Stereo

By Jayna Ostler

Lonica Wilkes and her best friend, Wren Magpie, think there’s no better way to start off the summer than by getting Lonica over her stupid crush on Steven Lero. For years she’s been trapped under his spell (unbeknownst to him) and she’s finally saying NO by dating other people who are obviously much cooler than he will ever be. But what happens when he figures out she’s always had this thing for him? Will she continue to stand her ground or will she end up falling more in love with the boy who always lets her down?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312845824

Book preview

Stereo

Stereo

STEREO

First Edition

Copyright © 2015 Jayna Ostler

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without direct, written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, bands, characters, venues, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons or bands living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Distributor http://www.lulu.com

ISBN: 978-1-312-84582-4

TO

Ashton W

Candalynne R

Chase B

Jessica B

Jessica L

Karen L

Katie S

Megan P

Misty H

Rachael W

Thank you, friends, for being so supportive of my life the last few years and everything we’ve gone through together. You’re all so badass.

▬▬▬▬▬1

Everything about Steven Lero pisses me off.  His obsession with music, his stance on the books I read, his stupid habit of collecting Rep Juice bottle caps in his back pockets, and especially the way he can get me to laugh when I’m so set on being angry with him.

I’m always mad at him.  I was upset when he asked Kodi Copperhend to prom instead of me (even though he danced more than half of the slow songs with me and sang under his breath to all of them), and I was furious when he ditched out of my Sweet Sixteen party to go to the On Air convention in California (even though he bought every single thing he could with my name inscribed on it and distributed them to me every day at school for a week), and I vowed never to forgive him for blatantly telling the entire school—through his stupid radio station—that my favorite bra was pink and plaid (even though he’s the one who suggested I buy it).

And I hate him now for convincing me to participate in the Year End Talent Show, singing while he plays the piano.  I loathe him for not even being here.

I’m standing on the stage, gripping the microphone in my sweaty hand, glancing back at the grand piano from the choir room and hoping he’ll pop in at any moment to join me.  A grand entrance for a grand asshole.  Everyone is staring at me.  Everyone.  Even the people still talking to their friends—they have their hands covering their mouths, but their eyes are drilling into me.  I’m going to throw up.  Over 2,000 of my peers are waiting on me to do something.  When I tear my eyes away from them to look desperately at the stage curtains leading to where Steven should come in, the SBO president is tapping their wrist to tell me my time is going away quickly.

Shit.  If I don’t do something, I know that I’ll be a laughing stock.  Even when we graduate next week and I don’t see 78% of these people ever again, I will forever be known as The Girl Who Got Stood Up For a Talent Show and Bailed.

Bringing the microphone to my face, I let out what I think if a soft, calming breath.  But it rebounds out of the sound system in a harsh dying dragon sound and I feel my face go even redder than it was before.  I’m literally on fire from head to toe.  I clear my throat—into my elbow and not the microphone—and finally start talking.

Well, as most of you know, Stereo was supposed to play the piano for me, but he’s probably got better things to do.  So, I’m just going to… get on with the song and… stuff. This is already turning out terrible.  Terrible, horrible, rotten and I’m going to punch Steven so hard in the chest when I see him that it will send him into cardiac arrest.  One more deep breath (away from the microphone). It’s empty in the crest of the moon that you ate from my heart months ago.  There’s no telling what kind of nighttime monsters will jump out at the slightest insecurities and remind me of how much our voice used to make everything right.

The song comes out completely off pitch and the words feel wrong even though I know I memorized the lyrics ages ago.  It sounds like the equivalent of a cat screaming in an echoing alley.  On repeat.  Terrible isn’t even a good enough word for it.  I sing too fast, wanting to get it over with before someone decides to throw their leftovers from lunch at me to get me off the stage themselves.  I do a horrendous key change that had been flowing smoothly in our practice sessions for the last month and flail into the ending in the worst musical way possible by accidently letting the microphone slip from my fingers and clatter to the floor.

Hesitant, patronizing applause walks me off the stage after I pick up the microphone.  I wipe the sweat off the bottom with my shirt before handing it back to the sound guy with so much shame that I can’t even look at him.  After leaving the back stage area, barely catching the first laughter from Robert’s standup routine, I look for the best possible place to dig a hole for Steven’s grave.

▬

I don’t go over to Steven’s right away.  I know if I see him immediately after the peak of my teenage humiliation, I might hurt him so bad that I could either regret it or go to jail.

Instead I drive home in my Camry as casually as I can.  Wren has made fun of me before for acting so cool and collected after situations like this.  She’s the kind of person who yells and screams until she’s gotten it all out of her system.  I’d rather let the pan simmer instead of boil over.  I park my car on the road in front of my house and gather up my very light backpack.  With it being the last week of school, there aren’t any assignments or books weighing it down.  It only holds a box of colored pencils, a notebook, and a handful of tampons for emergencies.  I don’t even bother slinging it over my shoulder as I walk up and into my house.

Thankfully, no one’s home yet.  I hate when I see my family immediately after an episode with Steven because I think they expect something to happen every time I have my hopes hung up on him.  Something always happens.  I drop my bag by the stairs and go to the kitchen.  Mom has baking stuff out—she’s probably in charge of snacks for Colleen’s softball game.  I sit down on a barstool after getting a glass of water and pull out my phone.  There isn’t a single message from him.  Not a text or even a voicemail.  So be it.  I dial up Wren and wait patiently for her to answer.

"Oh my fucking hell, he did not do that to you." I don’t even have to tell her what happened.  I shouldn’t be surprised.  She graduated last year and is friends with everyone on all the social media sites in order to promote her music.  She probably saw something on there about it.  Word spreads fast when it has anything to do with Steven.

I’m pretty positive my dignity is burned into a pile of ashes on the stage floor if you want to sweep it up and save it for anything later.

Wren is too angry to laugh at my joke even though I think it’s slightly funny. That asshole!  Seriously!  What the hell is his problem?

I sigh and take a drink.  I feel a little numb from the whole situation—like it wasn’t even me on stage at all.  It was someone else.  Someone Steven is friends with that isn’t emotionally attached to the bastard. Do you want the chronological or alphabetical list?

She snorts and that makes me feel better.  Hopefully, we can laugh about this one day.  Oh, ha ha ha, remember that one time, senior year, Steven was a dick and thought it’d be funny to leave me alone on stage?  Good times.  That’s never going to happen.  He’s crossed the line and there’s no amount of apologizing on his part that will make me forgive him easily.  I hear the front door open and shut moments before seeing Colleen’s little head of black hair from the hallway.

I’m going to go, Wren.  Colleen’s here and I’m going to go see if our new favorite dirt bag is home.

So you can kick his ass?

So I can kick his…butt. I glance at Colleen walking towards me.  She looks like she’s not paying attention to me, but she’s tricky at picking up things I say and ‘accidently’ repeating them in front of the ‘rents.

Wren grunts once and I smile.  She doesn’t have siblings and gets annoyed when I push her to be a good (or at least decent) example to my younger sister. Whatever.  Kick ass.  Text me after.  Oh!  Get a good crotch shot.

I hang up after laughing and set my phone on the counter. Hey sis, how was school?

Good.  We went on a fieldtrip today and I got to make a macaroni necklace. She tugs a string full of colored, uncooked macaroni noodles from under her shirt and holds it up for me to see.

That’s awesome!  Should we try eating it for dinner sometime?

Her nose scrunches up and she drops the necklace to let it hang on her neck. No.  It has glue and that’s gross.

A little glue never hurt anyone.

She shakes her head and puts her pink and purple backpack up on the counter next to me. At recess today, my friend Kyle—

Boyfriend Kyle? She’s had this crush on Kyle for the whole year and always talks about him.

"Friend Kyle said that his sister said that your song didn’t go good."

Damn.  Public humiliation spreads faster than a wildfire in a dead forest apparently.  I don’t try to keep the smile on my face any longer and bend down to rest my cheek on the counter. Yeah, they’re right.  Totally got stood up.  Some best friend.

"Some boyfriend. I flick her forehead with my finger and she giggles.  After climbing up onto a barstool next to me, she takes a drink from my water and pulls out her small yearbook she got today. Are you going to still be his friend?"

Do you think I should? I watch her open up to the place where signatures go and I try to read all of her fellow eight-year-old classmate’s bad handwriting.

She shrugs and I kind of like that she’s not all set on the butt kicking like Wren is.  After a few minutes of silence between us, she sits up straight and looks over at me. Can we make cheesy mac for lunch tomorrow?

Getting off the barstool, I tousle her hair a bit. Of course.  Anything for the coolest sister in the world.  I’m going to see if Steven’s home.  Mom should be home any minute.  Don’t cook anything.  Don’t leave.  I’ll only be a few minutes.

We don’t live very far away from Steven’s house.  Just a short walk off my road, around the block, and onto the bigger road.  You can tell instantly which house is his because of the equipment for his radio station.  Whenever we have to give anyone directions to get there, we say to Look for the house with the shit on the roof.

His car isn’t in the driveway and I doubt his mom is home yet, and I almost turn to go back home, but I don’t want to miss an opportunity to punch him.  If there’s a chance he’s home, I’m going to show him how big of a jackass move this was.  My fingers start shaking as I walk up his driveway.  I feel like I’m burning and it’s not from the sun hanging above me.  I know it’s all of the anger pulsing through my veins.

I only knock twice—short and clipped.  Usually if he or his mom are home, they know it’s me from the knock.  There’s a few minutes of silence and I figure no one’s home when I hear someone tromping down the stairs.  I fold my arms across my chest and put on my angriest face possible.

But neither Steven nor his mom answer the door.  Instead, his older brother does, sporting nothing but some hastily thrown on gym shorts.  His hair is dripping wet and I feel bad if he came out of the shower just to answer the door.  Jessen isn’t home very often since he goes to school in Arizona, but I’d already forgotten it was summer and school wasn’t in session.

Hey, Lonica. He beams at me and leans against the door frame.  After a second of studying me, his face drops. Uh oh.  What did Stereo do this time?

Is he home?  I need to kick his ass. I can hear the TV playing down the hall and catch the sounds of some sports game.

Jessen glances behind him. I haven’t seen him all day.  Do you want to come see if there’s a note on his studio door or something?

No.  Can you leave him a message for me? I know Jessen has a habit of forgetting to give out messages to Steven when I need him too.  I hope this one is memorable.

Sure.

"Tell him that his very best friend who does anything for him is really really happy for him today and whatever adventure he’s on.  Oh, and I love him." I stretch the biggest, fakest smile across my cheeks that I can.

Jessen nods and scratches his bare bicep, chuckling to himself. So, let me make sure I’ve got this down.  ‘Dear, Stereo.  Lonica hates your guts, she’s going to kill you, better go apologize.  Oh, and she hates you.’ Did I get it right?

I give him two thumbs up. Sounds about right.  Promise to pass the message along?

Pinky promise. We twine our pinkies together before I leave to go back home, only some of the anger gone from my mind.

▬▬▬▬▬2

Before you blow up, let me explain.

If you asked me to give you an estimated count of the number of times Steven has stood on my doorstep saying these exact seven words to me, I wouldn’t be able to give you a good answer.  I’m sitting on the stairs with my tablet in my lap—the project I was working on paused in the middle of drawing Wren’s name.  Thankfully, Dad got to the door first or I’m sure Steven would have a broken nose right about now.  And then I’d have to take him to the hospital and then I’d be the bad guy.

Dad glances over his shoulder at me, eyebrows raised, silently asking if he should do one of three things: 1) let him in.  2) continue to block the door.  Or 3) punch him.  My constant glare declares a number two.  Even though Wren said he doesn’t deserve the time to give an excuse, I want an explanation.

Lonnie, I swear to God I was going to be there.  I had my music ready, my Under Current shirt on,—I had taken mine off, shoved it in the back of my closet, and put on the shirt he hated the most that says Fart if you like art!—And the car was even on and ready to go.

Who was it this time, Steven?  Was it Adam Havokk saying Beears is getting back together?  Because if not—

He shakes his head. "I wish.  I got a text from my buddy Justin who is friends with Kevin from Octopus Pie and he said they were in Portland for a pit stop and if I wanted an exclusive interview for their new CD, I needed to do it pronto and I couldn’t pass that up."

Shit.  He has me.  Octopus Pie is my band.  Our band.  We listened to them nonstop during the summer between being freshmen and sophomores.  Their beats and lyrics were the background to every adventure.  They are my favorite band, hands down.  He’s looking at me with stupid puppy dog eyes, waiting for me to tell Dad that he’s allowed inside the house.  I take a deep breath and close my eyes, counting to ten before letting it out.

Steven.  Lero.  You convinced me to memorize an Under Current song with you—made me practice for months—and signed us up to do that stupid duet at school. I look at Dad’s shoulder instead of Steven.  It’s easier this way. "And I indulged in your silly idea and got up on that stage when you know I’m not a fan of doing stuff in front of big crowds.  I realized far too late what was happening and humiliated myself in front of everyone.  On top of that, did you even try texting me?  Did you think about inviting me to meet this band that I’m so in love with?  No.  No you didn’t."

Dad lets out a snort of laughter when I finish.

I know.  I’m the worst.  I’m an asshole and a douche, dick, jerk, prick, and the scum of the earth.  But I got something for you. He pulls out a small square from his hoodie and holds it up.  I don’t even have to squint against the afternoon sun beaming down on it to know what it is.

I don’t want it. Good God I want it so badly that my fingers physically ache to touch the CD in his hands.

He tilts his head back and makes a sad sigh. "Lonnie, come on."

Can I look at this? Dad takes the CD from Steven and examines the back of it, reading off a few of the song titles. "Catch Me When You Jump, Hair Follicles, That One Time (At Band Camp)."

Dad, stop! I set my tablet down and jump up off the stairs in a matter of seconds to snatch it away from Dad.  The cover is amazing.  Octopus Pie’s name is encased in seaweed with a small school of fish swimming around the plate of pecan pie on the bottom of the ocean.  It’s their self-titled album that’s not set to release for another two months.  Leave it to Steven to obtain a copy before anyone else.  I try my hardest not to let the excitement show on my face.  I grip the CD tightly and then fold my arms defensively across my body.

Lon, I’m really sorry.  It won’t happen again. The conversations that start on the doorstep with seven predictable words always end with these eight even more predictable ones.

The disc in my hand makes me want to forgive him.  I know he wouldn’t have gotten an unreleased CD like this for anyone else—especially from Octopus Pie.  But in the back of my mind, this pitying applause starts slowly making itself louder and louder in my head and I feel nauseated again.  I shiver a little at the idea of the same applause following me down the aisle at graduation in a few days. I embarrassed myself in front of the entire school!

She did.  I heard about it from someone at work whose kid is a freshman there.  Said it was pretty bad. Dad nods to Steven.

Dad!

What?  It’s true.  You really had balls to do that, Stereo. Ugh.  I hate when even my parents call him by his stupid nickname.  It’s the most ridiculous thing ever.

Steven looks down at his shoes and shrugs his shoulders in defeat.  After a few seconds, he looks back up and gives me a weak smile. If you decide you ever want to talk to me again, you know where to find me, I guess.

As he leaves down our front walk in a slow shuffle, I feel proud that I was able to stand my ground and not give into him immediately.  I stood up for myself.  Dad shuts the door and turns to face me.

Do you think you’ll be able to forgive him for this one?

I look at the new CD in my hands and run my thumbs over the cover. Let me listen to this a few times and I’ll get back to you on that one.

▬

Clicking around on my computer, I enlarge the drawing I just transferred from my tablet to the monitor.  From there, it’s easy to save it into Wren’s folder to show her later.  It’s a bird—a magpie, like her last name—with its wings spread out.  There are song lyrics from her single that’s playing on Steven’s station scrawled across the feathers in blue and green.  I think she’ll really like it for a new shirt.

It only took five minutes of looking at the CD to know that forgiveness could be negotiated in Steven’s favor.  Inside the case, the five members of Octopus Pie have pressed their signature into the disc with a silver marker.  Kevin Lang, their drummer, even wrote my name with a heart around it.

I can’t let Steven know that I’ve given in this easily though, so I listen through the CD twice while drawing.  When they come back on the second time around, I can already sing the choruses.  After shutting down my computer and tablet, I carefully extract the CD from the stereo and stick my middle finger through the hole to carry it away from the shared lounge room and to my bedroom.

Mom and Dad originally donated the small room between mine and Colleen’s bedrooms to my artistic cause.  Back when I liked painting, I got in trouble a few times for spilling paint on the carpet, but eventually they stopped caring.  It also helped that I got into drawing on the computer instead and trying out graphic designs.

When they decided to adopt Colleen, they warned me that I would probably end up sharing it with her for whatever creative outlets she needed.  She was so much more into sports and the only things she kept in the room were some participation trophies on top of a bookshelf that was stuffed full of her chapter books.  I pinned up posters on all four walls and set up a desk to work from in the corner of the room closest to my own.  Almost all of the posters were acquired by Steven from the shows we went to all the time.

Even though Colleen is one of the tidiest kids I know, I still am weirdly possessive of my CD collection.  Sure, I’ll leave my tablet and mighty desktop in our shared room without a second thought.  But my music?  No way.  I have a small bookcase in my bedroom with a three piece stereo set up on top of it.  It’s almost completely filled with hardcopies of my favorite albums.  I set the Octopus Pie CD back in its case on top of the left speaker.

On the other speaker is a framed photo from our first day of senior year.  Steven has his arm around my shoulder and we’re both grinning at the camera extended in his other hand.  Both of our sunglasses hugging our faces were personally hand-painted by me.  That day we decided to let this last year of school be the best.  So many dumb promises had been made and I guess even though he can’t promise to show up to a talent show with me, he’s been good