Who Put This Song On? Read online

  “Thanks so much, dude.”

  “For sure. My pleasure.” He exhales and lays his body like a paper doll on the blanket, and I lay back next to him. “That’s better. So, let’s talk resolutions.”

  “Yes. How’s yours going?”

  “Uh, it’s not? I don’t know, I was super fired up last week, but the truth is I have no plan. It’s like I’m trapped in this tiny world of my brain and I can’t get out. That’s why David and I spend so much time goofing off and we don’t even have a band name.”

  “Aw,” I croon. “Or look at it this way—you have many band names. Infinite possibilities!” I chuckle half-heartedly and run a hand through the grass. “I know what you mean, though, about being trapped in your own brain, thinking too much.”

  “It sucks,” he sighs, looking up at the periwinkle sky. “And it’s not just that. I’m going to college next fall—wherever I go—but I just don’t want to wait that long to get started.”

  “On what? You mean studying, or working?”

  “No—just living. Sorry I’m not making sense. Erase that.” He swats at his forehead.

  “Crazy talk.”

  “No! That completely makes sense. I feel that way too, for sure—like I want to just grow into myself already, to know who that person is and what she’s all about.” (I always talk so much with my hands. That’s a thing I know about myself.) “I just don’t have the freedom to do that right now. So, yeah, trapped.”

  He hums a little as he sighs. He smells like salt and dryer sheets. He turns his face to mine, but clumsily. (That’s a hundred percent not this movie.) “Well, what is it that you’re passionate about?”

  “Um, writing, I guess.” Something flies into my mouth. Of course, I spit it out loudly, sticking my fingers up to my lips. Sean snickers. “Also—” A fly buzzes around me and I try to dodge it, cursing. (I’m very good at dates.)

  Sean is cracking up now and I laugh too, sitting up and collecting myself.

  “Also, the truth.”

  “Ah, the truth. That old rascal.”

  “Man, you’re so lucky you go to public school. Vista is an alternate universe. We’re completely cut off from reality.”

  For a minute I think I’m getting chilly and rub my arms, but the weather hasn’t changed.

  “I have a cousin that goes there,” he offers. “She’s a freshman. Dude, she really is in her own world. I feel like all she does is go to youth group. It’s dope that she’s so passionate, but sometimes when I hear her talk I worry that she’s passionate about the wrong thing. You know what I mean?”

  “God, totally. It’s kinda scary. Like, why am I the freak, just because I’m not really sure what happens when we die?”

  “Well, first of all, we become dogs, obviously!”

  I can’t help it—I get the giggles, and Sean, trying to keep a straight face, eventually erupts in laughter too. I laugh so hard my sides start aching—about the joke, but also about everything. It’s weird to feel so close to someone so fast, like we just met and decided we’d be besties.

  “But, all right, second.” He elbows warmly. “Do you really think you’re going to hell?”

  “I…I don’t know.” I drop my head. “I’m not perfect.”

  “Well, you know, no one—”

  “No one’s perfect, I know, I know.”

  “No, I was gonna say, no one cool goes to heaven. You can’t do anything fun there.”

  “Right! So, hell, I guess.”

  “To hell!” he shouts, wielding an imaginary goblet.

  “To hell.” I jut my raised fist into the bright sweet center of every orange in California. “To the church of raising hell!”

  “Oh, shit!” Sean gasps wildly, and I smile, prouder of myself than anyone in their right mind would be, like I just gave birth to an icon.

  “I know. That is an incredible fucking band name and you should definitely use it and give me credit, obviously.”

  MANIC PANIC

  I’d forgotten my ringtone was “Kool Thing” by Sonic Youth. Man, I love that song.

  “Is that your phone?” We’re standing by a tree examining our freshly picked fruits for bugs. Sean darts over to feel around the blanket. “Catch.”

  (I obviously don’t, but whatever.)

  It’s Meg calling, and I think about not answering, but I check myself. “Yo dude.”

  I can barely understand her. She’s doing that kind of breathless crying, choking out tears and blubbering. Her voice is erratic and wild and it’s terrifying.

  “Ugh…I don’t know…Laura…it’s not fair…I wasn’t…I don’t know what to do.”

  “Meg, slow down, calm down.” I widen my eyes and shrug at Sean’s look of earnest concern. I have no idea what’s going on.

  Meg takes a deep inhale and whimpers.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, but before she can answer, I say, “Where are you?” because she definitely needs me right now.

  “My dad’s. Can you come over?”

  “Sure, yeah. I’m on my way. Take deep breaths and stay put.”

  This seems serious. I know about serious. I just didn’t have anyone to call in my moment, and I desperately wish I had.

  I hang up the phone, shaking my head wildly, and look longingly at Sean. “I’m so sorry. That was my best friend, I don’t know what’s wrong…” I start gathering my stuff, collecting myself. “Something’s going on, I was having so much fun, but—”

  “Say no more. I’ll drive.”

  * * *

  —

  Sean Santos-Orenstein has the most normal car in the world, a Camry or something, and it’s eerily clean. It’s kind of sweet—I can’t help sneaking smirks at him as I navigate to Meg’s dad’s. When we turn onto the rural street, it’s already darkening, and Meg’s in the driveway throwing a bunch of stuff into the trunk of her car, all the doors open and Metallica playing from the stereo.

  “Oh no,” I say as Sean parks across the street.

  He grimaces, “Is that Metallica?”

  “Meg listening to Metallica is a Bad Sign, Sean. She lets Metallica speak on behalf of all of her aggression.” I close my eyes and inhale as I open the car door.

  “Uh,” he softly lays a hand on my knee then quickly pulls it back, “I’ll just wait right here. You go take care of your girl. Call me if you need anything?”

  “Thanks.” I squeeze his shoulder and nod with a smile as I get out of the car.

  Speed-walking across the street, I foolishly look both ways even though it’s completely deserted. In front of a corner house are two broken tricycles and, inexplicably, a covered wagon. It’s Klan country out here, for sure. As much as I’ve been raised to love and desire whiteness, I can’t get down with “hick” culture, even ironically. People just love forgiving racism because they like music or values or whatever.

  Meg turns around to me, holding a box of Manic Panic hair dye, looking absolutely crazed.

  “Dude!” I rush at her. “Stop. Wait, what is going on? Breathe. Actually, I’m gonna breathe too, I don’t even know why.” I laugh because what is even going on.

  Meg does one of those cry-hiccups, her shoulders heaving up and down. She puts the hair dye in her car and turns it off. Without the Metallica, the night is quiet and still—only crickets sing in the air.

  “Can I have a cigarette?” Meg finally says, and shivers a little as she shakes her head. “Effing bullshit.”

  She doesn’t smoke, but it wasn’t a question. “Here. Did something happen?”

  She only sighs in response, and I light our cigarettes.

  “Start at the beginning,” I say, steering us to the curb. We squat down and fold over into our laps, tip our heads into each other. We just sit and smoke and stay quiet.

  “I hate my parents,” Meg groans after a whil
e, kicking her pointy-toe Target flats at the pavement.

  I scrunch my face sympathetically.

  “So, apparently I’m obligated to go to Bible college. My parents won’t pay for it otherwise.” I gasp as she goes on. “All their fighting over the years, and the one thing they definitely agree on is making my life a nightmare.”

  I shake my head and suck my teeth. With sudden choreography, Meg stands up from the curb, clasping her hands together, announces, “I have to tell you something,” and sits back down on the curb next to me, her face a landscape of worry.

  “You know how you said I was all intense about the PSATs and stuff?”

  “Meg, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, listen…I was taking Adderall. Like, ‘recreationally’ or however they say it.” She makes air quotes, nervously bobbing her head.

  “Oh,” I breathe, befuddled. “Plot twist.”

  “I know. It was actually my prescription, from the time I went to the hospital before. I actually did see a shrink then, just once, and he gave me a prescription. I went off it because it made me feel all coked out. But then I started taking it to study….”

  “Dang. Jesus, Meg,” I exhale, feeling lost. “You mean…a lot? Like that episode of Saved by the Bell with Jessie and the caffeine pills?”

  “Kind of a lot, yeah,” she admits with a bowed head. “But that’s over. I have one left and I’m saving it for babysitting.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” she sighs. “I was feeling so…out of control…you know?” she squeaks, turning to me. I put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze a hug. “I, like, made a little schedule, like one of Kelly Kline’s anal spreadsheets. I thought if I studied for this many more hours, I could raise my GPA this many percentage points. Whatever, it was stupid.”

  “Hey.” I turn to look her in the eye. “It wasn’t stupid. You’re not stupid. Everyone gets overwhelmed like that sometimes.”

  I have good advice—I should listen to it.

  “Yeah. That’s true.” She smiles sadly. “But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not like I’m applying to any big colleges. They said I’m obligated to Bible college for my first year. If I don’t like it, tough shit, and I can transfer when I can pay my own way.”

  “Jeez. That’s really harsh.”

  “That’s what she said tonight, tough shit,” she mocks her stepmom in a bitchy voice. “I just, like, lost it. I said Fuck you. I never, ever say Fuck you.”

  “Oh, babe, I’m so sorry,” I commiserate, but I have to smile imagining it, Meg slurring, “Fuuuuck youuu,” like that scene in SLC Punk!

  “I just think,” she goes on, looking straight ahead in the dark, “I’m just so sick of all their rules. I just want to live my own, simple, boring little life—is that so much to ask?”

  When her tears start to fall, mine come, too. I gather her in my arms and we drape ourselves around each other, and I can feel how small she is, like she could snap in pieces. We have needed to do this for so long.

  As Meg pulls away, she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Jeez, we have so many problems.”

  I laugh because I know my lines. “Honestly, dude? It could be worse. It’s not great, for sure, but really—you’ll get through it. We will.” I squeeze her shoulder. “I should probably go check on Sean.” I nod toward his Camry.

  Meg gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. “I totally forgot about your non-date! I’m sorry, I wasn’t even thinking when I called….”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” I snicker. “He’s probably listening to a podcast or something like that.” I stretch to my feet and help Meg up; we both swat at “nature” on our butts.

  “But hey,” I speak carefully, “I really think you should go talk to someone. I mean, it can’t hurt, right? You probably just didn’t have a good one before.”

  “Eh, I don’t know if it’s for me.” She says it glibly, like she’s talking about seeing a superhero movie. It stings but doesn’t leave a mark.

  “I know it seems that way, but I still think you should try therapy. My lady is hella corny, I’m just warning you, but I can get you her number if you want. I just…Maybe it will help, to work some stuff out.”

  “I won’t go off the rails again, I promise. Not everybody needs therapy forever, you know,” she concludes. Her words are neat and precise. “Sometimes people just bounce back from things and move on.”

  I open my mouth but close it. My body absorbs the words like a sponge.

  “No offense or anything.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I start in Sean’s direction, muttering, “Yeah, I know, I know. Yeah. No big deal.”

  I need to switch from one mask to another. I need a version of myself that feels different.

  “Oh, and of course, her name is Susan.” I roll my eyes at Meg with a broad, self-deprecating smile.

  “Obviously.” She grins. “Such a name for a therapist. I think the one I had when I was a kid was named Martha.”

  I cackle and knock on Sean’s window. I can make out the shape of him leaned back in the front seat, earbuds in and fingers laced over his chest. Meg and I titter as he startles and hurriedly gets out of the car.

  “Hi, hey.” He reaches out his hand to Meg. “I’m Sean.”

  “Meg, Sean. Sean, my BFF, Meg.” I grin. They shake hands and Meg cracks up loudly at the formality.

  “Everything okay? How we doing?” Sean sidles over and lightly taps my back. I look up at him, and he smiles back like Meg’s not even there. It’s amazing. I feel safe.

  I squeeze Meg’s hand. “What are you gonna do?”

  “Oh, I’m good. I’m gonna go to my mom’s for the night.”

  “Word. Are you sure? After we get my car, I can meet you somewhere?”

  “David just texted that he’s at Coco’s,” Sean offers, a temptress, climbing back into the front seat.

  “Aw, thanks, no, you guys go. Tell darling David Santos I love him. Thank you so much for coming.” She looks at me. “I promise, I’m gonna get out of this dumb city before I go crazy.”

  I press my hands into my best friend’s shoulders and look her in the eye.

  “Congratulations. One day this will all just be an anecdote.”

  CORRESPONDENCE BOTH DIGITAL AND ORIGAMIED

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected], [email protected]

  Subject: Bam!

  Here’s the notes I typed up from our “meeting” the other night at Coco’s. Good stuff. Mediocre pie. Morgan, I know you were just joking but I seriously think you should do the [REDACTED] thing. Will you send the names of the books you mentioned?

  David, you talk to Matty? He is psyched about the name HOW TO RAISE HELL. You’re right, we should just commit.

  here’s to punk and protest,

  s

  Hey,

  How are you? Like, for real? Saturday night was really scary, and not just seeing you that way but the fact that I had no idea. I feel bad that you didn’t think you could talk to me about how much you were struggling. Maybe I can’t even talk. I’ve definitely made my own bad choices, probably as recently as this morning. I’ve been through some really dark and scary stuff.

  Ugh, I just wish everything could be simple for us. I wish every day were just picking oranges in Prospect and giggling about crazy recipes for tacos. Dancing to Le Tigre. Making “margaritas” with Squirt and tequila.

  If nothing else, can we just pinky promise to look out for each other, no matter what?

  Sean said this cute thing in the car after we left your dad’s, about friendship. He said, “Sometimes friends are just people who aren’t weirded out by looking at you.” I don’t know, I thought it was kinda deep. Not to be mooshy, but, you know. Anyway, Gov is almost ov
er.

  loveeeeee you loverrrr

  hello my lover!

  I’m better, yeah. I’m staying at my mom’s and we had several long family “discussions” about my many “issues.” They’re making me go to church every week now, and babysit every Sunday too, and I’m getting a therapist. You were right. I guess that’s all I wanted to say about that.

  I’m not even grounded, probably because I only ever really end up at your house, anyway.

  I’m looking forward to having a shrink actually. Stuff is hard, man. In conclusion, I’m not gonna become a druggie. And now Bible college has been “opened back up for discussion.”

  Thanks for coming and watching me freak out. It really did help. I think I didn’t even realize how out of control I was. Mostly it’s just embarrassing that I was so crazed about the PSATs. Everyone knows no one looks at those. Because they’re PRACTICE. So dumb.

  Sean is…cute! Is that a thing now? What about David? It kinda works, though.

  I have a new crush, but I’ll save it for the Notebook, because if I don’t, James will FREAK OUT.

  What are you doing Friday? We should watch movies after school and paint our nails, or some dumb girlie stuff like that.

  love ME(g)

  <3 (still so bad at drawing hearts)

  THE BLACK NOTEBOOK

  The plan

  Wake up early, even before [REDACTED]—ridiculously early, like 5. So nervous-excited, I probably won’t sleep, anyway. COFFEE. Prep. Finally figured out how to get into [REDACTED] before [REDACTED]. During any given season, some sports team or another wakes up at the butt crack of dawn for training—in my opinion, a small price to pay for small-town popularity and school-wide dominance. I’ll just sneak in through [REDACTED]—enduring the [REDACTED] smell will be my penance. Set up across from [REDACTED]. Wait. No one will know anything about the [REDACTED] or how they actually started, because not even I did, and I’m black (surprise!). They’ll all be scratching their heads at the [REDACTED]. It’s kind of like History Day, when all through the school the seniors have booths where they act out historical moments—Nazi Germany, Alabama in the 50s, Women Suffragettes. But this time we don’t have to all awkwardly pretend the black kids aren’t there.