The Less-Dead (11 page)

“Yeah, I’ve been pretty freaked out over it too.” I wish I could tell Aubrey everything. About Will. How I ruined our friendship by acting like a jackass. How he might be in danger. But I can’t. Not now. “Hey, Aubrey? Marty told me he visited Warren Banks in prison. Has your father gone?”

She nods. “Just the other day. He thinks Banks is innocent too. I’m not sure why, because he won’t talk to me about it.”

We stand there for a while looking at each other, and a lump wells up in my throat. I miss Aubrey so much. I want to ask her to come with me now. We could drive to Kerbey Lane, order lemonade and chips with chili queso. Talk for hours. Laugh. Like we used to do. But of course I can’t.

Instead, I say, “Well, I guess you’d better get back to the movie. You don’t want to miss the exciting part. You know, when they shish-kebab the missionaries. I heard that was the plot twist. Pretty cool, huh? The aborigines are cannibals.”

She gives me a wry smile. “Yeah, you’re right, Noah. I better go.”

“Aubrey?”

“Yeah?”

“A lot of things have happened lately. Things I can’t go into right now. And, well, I know you’re busy with Brandon and all, but Carson and I have a gig at this place called the Red Room. It’s an underground club on Seventh and
Neches. This guy I know, Will, he set it up for us. Anyway, it’s a long story, but I was wondering if you might want to hear us play. The show’s next Saturday. Ten o’clock.”

She nods slowly. “Sure, I’d love to come.”

I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out. “Great. Thanks. I’ll see you then.”

“HEY, NOAH
, what do you think of a punk-slash-emo version of ‘Amazing Grace’?”

Carson and I have been practicing for our gig all week, and I’m seriously about to lose it. After seeing
Spears in the Jungle
, he had this major conversion experience—prayed with Marty and everything—and now he wants to be baptized. “You know what I think?” I set down my guitar and hold up a hand, measuring one inch between my forefinger and thumb. “I think I’m
this close
to marching into the DPCP’s bedroom and telling him what you’ve been up to.”

Carson’s eyes grow wide. “Dude, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes I would. Now, enough of this punk hymnal crap. You need to get to work on ‘Flesh-Eating Zombies.’ We’ve got our first real show in two days, and right now, your lyrics still suck, and the music’s not that great either.”

I pick up my guitar and start plucking the melody of my
anti-love song for Aubrey. I’ve finished writing the lyrics, but I’m having serious doubts about their potential effectiveness.

I glance at Carson. He’s slumped over his guitar, and there’s a hurt look on his face. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry. Really, man. I shouldn’t have said that. And if you want to do a punkemo, whatever, version of ‘Amazing Grace,’ fine. I mean, just because it’s not my thing doesn’t mean it’s not yours.”

“Hey, Noah? What’s been eating you lately? Ever since we came back from the greenbelt, you’ve been on edge. Something happened between you and Will. When you guys were writing that song for Aubrey. I know it.”

I chew the inside of my cheek.

“Did Will make a pass at you?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, I’m joking. Look, Noah. It’s not a crime to feel weirded out if a guy’s into you. It’s a normal reaction. What matters is what you do with it. Plus, with the way you’ve been brought up, it’s not a surprise that you’re having a hard time.”

I glare at Carson. “I already told you I don’t believe any of that shit.”

“Well, maybe you’re not as tolerant as you thought.”

“Oh yeah? Let me ask
you
something, Mr. Holy Roller. Why are you so gung ho about the church scene when you know damn well their stance on gay people? They’re all going to hell, didn’t you know?”

“Not according to Marty.”

“Oh? Have you asked him about it? Because I guarantee—”

“Yes. I have asked him. In fact, we had a long conversation about it. He told me that he’s struggled with that teaching for a long time, and personally doesn’t agree with it. And he doesn’t think gays should try to be straight either. But he said change has to come from inside the church, and he thinks the youth group can be a catalyst.”

“A catalyst? Right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Noah? Why do you hate Marty and the youth group so much? I mean, they’re really nice. At least, they are to me.”

I sit there for a while. There’s a brick in my stomach. “I don’t hate them, Carson. It’s just, well, it ticks me off how they think there’s only one way to God—
their way
. I just don’t buy that. I never have. My parents tried to brainwash me with that crap from birth. The thing they don’t get is I have a mind of my own, and I intend to use it.”

“Yeah, I understand what you mean. But the youth group’s different from church. Marty’s way cooler than Pastor Simpson, and way more open-minded. And it’s hard to explain, but ever since that night I prayed with Marty, I feel so much better. Like … happy. And maybe this sounds lame, but
free
, too.”

“Hmmm, maybe it’s all those sins you repented from—drunkenness, rebellion, witchcraft—”

“Come on, Noah, I’m serious! I’m not cut out to be an atheist. I
like
believing in God.”

“All right, fine. Believe in God. But let me ask you something. And be honest. Does this
conversion
have
anything to do with Kat? More specifically, the possibility of getting into her pants?”

Carson looks up at the ceiling. “Well, I have to admit, that would be a perk and all, but—”

“See? I’m telling you, man, enjoy the good vibes now, because pretty soon Marty’s gonna break the news: no sex before marriage.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that. But I was thinking, what if I have sex with Kat, then repent, then maybe do it again and repent? I mean, that could work, right?”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I know, I know. Anyway, I suppose I
could
wait. It would be rough, but the truth is I care about Kat. A lot. I’ve never felt this way about a girl before. And I like being with Marty and the youth group.”

I sigh. “Whatever turns you on, man.”

“Noah? Tell me the truth. What happened between you and Will?”

“Nothing
happened
. Drop it, dude.”

“You acted like a jerk, didn’t you?”

“Will said some things that freaked me out. I didn’t know how to react. So, yeah, I acted like a jerk. Gave him the brush-off. I’ve been feeling guilty about it all week. Are you happy now?”

Carson nods. “I figured it was something like that. Listen, Noah, don’t beat yourself up over it, all right? Besides, we’ll see Will Saturday night at the Red Room. You’ll work it out.”

“I hope so. I just thought I was different, you know? Thought I could handle anything. Truth is, I was an asshole. I really let him down.”

“Hey, it happens to everyone. Come on, let’s get to work. We’ve got some songs to practice.”

Friday afternoon, Hawk walks into ISS, hands Mr. Briggs another referral note, and takes a seat behind me. A few seconds later he taps me on the shoulder and passes me a note.

When I turn around, Hawk has once again vanished.

“TESTING … ONE,
two, three. Testing …”

While Carson messes with the PA system, I grab my guitar, take a seat onstage, and watch people mill about the Red Room. The place is kind of a dump—broken floor planks, dirty windows, Christmas lights strung across the rafters—but I like it. We’re the second of two bands tonight, which is lucky, because most of the audience from the first set is hanging around to hear us play. Will was right. The Red Room definitely draws an alternative crowd, and even though I’m not 100 percent comfortable, I’m doing all right. I’m trying. While I’m fingering the notes to “Devil Inside My Head,” Carson leans over and says, “Hey, Noah, look over there. It’s Quindlan.”

I look up. Quindlan smiles and waves. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” I hop off the stage and weave through the crowd. “Quindlan, hey, I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen Will?”

“Not yet. He stopped by the Drag this afternoon. Asked me and Doomsday to come tonight, but Dooms won’t set foot in this venue. Too many pagans, I guess. Anyway, Will should be here soon. He told me he had to run back to the greenbelt. He accidentally left his book there—you know, the one he writes poetry in.”

“Noah! We’re on in five minutes,” Carson calls.

“I’d better go. But do me a favor? Keep an eye out for Will. Tell him I need to talk to him after the show.”

Back onstage, Carson and I recheck the PA system, and even though my guitar is perfectly tuned, I tweak the strings one last time. I scan the room for Aubrey and finally spot her walking through the back door. Kat follows, and behind her are Brandon and Marty. Great. Aubrey holds out her hand while the bouncer whips out a felt pen and scrawls an
X
on it.

“Oh, good, there they are.” Carson waves. “Hi, Kat!” He turns to me. “Hey, Noah, I invited Marty and Brandon, too. I hope you don’t mind.”

I give Carson an icy glare. “Mind? Why would I mind?”

He sighs. “Sorry, dude. I just need a little support when I sing ‘Amazing Grace.’ Plus, isn’t this what we want? King of Glory members hanging out in a gay club? I told you Marty was open-minded.”

“Whatever.” I look at Aubrey, and my stomach plummets.

“Noah?” Carson reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s forget everything and have a great time tonight. Just think about the music. How much we love it. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Come on, it’s time,” I say. “Let’s do it.” We take our places at the mikes. The room is packed.

“Hey, everyone! Thanks for making it out to the Red Room tonight!” Carson yells. The crowd whistles and cheers, which gets my adrenaline flowing. We begin with the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me.” I wanted to play it for Will—I know he’d get a kick out of it—but he’s still not here. Even so, the song turns out to be a great opening number. We’ve got the crowd’s attention. They’re all moving their heads to the beat and singing along. After that, Carson rocks out with “Flesh-Eating Zombies,” which doesn’t sound half bad, and next I play “Devil Inside My Head.”

We do a few more songs that Carson and I wrote together. Our voices are on tonight, and the harmonies sound sweet. The crowd even digs Carson’s version of “Amazing Grace.” One guy shouts, “Hallelujah!” and another one chimes in, “Amen!”

Then it’s my turn to go solo. I take one last look around the room. Still no Will. “Um, hi, everyone. I’m Noah. I’d like to do a song that I finished writing just a few days ago. It’s for a girl I know.”

Suddenly the room becomes deathly quiet. I can’t even bear to glance in Aubrey’s direction. I take a deep breath, play the intro, blow a few bars on the harmonica, and sing.

I hum the last few bars on my harmonica, and when I open my eyes, Aubrey is standing in the front row. While the crowd applauds—and I must say, they really
do
dig my song—she marches onto the stage, looks me in the eye, and says, “You
asshole
!”