"You're home early," mom so observantly noted as I walked into the kitchen.
"The new kid's kind of annoying," I shrug, "now he's here, they have someone new to pick on, but he insists on trying to be my friend," I talk into the fridge, looking for something to eat. It's all... healthy. "Mom, you know I hate this kinda shit, why d'you bother?" She frowns a little, y'know that frown that says ‘stop being an ungrateful little shit'? I kick the fridge door shut and lean on it, giving her my best unimpressed face.
"Y'know, if you want your own food, you're more than welcome to get a job, instead of waiting around, hoping you might form another band." I sigh. I'm not waiting for another band to come around; it's not my fault that Phil had to move state, it's not my fault that no one in this goddamn town is musically retarded. Apart from perhaps the new kid. I can't say I actually heard him play, so y'know, I can't comment on his ability. But at least he has some interest in music, I s'pose.
When I don't say anything, she shakes her head and turns back to whatever it is housewives do all day at home. I head off to the garage and she stops me in my tracks, "honey, if you're gonna play the drums can you use the electric kit and keep it quiet, please? I've got a migraine," she smiles slightly and I roll my eyes.
"Stop cleaning things, then," I mutter as I go down the stairs that lead to what is pretty much my studio. Dad gave it over to me to encourage my musical development when I was thirteen and I've been building it up ever since. We recorded our first demos here. They weren't half bad, to be honest. I flick a few switches and watch as the PA system lights up, setting the levels for the electric kit before going and drumming my heart out.
Before I know it, it's seven, and mom's coming down to tell me some guy she's never seen before is here.
"New boyfriend?" she asks with a smile. I give her a withering look and throw down my sticks.
"New kid." I push past her and trudge up the stairs to find him standing in the hall.
"Hey," he says. I nod and wait for mom to go back to the kitchen. "So, where we off?"
"Out of town. Probably should've warned you about the drugs before hand," I shrug, "if it'll bother you than there's no point coming. I'm gonna get my guitar."
"Will it be okay if I don't take any? I don't mind other people I just... y'know." I shrug again and fuck off to get my guitar. When I come back, he is, as I expected, just standing there, all awkward and not quite knowing what to do with himself. I spin him around and practically march him out of the house to the car, where I throw my guitar in the back seat and switch the radio on.
I switch the radio off as soon as it starts blasting out one of Killing the Phoenix's songs come on.
"Do you hate your music?"
"It's not the music, it's the memories," I mutter.
"Oh," he says, trying not to keep checking the speedometer. I glance down. You've not seen nothing yet, newbie. Just to give him a little fright, I push my foot down on the accelerator harder, trying to push the needle to the red line. He shoots me a quick glare and then remembers how to breathe, relaxing again. I grin and he murmurs something about me being a meanie. You'll live, doll.
I slow down a bit, and he thanks me. I didn't slow down for you, Danny boy, I was slowing down so I didn't explode my car engine. If I don't have money for drum sticks, d'you really think I can afford a new car?
When we get to Emilie's place, everyone else is already there, but that doesn't matter. Because Phil's there. Fucking Phil's there.
"Damien!" he yells across the living room, throwing up his arms for a hug. I leap over the coffee table and crash into him. He ruffles my hair, grinning as he looks up and sees Danny stood in the doorway, "boyfriend?" he asks curiously. I scowl.
"Why does everyone think that? He's just a new kid at school."