School started again, and the problems I’d had with Josephine at the end of last year seemed to have blown over. We had a few classes together, and she chattered about her summer — her family and going to parties and other crap — as though we hadn’t argued at all. It was nice to have a friend there even though I couldn’t have cared less about school. I would just drudge through the week, waiting for weekend rehearsals, and spend my nights doing homework, listening to music, and writing.
Edgar got the idea to try recording our rehearsal. Socks rigged up a few microphones around the room, and we ran through our four songs. We sat back on the couches afterwards and played back the recording.
I was happy to hear that my attempts to incorporate Balthazar’s techniques were working. I sounded really fucking good. Hearing the songs played back without seeing my friends play them was really weird. Without watching Fern play her solos, for example, I was able to listen to them objectively, and once again acknowledge how good she really was. The recording was pretty crappy, but all of us were really impressed with the way we were starting to sound.
“We have to play a show,” Socks announced afterwards.
“We can’t play a show with only four songs,” Fern said. “But I agree, it would be awesome.”
Socks burned copies for all of us, and even though it sounded lousy, I listened to the CD over and over. We were a good band. Even the shoddy recording couldn’t hide it.
xXx
As winter neared, I was finding it very hard to focus on school when all I wanted to do was spend time with Edgar, Socks, and Fern working on music. I was jealous that Fern and Edgar went to the same school and I was stuck at Glen Park with Josephine. Sometimes I would see Craig in the hallways, and we’d wave at each other, but I was finding it increasingly frustrating that I was basically alone at school. During classes I would sit and look out the window, daydreaming, and often writing lyric ideas in my notebooks rather than taking notes on whatever subject I should have been focusing on.
One afternoon I was in the school bathroom, washing my hands, when the door swung open and in walked Brandi. I immediately looked away from her, back to my reflection. My stomach jittered. I was pissed at myself. All of last year I hadn’t had any problems with her. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to me in such a long time that I felt stupid for reacting to her at all. But I couldn’t help it. She paused, and to distract myself I pulled out my lipstick and focused on my reflection, leaning forwards and applying more of it to my lips.
“It doesn’t really help,” she said.
I rubbed my lips together and didn’t look at her.
“The lipstick,” she said, in a mock-helpful tone. “It really doesn’t help you look any better.”
I turned to her. She stood there, with her eyes wide, trying to make herself look innocent, but she had a pleased smirk.
“You don’t think so?” I had never had such prolonged eye contact with her, and I was pleased to find that my fear was subsiding. I stared at her, and she boldly met my gaze.
“You’re still fucking ugly. No lipstick or hair dye is ever going to help you with that.” She grinned, folded her arms, and waited for my response.
I tucked my lipstick back into my skirt pocket. “You know, you haven’t spoken to me in a really long time. What’s inspired you today?”
“I’m just trying to give you some tips.”
I didn’t respond to that, just stared at her, and to my pleasure I saw her falter for a second. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” she finally said.