Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,56

about him.

“Gray used to shred, you know,” I said. “You should’ve seen him onstage.”

“I remember,” said Jamal. “You showed us enough videos.”

Milo—bless him—picked right up on my tactic. “He shredded the pants off half the planet,” said Milo.

“Half the planet could just pee where they stood,” said Jamal.

“You guys are weird,” said Gray, finally laughing a little.

“If you gotta go, you gotta go,” said Jamal, writhing with legs akimbo now.

I joined in, and so did Milo, and finally we got the laugh from Gray.

“Should we keep going?” said Gray.

I held my guitar, got into position, and nodded.

“Okay,” said Gray. “I want you to channel Yngwie, or Satriani, or Reid.”

“Are those . . . countries?” I said.

“Or,” said Gray, thinking. “I want you to channel Tiamat. Remember that?”

“Tiamat,” I said, and closed my eyes to imagine the feared five-headed goddess of all chromatic dragons. I used to go on and on to Gray about my favorite monster Tiamat, back in the days when he would still listen.

“Upon the plane of the Nine Hells you stand, releasing your evil spawn upon the sinful realms of men,” said Gray, clearly struggling to recall lore so rudimentary that even baby gamers could rattle it off in their sleep. But I forgave his lack of savvy. Because it was working.

“Now Asmodeus and the ghost of Bane command you,” said Gray.

I raised my guitar and played the fastest riff I could manage, spewing silent insults at my own fingertips—stupid imbecile clown telling her Gray’s room was yours—and when I was done, I flung the neck aside like I had just sliced open a charging orc.

“Yes, and!” cried Gray, pointing with folded arms.

“Yes, and I’m a friggin’ paladin,” I said.

(“Technically anti-paladin, since Satan is lawful evil,” muttered Milo.

“Respectfully counterargue that Satan is chaotic evil because of his penchant for meting out punishment at random,” said Jamal, who had been having this argument with Milo for years.)

“Power chord, now,” said Gray. “Windmill it.”

I wheeled my arm up and around and made my amp roar with the sonic hellfire of distortion. I ended with my tongue out and a horn salute held high.

“Cool,” said Jamal.

“Hurr,” said Milo.

“See how these guys’ big stupid lizard brains just lit up?” yelled Gray. “That is rock and roll. Gentlemen, I’d say you’re at sixty-one percent now.”

I huffed and puffed. I remembered this feeling. Remembered it so keenly. I could hear the creaky wood floors of our craftsman house. I could see my friends—we were so little then!—sprinting down hallways through blinding shafts of sunlight. I could hear us: shouting battle cries, or casting spells in a fake tongue, or calling out for backup.

I had missed this feeling. The feeling of playing.

How many years had it been? How long had I been stuffing myself down into one of my airtight plastic containers? Trying to hide myself away?

It had felt so liberating to run around and make believe back then. It had felt so cool. We really did believe we were cool—the best versions of ourselves, realized by pretending to be someone else.

I wished I had stuck with it, and to hell with all the haters.

But then again, there had been so many haters, hadn’t there?

Haters hating everything so much it was impossible to tell if they liked anything other than hating. Maybe that’s why I had become so cynical. It was hard for me to keep any optimism once the world around me started bullying my every move.

I saw Gunner, lifting the blotter on his desk.

I huffed and puffed, still in my pose. Gray snapped a pic.

“I used to do that pose,” said Gray.

“I’m a copycat,” I said, with a laugh that quickly turned sour.

“Hey,” said Milo. “Come on. There’s no point in being hard on yourself at this stage.”

“We’re doing this for you,” said Jamal. “You’re doing great.”

“There’s keeping a super-duper positive attitude,” said Gray. “My old bandmates could’ve used some of that.”

Gray raised his old iPod. “Now: Let’s go through it again.”

$3,000

One did not go to Bed & Bath Vortex for a short period of time; there was no such thing as popping in to grab one thing from such a store. The building itself could comfortably fit eight soccer fields; on the roof was painted the colossal company logo, so that warships flying overhead could know of its dominion. The average documented visit to a Bed & Bath Vortex was 150 minutes long.

That was fine by me.

We strolled into the store, which was lit by thousands of fluorescent lights far above.