Untitled: Friends, Lovers, or Nothing, #1

By Jackie Chanel

From the moment he played his first guitar chord, Aiden sees life for what it really is all about...the possibilities.

After moving to Atlanta to jumpstart his music career, a series of unfortunate events lands him in the sights of Sunny Rain, his moody, but passionate neighbor. Unlike everyone who Aiden has trusted, Sunny understands his vision and is determined to help him be great. Their friendship quickly escalates to something neither of them were ready for. As Aiden's dream of becoming a touring blues musician begins to come true, can he withstand the pressure of a musician's life and still keep his best friend,or will the industry ruin everything that's good in his life?

With this engaging page-turner, Jackie Chanel delivers an outstanding tale of true friendship and self-discovery, the perfect beginning of the Friends, Lovers or Nothing series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scorpio House Publishing
• Release date: Sep 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386668404

Jackie Chanel

On a good day, Jackie Chanel is a writer, editor, and music fanatic. Most days, she's just a pop culture enthusiast, coffee in the morning/wine in the evening drinker, and reality TV junkie. "Writing books isn't what I decided to do; it's what I was born to do. At any given time, I have about fifteen characters in my head and they all speak at once." Jackie Chanel has written thirteen novels ranging from Urban Fiction to Contemporary Romance. When she's not writing in her batcave, she can usually be found in her favorite reading spot reading one of the 700 books on her TBR list.

Book preview

UNTITLED

FRIENDS, LOVERS, OR NOTHING BOOK 1

JACKIE CHANEL

SCORPIO HOUSE PUBLISHING

Copyright © 2011 Jackie Chanel

All rights reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales or, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Jackie Chanel Books

MUSIC IS LOVE COLLECTION

WHERE YOU BELONG: Savannah & Cash

WINTER'S HEART: Winter & Catori

A QUEEN'S STORY: THE SERIES

PART 1: LYRIC

PART 2: KNIGHT

THE DREAM CHASERS SERIES

CHASIN’ DREAMZ: SEASON ONE

CHASIN' DREAMZ: AFTER THE SHOW

CHASIN' DREAMZ: THE WEDDING

BONATELLI CRIME FAMILY NOVELS

LOVE AND WAR: THE RISE OF CAPRICE

A HUSTLER’S PROMISE SERIES

A HUSTLER’S PROMISE: part one

A HUSTLER’S PROMISE: part two

A HUSTLER’S PROMISE: The Finale

THE TAKEOVER (novella)

THE FRIENDS LOVERS OR NOTHING SERIES

#1: UNTITLED

#2: SUNNY’S SONG

#3: UNSUNG

#4: LOVE NOTES

#5: UNBROKEN

#6: HOME LIFE

THE ASIA PIERCE BOOKS

CHANGE OF HEART

LAST SHOT: an Asia Pierce novella

STAND ALONE NOVELS

THE LIES WE TELL OURSELVES

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Jackie Chanel Books

Dedication

PART ONE

Chapter 1: Mannish Boy

Chapter 2: Something’s Missing

Chapter 3: If 6 Was 9

Chapter 4: Who Says

Chapter 5: Try

Chapter 6: Crossroads

Chapter 7: Belief

PART TWO

Chapter 8: Spanish Castle Magic

Chapter 9: Feels Like Rain

Chapter 10: Go Easy On Me

Chapter 11: Do You Know Me

PART THREE

Chapter 12: Vultures

Chapter 13: Every Day I Have The Blues

Chapter 14: War of My Life

Chapter 15: Homelife

Chapter 16: Red House

Chapter 17: Voodoo Child

Chapter 18: Up From The Skies

PART FOUR

Chapter 19: Are You Experienced

Chapter 20: Purple Haze

Chapter 21: No Such Thing

Chapter 22: Shining Star

Chapter 23: Nervous

Chapter 24: Wait Until Tomorrow

Chapter 25: Between the Sheets

Chapter 26: Empty Arms

Chapter 27: Back to You

Chapter 28: Free Fallin’

Chapter 29: Rock & Roll

Chapter 30: Purple Rain

Chapter 31: Hit the Road Jack

Chapter 32: Stone Crazy

Chapter 33: Slow Dancin’ In A Burning Room

PART FIVE

Chapter 34: Can You See Me

Chapter 35: Covered in Rain

Chapter 36: Split Screen Sadness

Chapter 37: Love Song For No One

Chapter 38: First Steps

Chapter 39: Foxy Lady

Chapter 40: Into You

Chapter 41: City Love

Chapter 42: Fire & Ice

Chapter 43: Got My Mojo Workin’

Chapter 44: Bright Lights

Chapter 45: I Got A Woman

Chapter 46: We’re Gonna Make It

Chapter 47: Communication Breakdown

Chapter 48: Georgia On My Mind

Chapter 49: Livin’ On A Prayer

Chapter 50: Just The 2 Of Us

Chapter 51: I Don’t Need No Doctor

PART SIX

Chapter 52: You Give Love A Bad Name

Chapter 53: Everything is Broken

Chapter 54: The Payback

Chapter 55: Bigger Than My Body

Chapter 56: Can’t Always Get What We Want

Chapter 57: California Dreamin’

Chapter 58: Daughters

Chapter 59: Don’t Rock My Boat

Chapter 60: House Burning Down

Chapter 61: Baby, I’m A Star

Chapter 62: Crash Landing

Chapter 63: Family Ties

Chapter 64: Friends, Lovers, Or Nothing

Chapter 65: Stitched Up

Chapter 66: The Sky is Cryin’

Chapter 67: The Thrill Is Gone

Chapter 68: Expect The Unexpected

Thanks For Reading

Connect With Jackie

Acknowledgements

About The Author

I dedicate this book to anyone who has ever stepped out on faith to pursue their passion.

And to all my personal heroes who paved the path and provided the inspiration for me to walk behind you.

PART ONE

Whenever they say it can't be done, remind them they make a jelly bean that tastes like popcorn - John Mayer

Chapter 1: Mannish Boy

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A small twelve-year-old hand pushed my door open just wide enough to see if I was still asleep. I wasn’t but I faked a snore and rolled over. The door shut quietly but I still heard my little sister’s giggle. She was aching to get in my room so she could be the first to scream Happy Birthday.

I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Coming up with a plan to convince my dad to let me skip football practice today was more important than my impatient little sister. I’ve been thinking about what to say to him all night. I even woke up before my alarm went off.

Actually, I was glad that I woke up before my alarm clock jarred me out of my sleep. My father bought the cheap clock radio last Christmas because he was tired of me missing breakfast. A few swipes off the nightstand and the damn thing broke after only a week. The dial button fell off. Now I can’t get any other station except our local rock station.

Dad is notorious for spending a lot of money on crap that I don’t need. Last year he bought me a three hundred dollar church suit. We don’t even go to church. He bought it because he thinks I’m going to get drafted into the NFL so I’ll need it.

"Get used to wearing the finer clothes, boy. You’re going to be a pro," is what he said when I opened it.

The year before that, he gave me a lava lamp with my name on it. Somewhere in his uncool brain, he really thought seeing my name engraved on a blue lava lamp would impress me. I was fourteen and not impressed.

I pressed my ear against the wall and listened for movement in my older sister’s room. Silence. I jumped out of my bed and ran to the door.

Happy birthday, Aiden! Delilah yelled as I raced past her. Where are you going?

Give me a sec, I yelled back. I have to pee!

I shut the bathroom door as fast as possible. Three cans of Pepsi before hitting the sack probably wasn’t a good idea. Thank God, Sara hadn’t made it out of her room yet. I’d still be holding it if she had.

While I got my stuff together for my shower, my mind started to wander straight towards my birthday gift. Dad better come through for me this year. No more autographed sports paraphernalia that ended up in glass cases in his study, no more lame suits. I’m sixteen! There better be a car in the driveway for me.

Sara got a car when she turned sixteen. That’s one of the reasons he should get me one. I’m his only son. He wouldn’t ruin my sixteenth birthday by getting me something stupid. I’m definitely getting a car. I already have an appointment to get my driver’s license on Monday. Dad better not screw this up.

I have my eye on the perfect ride too, a sexy black ’94 Pontiac Firebird I saw in AutoTrader. Custom painted, chrome rims and my football number 79 embroidered on the headrests.

I showed my father the car months ago. He liked it. He even got a little excited about it, started talking about the engine and horsepower. It was the first time in months that he said something to me that didn’t end with us arguing.

Aiden, Delilah called and knocked at the same time. Come out of there! It doesn’t take that long to pee!

I opened the door and ruffled the mass of blonde curls on Delilah’s head.

Go away, munchkin. I have to shower before Sara gets up.

Aren’t you excited about your birthday? You’re sixteen!

Hell yeah, I’m excited, I told her. Is my car outside? Did Mom say anything about it? I know you know.

Delilah had been up since the crack of dawn, along with my mother. Delilah and my mother are the only people I know who are happy to get up before the sun rises. My older sister and I struggle every morning to resemble human beings.

I don’t know, she giggled. Mom’s cooking your favorite breakfast so get dressed.

Pop Tarts and OJ? I guessed.

Nope. Blueberry pancakes.

Not those gluten-free things Dad has to eat, right?

Delilah laughed. I know. Those are gross. You better hurry up. Dad’s going to be mad if you’re late to breakfast on your birthday, she added. I’m going to finish wrapping your present.

I shut the door as my little sister scrambled down the hall. I saw Sara poke her sleepy head out of her door and frown when she realized that I beat her to the bathroom. I have to get in the bathroom before Sara wakes up. On the days that I don’t, we’re both late to school. She takes forever! I don’t know what the heck she does in there. I don’t want to know. Every day I wish I didn’t have to share a bathroom with her. Or that she was a boy. Having a brother would be better than an older sister.

I can’t be late for school today. It’s my birthday and Sweetest Day is this weekend. I can’t wait to see which girls are going to be waiting at my locker with gifts and boobs pressed against my arms. I won’t have any problem finding a date for the dance next weekend.

I only spent ten minutes in the bathroom in order to make sure Sara got her required forty-five minutes in there. Three of those were spent checking my face for any new hairs. Not a single one.

I check every day. I’m convinced that the girls at school will let me go further than second base once I grow a little facial hair. Not that some of them don’t already, but I’m not interested in sophomore cheerleaders anymore. I’m a starting wide receiver. I should be getting ass from senior girls by now.

I’m probably cursed like my uncles. None of my mother’s brothers can grow a beard. My uncle Sean tried once. He ended up looking like he had five o’clock shadow all day. Nothing more than peach fuzz. My dad just laughed at him.

I hope I can grow a beard. I’m going to grow my hair out and a nice long ZZ Top beard too. That will freak out my dad for sure. He’s really into appearances and it’s annoying. I can’t help that my hair grows fast. Listening to him bitch about my hair is almost as bad as listening him talk about my grades.

Who cares that Sara is a straight A student and I’m not? I’m doing just fine. He should be happy that I’m not failing any of the boring classes on my schedule this year. I have to maintain at least a C average just to stay on the football team, and mine is better than that, I think.

I ran into Sara, literally, when I stepped out of the bathroom. She was walking with her eyes closed again.

Sara! I grumbled. Open your eyes, damn it! You’re gonna hurt yourself, or more importantly, hurt me, one day!

Happy Birthday, she mumbled and stepped around me and shut the door.

Mom’s making pancakes, I called. So hurry up!

Not those gross gluten-free ones, right?

I don’t think so.

Good.

I turned down the hall towards my room just in time to see my little sister scurry out of Sara’s bedroom, the only room in the house that she has been permanently banned from entering without permission.

What were you doing in there? I yelled after her.

She held up a roll of scotch tape and kept running to her room. I’m sure she had something else tucked away in her pajama pants, like Sara’s lip-gloss or hair scrunchies. She’s always stealing Sara’s stuff.

The last time Sara caught Delilah in her room, a screaming match worthy of a Jerry Springer episode ensued along with a plea to my parents to put locks on our bedroom doors. Of course, they refused.

My parents have a long list of rules that gets longer as we get older. Their No Locked Doors rule is just one of the many that bother me, especially when Delilah was going through her sleepwalking phase. I can’t even count all of the times that I woke up in the middle of the night with her standing in my doorway looking like a ghost in a white nightgown. Any moment I expected her to open her mouth and say something like,

"You’re all going to die," as she faded away.

Scared the crap outta me.

All my mother said was for me to stop watching horror movies before bed, like that would help with Delilah’s sleepwalking problem.

I peeked into Sara’s room to make sure that Delilah hadn’t left a thing out of place in the room that Random House built. Sara has so many books that our father had to have custom-made bookshelves installed.

Custom-made bookshelves.

Sara is funny. Guys think she’s cute, but she’s a nerd. Any seventeen-year-old girl who would rather have a huge dry erase board than posters on their wall or have custom-made bookshelves for their thirteenth birthday is a nerd. That’s just how it is. I didn’t make the rules. I laughed at the message written prominently in big block letters on her board, next to her girly pink handwriting.

THIS LIST SUCKS!

I’d written it days ago after Sara threatened to cut off my balls and hang them from the security gate at the entrance of our subdivision if I erased her list.

Sara’s list makes me want to puke. It’s a gut wrenching, projectile vomit inducing list that she refers to as THE PLAN.

1. Graduate High School (valedictorian)

2. Attend a prestigious university and get a Bachelor’s degree in Biology, minor in Chemistry

3. Go to medical school – Johns Hopkins

4. Meet a great guy, date while I’m doing my residency.

5. Get married, move back to Mt. Vernon, start my own medical practice.

6. Start a family

One through four are okay, I guess. My parents expect all of us to go to college. That’s what kids from successful families do…blah blah blah. Since my dad wants Sara to be a surgeon, she has to go to medical school.

Number five is what makes last night’s dinner threaten to come back up. When I read it, I actually tasted the meatloaf we had in the back of my throat.

Move back to Mt. Vernon? Why?

This place is a trap! They make movies about cities like this: The Truman Show, Pleasantville, and The Stepford Wives. Just like those movies, Mt. Vernon is an illusion. It’s the type of place where people come because It’s a great place to raise kids and Mt. Vernon has such great schools and There are a lot of great opportunities in Mt. Vernon.

Yeah right. This place is boring! There is nothing to do here. I’ve seen retirement communities on television that are more active than our neighborhood. All of my friends feel the same way. We can’t wait to graduate and leave our parents here to enjoy monthly Kiwanis club meetings, ladies’ luncheons, and gardening.

My parents had a chance to live exciting lives. Dad was an All-American wide receiver at Northwestern. My mom was a theater major. They could have done much better than Mt. Vernon. I don’t know when things went left, but somehow they ended up in Mt. Vernon with my dad hocking legal drugs to doctors. My mother is president of the PTA.

An All-American wide receiver with a chance to go pro to living in suburbia hell? The only thing my dad is missing is a dog. If this is his idea of the American Dream, I’ll pass. I’m not following in his footsteps. When I leave, the only time I want to see this place is if I’m flying over it.

I don’t belong in a place like this. I don’t know where I belong, but it can’t be here. I don’t want to paint my car with the high school logo before every Friday night football game. I don’t want to spend summers taking my kids to boring places that are within driving distance. I don’t know if I even want kids. I’m getting out of here. There’s a huge world beyond our security gate and I want to see it.

That’s why I don’t have a list. I only have one goal, to not live an ordinary boring life. Sara thinks I need a plan but her plan isn’t hers at all. It’s our parents’. They have all three of our lives planned perfectly. It’s not fair. Why should we be expected to live their life? I won’t do it.

Two more years and I’m taking my Firebird and getting the hell out of here.

***

Hey, did you see Marcie in third period?

Kevin tapped me on my shoulder breaking my concentration. I was staring at the clock above the door during Geometry class while Mrs. Paulo rambled on and on about…umm…proofs, I think. The second hand on the clock was moving. My theory that time really does stand still during Geometry class, the last class before lunch, flew out the window. There goes my science project idea.

Huh?

Kevin repeated his question.

Marcie…right. How could I miss a hot chick in a tight skirt and low cut sweater? Every time Marcie leaned over to pick up the pencil that kept rolling off her desk, I could see right down her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Happy Birthday to me.

I saw a lot of Marcie today. I laughed.

She wants to go to the dance with you.

I know.

Who doesn’t want to go to the dance with Aiden? Must be this new surfer boy look he’s going for, Jordan tried to bait me. He’s been giving me a hard time about my hair all week.

All the girls can’t wait to run their hands through his golden locks.

I moved away before Jordan could yank on my uncut hair.

All the girls or just you? I asked, narrowly avoiding a shoulder punch. Instead, Jordan’s fist sent my Geometry book crashing to the floor.

Boys! Mrs. Paulo yelled sharply. Do I need to separate you three again?

No, Mrs. Paulo, Kevin quickly answered. Sorry.

She’s such a bitch, I mumbled low enough for only my friends to hear. Like we’re the only ones not paying attention.

Yeah, but if we get kicked out of class again, Coach will have us running laps until our legs fall off, Jordan reminded us.

Or stick us in the weight room with the kickers, Kevin added. Be quiet. We only have fifteen minutes left.

Let’s go to Burger King for lunch, I suggested. We can take my sister’s car for one last spin.

You’re so sure your dad’s getting you a car, huh?

I sensed the doubt in Kevin’s voice. My friends know about my dad’s track record of getting me lame gifts. Not this year, not this birthday. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t have a car parked in the driveway when I get home from football practice.

Yeah, I’m sure. So are you two skipping out on the mystery meat in the cafeteria and coming with me?

Jordan shook his head. Can’t. Coach is on lunch duty this week, remember? He’ll notice if we aren’t there.

I scowled at my friends. They take this football thing way too seriously. We’re only sophomores. Nobody is watching us that closely…except our dads.

Our dads have had us playing football since we were six. It’s fun most of the time. Plus I get to hit people…hard. Football comes in handy when my dad starts bitching about my hair, video games, or football practice.

Jordan and Kevin think they have a shot at the NFL. They probably do. I’m sure a Big Ten college will offer each of them scholarships. Not me.  I don’t care enough. I don’t want to play football for a living. Football is hard work. Practicing every day, getting hit by guys twice my size, and constantly competing for a spot on the field is not for me. I do just enough to stay off Coach Williams’s radar and keep my starting position. No one wants to be a football player that doesn’t start. That’s embarrassing. Cheerleaders like Marcie don’t let you see their tits if you ride the bench.

What else did you ask your parents to get you for your birthday? Jordan whispered.

Nothing. I’m getting a car. Why would I ask for anything else? I answered in my normal voice. Mrs. Paulo shot me a stern warning glance.

Kevin raised his eyebrows. Didn’t your mom say you couldn’t get a car until you brought your grades up?

I pulled my folded progress report out of my pocket and slapped it on Kevin’s desk.

Read it and weep boys! Straight Bs! I won’t be seeing you suckers in study hall this semester! The Firebird is mine!

Aiden! Mrs. Paulo yelled. See me after class!

Ha! Jordan whispered. All you’re going to see is detention and the weight room! Better eat your spinach, Goldie Locks.

Chapter 2: Something’s Missing

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I heard Delilah and Sara arguing as soon as I walked through the front door after practice. They’re always arguing about something. You’d think that they’d get along better since they’re both girls. I’m the one who should be fighting with them. Delilah and I never fight. She’s twelve. We have nothing to fight about.

Sara and I have gotten into some interesting arguments. She doesn’t take teasing well, but I can’t help it that she’s a nerd and her constant studying drives me crazy. Plus she’s dating the lamest guy in Mt. Vernon.

His name is Roger, for God’s sake!

He drives a Camaro, always listens to gangsta rap like he’s straight outta Compton, and dresses like a frat boy.

C’mon, that’s way too much ammo. What else does she expect from me?

Where are you guys? I called.

Two hours at football practice wasn’t enough to get rid of all my pent up anxiousness. My hands were actually shaking and sweating. Nothing is going to calm me down except the keys to my car. I resisted the urge to peek into the garage. My parents hate when I ruin their surprises.

In the living room, my mother answered.

The living room? We never used our living room unless my mother is hosting some Ladies’ Luncheon or something. Or my dad is having his work buddies over.

I dropped my football equipment, dirty cleats and all, on the floor in the hallway and walked in the living room and they all were sitting on the sofa smiling at me. Creepy.

What’s up, guys?

Happy Birthday, Aiden! they yelled in unison.

Thanks.

Delilah patted the empty space next to her. Sit! We have presents!

I spied the long white box that my father slid across the floor as soon as I walked in. Definitely too big for car keys. Custom floor mats, maybe? I stared at the box that Dad was grinning over.

Open it, son.

He looked like he should have been sitting on his hands to contain his excitement. Obviously, he thought that whatever was in the box would win him some cool points. If there’s no car in the garage, this gift isn’t going to win him anything.

I slipped the shiny black bow off the box and lifted the lid. I stared down at a black and white guitar. It was autographed, although I couldn’t make out the signature if you paid me. I know my face had the same look of complete confusion that it had last week when I looked at my English Lit test on Pride and Prejudice.

I hadn’t read the book.

Isn’t it great, son? Dad asked, his voice at least an octave higher than I was used to. He used the same tone when we went to the Football Hall of Fame last year. He was super excited about seeing some old guys’ football jerseys. I wasn’t.

Umm, I tried to think of the right words. What’s this for?

He gently lifted the guitar out of the cotton bedding like he was lifting a sacred piece of art. This is a 1958 Fender Stratocaster autographed by Keith Richards.

Come on! I like music as much as the next guy but seriously, a guitar autographed by some dude I don’t even know? This can’t be my birthday gift. The thing looks like something Dad has in his office, one of his stupid collectibles.

Where the hell is my car?

I looked at my mom, hoping she’d come to my rescue and produce my real gift. My left foot started tapping against the soft carpet. This can’t be it. Not a damn guitar.

It’s gorgeous, isn’t it, Aiden? Dad won it at an auction in Chicago.

You got Aiden a guitar? Sara tried keep the smirk off her face but I saw it. What is he going to do with that?

This guitar belonged to a legend, my father explained. I was lucky to win it. It’s worth a lot of money.

Umm, thanks, Dad. I faked a tight-lipped smile and managed to mask my disappointment when he handed me the guitar.

I’ve never held a guitar. The shiny thing was heavy and felt strange on my lap. I didn’t know what to think. It’s a guitar. I’m sure that some kid in the band would have jizzed in his pants as soon as he opened the box. I’m not that kid. This gift makes no sense.

Did guitar lessons come with that thing? Sara laughed.

Oh no, this isn’t to be played, my father said. It’s a collector’s item.

Geez-us! I almost threw it on the floor and walked out of the room. Not that I want to, but I can’t even play the thing! My dad’s gift giving has hit a new low.

Thanks for the guitar, Dad, but I thought I was getting car. I forced a lighthearted tone in my voice instead of yelling. Yelling wouldn’t do any good.

My father laughed. Why would you think that?

Umm, Sara got a car when she turned sixteen. Why shouldn’t I?

Your sister got a car because she hasn’t brought home anything lower than an A since she was in kindergarten, my mother said. She also has a job, Aiden. Her car wasn’t a birthday present. It was a reward for being a responsible kid.

That’s right, my father added. You just brought your grades up to a B average this grading period. You still haven’t cut your hair or been that helpful around this house. At this rate, you won’t be getting a car until you graduate.

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. It took years of experience to hide my disappointment from my parents. They do not handle it well. They think they’re the best parents in the world. When Sara, Delilah, or I express any kind of unhappiness, Dad gets angry and calls us ungrateful. This usually leads to an hour-long discussion on how bad it could be for us.

Thankfully, my parents had dinner plans and I didn’t have to mask my anger long. As soon as they left, I buried the guitar so far back in my closet that in a day or two, I won’t even remember it’s there. My father is going to regret getting me such a useless gift!

Thirty minutes after my parents walked out the door, the phone started ringing. I knew it was my friends wanting me to come get them in my new ride. I yelled at Delilah when she tried to bring me the phone. I couldn’t talk to them. It’s bad enough I have to see them in school tomorrow without a car. This is so embarrassing! I’ve done every single thing my father asked me to do and he repays me by getting me a guitar for my birthday!

He can’t keep doing this to me.

I didn’t mention my lame-ass gift to my friends the next day. They saw how pissed I was when I stepped out of Sara’s car and not my own this morning. I thought I was in the clear, but pain in my ass Jordan had to say something at lunch.

Hey Goldie Locks, what happed to the Firebird you were supposed to get for your birthday?

Shut up, I grunted. Dad thought it would be cooler to get me a guitar.

A guitar? Like a real live guitar?

It’s not funny. What the hell am I supposed to do with a guitar? Plus I have to wait ‘til I graduate to get my car. I’m pissed.

I don’t know why you thought you were getting a car anyway-

I said shut up! I yelled at Jordan. I don’t want to talk about that dumb-ass guitar!

Maybe you can sell it and use the money to buy your own car, Kevin spoke up. How much do you think you can get for a guitar?

Are you shittin’ me? I practically yelled. My father will murder me if I sell the damn thing!

My best friend, Paulie, slid his tray on the table and sat down. You got a guitar?

Paulie doesn’t usually join us at lunch. He spends his lunch period with the debate team or working on something for the student council. Sometimes I wonder how we’re best friends. We’re completely opposite in pretty much every way.

Hey, Paulie, Jordan said much too loudly. Megan told me to ask you if you date white girls.

Sure. Paulie shrugged. Why not? It’s not like Mt. Vernon has an abundance of black girls for me to choose from.

Paulie took a bite of his cheeseburger and pulled a book out of his back pocket. This dude cracks me up. He’s always so serious. The chicks don’t mind. They adore Paulie. I hear them talking about him all the time.

He’s so smart. He’s going to Harvard, watch.

Have you seen his eyes when the sun hits them? Swoon.

Back to your guitar, Kevin said. What are you going to do with it?

I shrugged. I don’t know.

Paulie put down his book, something about two cities, and asked, What kind of guitar?

A black and white one, I mumbled. It’s autographed by someone famous. It’s supposed to be a collector’s item. He could’ve gotten me Jerry Rice’s autographed football if he was going to get me something I can’t use.

Jerry Rice? Kevin shouted. Dude, where are you from? Walter Payton, The Fridge…yes. Jerry Rice, hell no!

Paulie picked his book back up. Who signed it?

Some guy from The Rolling Stones. My dad’s a big fan. I frowned. I think the guitar is more for him than- I stopped talking when I looked at Paulie’s face. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open.

Dude, are you okay? I asked him.

Mick Jagger? Paulie said hoarsely. Or Keith Richards?

Yeah, that’s the name! Who is he?

Everyone at the table stared at me like I had said Pamela Anderson’s boobs were small.

Only one of the best guitar players in the world! Jordan yelled. You don’t know the Rolling Stones? What the hell’s wrong with you?

I don’t like rock music.

The Rolling Stones are not just any old rock group, Paulie choked out. They are the best rock band ever! I can’t believe you have a guitar signed by Keith Richards.

What’s the big deal? It’s just a guitar. It’s not a car.

Aiden, you’ve got to let me see that guitar.

Yeah, me too! Jordan chimed in.

Everyone at the lunch table wanted to see this thing and was super excited about it. Was I missing something? Maybe I can use the lamest birthday gift ever to my advantage. If I let them see the guitar, maybe Paulie will give me the answers to our American History test next week.

Guys, chill out, I laughed. It’s not locked in a bank vault, it’s in my room. You can see it whenever you want.

Today? After practice? Kevin asked.

Sure, why not?

My mother is going to flip out when I come home with Paulie, Jordan, and Kevin. She says that anything over two teenage boys in the house at one time requires mental preparation. So what. She shouldn’t have let my father buy me a useless guitar. She knew I wanted a car.

Paulie made it to my house before the rest of us did…one of the benefits of not having to go to football practice every day. He was sitting on the couch listening to Delilah ramble on about cheerleading tryouts and gymnastic meets. Delilah can talk someone’s ear off when she gets started. I rescued Paulie and we all went to my room.

The guys watched as I searched through my clothes and pulled out the white box from the closet. They gathered around in a semi-circle like I was going to reveal a map that led to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. When I opened the box and laid the guitar on my bed all four guys inhaled sharply.

She’s gorgeous, Paulie breathed.

She?

Jordan just stared at the thing. I wonder if he ever played it.

Probably. My dad got it in an auction. It wouldn’t be worth much if he didn’t, right? I looked at Paulie, waiting for an answer. He’s the only one in the room who’s ever played a guitar so he should know.

It would be worth more if he actually played it.

Can I hold it? Jordan reached for the guitar. I’ve seen kids in candy stores not as fascinated as these guys are. Man, how can you not like this thing? I feel like a rock star just by holding it.

Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do with it, I replied sarcastically. Sit on my bed and pretend to be Bon Jovi.

I would love to be Bon Jovi, Kevin piped up as Jordan passed the guitar to Paulie. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll!

The guys started naming rock bands I’ve never even heard of.

I thought you only cared about Big 10 football? I asked Jordan.

I do and that’s why I’m going to get recruited and you aren’t. Still, you have to be a complete idiot not to know who The Smashing Pumpkins are.

Whoa, it’s almost six. Kevin looked at my alarm clock. I’ve got to get home. I didn’t tell my parents I was coming over.

Me either, Jordan added. Check you guys later.

Paulie didn’t look up from the guitar. See ya.

I literally heard the sigh of relief from my mother when my buddies walked past her in the kitchen and said goodbye. We hadn’t broken anything or made Delilah cry. Most importantly, we hadn’t interrupted Sara’s study group.

I took a seat on my bed while Paulie strummed the guitar strings. There was barely any sound coming from it. I burst out laughing. After all of the fuss that my dad made over the guitar, it doesn’t even work!

You really like that thing, don’t you?

Man, this is a cool-ass gift.

Do you still play? I’ve never actually seen Paulie play before, but I’ve heard him talk about it.

I haven’t in a while, but yeah, I play, he answered without looking up. His eyes lingered over the autograph.

So let’s hear it!

You can’t really hear an electric guitar without an amplifier, he informed me with a grin. You really don’t know anything about guitars, do you?

I shook my head. Nothing.

You should show this to my dad. He’s really into stuff like this.

When it comes to fathers, Paulie lucked out. His dad is so cool! He doesn’t even make him play football like the rest of our fathers. Eric doesn’t bitch when Paulie goes a couple of weeks without getting a haircut. He doesn’t even give Paulie a curfew. He’s pretty chill. Dad calls him a hippie. I think my dad should take parenting lessons from Eric. I bet Eric would have bought Paulie a car if he asked.

Maybe I’ll bring it over next weekend, I suggested.

Cool. Maybe Dad will tell us some stuff about Woodstock.

Maybe he’ll let us try weed again.

Paulie sat the guitar back in the box. You never know. I guess I should get home.

You can stay, I insisted. We’re going out to dinner when my dad gets here. You can come too. My parents won’t mind.

Cool. Hey, let’s call Megan and Marcie and see what they’re up to.

Sure!

I glanced back at the now boxed-up guitar. I don’t care how cool my friends think it is, I still don’t want it. It’s not worth more than a Firebird. I don’t care if the damn thing never sees the light of day.

Chapter 3: If 6 Was 9

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For weeks after my birthday, every single thing that happened was so boring. School, football practice, football games, and back to school again. I was so bored that I wanted to rip out all my hair just to have something different to do.

I trudged across the parking lot with my cleats slung over my shoulder, wishing I could be anywhere but in the school parking lot.

Hey Aiden, Paulie yelled from across the lot. Dad wants to know when you’re coming over with your guitar!

I shrugged my shoulders as I walked towards the football field. My father gave me the world’s most useless birthday present over a month ago and it’s still in the box stuffed inside my closest. I hardly take it out unless my father wants to show it off. My friends aren’t even interested in the thing anymore. Most of them, anyway.

Paulie jogged up to me so I stopped walking. What’s up?

What are you doing after practice? he asked.

I shrugged. Nothing. Why?

You wanna come hang with me and my dad? He’s gonna bring a couple of pizzas.

My father could use some fatherhood lessons from Paulie’s dad. Eric doesn’t interfere in Paulie’s life the way that my dad does in mine. He always says that boys should be left alone to find their own paths in life.

My dad doesn’t feel that way. Dad has my entire future mapped out in his head. The only thing he needs is a dry erase board and it would be plastered on my wall, like Sara’s plan. Apparently, I don’t have a choice what I want to do with my life. I’m just expected to go along with what my father says is best. That sucks.

Sure, I’ll come over, I told Paulie. Hanging out with him was better than sitting in my room playing video games or watching my mother cook dinner.

I had to beg my mom to bring the guitar and take me over to Paulie’s when she picked me up from practice even though we were going in the same direction to pick Delilah up from gymnastics practice.

Aiden, you know I don’t like to go into that apartment complex when it’s dark.

She acts like Paulie’s neighborhood is so bad they could have filmed Boyz N the Hood there. It’s not. Their apartment complex even has a security gate. Trust me; Paulie’s complex was just as safe and boring as our subdivision.

She finally relented and dropped me and the guitar off, only after I promised that Eric would bring me home. When I walked into the Pitts’ apartment, Eric and Paulie were sitting on the floor eating pizza right out of the box and watching a documentary about Woodstock.

Hey Aiden, how’s it hangin’ man? Eric asked.

Sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and a paper plate in his lap, no one would have guessed that Eric sells houses. But as he often says, that’s just his job. His life is totally separate.

A little to the left, I joked.

Heard you got a pretty awesome gift for your birthday?

I slid the box across the floor. That’s what they say. Take a look.

He sat his plate on the floor and opened the box. Eric whistled when he picked up the shiny instrument. He let his fingers glide over the strings.

This is an amazing piece, Eric commented lazily.

Can you play it?

Sure! I play a lot of instruments, sax, guitar, drums. But guitar is my favorite. We have quite a few, right, Paulie? A Gibson six string, a J-165, a couple of Strats... his voice trailed off as he tried to remember all of his guitars. He could have been speaking Spanish for I all I knew. Paulie laughed.

You have no idea what he’s talking about, huh?

Shaking my head, I laughed and admitted I didn’t.

There are many different types of guitars, Eric explained. They all sound different. Do you know what kind this is?

My dad called it a Stratocaster. Glad I remembered that little detail. I already looked foolish enough.

Yeah, a 58. This guy-he pointed to the autograph-used to play one just like this.

See what you started! Paulie grinned at his father’s impromptu history lesson. You know he’s obsessed with anything related to music.

That’s cool. No one in my house is obsessed with anything.

As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. How sad is it that no one in my family has any interesting hobbies? Mom’s coupon cutting and Sara’s incessant studying do not count.

I heard someone say that hobbies are healthy obsessions that indicate that you have passion in your life. There’s no passion in the Tyler household. We’re kinda like robots on autopilot, just going through life but not really caring about it.

Do you want to learn how to play? Eric asked me.

I’m not really into rock and roll.

Rock stars aren’t the only people who play guitar. Eric grinned slightly. Matter of fact, some of the best guitarists aren’t rockers at all. Most of them are blues men.

He started running down a list of guitar legends off the top of his head. I was impressed. Eric really knew his stuff.

I’ve heard of B.B. King, I mentioned. He’s old.

You’re sixteen. Everyone’s old to you. Have you ever heard of Hendrix?

Paulie looked up from his pizza. Now that’s a legend! There’s nobody out there that’s better than him!

Paulie is a Hendrix nut, Eric warned.

Because he’s the greatest! I can’t believe you saw him in person!

Who is he? I asked, enjoying the back and forth between father and son.

Who is he? Paulie repeated. He is like the James Brown of rock and roll! You do know who James Brown is, right?

I nodded. I’m not completely oblivious to everything.

Jimi Hendrix is the Godfather of Rock and Roll! What he was able to do with his guitar; man, I’d give anything to play like that. Dad, start the movie over. You’ve got to see this dude in action. And pay attention, Aiden, Paulie ordered when the movie started. Jimi will change your life.

I doubt that. It’s just music. Music doesn’t change lives. It’s just entertainment, background noise when I’m lifting weights or eating at restaurants.

There’s Jimi, Paulie whispered when a skinny black guy with an afro stepped on the stage.

I burst out laughing at his baby blue fringed poncho. What the heck is he wearing?

Don’t worry about the clothes, dude, Paulie insisted. Just listen and learn.

About halfway through the first song, I slid closer to the television. What is this?

I was expecting something that sounded like Bon Jovi or Guns N’ Roses. This sure as hell didn’t sound like that. I watched Jimi’s hands fly over his guitar strings while he sang words that I could actually understand.

I took the remote from Paulie and turned up the volume. This man was making sounds on his guitar that I’ve never heard before. So many sounds at the same time! I didn’t know a guitar could even do that. Can my guitar do that, I wondered.

My attention was focused like a laser beam on the man in the poncho. Jimi Hendrix looked like he wasn’t even present, as if playing guitar had transcended him to another plane, another universe where nothing else existed except him and his guitar. I wanted to be there.

I can’t say how long the documentary was but I didn’t want or need to see any of the other acts. Paulie started Jimi’s performance again. We watched it two more times before he turned off the DVD. Even after seeing the full Woodstock performance twice, I wanted to keep watching. How good Jimi Hendrix was is insane. Not that I have many others to compare him to, but there can’t be many.

Is this rock and roll? I heard myself ask but I don’t think anyone heard me since no one answered. In fact, no one said anything throughout Jimi’s entire performance. When he left the stage, Paulie stopped the DVD.

So?

That dude is… I tried to come up with the perfect word but I couldn’t.

I know, Paulie acknowledged.

Bro! You’ve got to let me borrow this movie. And some CDs. I know you have some!

Eric laughed. Paulie has never shown you his Hendrix collection?

I frowned at my best friend. You’ve been holding out! You made me listen to that Smashing Pumpkins crap and I could have been listening to this! Not cool, bro.

Smashing Pumpkins isn’t crap. Come on. Paulie stood up. I’ll show you what I’ve got.

We walked down the short hallway and Paulie nudged me in the ribs.

I told you, Jimi changes lives.

Apparently so. By the time Eric dropped me off at my house, I had CDs of Hendrix, B.B King, and some dude named Stevie Ray Vaughn that I’ve never heard of. I fell asleep with my headphones on. I even skipped a shower the next morning just so I wouldn’t have to take the headphones off while I got dressed.

This is what music should always sound like. I don’t know what Sara and my football buddies are listening to but whatever it is, it isn’t music. I had my headphones on all the time listening to this new music, even when Sara started teasing me about it.

Did I just hear you sing ‘Layla’? she asked one morning at breakfast.

Yeah. What’s wrong with that?

Didn’t think you were an Eric Clapton fan, that’s all, she replied.

Eric Clapton is a freakin’ guitar God! As many books as you’ve read, you should know that. Step your game up, nerd, I teased.

Discovering new old music quickly became my new hobby. I spent every dime of my allowance on anything I could find by Muddy Waters to Buddy Guy, Bob Dylan to The Beatles. I became obsessed.

Finally! Something to be passionate about.

The Saturday after my dad had missed yet another Friday night football game, Paulie and I were in my room watching a special on VH-1 called Guitar Gods.

Lately my father has been missing a lot of our games. His job requires a lot of traveling back and forth across the state and we all understand that, but he’s been MIA so much that I can’t help but be pissed. Playing football was his idea. He should at least be at my games.

Aiden, you need to take my dad up on those lessons, he commented. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could jam like they did back in the day? I mean, you do have Keith Richards’s guitar. It seems disrespectful to keep it in a box and never play it.

It’s not his guitar, I corrected. It’s just some Strat that he signed. Besides, I’ll never be able to play like Keith Richards, even if he taught me himself. That dude is awesome! I wouldn’t do that guitar any justice.

My introduction to the Rolling Stones was similar to my introduction to Hendrix-complete and total immersion. Only when my dad wasn’t around.

We weren’t supposed to touch his vintage record collection, but how could I not? Out of our Heads and Sticky Fingers just sitting around collecting dust and not being listened to was sacrilege to me and Paulie.

I’m not saying you’ll be any good, Paulie joked. Just learn how to hold the damn thing and play a few chords. Come on, man, it’ll be fun!

I don’t have time, I argued. We have playoffs. Then Dad wants me to try out for the basketball team so I’ll stay in shape all winter.

You don’t even like basketball. Paulie frowned. You can’t play sports just because your dad wants you to. Just give it a shot, man.

I stole a glance at my closet where the guitar was still tucked away