaving the two of us to our own devices.
    Always a bad idea.
    Adam is taller than me by about three inches. He’s also thicker. I’ve never been able to break 120, pounds while Adam is a steady 160. He is far too fond of hair gel. His black curls are totally glued to his head. I have longer hair and let it do what it wants. And yet there’s always talk about how we look so much alike. Adam has small eyes, which some people might refer to as beady. And his nose is a little too big for the rest of his face. It’s these kinds of characteristics that people seem to become depressed about. Like, there’s nothing you can do about the size of your eyes or nose, but people are going to make you feel bad about it anyway. Adam also had some pretty severe acne for a while, and his constant action against the angry red balls has left his skin pockmarked and rutted.
    In the end, though, neither of us are hideous. But Adam has cared too much for too long about how he looks, and now he often walks hunched over with a hoodie pulled up around his face. Though I have noticed that in the past few months, he’s begun to stand a little straighter.
    â€œAnyway, Sly is down for the count and he needs a replacement.”
    â€œAnd how did you get me Sly’s night?” I dropped my headphones around my neck. I then cleared a bunch of records off my bed to make room to sit down.
    â€œI’ve been working there. You know that.” Adam leaned against the door frame and examined a fingernail.
    â€œSo you’ve been saying. What, exactly, is your job?”
    â€œThis and that. What does it matter? I got you the night, Rob. You can do this, right? I haven’t just made myself look like an ass on your account, have I?”
    I looked at my crates of LP s. A lot of DJs had moved onto digital MP3 turntables. But MP3s sound awful, in my opinion. When you put a poorly encoded song through a giant system like they have at The Disco, it sounds like you’re listening to music underwater. Everything is floppy and round-sounding. Records are crisp. The beats, hard.
    Besides, I can’t afford a laptop to run it all.
    â€œFor sure,” I said, sounding as confident as possible.
    â€œIt’s a big night, man,” Adam said. He hadn’t moved from the doorway. I knew exactly why. He wanted to be thanked for his awesomeness.
    â€œYeah, it’ll be huge. Thanks, man.”
    â€œNo problem.” He swiveled off the door frame and put his fist out in front of him. I gave it a quick pump.
    â€œHow long is my set?”
    â€œThree hours. You go on at nine.
    DJ Lookie takes over at midnight.”
    â€œAwesome,” I said, getting excited about it. “Thanks, man.