McFall Read online

Damn, Ronnie’s getting stonewalled hard. What kind of game is she playing?

  “Hi, Melanie,” Bobby said, and then looked past her. “Hi, Brett. Where’s Amy?”

  “Amy?” Brett looked confused, which seemed to be his perpetual state.

  “Yeah. Amy Extine. I heard you were bringing her the dance.”

  Melanie turned to Brett. “What’s all this about Amy?”

  Brett waved toward a gaggle of seniors gathered near the stands, little more than silhouettes underneath the dim lighting. “She’s over there somewhere. Like I care.”

  Melanie ignored Brett and grabbed Bobby by the wrist. “Come on. I need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have time,” Bobby said. “We’re about to crank up the next set.”

  “This is important.”

  “So’s the band.”

  “You better do it, Bobby,” Ronnie said, and Bobby wondered what was going on. He suspected, but this wasn’t the right time for such drama.

  “Okay, you got two minutes,” Bobby said. “Hey, Brett, why don’t you go round us up some Sprites?”

  “Bite me,” Brett said, nodding toward Ronnie. “Why don’t you get your little groupie to do it?”

  Bobby’s fists balled. He’d never liked Brett, even though they’d played on the football team together. Not only was the guy rich, he had one of those stupid swooping Beiber hairdos that just cried out to be yanked off his skull. But Bobby couldn’t get in a showdown here. If Gladstone kicked them both out, The Diggers would have to do an acoustic set, virtually guaranteeing a place on the school’s invisible Wall of Shame.

  “Say hello to Amy for me,” Bobby said to Brett, letting Melanie lead him to one of the dark corners near the restrooms, where the stands offered a little privacy. The gym was cavernous and open, making it difficult for anyone to evade the all-seeing eyes of Gladstone and his administrative goon squad, but as long as they didn’t engage in serious making out or smoking, they’d be left alone.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Melanie asked, getting in his face.

  “Whoa, whoa. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You almost died in a wreck, and you didn’t even bother to call me. Even after I left all those messages with your mom.”

  “I didn’t get any messages,” Bobby said. “I’ve been kind of busy today, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “That’s just like you,” Melanie said. “Always thinking of yourself.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about anybody,” Bobby said.

  “Especially not me.”

  Two girls walked by holding hands, and one of them giggled at Melanie’s outburst. The other muttered “Dairy Queen and Drummer Boy, a match made in hell,” before they slipped into the restroom together.

  “Look, Melanie, I don’t know what you’re so mad about, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me. Looks like you’re Brett’s problem now.”

  She pounded on his chest with clenched fists. “Damn you, it’s only because you didn’t ask me first.”

  “Whatever. But did it have to be Brett?”

  “Well, what did you expect? I wasn’t going to wait forever. You only get one senior dance.”

  Bobby wasn’t sure he wanted to march into this emotional minefield. Not when he wasn’t sure how he felt about Melanie. True, he could have died yesterday, and so much would have gone unsaid, but maybe that would have been for the best. Right now, death seemed like the easy way out.

  He asked her anyway. “Do you like him?”

  “Brett?”

  “No. Ronnie.”

  Melanie’s mouth fell open as if he’d spoken in an alien tongue. “Ronnie?”

  “The original Deathboy. He’s been crushing on you since grade school.”

  “Holy crap, Bobby. If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s working. I can’t believe you’re using Ronnie to change the subject.”

  Bobby could barely make out her face in the shadows, but her wavy hair and shapely figure were clear enough. He didn’t need to see her face. He knew it well enough, even in the dark. “And you’re using Brett to make me jealous.”

  “Mr. McFall set it up,” Melanie said. “I didn’t want to disappoint him. Besides, you haven’t shown much interest lately.”

  “Do you know that Brett’s called you ‘Melons’ behind your back for years?” It was a low blow, but the cruelty gave Bobby a sick pleasure.

  “Melons?” She looked like she’d been hit with a brick.

  “Because of your boobs.” That’s not the term Bobby had used while they were making love, but this wasn’t the time or place for fond recollections.

  Bobby wondered if McFall knew about his relationship with Melanie. Bobby certainly hadn’t mentioned it, but the older man always seemed to know what was going on in his life. He remembered the way McFall had hinted at fueling Bobby’s success, whether on the baseball diamond or the stage. Had he somehow pushed Melanie away from Bobby? Why? To use her as a prize?

  A group of three kids walked by, and one of them said, “Hey, great jams, Bobby!” giving him a high five. Once they were past, Bobby said, “You’re better off with Brett, anyway. I’m going away to App State and Ronnie’s going to college, too. You can bet your sweet ass Brett is going to stick around and take over his dad’s business. He’s a pretty safe bet, as boring dickheads go.”

  “Why are you being such an asshole?”

  “Seeing things in a new light. Slipping out of the Reaper’s clutches will do that to a guy.”

  “You can talk to me, Bobby. You know that, don’t you?”

  One of Jimmy Dale’s power chords shattered the ardent murmuring of the crowd. “Gotta go,” he said. “It’s showtime.”

  As he stepped past her, she wrapped her arms tight around him, and he lost himself in her familiar embrace, the feel of her luscious body. He remembered every inch of her, even with clothes separating their flesh. She kissed him and he accepted it, although he was afraid to let her tongue penetrate. He forced himself away before he totally surrendered, or maybe he was afraid someone would see them. Maybe he was just afraid.

  “Bobby,” she whispered, grabbing the zipper of his cropped bowling jacket, the back of her hand rubbing against his sweating belly and the soft hairs above his belt.

  “What?”

  “This outfit is ridiculous.”

  “Brett’s probably wondering where you are,” he said, pulling free and heading back to the stage. He was only faintly aware of the throng as he passed through, catching fleeting glimpses of faces as he went—Joe Otto, Cheyenne Busby, and Dylan Penderland—although he heard a few cheers of encouragement and rowdy shouts of anticipation. Despite Gladstone’s continued surveillance, the odor of alcohol and marijuana filled the room, and Bobby wished he’d smuggled some whiskey in with his drum kit.

  He scanned the faces clustered around the double doors at the entrance to the gym, where additional light spilled in from the foyer. That’s where the grown-ups were gathered—Sheriff Littlefield and that reporter, Cindy Baumhower, as well as Brett’s dad and Dex’s dad and Ronnie’s mom and—

  The thing made of smoke and ash.

  Its edges were hazy, like dust swirling in a sunlit window, but the center seemed solid, as if it could shove through the crowd and rush the stage at any moment. And it was approaching.

  Bobby swallowed and looked for Ronnie—maybe he would see it too?—but Ronnie was bent over the soundboard with a pen light. The other band members had already strapped on their instruments, and Dex shouted into the microphone. “Are ya’ll ready to rock?”

  The clapping, hooting, and stomping swelled to thunder, and when Bobby glanced back and searched the faces by the door, the walking gray figure was gone.

  It was never there. Get your facts straight, stoner.

  Then he saw Larkin McFall standing against the wall, applauding calmly, swaying back and forth as if the music were already playing. A middle-aged stranger stood beside him, wearing sunglasses and a blac
k jacket with a turned-up collar like some kind of imported hipster. Maybe it was somebody in the record business.

  Bobby couldn’t get the image of the smoke phantom out of his mind, and he was barely aware of tapping his sticks together for a count of four to launch into Nirvana’s “Come As You Are.” He was a quarter-beat out of rhythm until The Diggers reached the chorus, and by then he was able to convince himself he’d been hallucinating.

  Bobby didn’t even care when Melanie and Brett slow-danced under the big spotlight to “Take It to the Limit,” a song the band hated but felt obligated to play.

  I took it to the limit last night at the bridge, Bobby thought. But maybe that phantom of smoke and ash wants me to take it just a little bit farther.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The night air was brisk and exhilarating after the stuffy, sweaty confines of the gymnasium. But Ronnie was pretty sure the high he felt was from his connection with the band. Even though he’d been little more than a knob-twiddling babysitter, he still felt like an orchestra conductor might, as if the whole creative enterprise had somehow depended on him. He had wild thoughts of dropping out of college and touring with The Diggers, maybe becoming their manager. Nothing could bring him down, not even Mom congratulating him in front of his friends.

  And then he saw Brett and Melanie standing in the landscaped area outside the gym entrance. They were part of a circle of popular seniors, all of them laughing and shoving each other, ignoring the stream of the people heading for their cars.

  A cold knife pierced Ronnie’s chest. Bobby, who was standing next to him, slapped him on the back. “Let it go, bro. She’s playing in a different league now.”

  “I was too chicken,” Ronnie said. “I should have asked her weeks ago.”

  “Water under the bridge.” Bobby nudged him and pointed to the parking lot, where Amy Extine stood under a security light talking to Louise Weyerhouse. “Besides, there’s more than one fish in the ocean.”

  “You’re mixing metaphors,” Ronnie said.

  “Huh, I guess that’s why I’ve got a C in English. At least I’m getting an A-plus in rock-n-roll.”

  Sheriff Littlefield was looking their way—his arms folded, his face like stone. Then Ronnie realized he was actually watching Larkin McFall emerge from the crowd as if out of nowhere.

  “You’re a man of many gifts,” said McFall, giving Bobby a thumbs-up sign. “That was an impressive performance. I can see why you’re so devoted to your craft.”

  “Mr. McFall,” Bobby said. “Thanks for the truck. It’s a sweet ride.”

  “Well, I’m glad I can help. And I’m glad you’re all right. I don’t want to lose you.” He smiled at Ronnie. “Either of you.”

  “Hi, Mr. McFall!” Melanie yelled, giving an exaggerated wave but staying with Brett and her circle. McFall returned the greeting. “Cute couple,” he said, his eyes seeming to taunt Ronnie.

  “We better roll,” Bobby said. “We want to wind down a little after all the thrills. See you tomorrow at the work site?”

  “Sure,” McFall said with a wink. “Don’t stay out too late. And Ronnie?”

  Ronnie’s mouth was as dry as dust. Littlefield was still watching them. “Yeah?”

  “It’s yours if you want it. Good night.”

  As the two boys walked away from the gym, Ronnie said, “Well, that was weird.”

  “Oh, he’s always saying that kind of motivational stuff. Sort of like a success-guru version of Coach Harnett. I’ve learned to ignore it.”

  In the parking lot below, Dex emerged from shadows and joined Louise, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around in a circle. He was apparently riding the same post-gig buzz that had infected Ronnie. His must have been even more intense, being the lead singer and front man.

  “Come on,” Bobby said. “Let’s see what’s up. We can say hi to Amy.”

  “But I thought you wanted her.” Ronnie was wary. He looked back at the circle of seniors again and saw that Brett had draped a possessive arm around Melanie’s waist.

  He was still thinking about her when they joined Amy, Louise, Dex, and a couple of other seniors in the parking lot. Amy gave Ronnie a big smile and that did the trick. “So, are you an official Digger now?” she asked him.

  “Sure he is,” Bobby said. “I’m just pissed that I didn’t think of it a long time ago. You need a whiz kid to tie the chaos together.”

  “You did good, Ron-O,” Dex said. “We might even have to dig you up a bowling jacket.”

  “Closing with ‘Comfortably Numb’ was a stroke of genius,” Ronnie said, even though Dex’s voice had gone raspy by then, a fact Jimmy Dale had covered up fairly well with his vocal harmony. “Even the kids who didn’t know the song had to pretend to jam out to it.”

  “The only kids who don’t know Pink Floyd are the ones who went home early for milk and cookies,” Dex said. “And Jimmy Dale absolutely shredded it on the lead.”

  “And you tore up the drums, Bobby,” Amy said, batting her eyelashes at him. Ronnie was confused. Amy had been flirting with him, and Bobby seemed to be pitching her as a possible consolation prize for the whole Melanie disaster. He wasn’t musical at all, but he always seemed to be playing second fiddle.

  Dex cozied up to Louise, and one of Louise’s friends, a chubby, affable girl named Wendy Herrera, sidled up to Ronnie, apparently sensing that the group was breaking into couples. “Hey, Ronnie,” she said. “How did you do on the chemistry final?”

  “Uhh, good, I guess.” He’d never really paid her much attention before, but she had nice eyes and a friendly smile. Her fingernail polish matched her turquoise earrings.

  “Okay,” Dex said, clapping his hands loudly. “Who’s ready to par-tay?”

  The proposal was met with much enthusiasm, although Ronnie kept quiet. It looked like he was just along for the ride. Pretty much the story of his life.

  “I got a pint of Old Crow,” Bobby offered.

  “I ain’t drinking that paint thinner tonight,” Dex proclaimed. “I scored a fifth of Maker’s Mark from the old man’s liquor cabinet. We’re going to …”Dex broke into an impromptu chorus of Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration,” quickly joined by Louise and Amy, who shimmied their hips and whooped to the “Come on!”

  “Sounds awesome, but we’re not adding that shit to the playlist,” Bobby said.

  “You’re way too white, that’s your problem,” Dex said. Ronnie glanced at Wendy, who was half-Hispanic, but she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she seemed a little tipsy already.

  Damn. If I just lower my standards a little like any normal guy, I might get lucky.

  “Hell, yes, I’m in,” Ronnie said.

  Bobby looked at him in shock. “I thought your mom said you had to be home by midnight.”

  “I told her I was staying over with you,” Ronnie lied. “Besides, what are they going to do? Ground me for the last two days of senior year?”

  “Sweet,” Dex said, pulling out a set of keys. “Dad hooked me up with an empty rental in Riverview. Said, and I quote, ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell, and don’t leave no goddamned stains on the couch.’”

  “How in the world did you talk him into that?” Louise asked.

  “It was McFall’s idea. He told my dad he’d be doing a public service by keeping us off the highways tonight.”

  “Mr. McFall is so awesome,” Amy said. “I wish he was our principal.”

  “Hell, I wish he was our president,” Dex said. “Okay, the gear’s packed, so we only have room for one in my Jeep.”

  “Amy and Wendy can ride with us,” Bobby said. “We’ll follow you. But don’t drive too fast, okay?”

  Dex pointed at him as if shooting a gun. “Sure, Drummer Boy. You don’t want to push your luck. Maybe you’re the reason McFall set us up with a party pad.”

  “I’m fine,” Bobby said. “I haven’t had a drop to drink.”

  “You didn’t last night, either,” Ronnie pointed out.

  “Mount
up,” Bobby said, heading for the McFall Meadows Silverado that held his drum kit in the back.

  Ronnie copped a corny phrase from Charlie Sheen, hoping to impress Amy or Wendy or anybody. “Gentlemen, tonight we ride.”

  Nobody got it, but it didn’t matter. Without another word, Amy piled into the front seat beside Bobby and Ronnie got into the back of the extended cab with Wendy. Ronnie wasn’t sure how close together they should sit—if he should start working some moves on the way or what—but Bobby ordered them to strap on their seatbelts, which solved the dilemma.

  As they pulled out of the parking lot, the truck’s headlights swept over Brett and Melanie, walking hand-in-hand toward Brett’s BMW. “Look at those two lovebirds,” Bobby spat, blowing the horn. “Out of the way, losers.”

  “Don’t be mean to Melanie,” Amy said. “Brett’s a dick, but Melanie’s just doing the best she can.”

  Ronnie was surprised by Amy’s defense of Melanie, because Amy’s style was to cut any potential competition off at the knees. Or maybe she was just feeling generous in the glow of victory.

  “If that’s the best she can do, she should become a nun,” Bobby said, gunning the accelerator and shooting past them. Ronnie put his face to the rear window and waved. Brett flipped him the bird. Melanie looked shell-shocked, as if she’d missed the last helicopter out of the embassy in Vietnam.

  Soon they were on the highway, Dex’s Jeep just ahead of them. Wendy smelled like a beer can that had been used for an ashtray. But Ronnie didn’t draw away when she whispered, “I’m glad you’re coming” into his ear. In case her remark wasn’t clear enough, she squeezed his thigh.

  Amy’s cell phone rang, and she had a loud conversation with somebody who was apparently a fellow senior. Even hearing only one side of the conversation, Ronnie could tell she was bragging about hanging out with Bobby. “And we’re having a big party up in Riverview,” she said into the phone. “You guys should come up. I’ll text you when I get the address.”

  After she rang off, Bobby scowled at her. “This is the band’s after-gig party. I’m not so sure Dex wants a million folks up there, especially since it’s one of his dad’s fancy rentals.”