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musician in a creepy old house with a rusty baby buggy rotting away on the front lawn. It freaks me out. So I’m putting in some real grunt work—probably the hardest I’ve worked at school since Mom died.
    It’s extra tough hanging in at school, because all week I’m thinking about the party on Saturday night. It’s the band’s first gig, so it’s a big deal. I asked Jennifer to come, and right away she said yes. She seemed happy. It’s going pretty well between us. She’s the first girlfriend I’ve ever had. I mean, I think she’s my girlfriend. And Jason’s coming too.
    To get ready for the gig, the band is practicing three times this week: Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. Primal Thunk is getting tight. Me and the drummer are really locking in well, sounding like a unit. Like a machine. The music is all fast metal: thunka-thunka- thunka-thunk . I’m not sure if metal’s my favorite thing, but it’s fun to play in a band. It’s a rush, you know. I can’t compare it to anything. Maybe it’s like white-water rafting, when a crew of your buddies zooms down the rushing river, all paddling together. I don’t know. I’ve never done that. But that’s how it feels.
    We’re supposed to get to the party house at 8:00 on Saturday night to set up our gear. Set up our gear . I like the sound of that—kind of professional.
    Saturday finally rolls around. Dad and I have supper together. And right off, between bites of Shake’n Bake chicken and mashed potato, he starts lecturing me about the party.
    “Duncan, exactly what kind of gathering is this going to be?” he says.
    “I dunno,” I say, spearing a piece of broccoli with my fork. “A party-party.”
    “Don’t get fresh with me. You know, if I don’t like the sound of this, you can just stay at home.”
    Dad’s frowning. Jesus.
    “It’s just a regular party. With regular people. And my band’s going to play at it. Jennifer’s coming. So’s Jason.”
    He doesn’t say anything, like he’s mulling it over. I know Dad’s thinking if Jason’s there, it’s probably okay. He likes Jason because he’s a good student. Also, Dad’s met Jennifer and he likes her too. He said she’s polite and doesn’t wear too much makeup. Which I guess is true.
    “Well,” he says after a moment, “just be careful. No drinking.”
    “Okay,” I say.
    “And no drugs.”
    I mumble under my breath.
    “What was that?” says Dad.
    “Nothing.”
    After dinner I run upstairs to dress for the party. I’m going to wear my rocker jean jacket. I ripped off that stupid Metallica patch after the drummer bugged me about it. No big deal. Heck, I don’t even like Metallica.
    Looking at myself in the mirror, I wonder if I even look like a guy in a rock band. My hair’s still pretty short. And my face is kinda young-looking. My cheeks are all rosy and healthy like. Crap. I muss up my hair so it’s all jagged. Better, I guess. Can’t tell.
    I grab my bass and head downstairs. Terry’s come by—she’s sitting on the couch with Dad. They’re watching some stupid animal show on TV . It’s about all these little pathetic-looking turtles making a beeline down the beach and then swimming in the waves.
    “Hey, you,” says Terry. “Going somewhere?”
    “It’s our first gig. You know, Primal Thunk.” I grin. It sounds cool to say that.
    Dad looks over at me.
    “Duncan, go comb your hair. You look like you just rolled out of bed,” he says.
    I put my hand to my hair. It’s all stiff and spiky because I put gel on to keep it in place.
    “Dad, it’s supposed to look like this.”
    “Duncan. I’m not kidding. You look like a mess. You go upstairs and comb your hair.”
    “No,” I say.
    There’s a silence of, like, five seconds. It’s a funny thing, but five seconds seems like an awfully long time when people are mad at each other and all. It seems like five hours. I’ve never said no to Dad before. Not directly. There are butterflies in my stomach.
    “Oh, hon,