Read The Album: Book One for Free Online

and have a few beers—
    “Wanna make out?”
    Before I can answer, Darcy drags me to the backseat of a Geo Tracker. She drapes her arms on top of my shoulders and mimics my surprised face. I shake my head in disbelief while placing my hands on her waist.
    “Sure, darlin’.” I shrug.
    That’s what’s great about America – the Fourth of July is a celebration for a country full of dreamers. A place where resiliency overpowers fear . . . picket fences, barbecues, television, beer, drunk girls, fireworks . . . there’s no place I’d rather be.

Adam

“The truth is overrated.”
    ~Paul Westerberg, THE REPLACEMENTS

July 4, 1996
Toronto, Canada
8:58 p.m.
    “D O YOU EVEN KNOW where you’re going, dickhead?” Tango shouts from the backseat. As if being the designated driver for the night wasn’t bad enough, I’ve listened to my buddies, Tango and Jeff, fight like twelve-year-old girls over the radio for the past two hours. A normal drive from Buffalo to Toronto can be quick and painless, but these two drunk fuckers have made it unbearable.
    “Yep, ’cause I’ve been to your cousin’s cousin’s friend’s house a dozen times. How about you put away the 40 and give me directions? Jesus, Tango – you’re not fucking Ice Cube,” I taunt.
    Jeff lights a cigarette and switches the radio to a scratchy country station. “Yeah Tango, you piece of shit – tell Adam where to take us. Amarillo by mornin’ .” Jeff rolls down the window and tosses his beer can at one of the street signs.
    “What the hell, Jeff? You can’t just litter in another country – we’ll be exported or exploited or whatever,” Tango barks.
    “T, you’re a fucking idiot. Do I turn here – Dwyer Street?” I ask, signaling left before he answers.
    Tango leans forward and perches his head on my seat, quickly changing the radio and slapping the back of Jeff’s head. “Country music is for hicks that litter. Turn left.”
    Back at the lake, it was a pretty normal Fourth of July. We were having a great time barbecuing and enjoying the cool weather. My entire senior class was piled around a bonfire, celebrating our last hoorah together before going our separate ways. The entire day had been spent flirting with girls and drinking beers on the dock – I was content. But then Tango opened his mouth.
    “Let’s go to a house party in Canada,” he said.
    “Canadian chicks are hot,” he said.
    “It’s a rite of passage.” He lied.
    I’ve known Tango since kindergarten and he’s only been right about two things: Mr. Belvedere was better than Benson , and girls with tongue rings are easy.
    “Listen you asshole, there better be some smokin’ girls at this party or I’m gonna—”
    “What, Jeff? Whatcha gonna do, Big Perm?” Tango asks as he flicks Jeff’s ear. They start a slapping match, so I pull over to stop the car.
    “I swear to God, I will physically yank you assholes from my car and leave you in Toronto. I could be screwing Samantha on a paddle boat right now, but instead, I’m in a car with two butt fuckers that need to grow up.”
    “Yeah, Tango – grow up,” Jeff whines.
    I reach across the car and punch Jeff in the shoulder.
    “Man that fool just playin’ man, I ain’t trippin’,” Tango laughs.
    I let out an amused sigh and start the car. “Can we just get to this party?”
    “Hell yeah! But I’m gonna get you high today,” Tango starts.
    Jeff snorts as we continue in unison. “’Cause it’s Friday; you ain’t got no job . . . and you ain’t got shit to do.”
    “For reals, playas! There it is – that house on the right with all the fly honeys.”
    I park three houses down from the party and shove my beeper into my pocket. The spare key comes in handy for times like this, so I carefully hide my keys under the visor and place my spare in my wallet.
    “Yo, Adam, wait up.” Tango puts his arms around me as we walk toward the house. “Don’t go to the bathroom – I mean, don’t go with