Breakout (25 page)

It’s the end days of the war and we’re paired with Soviet fighters and have to make our way down into the underground bunkers beneath Berlin. Everybody thinks Hitler and his wife, Eva Braun, committed suicide a week earlier, but when we enter, a dying soldier tells us that no, Hitler is still alive, and of course it’s up to us to take him out.

So down we go, into the tunnels and supply rooms and shattered command centers and there are booby traps and then, since
LF
has already broken with reality at this point, Keenan and I are not surprised to find zombie SS officers, which we learn are some hideous genetic supersoldier experiment gone wrong and yeah, Hitler’s definitely a zombie too when we get down there and he keeps coming at us even after we’ve blown his head off and riddled him with bullet holes, until we finally burn him to ashes.

The Reich has fallen.

We’ve won.

As I learn the route through the bunker, along with the new zombie beheading moves that we need, I wonder how I could have let the moment onstage pass, how I could not have
come through when I had the chance. I feel like some version of me is still up there, stuck in that blue cone of spotlight, trying to figure out what to do, and will be stuck up there playing that level maybe forever.

And all I can think is that, if I really try to remember that moment, I know it was crazy, like nothing I’d ever felt before. Even though we’d practiced the song, made our plan, and even though I’d written the words and read comments from around the world, up there onstage it was still like a zombie Hitler coming at you out of nowhere. Even though you’ve imagined it, played twenty other levels to prepare for it, you’ve never had to actually do it.

And so the first time, zombie Hitler tears your guts out and eats them. And you lie there watching him slurp up your intestines and he laughs victoriously. Except in
Liberation Force
, Hitler’s flesh-rotted face fades to black and the level starts over and you get to take another shot, and another, learning along the way, and eventually you win the level. You get the sequence of movements just right, and Hitler’s a pile of ash.

But here, in the dark, in the almost-dawn, there is still nothing I can do to change what happened onstage. The moment looms over my broken body, digging at my insides, hour after hour. And I can’t start over, can’t try again.

It’s just done.

I wake up and check BandSpace.

I also see that Keenan chatted with Rain City Talent.

And I know that there is going to be nothing happening with Rain City Talent.
Still
in high school? Suddenly I’m
panicking again because
oh no
, last night was my chance, maybe my only chance ever to be free, and I blew it.

That’s how I feel all the way to school. And then all day it’s like the world is at a distance, everything bouncing off me, like I’m a metal shell of a person. Teachers like Ms. Rosaz and Mr. Travis tell Keenan and me
Good Job
like we have passed some kind of test, though they say it with serious faces, because they know what almost happened. I wonder if they’re congratulating me because they think I decided at the last minute not to sing my lyrics. Which I did. But I still thought they’d be sung … I don’t bother trying to explain that to them.

We walk by Ms. Tiernan in the hall between periods and she looks at me with a half smile and a nod and says, “Nicely done last night, boys.”

I don’t reply or show anything on my face, and then when we are a few steps away, enough that she won’t hear, I open my mouth … but I don’t curse under my breath like I was thinking I should. I just let her think she won, or whatever she thinks or whatever it is. I don’t know.

Probably the first sign that things are basically over with Skye happens when I get to my locker in the morning. Keenan is there with his back-to-shaggy hair and for Skye the extra level of makeup is gone—because honestly, who can keep up the effort?—and the second I arrive she slams her locker shut and walks off with Meron and Katie.

But then at lunch Keenan and I are still stupid enough to sit with them like things are the same today as they were
yesterday, and while I eat a bean salad and smell Keenan’s cheeseburger and Tater Tots, the three of them huddle together and build an ice wall between us.

I don’t have the energy to say anything. Finally Keenan asks, “What’s up?”

“What do you
think
is up?” Skye snaps. “We both totally got in huge trouble with our parents last night for standing up and screaming the f-word at the concert because
somebody
betrayed us and decided to
sell out
!”

I look at her and I want to shout,
This was your plan! Your big idea! Why don’t you care about what I went through, and what about all that stuff you said about how you believed in the song?!

But I don’t. It would all just come out like a mess and Skye’s probably been stewing about it all night so she’ll be ready with all these head-spinning reasons and arguments like ninja knives coming at me.

“Now,” Skye says to her friends, “we need a location for the Winky rally.…” She’s doing the talking-loud thing. I guess so that we can tell how not-part-of-their-plans we are. Whatever.

The worst part is that I sit there wondering if Skye is right. I know she was counting on me. How many other kids were too? And that makes it sound like I had some kind of responsibility to them. Did I?

Maybe I did sell out. But I don’t think that’s what I was thinking about up onstage. I wanted to sing the words, it was my chance, but then I could barely even play the chords and it was all zombie Hitler and it was too much because there
was Ms. Tiernan, suspension, the end of the Rusty Soles, how Valerie felt, the whole crowd.…

When you add it all up, it’s funny because it’s almost like the song that was supposed to free us had become a trap. And so instead of the words being the escape, maybe up there onstage, I was trying to escape the words.…

And I feel mad at Skye again because she grabbed my idea and totally took it where she wanted.

But it’s not her fault I went along with it.

Just like it’s not Keenan’s fault he put up the song online and I didn’t take it down. I let those things happen because they were so cool. I let everybody have a piece of me. And then I couldn’t come through.

Maybe I wasn’t ready to be the rock star.

Or maybe I didn’t totally want to sing the words.

Sure, at the time, it bothered me thinking about changing them, but really, would it have been the end of the world? Except then it all became the end of the world. I can’t let that happen next time, if there is a next time.

And I’m not going to say any of this to Skye. Instead, I stand up. “Come on,” I say to Keenan.

He looks at me and for a second I don’t know if he’ll come with me. He could stay with the girls. I failed him.…

But he gets up without a word and we move to another table by ourselves.

Free period is shortened because of the early dismissal for Thanksgiving break, so Keenan and I head straight for the student lounge. We find Mr. Darren sitting by the Marshall, testing instrument cables. He connects one, strums a little, then pulls it out and tries the next.

“Gentlemen,” he says, smiling.

“Hey,” I say.

“So how are you guys doing today?”

“Fine,” says Keenan. He doesn’t sound fine. On top of last night, I know he’s super-disappointed about the Rain City Talent thing. Maybe about Meron too. I wonder if he blames me.

Then Mr. Darren says, “Hey, so I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on your performance last night.”

“Yeah right,” I say.

“It was pretty good.” We look over to see Sadie on the couch, writing in her notebook. “I was there.”

“It was rough,” I say.

Now Sadie smiles. “Not bad for a rookie, though.”

Normally I would not be okay with a seventh grader saying that, but then, Sadie knows. She’s been up there in the blue light, done that thing that I tried to do. Well, close enough. “Thanks,” I say. “So are you kicked out of this?”

“Nah,” she says. “On probation. But I’ll be back for winter quarter.”

“Oh,” I say, then manage to add, “cool.” And so ends my lead singing career. Last night really was it.…

“Actually,” says Mr. Darren, “I was just telling Sadie that it’s probably best for everyone if she concentrates on the Random Sample for Spring Arts Night, since the Rusty Soles have a capable singer now.”

Sadie stands and throws her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for stealing my job.” I wonder if she’s mad but she smiles. “Being in two bands was such a burden.” She says it like she did us some kind of huge favor and walks out.

“How does that sound?” says Mr. Darren.

“Good, I mean, maybe, yeah?” I say, and I turn to Keenan because I want to know if he’s cool with it.

He flashes a glance at me, and there’s the first smile I’ve seen all day. It’s not a big one, but still. “Cool.”

“So,” says Mr. Darren, “about last night …” He checks a cable by hitting a huge G chord. My nerves rumble as I wonder what he’ll say. “I know you were struggling with whether to sing your real lyrics. It looked like it ate you up a bit onstage.”

“Yeah,” I say.

He sighs. “I’m not going to tell you that I think you made the right call, or anything like that. What I am going to say is that I’m glad that you’re not suspended and kicked out of Rock Band. I don’t think that would have been worth it.”

I want to agree. I want to disagree too.

I just stand there.

“The important thing is to let last night be last night. It happened. Learn from it and let it go. The great thing about music is that there’s always another gig.”

Mr. Darren adds, “It’s not like you’re a figure skater and once you turn twenty you’re too old or something. Okay, that was a weird reference, but my daughter, Camille, is totally obsessed with figure skating right now. My point is that you’re going to get a lot more chances, and that’s what matters, at least so says this over-the-hill rocker. You wrote a good song, and I’m excited because it was only your first.”

“Okay,” I say. It kinda sounds like grown-up-speak, but it also makes sense. There will be Spring Arts Night, and because of how last night worked out, we will actually get to play it. And we can definitely do way better next time.

I realize that what Mr. Darren has, as a has-been, is experience. He’s been to the places I haven’t been yet. I have a little more experience now too. But only a little.

“Speaking of which,” says Mr. Darren, “we only have four months till showtime, so next week we should get cracking on the Rusty Soles’ second big international hit. It will be our last show before you’re off to high school stardom, so I want it to be amazing. Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah,” I say. That sounds just fine.

“Totally,” says Keenan.

“Good,” says Mr. Darren. “And next week I want to show you some major seventh chords. Triumphant yet tragic, all at the same time. You’ll love ’em.” He checks another cable and strums a chord that is maybe going to be one of these mysterious major sevenths but the cable is bum and so there is just a little tinny sound of his fingers on strings.

I feel like there’s something I want to say to Mr. Darren. I
don’t know exactly what it is. We stand there for a second and then I finally say, “Thanks, Mr. Darren.”

He looks at us and smiles. “Rock and roll,” he says, and starts swapping in the next cable.

The last period before Thanksgiving break is English. Luckily it’s shortened too.

Ms. Rosaz hands back my notebook with the definitive list. “Anthony, that was the strongest work you’ve done this year. I hope I see more of it.”

“Thanks,” I mutter when she’s not looking. I go to slide my notebook away, but then open up to the list. She’s written a bunch of comments in the margin, like Clara always gets. One says:
This scene is so vivid. You transported me!
Another:
Very wise observation
. And by the Lamborghini she drew a smiley face.

I look around, kind of embarrassed. Then I read the comments again. Transported. Observation. Smiley face. These are all new for my notebook.

At the bottom she gave me 4/5 points (–1 because it was late) and wrote:
I hope you share more about your music!

I close the notebook and think:
Maybe
.

After school, Keenan and I start to walk home and it’s one of those completely random days that can happen any time in Seattle: the clouds break up, the sun appears, and the temperature jumps to like sixty and it feels like summer even though it’s practically winter.