Chapter 9

Darryl Nelson

“Darryl?” Vinnie’s timid voice permeates the awesome dream I was having about playing mainstage at The Download Festival, a huge metal festival in England that my mom and her band—Ashes Within—had headlined many years ago. “The bus for school comes in ten minutes.”

Fuck! Fucking first day of school.

Senior year in a new school. Great. Wonderful. Stupendous. I groan, pulling my covers up higher over my head. The soft sounds of Vinnie slipping out of my room, pulling the door closed behind him with a click, and I relax back, hoping to be able to pick my dream back up where I’d left off.

“DARRYL TAYLOR NELSON!!” I cringe, the bellowing of my dad from the doorway, full name checking me, totally killing the last tendrils of sleep I’d been clinging to. “Get your lazy ass outta bed before I drag you out kicking and screaming!”

I poke my head out, squinting at the bright rays of sunlight which dad lets in as he rips open my curtains.

“I’m sick. Can’t go in today.” I force out a pathetic cough which makes my dad roll his eyes.

With a deep sigh, he sits down on the bed next to me, the mattress dipping under his weight, and he scrapes his long hair back into a ponytail. “I know this summer has been tough on you…it’s been tough on all of us.

But we need to try and work together to be a team, to be a support network for each other.”

I roll my own eyes, pulling myself up so I’m leaning against the headrest. “Dad, that sounds so fucking lame.”

He chuckles, punching the top of my arm.

“Shut the fuck up. It sounded better in my head. And get the fuck up, you’re as sick as I am still in my twenties.” I snort. My dad was so hung up about getting old.

“Pretty sure I’ve missed the bus.”

“I’ll drive you just this once.” He narrows his eyes at me as he walks backwards out of my room. “But you have to go take a shower first, you fucking stink of teenage boy.”

***

Yesterday had gone exactly how I’d thought it would; I wandered the halls alone, sat by myself in the canteen, and watched as Stevie was the center of fucking everyone’s attention.

Of course, she’s a fucking cheerleader, and I felt like she was actually trying to kill me when she walked through the door to English lit wearing her cheer uniform.

Her long, exposed legs seemed to go on for days before they disappeared under the shorter than short, pleated skirt, which made my mind wander to what she could possibly be wearing underneath.

I don’t know why, but I had always pictured that she was as miserable as me—a loner—not little miss popular like she was.

I’d never asked my folks how she was and would routinely plug my ears with loud heavy metal music if they started talking about her, so I had no clue what she’d been up to over the last few years.

It was one thing which had kept me somewhat sane, the thought of her being as fucked up as me.

I was almost looking forward to skipping the next period to go speak to my dumb counselor after having her laughing and looking so carefree—easily answering all the questions our English teacher threw at her.

As soon as the bell rang, I was out of my seat, my backpack thrown over my shoulder as I strode towards the front of school where my dad was supposed to be picking me up.

I can’t help the slight slump of my shoulders as I find my mom smiling apologetically from the driver’s seat. “Your dad got caught up with something at the store, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Don’t get me wrong, I was once much closer to my mom than I was to anyone else.

We had a connection through music that I had with no one else. I felt like she understood me until the day I overheard her telling my dad and their friends about how afraid she was of my mind and my dark thoughts I’d confided in her about. That was the worst fucking holiday ever.

That was the summer that I lost everything.

After an hour of obstinately refusing to talk to Dr. Greene about my first day of school, I was back in the vile place. As I stride into the cafeteria, I can’t help but smirk at the whispers from the other students about where I may have been last period.

A heavy hand slamming down on my shoulder makes me stiffen.

“Hey, hey, dude!” I look over my shoulder and find a grinning Smit stood behind me.

“What’s up.” I tip my chin towards him.

“Sorry you had to face the first day of school alone yesterday, I had a funeral to go to,” he rolls his eyes, leaning across me to grab a plate of pizza.

“But at least that’s the last of the grandparents buried now.”

I snort out a laugh and he smirks. “Damn, you’re cold, dude.”

“Yeah, but it only makes me more lovable.” He waggles his eyebrows as he shoves a slice of greasy pizza into his mouth and grabs another plate to replace it on his tray.

I grab my own lunch and follow him to a table where a couple other rock kids are eating. I frown as I realize Evan wasn’t sitting with us. “Where’s Evan?”

“Evan goes to a different school,” Smit shrugs. “It sucks, but it is what it is.”

He glances up as a girl walks past our table and smirks. “What up, Pap-smear?”

The brunette gives him the finger, not even turning her head to look at him. “Is she wearing fluffy slippers?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.

Smit chuckles, shaking his head.

“Probably…that girl does not give a fuck!” His eyes stayed glued to her swaying ass as she growls at some freshman who gets in her way as she wanders out of the cafeteria. “That’s Rhea Pappas. She’s a fucking Goddess.

I think I’m in love, dude.” Smit drops his head against my shoulder with a pathetic whine.

***

My first month of senior year actually went by pretty fast. I was splitting my time between glaring at Stevie enjoying her perfect fucking high school experience and hanging out with Smit and his friends.

It was actually totally the opposite of how I had spent my time in high school up until now. Back home in San Diego, I was only really friends with the two guys I was in a band with, and we skipped more classes than we attended.

I’d even stopped hanging at the park so much, finding my pent-up aggression wasn’t so prevalent anymore.

Which is why I was looking at Smit in confusion at the question he had just asked me. I wasn’t used to anyone giving enough of a shit about where I was or what I was doing to ask me questions about it before. “What?”

“I asked where the fuck you sneak off to every Tuesday morning?” He takes a gulp of his apple juice keeping his hazel-colored eyes trained on me while he waits for my answer.

When I don’t say anything, he continues. “Because there are some wild fucking rumors going round about you.”

“Like what?” I quirk my eyebrows.

“Best ones, in my humble opinion, are that you have a heroin addiction and are attending a methadone clinic or sneaking off to shoot up—I don’t think people have thought that one through totally—uhm…

“You are having an affair with an older married lady that comes to whisk you away in her sports car for an hour of debauched sexual activity, and lastly that you have been in prison and are meeting with your parole officer.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing, and he grins. “Dude, they are all miles fucking off. And that lady who picks me up is my fucking mom.” I pick at my cuticles, not wanting to see the questions in his eyes as I answer his original question.

“I go see a counselor every week…for anger issues and shit.”

Smit hums in acknowledgment, and when I glance up, he’s gone back to shoving food into his face. “That’s it? No follow-up questions?”

He pauses, mid-mastication, and shrugs. “Nah.”

It was actually kinda refreshing to have a dude like Smit who was blunt and to the point, but most importantly, didn’t pry.

I smirk as I pick up my own sandwich. “Cool.”