eyebrow.
“Well . . .” I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d say hi.”
She didn’t answer, just kept looking at me.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Interesting question.” A wry little smile played across her face. “So, you don’t have any friends to sit with either?”
I swallowed, feeling more or less busted. “I guess not. The rest of Nervous System were seniors. All your friends graduated too, huh?”
“Graduated?” She shook her head. “No. But no one’s back yet.”
“Not back from where?”
“Summer.” She looked around the cafeteria.
The place still hadn’t filled up. It seemed so quiet, not like the lunchtime chaos I remembered. I wondered if it had always been this spacious and peaceful in here, and if this was just another of those little summer-shifted perceptions making everything feel wrong.
But that didn’t quite make sense. Things seeming smaller every year, I could understand. But emptier ?
“Well, it was a pretty feculent summer,” I said. “Between the sanitation crisis and the rats and stuff. Maybe not everyone’s back from Switzerland or wherever else they escaped to.”
Ellen finished swallowing some mac and cheese. “My friends don’t go to Switzerland in the summer.”
“Oh, right.” I shrugged, remembering how scholarship students always hung out together. “Well, Vermont, or whatever.”
She made a little sighing sound.
“Still, it’s great to be back, huh?” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re in an awfully good mood. What’s that all about? Got a new boyfriend or something?”
I laughed. “No boyfriend. But yeah, I’m really happy. The weather’s finally cooler, the subways are working this week, and I’m getting another band together.” I shrugged. “Things are going great, I guess. And . . .”
“And what?”
“Well, maybe there’s a boy. Not sure yet if it’s a good idea, though.”
I felt an embarrassingly nonsubtle grin growing on my face.
True, I wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea at all, but at least the downright feculence between me and Moz had finally ended.
Having a band had wrung all the resentment out of him. He never complained about our early Sunday morning rehearsals anymore, just showed up ready to play. Moz could be so amazing when he was like this—like my mom said, totally fetching—focused when he played, intense when he listened to the rest of us.
So maybe sometimes I imagined distilling that concentration down to just the two of us, putting his newfound focus to work in other ways. And maybe, writing songs in my bedroom, I occasionally had to remind myself that it wasn’t cool to jump the bones of your bandmates.
Mark and Minerva had shown me how much trouble that could cause. I’d heard he’d cracked up completely over the summer. Must be tough, losing your girlfriend and your band on the same day.
So I bit my tongue when Moz starting looking really intense and fervent, reminding myself it was for the good of the band, which was more important to me than any boy.
But that didn’t mean I never thought about it.
The band had changed Minerva too. She could be nine kinds of normal these days. Maybe she still wore dark glasses, but the thought of going out in the sun didn’t terrify her anymore. Neither did her own reflection—mirrors were her new best friends. Best of all, she loved dressing up and sneaking out to rehearsals. Her songs evolved every time we played, the formless rages slowly taking shape, bent into verses and choruses by the structure of the music.
One day soon, I figured, the words might actually start making sense.
The funny thing was, Alana Ray seemed to help Min the most. Her fluttering patterns wrapped around Minerva’s fury, lending it form and logic. I suspected that Alana Ray was guiding us all somehow, a paint-bucket-pounding guru in our midst.
I’d gone online a few times,
“Well . . .” I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d say hi.”
She didn’t answer, just kept looking at me.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Interesting question.” A wry little smile played across her face. “So, you don’t have any friends to sit with either?”
I swallowed, feeling more or less busted. “I guess not. The rest of Nervous System were seniors. All your friends graduated too, huh?”
“Graduated?” She shook her head. “No. But no one’s back yet.”
“Not back from where?”
“Summer.” She looked around the cafeteria.
The place still hadn’t filled up. It seemed so quiet, not like the lunchtime chaos I remembered. I wondered if it had always been this spacious and peaceful in here, and if this was just another of those little summer-shifted perceptions making everything feel wrong.
But that didn’t quite make sense. Things seeming smaller every year, I could understand. But emptier ?
“Well, it was a pretty feculent summer,” I said. “Between the sanitation crisis and the rats and stuff. Maybe not everyone’s back from Switzerland or wherever else they escaped to.”
Ellen finished swallowing some mac and cheese. “My friends don’t go to Switzerland in the summer.”
“Oh, right.” I shrugged, remembering how scholarship students always hung out together. “Well, Vermont, or whatever.”
She made a little sighing sound.
“Still, it’s great to be back, huh?” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re in an awfully good mood. What’s that all about? Got a new boyfriend or something?”
I laughed. “No boyfriend. But yeah, I’m really happy. The weather’s finally cooler, the subways are working this week, and I’m getting another band together.” I shrugged. “Things are going great, I guess. And . . .”
“And what?”
“Well, maybe there’s a boy. Not sure yet if it’s a good idea, though.”
I felt an embarrassingly nonsubtle grin growing on my face.
True, I wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea at all, but at least the downright feculence between me and Moz had finally ended.
Having a band had wrung all the resentment out of him. He never complained about our early Sunday morning rehearsals anymore, just showed up ready to play. Moz could be so amazing when he was like this—like my mom said, totally fetching—focused when he played, intense when he listened to the rest of us.
So maybe sometimes I imagined distilling that concentration down to just the two of us, putting his newfound focus to work in other ways. And maybe, writing songs in my bedroom, I occasionally had to remind myself that it wasn’t cool to jump the bones of your bandmates.
Mark and Minerva had shown me how much trouble that could cause. I’d heard he’d cracked up completely over the summer. Must be tough, losing your girlfriend and your band on the same day.
So I bit my tongue when Moz starting looking really intense and fervent, reminding myself it was for the good of the band, which was more important to me than any boy.
But that didn’t mean I never thought about it.
The band had changed Minerva too. She could be nine kinds of normal these days. Maybe she still wore dark glasses, but the thought of going out in the sun didn’t terrify her anymore. Neither did her own reflection—mirrors were her new best friends. Best of all, she loved dressing up and sneaking out to rehearsals. Her songs evolved every time we played, the formless rages slowly taking shape, bent into verses and choruses by the structure of the music.
One day soon, I figured, the words might actually start making sense.
The funny thing was, Alana Ray seemed to help Min the most. Her fluttering patterns wrapped around Minerva’s fury, lending it form and logic. I suspected that Alana Ray was guiding us all somehow, a paint-bucket-pounding guru in our midst.
I’d gone online a few times,
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