A/N: Yay! It's not..well...that late...
Reviewers, behold, my replies!
closetwriter: Yup. Finally some lovey-dovey-ness on Tomika and Lawrence's end. There's been a lot going on between Summer and Freddy, just no real lovey-dovey mush. I'm glad you liked that "Freddy's Friend" conversation.
Parcie05: The chapter didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, I think. It was short, and way too mushy and fluffy for my tastes. But, if the reader's liked it, then it was worth writing. And yes, all things must come to an end. Unfortunately, that means my story too….I'll probably cry when it does. I hate ending stories.
wyverna: Your favoritest? So flattering! I do love your new story, though, and I hope you continue soon. Mmm…yeah, Freddy and Summer have very different, yet, very similar home lives. I don't even think I know all the differences, actually….Yeah, I get the whole, having a funny vibe one day, and the next losing it, thing. It's pretty much the same with all writing. Or anything creative you do in life, for that matter. Try going a day without using the word whatever. It would be a fun way to challenge yourself. Me and my friend at work (she doesn't work there anymore) used to exchange letters. We had a binder we kept them in. One day she challenged us to not use the word "the" anymore in our letters. It was a real pain in the ass. But it's a good way to expand your mind and abilities and junk. Mm…when did you first start listening to Greenday? Haushinka is your least favorite song? I'll have to pull my CD out and listen to it, as I can't really remember it right now. I got two new Greenday CDs as well. Shenanigans and Insomniac. I know I'm right about American Idiot. (Did that sound conceited?) What a bitch, taking the CD like that. How rude. I actually bought the limited edition American Idiot CD off amazon, which included this super cool colorful booklet of, like…I think 50 pages, and it was super neat. I wouldn't let my dad burn my CD though. I told him that he had to go buy his own if he wanted one, because Greenday is my favorite band, and by buying their CD, instead of burning it, it's supporting them and their work and encouraging them to continue. That's why I don't burn CDs. I prefer to buy. Pressure Points a good song, yeah. The Zutons kind of sound, to me, like a mixture of Blondie, Stray Cats, and…I believe I said…Maroon5. And yeah, I get that.
Unlikely-to-bear-it: Yup, Ros/Dewey fluff is fun. Zack/Katie fluff? We'll see what happens. I can't guarantee anything, it's all got to fall in line of the story.
IndesElfwine: Dewey/Ros is hard to come by, isn't it? And yes, Alicia is pretty damn cool. It isn't so. See, up on time! Sort of….
Rachel: Huh? You were reading my reply to wyverna? But that's my reply to wyverna. Nobody said you could read it. Are you wyverna? Huh? Huh? Okay. That's enough of that. I'm just joshing you. Greenday is grand, isn't it? I love them so much. Billy Joe just has this voice, that's just…amazing. He's like…the voice of punk rock, I guess. I don't know what it is about his voice, but I really love it. And there songs, the lyrics are amazing. There one of the few bands, these days, that put out albums where the whole CD is good. That you can actually listen to the whole thing without wanting to skip around. That reminds me. I've decided to go to the next Greenday concert that comes to town, so I have to check out that information….bummer that it sold out so fast where you are….something tells me it might sell out fast here too. Interestingly enough for me, most all of those have to be true if I'm going to listen to something. They have to actually be musicians, instead of these little performers that most of them are. Brittany Spears for instance, is a performer. She gets on stage and doe s this little act, and that's how she's gotten so far. She's not even an artist. Calling her an artist is an insult to artists everywhere. She can't sing, first off, she can't play an instrument, she can't writer her own music. You know what I saw at the CD store the other day. Brittany Spears's Greatest Hits CD. Doesn't she have to have a greatest hit before she can put that kind of CD out? What is our world coming to? And Ashlee Simpson? I don't understand how people could watch her show and still listen to her! She can't sing, which was obvious from the show. They actually showed her in the recording studio trying to hit a note that she couldn't. That whole CD of hers is a cut and paste job. My dad hates her. Yeah, Ashlee Simpson is not rock. She's barely even music. And yeah, Christian Aguilera can really belt it. Why would I think you're any of those things? I'm really the same way. I can go off on a tangent about all my opinions and people will…well, they listen. Because I'm pretty opinionated, yet…I still have a very open-mind. Yeah. I've read a lot of really unrealistic stories, and I usually want to either flame the author (which I've done sometimes, if it's really bad and just a mockery of writing) or just stop reading and soundly beat myself over the head with a mallet. I can think of a few stories that need to be updated soon….and thanks for understanding my "plea".
vaguely specific: Am I a celebrity? Yeah, it was cool. I'm glad I didn't offend you, because I can be pretty brutally honest sometimes, and people's feelings get hurt and I don't even notice, because I don't think they should be hurt. I'm just telling them the truth, right? And why should my opinion matter so much to them? Don't they have opinions of their own? I'm glad you didn't hate the ending and that that's a little cleared up. I think I made it clear that I am evil. Haven't I? I think I've flamed before. I feel bad about it, because I never like to tell any aspiring writer to quit or discourage them in any way. I know that writing is an art form and like any art takes time to flourish. It's when people don't demonstrate respect to the fact that writing is an art form, and just think they can throw words on paper and that's writing, when I get pissed. Speaking of art forms, I agree with you on the matter that most modern "musicians" (though most of them aren't really musicians at all, in my opinion, but rather performers) don't take the time to realize that what they're doing is an art form. Most modern "musicians" rely on their lyrics to get the message out, rather than the sound of their instrument (and that's if they play an instrument, and voice, if you use it right, counts as an instrument in my book). They don't let their music do the talking and their lyrics suck for the most part anyways. Have you ever listened to Greenday (my favorite band). Because they fit that criteria you have. And would you say that Aerosmith did a decent cover for "Come Together" by the Beatles? Oh, and what about Limp Bizket's version of the Who's song "Behind Blue Eyes". I didn't think they did badly with it, but the original is still better. Yup, the pairings were fun to write, I suppose. I thought a concert was more Dewey/Ros-ish, if you ask me. Concerts are the perfect date, aren't they? No, Dewey didn't get it. Ned might have possibly considered for a moment that Freddy was speaking about himself, but he couldn't have been certain (as he wasn't there) so he tossed that idea aside. It wasn't so much that it got on Freddy's nerves, rather the things his dad said really pushed him over the top. Well, I guess it was getting on his nerves, too. No, it's not sad. Sort of…not really. And yeah, talk to me whenever I'm on. That's why I put my screen name on my bio, so that you peeps could come chat with me. And yay, I'm special.
dozengirl: hehe…I liked writing that conversation out between Dewey and Freddy. I wanted him to get advice from someone, without them knowing he was getting it for himself, if that makes any sense at all.
Nanners-77: Yeah, Dewey's oblivious. I'm not really hugely fond of Poison, they're a good band, but not on my top ten favorites list. They're an eighties rock band, what can I say? Yay, Canada! Canada is apart of America, you know. North America includes Mexico, Canada, and the U.S. Geography lesson! I've yet to go to a karaoke bar. No one will go with me…aw…I feel so sad…yeah, Freddy better perk up soon, or else…or else…I'll kill Summer off! Huh? What? What am I talking about? No…wait…crap. Anyways…I'm trying to keep Dewey and Miss Mullins in character, but Dewey is really hard to write, the bastard….damn Jack Black for his eccentricities….and damn him, because I can't hate him! He's too wonderful…sniffles…he's Canadian, isn't he? Or am I on drugs?
Alex: I get called scary all the time…..and I don't type in caps a lot. I care a lot about everybody…sometimes. Sometimes I'm indifferent. But then, that's just me. But, what am I talking about? I keep losing track of my heads. God, this house is hot. Witches' Ghost? Um…I don't know. I can't remember any of the songs, so I might not have found them too great. Of course, I've only seen that movie once, anyways, so…lot's of sweetness in that chapter. Not so much in this one, at least I don't think so. I don't remember what I wrote. Erm…yeah, poor Freddy, letting himself go like that. It's a good thing Summer doesn't love him for his pretty looks, like other girls out there.
dgmbf4ev: More about Freddy. Tomika/Lawrence, fun stuff like that. I know the summary kind of makes it seem like Kyle and the Battle of the Bands are hugely the plot, and the rest of this is sub-plot, but it's actually the opposite. Kyle and the Battle of the Bands are more of the sub-plot. I didn't want Kyle to be in the story too much, just enough to rile things up. And his plan doesn't come into affect until later.
iamnotachipmunk: Yup. Freddy needs a hug. And I read your new story, and I hope you continue it soon. Did you get my review? I'm not an alcoholic, I swear.
pancake whackee: Fucking computer. The only thing that matters is you're back. And things are going smoothly now, I hope? You laughed at that line? Good. It was supposed to be funny. I'm glad everything between Dewey and Ros is believable. They're both really hard characters to write…but I love romances between them, and yeah, there's not enough of those. I never talked about reasons why people drink in Health class. Do I remember Health class? Maybe we did….I don't remember Health class…god, that was a while ago. Huh. Train of though de-railed…hehe….Wayne's World! Party on! Excellent! Best part of that whole movie is in the car when they're singing to Bohemian Rhapsody. To this day, I do not know a person who has seen that movie and can listen to that song without head banging during that instrumental solo. The reason behind the title…um…well, my story needed a title…and I got to thinking about school…and that the school's lie to us about a lot of crap…and that I started thinking about the general cliché ideas, that are really just lies that everyone believes, and then I realized it ties in with my story, so I put it as the title. And that is why. And yes, I like your name. It's funny cool. Do I smell fanfic writing on the way? I love long reviews, and Rock on yourself!
Vampirehelsing: A hopeless romantic as well, I see? I'm generally not too fond of mush, but I can deal with it. Thanks for the review!
That's everybody.
ENJOY!
Chapter 16: Best Friends Forever
Lunch with Mr. Philbur was scheduled on Saturday. Summer's mother practically had to drag the young woman from bed, shove her in the shower, brush her hair, clothe and feed her. Summer was simply not being cooperative, and her mother was not happy. She yelled a great deal, cursed at her daughter, but the girl was unresponsive, headphones secure over her head.
"I know, it's only rock n' roll, but I like it," Summer sang in an off-key murmur, plucking at the buttons on her blouse, undoing and redoing them. Her mother was finishing getting ready upstairs, and Summer was thankful that the older woman had finally left her alone. She felt the headphones yank from her head, and spun in surprise. Upon seeing who it was, she lowered her head.
"You sound like a cat dying," Austin sneered, taking a seat at the breakfast table across from her and tossing her headphones down. Summer shook her head, turning her CD player off, "Your stupid meeting is today?"
"Yeah. If I do everything exactly as we rehearsed, chances are, I won't screw up. I don't see why she didn't just set it up for you," Summer mumbled, "At least you want to go to college."
"Oh, don't give me that bull, you want to go to college too," Austin snapped, then under his breath, "And you know why mom won't set it up for me."
"She doesn't hate you," Summer whispered. She got a snort for a response, and straightened indignantly, "She hates us both, if that makes you feel any better."
"Just because I don't want to go to Harvard or some big Ivy league crap like that," he went on, and Summer was silent, considering returning to her music, "I can't wait until I get out of this hell hole. Away from you, and away from her. And you know where she can stick her damn ideas about me joining the air force? I'm not following in dad's footsteps."
"It's not that bad an idea," Summer commented, and Austin's head snapped up, locking eyes with her. She fell silent.
"Then you join the air force," he spat. She shook her head, slipping her headphones back over her ears, and closing her eyes. She didn't turn the music on, listening to her brother continue with his rant beneath his breath, "To hell with her, to hell with you. I'm going to California, and I'm getting the fuck away from all of you…all the way to the other side of the states, if I have to…" His words became an angry droll and it took her a moment to realize when he was speaking to her again. She peeked out at him, staring at her scathingly. She pulled the phones back and a gave a look of inquiry, "I said," he seethed, "When's the meeting?"
"In an hour."
"Oh," he shuffled, dipping his spoon into the bowl sitting front of him and giving his attention to his cereal and milk, "What about your boyfriend? Aren't you going to see him today?"
"I don't have a boyfriend anymore," Summer said quietly, returning to the buttons on her blouse. She was surprised when Austin didn't take the opportunity to insult her. They were silent, the only sound was Austin munching on his Cheerios.
"You were crying, the other night. Was that why," he commented, as though simply stating a fact, "Or was it that blonde kid, again?" Summer shifted uncomfortably.
"That's none of your business," she whispered, trying to sound frigid and firm. He glanced up, then moving awkwardly. He snorted.
"Whatever. I don't see why you don't just date him, already?" he muttered apathetically, before rigidly standing and taking his bowl to the kitchen sink. Summer felt her face warm, and her cheeks flush, her heart pounding in her chest. Her tongue felt swollen, and she couldn't manage to say anything as her brother bounded up the stairs to retreat back to his room.
Her mother came down the stairs in a prim manner, and motioned towards the door. Summer stood weakly, and followed the older woman out to the car, shaken by the blatant statement Austin had made. Were her feelings really so readable even to her distant brother, when she herself couldn't decipher them?
The drive was silent. Summer slipped her headphones back into place and turned her Stones CD on in an attempt to shut out the quiet tension. It really didn't work, so she opted to turning the volume on full blast and staring out her window. The meeting was set up at a small café. It would just be Mr. Philbur, no perfect blonde wife at his side. Summer felt relieved by this. If she messed up in some way, it would just be in front of one well-groomed sophisticate, instead of two.
The café was in the upper class area, nearly a half-hour drive from the Hathaway house. It was small, with little French style tables set up on the sidewalk in front of the tall glass store windows. A few people sat here and there, sipping tea or coffee, eating little pastries and chatting cheerfully. Summer felt her stomach lurch at the quaint restaurant. It was bright, sunny, and cute. A few of Summer's least favorite things at that moment. She wanted to be locked in the dark confines of her room blasting her rock music and staring at the ceiling blankly wondering why Freddy was hurting her, and hurting himself, and why they, two arguably intelligent young adults, couldn't seem to figure out the seeming hormonal attraction between them.
Her mother pulled the car along the sidewalk and parked. They stepped out, and Summer waited as her mother put a few quarters in the meter. Then they walked up towards the café, easily spotting the elder man, Mr. Philbur, at a small white table reading the Wallstreet Journal. He folded it up and smiled broadly when he saw the two women, standing to shake their hands.
"Summer, Mrs. Hathaway, it's good to see you both again. I trust you're both well?" he greeted. Summer forced her flawless smile into place, and nodded her head.
"Yes, everything is fine. Thank you," she chirped, fighting the urge to wince at how fake she sounded, "And how is everything with you and Mrs. Philbur?"
"Great, actually," Mr. Philbur returned, with a warm look Summer's way, "Have a seat. We'll take a look over the menus, decide what's good."
They all sat, as though synchronized, and Summer folded her hands neatly in her lap, crossing her ankles like a real lady, her back straight the way she had been raised to sit. Immediately the phony mannerism of a determined, well-adjusted, and brilliant, driven, college hopeful lady overtook her. She was so intent on forgetting Freddy, that the traits ingrained in her mind from long hours of training by her mother came almost sub-consciously. No, there would be no slip-ups that day. She would be the picturesque prep student, and that thought alone made her feel somewhat queasy. When had it started mattering so much, this acting? Hadn't she always loved playing the little business shark, with her dress suits and neatly combed hair?
Well, she had wanted to be a cowgirl once, living an unruly lifestyle. But that was a childish ambition, not ironically day-dreamed up when she was a child.
They glanced over their menus, Summer's mother and Mr. Philbur commenting on what "looked good". The waitress came and took their orders, then left to turn it into the cooks. Mr. Philbur then leaned forward, looking to Summer pleasantly.
"So, how has school been?" he asked, and she beamed, as she had been taught do.
"Oh, splendid," she cheerfully remarked. It sucks and everyday is like pulling teeth.
"Good, that's good. And how are your grades?"
"A's, of course," she answered without hesitation, receiving a nod of approval from her mother. Well, they've actually been suffering recently, and I'm no longer the highest in a few of my classes.
"And outside of school, what have you been up to?" Mr. Philbur questioned, and Summer flickered a glance her mother's way. There was expectancy in those dark eyes, and Summer knew what answers the older woman wanted her to give. She took a steadying breath.
"Well, I'm considering taking the clarinet back up," Not going to happen in this lifetime, ever, "Usually, I spend after school time to study," Haven't cracked a book open at home in days, "I sometimes go out with friends," I barely acknowledge them at school, let alone see them outside of it, "And of course, I spend time with my family." We might as well all live on different planets, apparently family is just a word without meaning in our house.
"Sounds good," Mr. Philbur nodded, though he gave the impression he was somewhat disappointed in the answer, which confused Summer. It was the response she'd been taught to give. It was the answer that showed she was devoted to her schoolwork, but was not a workaholic, exhibiting a well-rounded social life and a well-adjusted home environment. It was the type of answer men in Mr. Philbur's position looked for in their scholarship applicants.
"She's going to be doing some charity work, as well," Summer's mother put in, and Summer flinched inwardly. She knew she'd forgotten to mention something. Mr. Philbur nodded thoughtfully. Then, he straightened, as though suddenly struck with an epiphany.
"So…tell me about this band you manage," he started, but Summer's mother quickly cut in.
"She's giving that up. It's not really the direction she wishes to pursue. She began it with her friends, but she feels it would be better if she returned to a more serious focus on her priorities. It's become too much of a distraction."
Summer lowered her eyes, as Mr. Philbur arched his brows and nodded, his mouth forming a silent "oh". She felt a pronounced sting in her chest. She could only imagine how this pristine perfectionist satisfied the alumnus. She didn't doubt how pleased he was. She flickered her eyes up when her mother's hand fell over her arm, a jolting reminder that she was supposed to be bright and cheerful, not sulking. She turned a wide smile back up to Mr. Philbur.
"Summer loves the clarinet, however," Mrs. Hathaway went on, "She used to play it when she was younger, but then this whole band matter…just one of those many things this whole ordeal distracted her from. What with the little band, she didn't have time for the clarinet. Now that she's leaving it, she'll have plenty of time to get back to the things she truly loves. Isn't that right, Summer?"
"Yes, mother," Summer answered through gritted teeth, trying to keep the façade up, even as she was trembling under the pressure of her emotions.
"The clarinet is a good instrument. It has a clear sound, very pleasant, elegant," Mr. Philbur mused, nodding his head, "A very classical choice. What would you say is your favorite piece to play?"
"I…" Summer blushed, glancing once more to her mother, "I haven't played in awhile…" She prayed for a subject change.
"Ah, I suppose you haven't," Mr. Philbur conceded, looking a bit disappointedly to his napkin. Summer's mother pursed her lips.
"I hope you don't mind if I excuse myself to the ladies' room," she announced, and Mr. Philbur smiled to her.
"Of course not."
"Summer…" Summer's mother looked to her, standing and tapping her foot somewhat expectantly. Waiting for her daughter to accompany her with a similar excuse. Mr. Philbur cleared his throat.
"Ah, she'll be fine," he told the impatient woman, who looked a bit taken aback, "It'll give me a chance to talk privately with her. A little one on one."
"Oh…but, Summer may need to…"
"She's fine," Mr. Philbur interrupted, "Am I right, Summer?" He looked to the young girl almost conspiratorially, and a flicker of his eye made her wonder if he'd just winked as though they shared a secret. Was this old man giving her an opportunity to escape her mother's hawk-like eyes for a short period of time? She didn't dwell too long on it, grinning up to her mother.
"Yes, we'll be fine, mom. Mr. Philbur and I can chat," she piped perkily. Her mother frowned slightly, but nodded, turning and walking slowly up towards the restrooms, glancing back over her shoulder every now and then. Summer took a deep breath, looking to Mr. Philbur with her forced smile, "So…Mr. Philbur…"
"You can relax now," he told her quietly.
"Excuse me?" Summer stammered, shocked.
"I'm not judging you on your acting abilities," he insisted, then smirking as he saw the shock and confusion in her eyes, "It's been my experience that young interviewees tend to put on a great display for their parents' sake…sometimes it's even perpetrated by their parents. But, you're mother is gone, you don't have to worry about that for a short moment. I wouldn't mind chatting with you for awhile, instead of an extension of her."
"Oh," Summer murmured, then slumping forward, "I'm sorry…I don't mean to…"
"It's alright. John Lennon should have put in the line 'Imagine there's no mothers,'," Mr. Philbur laughed, and Summer looked up at him in stun, speechless.
"What?" she sputtered, in complete shock.
Mr. Philbur scrunched his nose, "Last time we spoke, you quoted John Lennon as your choice of greatest composer of the last century. You can't tell me you haven't heard of his song, 'Imagine'. It's one of his most popular. I know it's not a Beatles song but I'd hoped you'd at least be aware…"
"I know the song, Mr. Philbur, I'm just a little surprised that you…"
"Know the song?" Mr. Philbur interjected, another laugh, "Oh, come on, Summer. Beatles were my time, I should be surprised that you even like that old stuff. I thought kids your age all listened to this…what is it…hip hop?"
"Some of us still like to rock," Summer found herself chuckling, "But at dinner, I was under the impression that…"
"An old fogy can't appreciate classical music and rock as well? Please," Mr. Philbur snorted, waving his hand, dismissing the very idea, "I was at the first Woodstock. Oh, you look surprised now. I will tell you this, the first was legendary. These other one's they keep putting on…posh. Amateurish, foolish, and lacking in the general spirit of what the first was all about. Crowd surfing tattoo covered artists screaming their lyrics into a microphone, and burning down a few towers, that's vandalism and reckless delinquency. Standing in knee-deep mud, a peace sign drawn on your bare chest, arms slapped around strangers of all race, ethnicity and creed, while listening to Janis Joplin bearing her soul on stage…now that is what music is all about."
"You saw Janis Joplin," Summer gasped, eyes wide in admiration, "Her voice…is amazing. So, you listen to the old stuff, but what about classic rock? Hardcore. Like AC/DC, Aerosmith, The Who? Led Zeppelin? Motorhead?"
"Let's see…AC/DC are great to sing along to in the shower, Helen loves my rendition of Hells Bells, The Who are definite car music…I can't go anywhere without at least one of their CDs, and you haven't listened to Aerosmith until you've heard them in concert. I've also seen Dire Straits, Foreigner, and Jimi Hendrix in concert, and then Nirvana…"
"You listen to Nirvana," Summer squealed, practically leaning over the table and boiling over with excitement, her arms all prickled.
"It was a sad thing, when Cobain left us. He was a great songwriter, himself. But yes, I'm not all oldies and classic. I listen to the Chilli Peppers, Blink 182...now they're good in concert, Greenday as well."
"I just can't picture you at one of these concerts," Summer shook her head, "I'm sorry."
"Well, I can't picture you giving up managing a rock band, or anything, you so obviously love, for that matter."
Summer faltered, suddenly downcast.
"Ah," Mr. Philbur mumbled, "So I hit it on the nail."
"Well…my mother and I have discussed it, and she - we feel that universities would not look highly on my managing a rock band. That it's not really what they - or you yourself, sir - look for in their applicants."
"Actually, Summer, I'll let you in on a little secret," Mr. Philbur said, leaning forward and looking directly into her eyes, "It's just that kind of diversity that institutions, on both the ivy league and liberal level, look for in students. And the truth be told, Summer, it's the reason I asked for this second meeting. You see, music is one of the loves of my life, and when I saw that spark in you, the passing mention of a great songwriter, and the light in your eyes when you spoke of managing a rock band, I thought to myself…this girl would be perfect for my scholarship. This is the kind of student I would like to see succeed. I would have to say, I'm sorely disappointed if you're seriously considering leaving the rock band behind." Summer lowered her eyes, a great deal of sorrow washing over her and, somehow relief as well, so overwhelming, that her perfectly orchestrated façade stood no chance against it, shattering into a million pieces. She balanced her forehead in the palm of her hand, taking a deep breath.
"But I don't want to leave School of Rock behind," she moaned softly, trembling with the effort to fight those sobs rising in her throat, "It's just that my mother…wants me to be perfect…and I…well…rock isn't about being perfect…so I can't…"
"Summer, come on now. I didn't mean to make you cry," Mr. Philbur soothed, patting her shoulder comfortingly, "Come now, your mother will be back soon, and I don't want her to worry." Summer shook her head, brushing at her cheeks, and sniffing lightly.
"I'm sorry, I just haven't been having the greatest of weeks," Summer whispered, "I know it's not fair to you…and I don't mean to burden."
"It's no burden," Mr. Philbur assured her. She smiled half-heartedly.
"Thanks," she said, honestly. She saw her mother, from the corner of her eye returning to the table, and straightened. They were silent, as the woman quietly rejoined them.
"So," she began, folding her napkin in her lap, "What were you two talking about?"
"Music, actually," Mr. Philbur answered, giving Summer a look and another slight wink. She smiled.
"Oh? What kind? Was she telling you about the clarinet…?"
"No, no," Mr. Philbur chuckled, waving his hand and shaking his head, "Nothing like that," he straightened, folding his paper in half a second time, "We actually found a common interest in the classics."
"Oh? Beethoven? Mozart? Chopin?"
"Well, more like…Jimmy Paige, Steve Tyler, Anthony Kiedis, Janis Joplin…" Mr. Philbur cut in, and Summer felt the heat of her mother's enraged stare.
"Summer, I thought that you were giving up that…" the older woman started, trying to keep her voice pleasant, though it grew shrill as she spoke, "I thought we'd decided…"
"It would be a real shame, if she gave up a great mark on her application like managing a band," Mr. Philbur interrupted, straightening as the waitress brought their food and drinks. He waited until she had left, before continuing, "Her managing a rock band really sets her apart from other applicants, and the truth is, you want her to stand out."
"I'm not sure…"
"Oh, and it demonstrates her responsibility, organization, her drive to succeed," Mr. Philbur continued.
"Well, essentially, I suppose, she does keep the entire band running…"
"Which is something every ivy league school wants in a student. That type of leadership," Mr. Philbur persisted, stressing those key words and watching how they altered the older woman's face.
"Summer…was really interested in leaving them…but…Summer," she looked to her daughter, "Would you like to continue managing this band?" Summer felt the heat rush to her face and the makings of a genuine smile. Ah, the magic this alumnus, Mr. Philbur, must weild, to alter her mother's mind so quickly, so subtley.
"Yes, I would, mom," she answered, trying not to sound too eager. She flickered a bright grin Mr. Philbur's way and he smiled, tipping a nod. The rest of the lunch, Summer chatted entirely about music and School of Rock with Mr. Philbur. The conversation was heated, and her mother sat back trying to seem interested, but obviously a third wheel at that table. As they were leaving, Mr. Philbur walked the ladies to their car, arm strapped fatheringly about Summer as he lectured on the decline of good music in that modern age. They stopped at the Hathaway's Volkswagen, and Mr. Philbur relinquished his hold on the younger woman.
"Now, I can't say anything on the record," he whispered to her, "But if you really want it, and I'm not talking about your mother wanting it, then the scholarship is yours."
"Really?" Summer squeaked, then quietly, "Thank you, Mr. Philbur."
"I'll see you at the Battle of the Bands, right?"
"Of course," Summer grinned, then with a wink, "I'll even see if I can sneak you back stage to meet the band."
"Rock on, Summer," Mr. Philbur chuckled, closing her door for her. He watched them drive off, giving the peace sign, which Summer returned. She held her tongue, looking to her lap and trying not to appear as though she were gloating. But on the inside, she felt triumphant. And her mother was silently fuming. To Summer's relief, the woman said nothing accept a curt, "Congratulations".
0-0-
On Tuesday, Freddy returned to school.
The wondrous joy Summer had gained from the weekend lunch with Mr. Philbur and receiving the scholarship was quickly overshadowed by her return to school, and the dreariness of her current problems. By Tuesday, she was wiped of any and all happiness and energy.
It was the middle of third period, and Summer sat slumped in her desk. She had doodled on the entirety of her loose-leaf lined paper, which should have been promptly drawn up with her rigid cursive notes. She'd tied her hair back, as it had become unruly over the days of maltreatment. Her sweater was a little rumpled, a bit musty, and her skirt was not ironed. She had forgotten her stockings that day, which gained a few odd glances from the teachers, but she'd pulled up her socks to her knees in an effort to make up for it. A question was asked, and she felt heated stares from her peers. They waited expectantly for the usual pert and always correct answer to come from the small young woman. She remained silent, even so much as laying her head down, as she sketched a spiral on the sheet in front of her.
The teacher cleared her throat, repeated the question a few times, until another student tentatively raised his hand and gave a shot at answering. He wasn't far off, and the teacher smiled warmly his direction as she corrected his mistake. She continued with the lesson, only once glancing Summer's direction with a look of worry.
Summer hadn't said much to anyone over the past few days, mulling over her last conversation, well, it was more of a speech, from Freddy. He'd been drunk, she knew that much. But the words had sounded so strong, so forceful. It made her shudder, just thinking about it.
I really, really, really want you.
She closed her eyes, burying her face in the crook of her arm and trying to calm her breathing. That had been the steadiest thing he'd said that night. The firmest, the most assured. It was as though everything were clearer in his drunken state, everything made more sense, and he knew exactly what he wanted. For a fleeting moment, she wished she could have the lack of inhibition to get drunk. Then perhaps everything in her heart would be clearer. Perhaps she would be able to call him up and spill her mind with the dead certainty of one who knew the exact path she was supposed to be on, who knew her soul and emotions inside out, who knew exactly what she wanted.
But Summer would never be drunk. Well, she had been, that one night. She blushed at the memory, recalling the passionate kisses. She'd never shared such kisses, such caresses, such intimacy with Kyle. And she couldn't imagine ever having done so. She couldn't imagine being so intimate with any other boy than Freddy.
And you know the really…really….pathetic part? The one person in the world I ever wanted, is the one person in the world that could never want me.
Summer felt her chest convulse, tears filling her eyes. Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to say those kinds of things? A tear quivered to her upper lip, and she licked it off, reveling in the salt. It wasn't true, she wanted to say now, I do want him. If he were there, at school now, she could go to him, and say exactly that. Her heart clenched at the thought. She couldn't go through with that. She was too great a coward.
Drunks don't lie. They don't have the judgment to lie. So there had to be truth to what Freddy had said.
The tables had turned, Summer thought ironically. Now, he's avoiding me.
The first day he wasn't in school, Summer had felt it like a sting in the heart. And everyday after, the pain inside grew. It came to the point where the ache in her chest was so great, like a tumor, she wanted to take a knife, or even just the pencil sitting in front of her, plunge it into her flesh and cut the pain away. She hated this. She hated noticing that he wasn't there, when everyone else in the class seemed unfazed. The teacher didn't even bother glancing up or calling his name during roll. She hated waiting for a glimpse to see him. She hated being disappointed, because he never showed. And she hated knowing that he was ditching everyday because of her.
The door of the classroom creaked open, and the students fell silent, looking to it in surprise. The teacher paused in her lesson.
"Mister Jones, how nice of you to join us today," she said, and Summer froze, her eyes widening. Heart pounding, she slowly turned to peek at the blonde boy making his way into the room. He strode casually to the back and slumped into his seat, all eyes studying him. He didn't even so much as glance Summer's direction, and somehow that pain in her heart stung deeper. She looked back to her desk, trying to fight those tears and clear her suddenly foggy mind. He didn't look like himself, but he seemed to have put some effort into his appearance that morning.
"I woke up late," he explained, but he didn't sound like it were the truth. Relieved, Summer noted, he didn't sound drunk or hungover either. Cheekily, he remarked, "Better late than never."
"Yes," the teacher muttered, "But I do prefer that if you choose to show, you display a little desire to be here by coming in on time."
"Sorry," Freddy muttered, not sounding as though he were, and the teacher nodded approval, certain she'd made some impact in the young man's mind, before returning to the lesson, or attempting to as a few of the students' stared with piqued interests at the long absent drummer boy.
Summer frowned, straightening and brushing the loose tears from her cheeks, trying to focus on the teacher returning to the board and writing out various formulas. She didn't care, of course, when she heard whispers from the back. A young woman, Molly Sloan, head cheerleader, chatting with Freddy in animated whispers. And the hair on the back of her neck was not standing on end because of the light giggling the stout blonde emitted at something Freddy, evidently, said. And when she glanced back, it wasn't as though she were hoping to catch his eye. Though, she was sorely disappointed when she didn't.
He was leaning back in the chair, a smirk on his lips, legs stretched out beneath the small high school desk. Molly was not subtle in her flirtations, smiling toothily, pouting her lips whenever possible, letting her hair fall casually into her face so that Freddy had to reach over and brush it away. She was leaned forward, too, so that her blouse dipped out and gave ample view of her well-endowed bosom. Summer pursed her lips.
I'm not jealous, she told herself, I don't care.
He spends the past several days ditching school and avoiding me, after calling drunk and saying those things on the phone, only to come back and flirt unabashedly with one of the most renowned sluts in the school. God, could she wear her skirt any higher? And those highlights are so fake!
But I am not jealous.
Summer turned forward again, tapping the desktop in front of her. She heard another muffled giggle from the back of the room, and narrowed her eyes at the blackboard. She dared a peek back, and saw that Molly had taken Freddy's hand and was writing something on it. He seemed disinterested, glancing about the room. Briefly his eyes met Summer's, and immediately he averted his gaze. She spun back to the front of the room, heart pounding.
What was he trying to prove? That he could forget a drunken moment in which he spilled out his heart and a lot of other mushy emotions. Where he desperately proclaimed his feelings for Summer, and his self-loathe. That he could pretend it never happened and still be the bad boy of Horace Green that he'd always been. The self-centered jerk, the womanizing, obnoxious, uncouth…another giggle from the back of the room, and Summer felt an itching. Before she could stop the impulse, her muscles reacted. The teacher was startled by the movement, and stunned to see what was before her. Summer had raised her hand.
"Miss Hathaway, I haven't asked a question," the woman sputtered in surprise, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a slim index finger.
"Uh…I…I know," Summer stammered, folding her hands on her deck and rigidly arching her back straight. She couldn't fight the words that spilled from her mouth, even as she desperately wanted to, "I merely felt I should point out to you your failure to follow the standard punishment of tardiness, as stated in the Horace Green handbook, that any student with an outstanding tardy exceeding the allotted fifteen minutes of time after class has begun, signified by the late bell, must be sent to the principle's office for proper discourse," she took a deep breath, feeling the scalding hot burn of her peers' eyes boring into her, branding her a teacher's pet. She felt guilt weigh in her stomach, and her body felt like jell-o, but she continued, her voice growing slightly shriller as she spoke, "Freddy was almost thirty minutes late, ma'am, and rules are rules."
"Ah…I…" the teacher looked at a loss for words, glancing uncertainly down at her desk, then back up at Summer.
"Ma'am, what good are rules if you fail to follow them? It seems to me you are in an impressionable position, and are setting a poor example for your students," Summer pressed, feeling a swell of satisfaction in her chest as she watched the woman before her cave within.
"You're right, Summer. Freddy, I'm sorry, but I have to send you to Miss Mullins. Take a pass."
There was a hush as Freddy slowly, stiffly lifted himself up and waltzed down the line of desks. Summer's hair stood on end as he breezed by, and she felt her face flush as his scent and warmth filled her senses. She lowered her eyes as he took the pass with a scowl, and slammed the door open, leaving in a calm rage. Still, not even bothering to look Summer's way. Then, slowly, soft murmurs broke out amongst the students. Summer distinctly caught, "teacher's pet", "goody-two-shoes bitch", and "self-righteous priss", the others were too awful, she simply zoned them out.
Inside, her mind was a jumbled mess. Why did I do that, she asked herself, taking steadying breaths and closing her eyes. She wasn't certain. You were jealous, a voice inside her whispered, and you're a bitch.
"Settle down, children," the teacher called over the students, before continuing with her lesson as though she'd never left off. But the whisperings didn't die down, they simply fell quieter. Summer could hear them all around her, a soft buzz, like voices in the back of her mind, but she didn't care.
He hadn't even looked at her. Even as she'd gotten him sent to the principle's office. She was certain, she was absolutely positive, that her stunt would at least gain some enraged glare. But nothing. He was too enthralled by that whore, Molly, to even care. Summer's eyes widened, and she choked down a gasp. A harrowing realization sunk in. She had been jealous. But shouldn't she have been? He says he wants her, and then he's flirting with another girl?
But then, it's not like he's your boyfriend. Summer closed her eyes tightly, feeling sick. That's right, it's not like she has any claim to him. So in a drunken state he calls her up middle of the night and declares that he wants her. That gave her no standing in his life. What did it mean, really? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Summer's hand was in the air again, and a few students groaned. The teacher turned, sighing heavily.
"I haven't asked a question, and no more students were late…is someone chewing gum, Summer?" she seethed, and the class broke into muffled snickers. She wasn't the type of teacher who liked to be told how to run her class.
"I have to go to the restroom," Summer stammered, ignoring the comment. Before awaiting an answer, she lifted herself up and bolted from the room. By the time she reached the women's room, she'd already burst into tears. She slid to the floor, shaking with unruly sobs and trying to calm herself.
Why was he pushing her away, now? Why was he shutting her out? Was it all a joke? Had he not meant anything he'd said? At the bookstore, at his house? And what about that phone call? Was it all a lie too? Something more to further hurt her? Maybe he was never using her. Maybe he was leading her on, the entire time. Maybe they all were.
The world crashed around her at that thought. They all were leading her on. Lying to her, trying to hurt her. It had all been a joke. The thought itself was too painful to bear, and she curled up on the tile floor and simply cried. If only she could hate them all. It only hurt more, knowing it was probably all her fault.
0-0-
Katie slipped into the lunch line behind Zack, who gave her a cheerful smile. It quickly faded when he saw the dark look across her pretty features.
"I haven't seen Summer all day," she told him. He shrugged, looking to his chocolate pudding, "She wasn't in any of the classes we share. But I know she was at school, I picked her up this morning. I walked her to her homeroom."
"I don't know what to tell you, Katie," he mumbled, "I haven't seen her either." They moved forward, as the people behind were getting anxious, "You gonna get anything?"
"No money," Katie replied shortly, staring out in agitation at the cafeteria, scanning for signs of her best friend.
"Oh," Zack said, then briskly, "I got money." Katie blushed, shocked by the offer, she turned to look at him. He was peering at the food on the counter and waiting for the lunch lady to pile some tater tots on his plate.
"That's alright," Katie assured him, "I'm not really hungry." He looked over to her as though that statement were incomprehensible.
"Come on, Posh," Zack pressed, "It's pudding day," he grinned, lifting a cup of the whipped creamy concoction as proof, "You have to at least get pudding!" Katie rolled her eyes.
"Okay. I'll get a cup of pudding," she sighed, shaking her head and chuckling slightly as he eagerly grabbed another cup for her. They reached the register and he paid.
"I'm really worried about Summer, though," Katie went on, as they turned to walk towards the table. Zack slunk an arm over her shoulders.
"Don't think too much about it. She hasn't looked herself lately, the teachers might've sent her to Miss Mullins to talk about her feelings or the nurses office to get her temperature taken," he assured her, then, "Look, Freddy's back."
"Oh," she glanced over to the band's usual table, where the blonde sat lazily picking at his tray, "Why so he is."
"It's because it's pudding day," Zack told her wisely, and they both nodded their heads firmly to one another in agreement. Katie smiled, shaking her head. She spun walking backwards to face Zack.
"Aw…the whole gang's back together…at school," she frowned, "Sort of. Well we would be, if anyone knew where the hell Summer was," then shaking her head in determination to follow Zack's advice and just not worry about it, "You write any rocking songs yet?"
"Did you?" Zack retorted. She shook her head. He grabbed a hold of her arm, steering her from almost crashing into a crowd of people, and she laughed.
"Thanks," she murmured.
"Turn around, Katie, what are you doing?" he demanded, a bit peevishly. She stopped, her face falling, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder as Katie spun around and began walking again towards the band table with a hasty shuffle. He spotted easily Miranda, Katie's older sister standing amongst a crowd of friends. He felt his face flush as he realized, the older girls were looking at him, whispering amongst themselves, and breaking into fits of giggles.
"She's such a bitch," Katie cursed, as Zack jogged to catch up, "Probably telling them how I'm your little charity case, and you wouldn't even care about me if I didn't play the bass guitar in the band, and…"
"Shut up, Katie," Zack commanded her gently, putting his arm around her waist, "Because you know that you aren't my charity case, or any of the other band member's, for that matter. Let them say what they want. You're a rocker, what do you care?" She smiled halfheartedly.
"Yeah," she mumbled, "What do I care what they think?" She turned back to Miranda, quickly raising her hand up, middle finger only, and Zack's mouth dropped. "Fuck you," she mouthed to her sister and friends, and Zack grabbed her arm, eyes wide in surprise of the sudden vulgar action, tugging it down and trying to continue maneuvering her to their usual table while attempting to turn her forward and scanning the room for faculty and school staff members.
"Katie!" he cried, nearly dropping the tray. They both shot forward to balance it, and Katie broke into giggles at how Zack stood awkwardly and flushed.
"If I weren't worried sick about Summer," she informed him, "This would be a very good day."
"You're weird," Zack informed her quietly while straightening in indignation. He took the moment to brush Katie's now mussed hair from her face and neatly tuck it behind her ear, before continuing to the table. He missed the blush that colored Katie's cheeks as she followed behind slowly, "And what are you talking about," Zack called over his shoulder, "This is a good day. It's pudding day," he lifted the little cup as a visual aid, and squeezed in at the end of the table. Katie shook her head, pausing to wrap her arms around Freddy's neck.
"Look who decided to grace Horace Green with his punk ass presence," she muttered into his ear, and he smirked, curling his arm over hers in a weak return of the embrace, "The ladies were so bored. Without you around, who were they going to drool over?"
"The hallways were surprisingly cleaner, though," Zack commented.
"And there were less reports of dehydration," Katie added.
"Which meant the lines at the drinking fountains were much shorter," Zack put in. Freddy shook his head at them, smirking despite himself.
"Shut up," he muttered. Katie took her seat next to Zack, nodding to Frankie and Alicia, who were covering laughs.
"Where you been, anyways, Spaz?" Alicia asked.
"Yeah, what's with ditching school?" Frankie piped. Freddy shook his head, leaning back in his seat.
"Nothing," he replied casually, picking at his lunch. The other band members exchanged looks, and silently agreed not to press the matter further. "Where is everyone?" he asked, making a point of looking around the cafeteria, though he probably wasn't really interested in knowing.
"Marta stayed after class to talk to the teacher about something," Zack answered.
"Michelle and Eleni are primping in the restroom," Frankie muttered glumly.
"And Tomika and Lawrence," Alicia smiled slyly, leaning forward on the table to peer mischievously out at the others, "Are probably spending private time together."
It took Katie only two seconds to figure out what that meant, and she rang out her understanding in a squeal, grasping Alicia's hands and both girls broke into exuberant chatter. Freddy, Frankie, and Zack sat staring confused at the extremely excited girls.
"What's going on? What does she mean by 'private time together'?" Freddy demanded of the other two boys who simply shrugged. Katie rolled her eyes and turned to glare exasperated at the clueless three.
"It means," she hissed, annunciating each word, "Tomika and Lawrence finally made a move to get together."
"In what way?" Frankie asked, raising an eyebrow, "Don't they always get together? They're friends and…"
"Rumor has it," Alicia cut him off, regaining Katie's attention, "That a crowded hallway of people bore witness to the two crazy lovebirds walking together to Tomika's first class. Which, you will admit, is nothing big, right? It's huge, however, that Lawrence was carrying Tomika's books and…" she paused for dramatic effect, "They were holding hands!"
"Oh my god," Katie squeaked, "Adorable!"
"Oh my god," Zack gasped, teasingly, "Sickening!"
"Oh how sweet," Freddy mocked, "Isn't that just the cutest you guys have ever heard?"
"Yes, definitely," Frankie joined in, "So sweet and wonderful."
"I must agree," Zack took over, "Let's talk incessantly about it, and then break into high-pitched screams."
The other two boys nodded, saying in unison, "Let's."
"You three think you're so damned cute, don't you?" Alicia sneered, and Katie glowered at them, fighting the urge to smack both Zack and Freddy upside the head, as they were closest to her. She settled for joining in on their laughter instead, snickering slightly under her breath, and Alicia soon followed suit. They all fell bashfully silent, when Tomika and Lawrence, carrying the aforementioned girl's books along with his own, joined them at the table. Their faces were outstanding shades of pink.
"Hey guys," Tomika greeted, "What're you up to?"
"Uh…it's pudding day," Zack said sheepishly, raising the cup of custard and gaining unwarranted "what the…?" looks.
They all burst into laughter, except for the very confused Tomika and Lawrence. Michelle and Eleni soon made their ways over, giving Freddy overzealous "welcome back's", and then Marta came. She seemed a little more shy in saying her "hi" to Freddy. And then the girls moved aside to let her squeeze in next to the blonde drummer, missing an eye roll from Katie, who occupied herself with jabbing her spoon in her cup of pudding. The boys didn't seem to notice the great amount of maneuvering the girls did to get Marta in there, and Freddy didn't seem to see the overtly happy expression on Marta's face, the dazed smile, and bright red blush across her cheeks and forehead. He was glancing about the cafeteria still as the others went into eating and discussing the upcoming Battle of the Bands.
"With the competition a week away, and nothing exceptionally rockin' in the book," Zack sighed, "I'm really thinking this comp is going to suck."
"Don't say that," Michelle clucked, "We've got a lot on the line."
"No shit," Zack muttered, "And somehow it's all on me. On whether I get a good song written in time for us to rehearse and…shit…it's just there's too much at stake if we lose. It's not like the other Battle of the Bands when it was just about rocking."
"If you ask me," Marta muttered, "Summer's really not the biggest reason to win the competition…I wouldn't say she's a very high stake."
"Marta…" Katie began, flaring up with slight rage.
"Where is Summer anyways?" Freddy cut her off, his voice a distant murmur. From his face, he looked as though he hadn't meant to speak that question aloud, but it was evident he'd been thinking it for awhile. Marta seemed a bit crestfallen, though nobody noticed.
"She's been MIA since…well, hell, I don't know," Katie answered, "I dropped her off at class this morning."
"And she got me sent to the principle's office during third period," Freddy muttered.
"She what?" Marta demanded, "For what?"
"Tardiness," Freddy shrugged, obviously apathetic to that situation.
"What a…what a bitch," Marta seethed. She looked to Freddy, expecting some form of agreement, but he said nothing, simply stretching and pushing his not-even-half-finished lunch away.
"Did anyone see her after that?" Katie questioned, looking around the table.
"I have her fourth period," Alicia informed them, "No Summer."
"She's in my fifth period class," Tomika spoke up, "Maybe she'll be there."
"You know," Katie sighed, "I'm getting really worried. Summer's pulling a disappearing act, and after the way she's been acting the past few days…"
"How's that?" Freddy inquired casually, feeling a lump settle in the pit of his stomach.
"Really weird," Katie disclosed, "She's completely went remiss in taking care of herself. She's distant, she's moody."
"She doesn't raise her hand in class," Frankie added and Freddy quirked an eyebrow at that. He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his unfinished meal in disgust. So that's the damage he caused.
"She doesn't talk to any of us, either," Eleni put in, "All we get are grunts and moans." Freddy nodded, before standing and beginning to walk away towards the cafeteria entrance.
"I'm going to the restroom," he called over his shoulder. The others were startled by the sudden declaration. And Marta slumped, sighing.
"He's just as moody as Summer," she announced, gaining murmurs of agreement.
"What's happened to us?" Eleni sighed, "Summer wants to leave us behind, Freddy's got detention until he graduates, Zack couldn't write a decent song to save his life, no offense Zack, and let's face it, rehearsals have not been great. Everything is so screwed up. I know it sounds harsh and I hate to say it, but pretty soon we're all going to be School of Rock dropouts…the way this keeps up."
Everyone was silent, and in that silence, an eerie agreement to what she'd said.
And then, suddenly, Zack sat up, nearly knocking his cup of pudding over. Everyone looked to him quizzically, but he was alight with wilderment. He flipped out his songbook, a black spiral pad of lined paper, the cover doodled all over and blanketed in band stickers, and flipped it to the first empty page. Without a word to any of the other band members, he began scribbling erratically. For a while, everyone simply watched him, though they knew better than to attempt reading over his shoulder. Then they slipped back into a slight conversation. Every now and then, Zack would pause, look thoughtful, maybe scribble something out, and then continue with maniacal snickers under his breath. To any passer-by, he would appear a madman, but to his band mates who knew better, he was simply a creative genius struck with inspiration.
END A/N: I really have nothing to say, right now. Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you guys the big difference between School of Rock and the Barber Boys. All the guesses everyone made were right, of course, but I was looking for one huge one in particular. Passion. School of Rock has passion and they put all their emotions into their songs and performances. Barber Boys lack the passion for their music, and it shows in the chapter where they're auditioning. Kyle has all these angsty thoughts running through his head, but he's smiling and singing and dancing. There's no real emotion in their songs.
With that said, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. PLEASE REVIEW!
My dad bought me a Led Zeppelin shirt when he went to the mall with my mom and little sister. I'm so psyched. I love it! He saw it and knew I'd like it, somehow! Maybe the fact I talk incessantly about classic rock, buy classic rock CDs, and wear classic rock band shirts, has something to do with it...hm...
Anyways...thanks for reading!