live.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re playing somewhere called The Alibi.”
He nods in recognition and checks his phone for the time.
“You’ll get there with time to hang out first,” he says. “There’s the main square with stores and bars and places to eat. But actually,” he says, eyeing the girls, “I know a better place. There’s this café a few blocks off the square that has hot tubs in the back. Clothing optional,” he says.
I glance into the van, at Alexa with her eyes closed listening to the music and Meg smirking and Bev watching me, and at first it pisses me off that he’s picturing them all naked but really, who could blame him? Certainly not me.
“It’s on Fifth and J,” he says. I can tell that he’s waiting for me to write it down so I open the door for the maps and a pen and write down the directions.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“No problem,” he says. “Have fun.”
“Meg, will you start the song over?” Alexa asks when I’m back in the bus with the door shut. “I want Colby to hear it.”
Meg presses the back button and there it is: epic chords giving way to lyrics about loneliness and love.
I give Alexa a smile and a nod, not sure that I’m all that convincing.
“What was that guy telling you?” Bev asks.
“Not much,” I say. “He’s from Arcata.”
“What did you write down?”
“He just told me about this place.”
“You guys, listen,” Alexa says. “Here’s the chorus; it’s so good.”
“What place?” Meg asks, shouting over the louder singing and drums of the chorus.
“A café,” I say. “With hot tubs.”
“I like hot tubs,” Meg yells. The song is now at its climax, the singer shouting
“What about love?”
The drums heavy, the guitars chaotic.
“We should go,” Bev says. “Sounds fun.”
The song fades out.
“You guys didn’t listen,” Alexa says, sounding hurt.
“Sorry, Lex, but I’m just not into them,” Meg says.
“They’re really cool. They’re these really strong women, and they’re sisters, and they’ve had tragic love lives and a career that’s lasted forever. But it’s fine. If you guys don’t appreciate them you don’t have to listen.”
She seems so disappointed that I say, “No, they’re fine, Lex. We’ll listen. Bev, turn this one up, it sounds good.”
But the damage is done, and Alexa has unbuckled her seat belt and is now reaching to the front to eject the CD.
“So we all have favorite girl bands now,” Meg says, ignoring the sudden absence of music. “Yours is Heart. Mine’s the Supremes, obviously. Bev’s is Sleater-Kinney. Colby?”
I start to answer but Bev says it first: “Colby’s favorite girl band is The Runaways.” And there’s something about that, the way she says it, that wrecks me. How hearing Bev say a simple fact about me reminds me of who we are to one another. And this—the distance, the anger—all feels so stupid. I want to find something to say that will bring us back, jolt us out of this, but then I catch her in the rearview mirror and the girl I see is a stranger. A stranger and a liar and a crusher of hopes. And my best friend.
“The Runaways,” Meg says. “Impressive.”
“Not really,” I say. “They were just cool. When we started listening to Sleater-Kinney and Le Tigre and all of them, I started thinking about how The Runaways did it first. And Joan and Cherie were super hot, which helps.”
Alexa says, “See, this drives me crazy. Colby, I’m not blaming you for this, but it seems like guys only like female musicians that are beautiful. All men need to succeed in the music industry is talent, but women have to be hot. It’s infuriating.”
“I don’t know if that’s completely true,” I say.
“Believe me,” she says. “It’s true. Even Anne struggled with it because she wasn’t naturally skinny. She used to starve herself and then, when that didn’t work, they hardly even showed her in the videos. They just wanted to show
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re playing somewhere called The Alibi.”
He nods in recognition and checks his phone for the time.
“You’ll get there with time to hang out first,” he says. “There’s the main square with stores and bars and places to eat. But actually,” he says, eyeing the girls, “I know a better place. There’s this café a few blocks off the square that has hot tubs in the back. Clothing optional,” he says.
I glance into the van, at Alexa with her eyes closed listening to the music and Meg smirking and Bev watching me, and at first it pisses me off that he’s picturing them all naked but really, who could blame him? Certainly not me.
“It’s on Fifth and J,” he says. I can tell that he’s waiting for me to write it down so I open the door for the maps and a pen and write down the directions.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“No problem,” he says. “Have fun.”
“Meg, will you start the song over?” Alexa asks when I’m back in the bus with the door shut. “I want Colby to hear it.”
Meg presses the back button and there it is: epic chords giving way to lyrics about loneliness and love.
I give Alexa a smile and a nod, not sure that I’m all that convincing.
“What was that guy telling you?” Bev asks.
“Not much,” I say. “He’s from Arcata.”
“What did you write down?”
“He just told me about this place.”
“You guys, listen,” Alexa says. “Here’s the chorus; it’s so good.”
“What place?” Meg asks, shouting over the louder singing and drums of the chorus.
“A café,” I say. “With hot tubs.”
“I like hot tubs,” Meg yells. The song is now at its climax, the singer shouting
“What about love?”
The drums heavy, the guitars chaotic.
“We should go,” Bev says. “Sounds fun.”
The song fades out.
“You guys didn’t listen,” Alexa says, sounding hurt.
“Sorry, Lex, but I’m just not into them,” Meg says.
“They’re really cool. They’re these really strong women, and they’re sisters, and they’ve had tragic love lives and a career that’s lasted forever. But it’s fine. If you guys don’t appreciate them you don’t have to listen.”
She seems so disappointed that I say, “No, they’re fine, Lex. We’ll listen. Bev, turn this one up, it sounds good.”
But the damage is done, and Alexa has unbuckled her seat belt and is now reaching to the front to eject the CD.
“So we all have favorite girl bands now,” Meg says, ignoring the sudden absence of music. “Yours is Heart. Mine’s the Supremes, obviously. Bev’s is Sleater-Kinney. Colby?”
I start to answer but Bev says it first: “Colby’s favorite girl band is The Runaways.” And there’s something about that, the way she says it, that wrecks me. How hearing Bev say a simple fact about me reminds me of who we are to one another. And this—the distance, the anger—all feels so stupid. I want to find something to say that will bring us back, jolt us out of this, but then I catch her in the rearview mirror and the girl I see is a stranger. A stranger and a liar and a crusher of hopes. And my best friend.
“The Runaways,” Meg says. “Impressive.”
“Not really,” I say. “They were just cool. When we started listening to Sleater-Kinney and Le Tigre and all of them, I started thinking about how The Runaways did it first. And Joan and Cherie were super hot, which helps.”
Alexa says, “See, this drives me crazy. Colby, I’m not blaming you for this, but it seems like guys only like female musicians that are beautiful. All men need to succeed in the music industry is talent, but women have to be hot. It’s infuriating.”
“I don’t know if that’s completely true,” I say.
“Believe me,” she says. “It’s true. Even Anne struggled with it because she wasn’t naturally skinny. She used to starve herself and then, when that didn’t work, they hardly even showed her in the videos. They just wanted to show
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