Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(64)
“No, we wouldn’t.” I follow him back to the gym, where I can feel the wide-eyed gazes of Lucy and her friends burning into me. I walk over to their huddle.
“Well?” I place my hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Did you get the part?”
She flashes me a smile full of metal. “I did.”
* * *
—
Thanks to DJ Spider’s insistence on playing the music at a near deafening volume, I haven’t been able to speak with Finn since we got punch. That was two hours ago. The dance is almost over, I’ve broken up three grinding attempts, and he hasn’t offered me a ride. It’s time to take matters into my own hands. It’s time to ask him.
“Let’s slow things down,” DJ Spider says into the mic, and I’m all too relieved when he lowers the volume slightly to match the vibe shift. I can finally hear myself think. With less than five minutes to take advantage of the quiet, I begin my trek across the dance floor to Finn.
“Excuse me.” I make my way through a sea of teens scrambling to pair up, stepping on a few toes in the process. “Sorry! So sorry.” I’m just about to break free of the crowd when I’m pulled into an open space, in the opposite direction I was heading in.
“You looked like you could use some help!” Teacher Rob.
“Oh, I’m okay, actually. I was heading over—”
“You’re just the person I’ve been looking for,” he says, leaning in close enough for me to smell the BO fighting through the top notes of his cologne.
“I am?”
“I have to drop Spider off at the bus stop. I know you said your car is in the shop. I’d be more than happy to drive you home since I’ll already be in the car and all.”
My stomach drops. I begin shaking my head. Frantically. “No, thank you. That’s a very kind offer, but—”
“I insist! It’s really no problem, Phoebe.” He grins softly. “In fact, it would be my greatest pleasure.” I am instantly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of guilt. Despite the occasional company of his old bandmate and a possible fling with Sue three decades ago, Teacher Rob is lonely. He has to be, if the idea of a car ride thirty minutes out of his way, just to have some company, fills him with this much joy. Which is why I find myself incapable of saying no.
“Okay.” I do my best to return his smile. “Thank you. That would be great.”
This is fine, I tell myself. I’ll have plenty of time to flirt with Finn at Noah’s party.
“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air. “I have some tunes to play for you. Spider and I have been messing around with a new sound that I think you’ll really like. It’s a mix of the heavy metal we used to do back in the day when we were the Krimson Kings, fused with some techno. Kids these days are starting to appreciate good music again, Phoebe.”
The lights turn on, saving me from having to respond. A minor victory overshadowed by a much larger loss. The dance is over, and I am not getting into Finn’s car.
I wave goodbye to the kids as they file outside to find their parents among a sea of identical luxury SUVs, and to Finn, who follows closely behind them. He doesn’t wave back. Instead, he curtsies.
“Ready, Phoebe?” asks Teacher Rob, and I nod, then lower my head in defeat as I follow him and DJ Spider out into the night.
19
I’m sitting on something cold and wet. There’s a tambourine digging into my side. The smell of marijuana oozes from the upholstery and cycles through the air vents.
Riding in the back seat of Teacher Rob’s Prius feels like drowning in the murky waters of a bong.
“Can we open a window?”
“No can do,” he responds. “Those things have been jammed since 2016.”
DJ Spider reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a cigarette. “Got a light?”
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure there’s one back there somewhere.” Teacher Rob gestures toward me. “See anything, Phoebe?”
I use my feet to rifle through the mess on the floor, treating the task like a game of I spy. An open bag of Doritos. A kazoo. Three loose Monopoly bills. A tub of Vaseline. A shattered iPod Touch. A hose.
“Oh!” I reach down to pick up a book of matches from a local Italian restaurant. “Here you go, DJ Spider.”
“You can call me Nick.” Sparks fly as he strikes a match and inhales deeply.
As he exhales, a plume of smoke makes my eyes water. The smell fills the car immediately.
“That’s not a cigarette,” I cough, and the pungent, skunk-like odor grows stronger by the second.
“A buddy of mine grows his own reefer on his roof.” He hands the joint to Teacher Rob who, despite driving, takes a deep hit before passing it back to me.
At this point, I have nothing to lose. I take it from his hand, wiping away any lingering traces of saliva before raising it to my mouth.
The smoke burns my throat and launches me straight into a coughing attack.
“Water,” I croak. Teacher Rob hands me a can of root beer from the cup holder. It is warm and flat, but serves its purpose. After I chug the remainder of it, the coughing subsides.
“Whoa,” I say, and my voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. Somewhere far off.