A Different Kind of Forever - By Dee Ernst Page 0,1
15 now, Mom. That was like, ages ago.” Megan lifted herself onto the counter and sat, legs swinging slightly. “See, Joey Adamson and his two cousins and his best friend had this band, and they were, like all twenty or twenty-one or something, then Joey’s brother met Mickey’s sister, and Joey heard him sing and asked him to be in the band, and he was only 15, but really good, you know? So then Mickey started playing with them and they changed the name to NinetySeven and then they became really known, and got a record deal and stuff, and now they’re, like, famous.” Megan smiled. “He’s cute.”
“Mickey?”
“Oh, yeah, him too. But Joey? He’s the drummer? He’s really cute, but old, you know? Like thirty or something.”
Diane put down her cup. “Yeah. Old.”
Megan hopped off the counter and headed out as the house phone rang.
Diane checked the caller I.D. and grinned. “NinetySeven Central,” she answered.
“If I never hear about this stupid band again, I’ll die a happy camper,” Sue Griffen said over the phone. “I may have to lock both kids in a closet.”
Diane laughed. Sue’s daughters were the same ages as Emily and Megan, and were close friends. “Have yours put the radio station on speed-dial?”
Sue snorted. “Oh yes. Thank God for cell phones or I’d never see my landline. I should have let them camp out and get the friggin’ tickets. This is way too much aggravation.”
“Hey, there’s only what, three more weeks of this? Then we can relax till the next round. I remember Rachel doing this to me last time these guys were on tour, what, five years ago? I think it was the same radio contest - maybe the same DJ. Can you come over for coffee? I’ve got the morning free.”
“Nope, not me. That’s why I called. I’ve got the dentist in like 20 minutes. Ask Megan to swing by and get Becca, okay?”
“Sure. Later.” Diane hung up and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. Sue Abbot lived two doors down. They had moved into the neighborhood within months of each other, and had their youngest in the same week.
Diane went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up. “Megan, you’ve got five minutes. Pick up Becca on the way to the bus stop, okay?
Diane sat on the couch and stared out the window, listening to her daughters get ready. She was pretty, with dark, intelligent eyes and a shy, lovely smile. Her hair was dark, curling brushing her shoulders. She had been divorced for almost five years.
“Mom?” Emily came down the stairs, her face set. “Can you listen to the radio for me?”
“Emily, what the hell do I know about these guys? You’re the NinetySeven expert, not me.”
Emily rolled her eyes and pushed out the front door. Seconds later, Megan came down. She bent and kissed her mother’s cheek.
“She’s just really worked up about this, that’s all.” Megan made a small face. “You know how she gets. She wants to be the one to go, ‘cause nobody else got tickets and it would be a big deal.”
“I know.” Diane smiled at her youngest and watched her leave, listening to the vague squawk of the radio. She spent the rest of the morning quietly, doing laundry, straightening books. She didn’t often venture upstairs, but as she carried a basket of towels into the girls’ bathroom, she threw a quick look into the two bedrooms. Megan’s room was a mess. Clothes on the floor, bed unmade, a pile of shoes spilling out of the closet. It always looked cluttered, even when clean, because there was not an inch of white, empty wall. All the flat surfaces were covered with posters – television and film actors, bands, and unicorns.
Emily’s room was slightly better – she took care of her clothes and they were never left on the floor. Her room was dominated by a single, life-sized poster of the band, NinetySeven. Diane looked at the faces. They are all so young, she thought. Well, maybe not. They have been around for a while. They might even be over thirty. She stepped closer. Except Mickey Flynn. She remembered the poster that Rachel had of the same group, years ago. Mickey Flynn had been a kid, small, innocent-looking, with big blue eyes and a sweet smile. He was taller now, lean and wiry, brows heavier, his face all angles. Behind him was, she assumed, the handsome drummer. Joey. Very handsome and muscular in a tight black tee