Chapter 1

ALRICH

 

          Freeze frame on my house. Red Dodge pick-up in the driveway, paint peeling off of the house, and me, crawling out the second story window. If you were to zoom up on my body you’d notice my decided outerwear for the night. Electric Blue skinny jeans, a White Stripes shirt, candy cane Chuck Taylors, and a face of frustration adorned me. If you looked even closer you’d be able to see my breath in the 16 degree weather pushing at my uber curly (and I mean AFRO curly) blond hair and my girlish hips stuck in the tiny window. You would also see that my Timex watch read 11:09. I’m late for a party at the Amp and I swear my grandma heard me scream in frustration.

          Now, snap! A picture of my life. Tiny annoyances that seem to always set me off. Now, unfreeze.

          Struggling, I manage to wriggle my body though the window. A sigh of relief escapes my mouth. Finally out on my roof I feel for the hand-holds in the side of the house. Slowly and cautiously, I lower myself down the side of the house, always feeling for the next hole in the siding. Finally at the end of the hand-holds I brace myself for the 6 foot drop and push off of the house. As I hit the ground, frost covered grass crunches under my feet and I take off running down University. As I cut through the alley I listen to the music coming from the dorms of Sharpe College.       

          ‘Make your decision and don’t you dare think twice, go with some instinct along with some bad advice. This didn’t turn out the way I thought it would at all, you blame me, but some of this is still your fault.’

          Ah. Wise words from the reliable source that is Relient K. All those words do is remind me of the wonderful days that were camp.

          VAPA, or ‘va-pa’ as we called it was a visual arts and performing arts camp that I was lucky –if that’s the right word- enough to attend two years ago. I learned how to play cello better and did a little painting. This was also the very special time in my life when I found out that I am gay. What? Yes, gay. How do you know if you’re gay, one might ask. Well… duh. You like the same sex or are attracted to the same sex. I’d had ideas before camp that I might be gay but I really knew once I met David. I knew from the moment I saw him that it was love. The way his red-orange hair would flip enticed me, the way his eyes would dart back and forth when we were talking drove me crazy. He flirted with me, I flirted with him. We fooled around in the dorm rooms and stuff like that. That basically sealed the deal that I’m gay. For the entire month of camp the delusion that David and I might stay together after camp filled my head. That was until, the last dance. Even after 2 years his words still ring in my head:

          “Alrich, you’re 15, I’m 18. Next year I’ll be going off to college while you begin your sophomore year. It can’t work. It just can’t.”

         

          Even after 2 years it hurt. I hadn’t been with anyone, let alone thought about it. But, standing in front of the college I am. I want to find someone, yet not. I’m afraid. I don’t think I can take another heartbreak, but at the same time I want that feeling of love back in my heart. I laugh to myself. You’re only avoiding the inevitable.  I think. Someday it will happen. I’ll find the right guy. But, until then, I’ll have to make due with the guys I have in this time. Like the ones that are down at Amp right now. S**t! I take off running, avoiding ice patches from the last snow storm. If you wanna get technical, the 26^th snowstorm and it’s only January. The weather guys say that we’ll probably hit the all time high of snowfall for Dubuque in about a week.

          Sliding down Main street I take a few tumbles, hoping to God (or some other high divine) that they’ll let me into the club tonight. I’m without a fake ID but as long as Garrett and Colin are working then I should be fine. Nearing the club I hear (INSERT BAND NAME) playing inside the club. The cement is thumping under my feet. I make a sharp stop and walk up to the opening of the club. Luckily Garrett  is working the door and I pass under his watchful (and very beautiful) eyes into the club. The lights were turned down really low in the club but the brightly lit stage blinded me. I slowly walk farther into the club, watching the ground for stray beer bottles. My Chuck Taylors stick to the gummy floor as I begin to jump to an upbeat song.

          I make eye contact with Kurt, the bands lead singer, and he smiles brightly. Kurt isn’t gay, mind you. He’s got a girlfriend. We’ve been best buddies since fourth grade. He was actually the one I came out to. The band’s song comes to a screeching halt and Kurt takes the mike from the stand and lets a scream of joy out.        

          “Heyo! Let’s give a round of applause to my best friend Alrich, who’s escaped from his grandmother’s house all the way up on University to come down tonight!” He screams into the mike, pointing at me. People turn to where he is pointing and cheer to me.

          “Screw you Kurt!” I yell, laughing. “Keep playing. I mean, hey! Isn’t that what we’re here for?” People yell in agreement and Kurt nods at the band and begins to play a slow song, written by their drummer, Grant. Feeling the normal, being left-out feeling I usually feel during slow songs I back out of the pit and collide with a red haired guy.

          “Watch where you’re f*****g going.” He says before turning to walk away. I stay there silent because although he didn’t know who I am, I know who he is. That right there, ladies and gentlemen, is David Terrot in the flesh. We had run into each other in the past and he hadn’t recognized me. I had chosen not to speak to him. Every other time I had gone home and cried, thinking about the times at camp, and how much I still loved him. This time, I just began to laugh. I realize now how much of a dick he was and is today. I can’t believe I dated that loser. Finally out of the group of slow dancing lovers, I decide to go to the bar. Hopefully Colin is working so I can get a beer. But, no. He’s not. Della, one of my only girl friends stands at the bar. An older guy, maybe about thirty, sits at the bar gazing at her, and but the looks of it, hitting on her. She sees me and excuses herself, coming to help me.

          “Oh, God! Thank you for saving me from that creep. You should of heard the way he was trying to get me to come back to the Holiday Inn with him. So sleazy.” She says stopping for a breath.

          “How the hell are you working here?” I ask her. It’s a valid question. She’s only 17. She can’t serve alcohol yet. She looks at me, puzzled. Then she laughs.

          “I’m not.” She says leaning in closer. “I found this apron in the pit and decided to get a little free booze.” She’s telling me. I laugh.

          “Great idea,” I applaud her, still laughing. “Well, if you’re serving free beer, I’ll take one.” I tell her, sitting down next to the creep Della mentioned earlier. He stares at me for a minute. Della agrees and goes to the back to find the cooler.

          “Is that your girlfriend?” the creep asks me, his thick southern drawl slurred.  I think for a minute, deciding that maybe saying yes will get him away from Della for the night.

          “Yeah, sure is.” I lie.

          “Sorry, boy, but I highly doubt it. You’re a little f*g, ain’t ya? Well, how about both of you come back to the Holiday with me and we can live it up?” He says smiling a smile that’s missing a few teeth. I grimace.

          “Uh, no. Sorry we’re strictly devoted to one another.” And with this I get up, grab my beer from Della, warn her about the guy and leave the Amp, beer in hand.

***

          “Alrich. Alrich Grayson! Get up!” My grandmother is screaming in my ear. I turn over, facing her, and yawn. I open my eyes to look around my room. My black and white walls hurt my eyes to look at. I close my eyes and turn back over, forcing my head under the covers. My grandma clearly doesn’t get the hint. “It’s not Saturday, Alrich. It’s Thursday if you didn’t know. You have orchestra and a lesson today so get up and pack up your cello.” She says leaving my room. I groan softly. I get up shoving my feet into my black, ripped Chucks, turned slippers, and shuffle to the other side of my room to feed my fish.

          “Good morning Gustavo.” I say to my fish. I take the fish food in my hand and shake it over the tank. The little flakes stay on the top of the water until Gustavo rushes up to get them. I love my goldfish. He’s old as dirt though. I walk to my dresser and plunge my hand into one of the drawers. I come out with my chartreuse flared pants. Next drawer over produces a grey Honors Orchestra tee. Luck of the draw I guess. I finish the outfit up with a necklace with a rainbow heart pendant.

          Dressed, and ready to go I walk out of my room and laugh to myself about the night before. God, that guy was a creep. I hope Della made it out okay. I grab my bag and my case and loudly stomp down stairs to choke down some of my grandma’s grotesque cooking before school. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of burning sausage and continue down the stairs. My grandma is bent over the stairs, watching the eggs burn, or as she says “cook just a bit longer”. I sit down at the table and smile as my grandma serves up the just edible food.

          “Thanks grandma.” I say before beginning to eat. I suppress a gag. “Delicious as always.” I say, a faker than Anna Nicole’s b***s smile on my face. The clock strikes 7 o’clock and I’m off. I pick up my case and bag, kiss my grandma on the cheek and walk out the door to my beat-up old red Dodge truck. I slide my cello into the back and sit in the front seat. I blink several times and start the truck, hoping it with start. It does.

          “Thank you God.” I state as I drive down the road to Lawrence High School. I observe the kids walking to school, the pharmacy, the college kids walking to their classes at Sharpe. I sit at the light for a minute at the stop before deciding to just turn right. Driving up the road to LHS I stop behind the seemingly, never ending cluster f**k of cars. Finally I get to the parking lot and unload my cello before walking in. Mike, our student body president waves to me. I wave back. Continuing down the hall to the A wing I run into Della. Her face lights up and she runs over to me laughing. Her strawberry blond hair is straightened today and her blue eyes are dancing.

          “So that guy totally got arrested last night!” she screams into my right ear. “Somebody heard him trying to solicit sex from you,” People are starting to stare. “so they called the cops. Turned out that guy was like the head of some oil company down in Texas!” I’m of course laughing my a*s off in the middle of the hall, cello in hand, by this time.

          “Well,” I start, “he did sound southern. Oh, by the way… do you have any food? Grandma made sausage today. I think she burned it a little more than usual. Just for me.” I say with a smile. I didn’t even need to ask. She sets her backpack down and pulls out a pop-tart. “Thank you, thank you.” I say, munching on the blueberry goodness of the pop-tart.

          “No problem. You know I always bring extra food.” She tells me walking ahead. I wave to Della before beginning my own trek to the 1^st floor. Right on time, the bell rings and I walk to the first set of doors where I carefully get my cello down the stairs and push through the double doors into the music hallway. It’s called this for one specific reason: It’s never quiet. It’s not all music though. You can sometimes hear people rehearsing for plays too. I take a left turn into the small side hallway where I open the doors into the cubby room. This is where my usual group of friends sit. Kurt waves and his girlfriend, Bev, does too. Brandon nods and Zeke mumbles a quiet “hello.” They’re not the only people in the cubby though… Haley is too. Who? Haley Denton. She sits, bent over her laptop, no doubt writing a bogus article for the newspaper. She looks up, scowls and then looks back to her computer. We’ve never really gotten along. She’s, sadly, my stand partner in orchestra. Meaning I get to sit next to her every day, for 43 minutes, and she gets to shove her opinions down my throat about how abortion is a horrible thing and everyone should be pro-life and blah, de blah, de blah. And every day it gets worse, and worse. She’s a freshman, I’m a senior and she’s pretty damn good. I’m first chair and she’s second. Mr. Washburn says that that hasn’t happened in ten years. Being that she’s so high and mighty on the cellist’s food chain, she regularly rubs it in the other’s faces. I remember one time when she looked Zeke in the eye and said: “It’s no wonder you got 5^th chair, you can’t play worth a damn.” When she very well knew that of there was a face-off he’d win. She just had a good chair audition.

          Right now, leaning over her laptop, she looked cold as ever. Her dark blue eyes focused on the task at hand and her hands swiftly typing her latest article to trash somebody’s reputation. Her chosen outfit for the day is this: a cobalt blue jersey dress with a silver belt set diagonally on her thin hips along with matching silver ballet flats. Her brown hair, like always, was let down and straightened. Bitter, bitter, Haley.

          I slam the cubby door shut. I take one of the empty chairs and pull it towards me. Sitting down, I run the rosin on the bow and pluck my strings so I don’t have to tune later. The D string is a little off, but oh well.

          “Is that what you call a C string? Sounds more like a D to me.” She says, eyebrows raised. I look at her with the iciest stare that I can manage.

          “It is a D string, you dumb s**t.” I tell her coldly. “And you call yourself a cellist.” I laugh to myself before turning to Zeke. “So, Zeke, what’s going on?” I ask him loudly. “I hear you’re playing in the LA Youth Philharmonic this summer. How’s that going to be?” I say this as loudly as possible, making sure Haley hears it. Zeke is too nice to mention the fact that he’s playing with one of the best youth orchestras in the country this summer… so I’ll gladly do it for him. Haley hates the fact that he’s going and he’s only a 5^th chair. She still doesn’t get the fact that he is way better than her. As Zeke tells me all about what he’ll spend his summer doing, Haley turns red and gets up, slamming her laptop shut. Her friend quickly follows. Well. Off to orchestra then.

           I walk into the orchestra room, cello in hand and look to my row. It’s not Haley sitting in the chair next to mine. In fact, it’s a guy. He’s got a cello in his hand and sits back lazily. Haley stands behind him, mouth open wide. She’s stuttering some unintelligent language when I sit down.

          “B-but th-that’s m-my spot!” she stammers. The new boy looks at her, looks at me, and sighs.

          “Look here, little one. I didn’t pick this seat okay, the guy up there did.” He says pointing to Mr. Washburn. She stomps off, looking as though she’s going to cry and I look at the boy in amazement.

          “You’re my hero… Who are you?” I ask.

          “Well, I’m Paul… and I’m new.”

          I honestly think I might have stopped breathing. Seriously! He was just so, honest to God, swear that it’s true, amazingly gorgeous. His eyes are the stormiest grey I’ve ever seen and it makes his complexion look so much lighter. His nose is the most perfectly straight nose I’ve ever seen and I try hard not to stare at it for too long before moving onto his hair. It’s a dark, almost black-natural, unlike mine- and it looks so soft, I almost dare to reach out and run my hand through it. And his mouth. Right now it’s twisted up in a little crooked smile. His pure Hollister and American Eagle wardrobe fits him perfectly. The dark Diesel jeans he’s adorned with go perfectly with his brown and black stripped sweater. His grey eyes are twinkling. But soon enough that’s gone and he’s staring at me with a look of utter confusion.

          “Oh, uh, sorry.” I stutter. “I’m Alrich.” I say extending my hand. Paul looks at it for a moment before shaking it lightly.

          “Alrich… is that Swedish?” he asks. I run the answer through my head, sort of like a spell check, before saying:

          “No, it’s, uh German. It means leader.” I say with a snicker. Paul looks at me funny.

          “What’s with the laughing?” he asks, a look of almost confusion on his face.

          “Nothing, it’s just, I can’t even lead my own life, let alone people.” I say truthfully. He looks at me for a few seconds and asks me my favorite question.

          “What’s with that girl just now?” I laugh and this time so does he. 

          “How much time ya got?” I ask him, he smiles a crooked smile, and my heart turns to mush. He nods at me. “Well, she’s uptight, mean, cold, annoying, and a freshman. Basically everything I hate in someone piled together to make a super annoying person pie.” I tell him.

          “What’s wrong with being a freshman?” he asks. “I’m a sophomore…Got anything against sophomores?” I sigh. Adorable. Wait. He’s a sophmore? Holy s**t. Back off Alrich, back off. That’s like jailbait for me in a couple of months. I crack a smile.

          “Uh, nothing, it’s just you don’t really look like a sophomore. You’re uh, pretty tall.” Not really. Bad excuse. He’s as tall as me. “What I mean is you’re as tall as me and I guess I put you at my level for that.” I tell him. He nods. “So did you have a chair audition?” I ask. He nods. Wow, bigger talker, this Paul guy. “What’d you play?” I ask him and he finally talks.

          “I played the Egmont Overture by Beethoven.” Again my heart melts. “I really love the part after the Allegro.” He tells me. After his last word, Mr. Washburn taps his baton on the conductor’s stand.        

          “Hello everyone!” He yells. People detach from their conversations and start to pay attention. “We’re not going to play today, obviously.” We only have 10 minutes left. “So when I’m done talking put your instruments back in the cubbies. Now, I have one announcement. Today we welcome a new cellist to the A wing. Paul Moore! He just transferred here from New Jersey. He also beat Haley in a chair challenge!” he tells us, and everyone hoots and hollers. Haley’s pouting right now. The bell is ringing and people are shifting all around me. Mr. Washburn is suddenly at my side.

          “Show Paul where the cubbies are after he takes his test,” he says gesturing to the long essay test Paul’s currently taking on music theory and harmony.

          “All right. No problem. I will, however need a pass to my next class.” I tell him. He nods and scribbles something into my passbook. With a scratching sound that’s Paul’s signature he hands his test to Mr. Washburn and picks up his cello.        

          “So what are ‘cubbies’?” he asks. I look at him with a potentially odd stare before answering his slightly odd question.

          “It’s where we store out instruments.” I tell him and he nods. We’re walking down the hall to the cubby room when Haley appears around the corner.

          “You must think you’re so great.” She’s telling Paul. She scoots closer and gets up in his face. “It was a lucky challenge. That’s all it was. So get over your haughtiness. I’ll challenge you again next month.” With this she pivots on her heals and stomps off. Awkward silence. I look over at Paul and his mouth is twisted up into a smile and we began to laugh. We are hunched over, cellos in hand, laughing so hard we’re crying when Kurt comes out of the band room and looks at us.

          “What’s so funny guys?” he asks. I tell him the whole story, how Paul’s new, how Haley feels threatened and he, too, begins to laugh. We sit there laughing until Mrs. Miller, the band director comes out and yells at us.

          “Get back to your classes!” she screamed in her smoker’s voice, which makes us laugh even harder. She gives up and leaves.

          “Hey Kurt,” I plunge my hand into my pocket to find a 5 dollar bill. “Snack shack?” I ask. Kurt gives me an affirmative nod and Paul looks at me confused.

          “Snack Shack?” he asks. Kurt and I smile, and Paul does too.

          “I’m hungry.”

 

 

Author's Note

Hey everyone! I'm Hallie. I'm an intermediate writer who wants suggestions! Please, criticize, suggest, and speak your mind!