Chapter 4

“See those guys standing at the end of the hallway?” Ronin asked. “They’re gonna be in our music class this year.”

I slammed my locker shut and glanced around.

You couldn’t mistake the newcomers.

Both had long hair, like me and Ro. The first guy was tall and lean, with black wavy hair, and he wore makeup. Lots of eyeliner. Something that wasn’t allowed in school. The guy turned and met my stare head on, but I looked away, turning my attention to the one standing next to him, the blond. Both guys were wearing ripped t-shirts, jeans, and converse. The blond one was talking and waving his arms around, while the other guy smirked and leaned back against his locker, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Have you talked to them yet?”

“Nope.” Ronin shook his head. “But I heard that the dark haired one has quite a mouth on him. It’s his first day here and he already got threatened with detention from Mr. Stuart.”

Mr. Stuart was our English teacher. If you could call him that. He didn’t like helping the struggling students, aka me and Ronin. Instead, he red-lined our essays with nothing but a single mark, no feedback. I didn’t give a shit. As long as I did well enough to pass, I was good. I didn’t give a fuck about school anyway. My parents were disappointed in my grades but that was nothing new. And the older I got, the more I realized that I was never going to be like them. I’d have to forge my own path. Be bold.

Bold? Me? Yeah, I was working on that.

Speaking of bold, Ronin and I didn’t have to walk down the hallway to talk to the new guys. They headed in our direction.

“Hey, I’m Brodie.” The dark-haired one reached out with his fist. Ronin bumped it, then I followed. “This is Holloway. Cool shirts. I’ve been to concerts for both bands. They’re fucking awesome.”

I had on my favorite Foo Fighters t-shirt and Ronin, Green Day.

“Thanks,” Ronin replied in his rumbling voice. He not only looked older, but he sounded it too. “I’m Ronin, this is Faisel. Where you guys from?”

“Just outside Providence. We used to go to a private school, but I got kicked out a month ago,” Brodie smirked. “My parents shit their pants.”

“I was next to go. Or rather, I told my dad I wanted out,” Holloway shook his head. “Private school sucked. Too many rules.”

“I like your makeup, but you better watch it,” I warned. “The principal’s gonna make you take it off.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Brodie scoffed. “It’s a free country and I can do what I want.”

This guy had fucking balls. I knew right then and there that the teachers would not be able to deal with his attitude.

“Public school is still a dictatorship,” Ronin commented with a grin. “Faise and I jam after music class. You guys play?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Holloway smiled. “Brodie’s got a kick ass voice and I play guitar. Just tell us when and where.”

“Today?”

They nodded.

Brodie looked around. “Fuck, I hate school. Rules and more fucking rules. Me and Holls are gonna split town once we turn eighteen and gig across the country. Do our own thing.”

I looked at Ronin and he smiled back at me. “So are we.”

“No shit?” Brodie asked, a fire in his hazel eyes.

Ronin nodded. “I play bass, Faise, drums. We’ve been looking to form a band, but we haven’t clicked with anyone yet.”

“Are you kidding me? This is fucking perfect.” Brodie leaned in close. “How about we jam and see if it works? If it does, we find a name, and start playing local gigs.”

“But we don’t even have our own instruments yet. Well, I don’t,” Ronin replied. “I’m working a job on the weekends to save up for a guitar.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ve got instruments you can borrow for now. We can practice in my basement, it’s all set up,” Brodie added. “I’ve already got a van, an old one that my parents don’t need any more. We’re gonna fix it up and then one more fucking year and we hit the road. Wait, how old are you guys?”

“Sixteen,” I muttered. “Both of us turn seventeen in July.”

Holloway cocked his head. “Me and Brodie are the same, but in April.”

“Awesome,” Ronin replied. “Well, we have math class and we better not be late. The last thing I need is extra homework.”

“Mr. Lansing’s class?” Holloway asked.

“Yup.”

“We’re in the same one.”

The four of us walked to class together. Brodie got some long stares from the other kids, but all he did was give them the finger in return and kept strutting, cocky as fuck. I was awed by his confidence.

When we did make it to class, our foursome sat at the back and talked about our favorite musicians and albums. All four of us were obsessed with the idea of being in a band and making it big. And talking with Brodie and Holloway, I felt like I did when I first met Ronin. We became fast friends. Me and Ronin didn’t have a wide circle of buddies in high school and that was okay. Not everyone did. We were video game geeks and music nerds. And a lot of the jocks in our class made fun of us.

One guy in particular, Ilya Vallen, the star quarterback and the most popular guy in our school, seemed to have a thing for stirring up trouble with Ronin.

Case in point…

“Ronin, why don’t you shut up already? No one wants to hear about your stupid music,” Ilya snapped, turning around and glaring at us. “Fucking queer freak.”

“Fuck off, jockstrap,” Ronin muttered back.

“Yeah. Turn your pretty boy face back around before I rearrange it,” Brodie snarked. “And I’m queer too, so watch your mouth.”

“Yeah,” Holloway interjected. “Me, too. So shut the fuck up.”

Holy shit! I couldn’t believe how bold Brodie and Holloway were. They were brand new to this school and already, they took no shit. And they were both queer? And open about it? I was blown away.

“Just what we need, more weirdos. And wearing makeup?” Ilya sneered. “Disgusting.”

“No, that’s your face. Now turn around and mind your own fucking business,” Ronin hissed.

Ilya made to get up, Ronin joining.

“Guys,” I cautioned as the teacher entered the room and gave us a warning glance.

They both sat back down.

“Is there a problem?” Mr. Lansing called out, adjusting his glasses.

Brodie nodded and pointed at Ilya. “Just this dumb jock here being a complete asshat.”

The classroom chatter turned to laughter.

“And you are?”

“Brodie James.”

Mr. Lansing nodded. “Well, Mr. James, given that you’re new to my class I will give you one reprieve. But I will ask that you please control your wayward tongue from here on out.”

Wayward tongue?Brodie mouthed to us. I tried not to laugh but it was impossible.

“For you, and as a reminder to everyone in this class, that means being rebellious will not be tolerated and neither will cursing at other students. Do you understand?”

Brodie nodded but behind his desk, he was giving the teacher two middle fingers.

Shit, this was too entertaining. I glanced at Ronin, and he was trying to hold in a laugh too.

“Don’t worry,” Brodie whispered to us. “We’ve got your back.”

I believed him. The guy was fierce, and he wasn’t afraid of anyone.

After math class was over, Ronin and I headed to history and Brodie and Holloway went to English. Then all four of us met up again for music class, which was at the end of the day.

Once our final class was over and before we started jamming, I wandered out to use the washroom. The hallways were deserted now that school was done, no one in sight.

Once I was finished in the head, I washed up, and started back out.

Until I spotted Ronin and Ilya at the end of the hallway, in the alcove under the stairs.

But they weren’t fighting like usual.

Ilya and Ronin were sucking face. And going at each other with the same intensity as their argument.

I flushed all over, embarrassed that the sight of them kissing turned me on and at the same time, made me angry. How could Ronin kiss an asshole like that? A guy who made fun of him all the time.

I didn’t know what to do, so I crept back into the bathroom and waited a few more minutes. When I re-appeared and glanced again, they were gone.

I walked back to class, confused and shaken up. Brodie and Holloway were already playing. And singing. Fuck, Brodie could sing. A shiver passed through me. Somehow, just like I knew about Ronin, I knew that the four of us, right here, was the start of something special. I could feel it in my gut.

“You’re so fucking good,” I blurted out as I stood in the doorway, watching them.

Brodie’s smirk made another appearance. “I know. But thanks.”

“He’s already got the rockstar ego,” Holloway teased. “All we need now is a band name. Oh, and you know, a record deal.”

“Where’s Ronin?” Brodie asked.

I flushed, because, of course I did. “Um, I don’t know. Probably the washroom?”

“He left ten minutes ago. Seems like a long time to take a piss,” Holloway quipped. “Or a shit.”

“Not for someone my size.”

I turned at the sound of Ronin’s voice. Of course, my eyes lasered in on his lips, which were swollen. Now that I’d seen him, with Ilya of all people, I couldn’t unsee it.

“What about Wayward Tongue?” Brodie suggested.

I flushed again, my mind still thinking about that kiss, and shook my head. “What?”

“The name of our band. The teacher’s comment got me thinking,” Brodie explained. “Wayward means rebellious and that’s what rock music means to us. Fuck the nine to five, yeah?”

“Wayward, I like. Tongue, I like.” Holloway waggled his eyebrows. “Just not together. At least, not for a band name.”

Brodie rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. You suggest a name.”

“Wayward Dick?” Holls snickered and Brodie gave him two middle fingers in response.

“Be serious for a moment,” I added. “This name is one that all of us have to love. And it needs to be good. Something that has meaning. Something original.”

Brodie nodded. “What about Wayward Stray?”

“Immediate veto,” Holls snorted. “It sounds like we’re lost. Or, you know, dogs.”

“I like the Wayward part,” I replied. “That sounds cool. Maybe just that?”

The guys shook their heads.

“We’re not following along with everyone else, right? Taking our own path. So, how about something like Wayward Lane?” Ronin suggested.

“That sounds cool!” Brodie exclaimed.

Me and Holls nodded our approval. Holy shit, we had a fucking name.

We played a few songs from two of our favorite bands, Nirvana and Goo Goo Dolls, testing things out. We sounded great together, but I didn’t want to jinx things by saying anything. Time would tell. We just met. And we were only sixteen, so who the hell knows what could happen in a year? Still, something about our coming together seemed like fate to me. All four of us wanted to be musicians and nothing else.

Most people would say we were crazy. Go to college, take the safe job. Me? I couldn’t sit at a desk for eight hours a day, day in and out. School was bad enough.

After an hour of playing, laughing, and listening to Brodie’s smart-ass commentary about our playing, it was time to head home.

“See you guys tomorrow?” Brodie asked over his shoulder, as he and Holloway headed for the exit.

I nodded and waved at him, still unable to look at Ronin.

“What’s wrong?” Ronin finally asked me as we walked out.

“Nothing.”

“It’s obviously something.”

I paused on the steps of the school and finally looked up at him. “I saw you.”

“Saw me what?”

“You and Ilya. After music class,” I snapped. “Under the stairs.”

Ronin

“Oh. That.”

“It’s none of my business,” Faise bit out. “I’m just surprised that you want to kiss someone who talks shit about you all the time.”

I shrugged. “Um, I don’t know how to explain it.”

That was a lie. I did, I just didn’t want to have to. Not to Faise.

“I mean, it’s hot,” I confessed. “We hate each other, and we’re arguing, and then suddenly?—”

“And then he uses you,” Faise snapped and took off down the stairs.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” I whispered as I followed him. “It’s just a kiss. I’m using him too. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just hormones. And lots of people are in the closet. They don’t or can’t come out.”

Faise flinched.

I suspected that my best friend was queer, like me. But I never asked. I was ready to come out at thirteen, but everyone is different. And it wasn’t easy. My dad walked out that day and I hadn’t had contact with him since. Not that I had much contact before, but still. Being abandoned by one of your parents for just being you is the hardest thing ever.

“I don’t like the fact that Ilya makes fun of you and then does that. Like you’re a dirty secret. You deserve better.”

That was Faise, always coming to my defense. I pulled him in for a side hug and ruffled his hair.

“Don’t.” He pulled back and swatted my hand away. “I’m still mad.”

“There’s nothing to be mad at. I’m fine. Like I said, it’s just a kiss. And I was curious. And horny. It’s not like I have feelings for the guy.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “As long as you’re all right.”

“I am. But thanks for your concern, boo,” I teased.

I got his middle finger in response. Good, we were back to normal. We walked along the pathway that led to the bus stop.

“So, Brodie and Holloway, they’re cool, eh?” Faise muttered, changing topics.

“Yeah, they are. I think we have a good sound together.”

“Me too,” Faise replied and bit his lower lip.

He always did that when he was working out a problem in his head.

“I think I’m ready to do this,” he stated.

“Ready for the band? We can practice, and maybe play a gig here or there, but we still have another year of high school?—”

“Not that.”

We sat down on the bench at the bus stop. No one else was around.

“I’m ready to finally admit that I’m queer too,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to tell my family. Not yet.”

“Okay,” I acknowledged. “I mean, thanks for telling me. But yeah, you do you. You don’t have to tell anyone.”

Faise glanced up at me with those earnest brown eyes. He was worrying his lower lip again and rubbing his hand over his jaw. Unlike me, Faise didn’t have pimples or facial hair. Just sharp cheekbones and wicked dimples.

“I was watching Brodie and Holloway in school, and they’re so fucking confident. I want to be like that,” he confessed.

I knew that Faise struggled with expressing himself and being social. But when he was in the music zone, he thrived. And I was sure that, given time, his confidence would follow.

“You’ll get there,” I replied. “It just takes some of us longer to grow out of our awkward teenage phase.”

Faise sighed. “How long is that?”

“I have no idea. Ask me again in a few years.”