Beautiful Music for Ugly Children by Kirstin Cronn-Mills Read Free Book Online Page B

me about Bobby X and graduation and summer and college. All I want to do is run into Paige’s back yard and do cartwheels, but then she’d have to take me to the hospital. MITCH’S A SIDE = MITCH. MITCH’S B SIDE = SATAN! Somebody listened. Holy shit.
    Paige catches me. “What are you smirking about?”
    “Becca and her B side.” Maybe I could do a handstand.
    “We didn’t need to know Jake jerks off to his B side.” She makes a face.
    “And which Jake, not that I’m curious about who’s jerking off, and Mitch who? Get your Facebook page up.”
    She checks. “I am friends with … two Mitches, seven Sarahs, ten Jakes, three Maggies, and one Becca. But I don’t know which of the ten Jakes are friends of Becca’s. Just so you know, I’m not spending my night cross-referencing friends on other friends’ pages.”
    I check her numbers. She has 716 friends. There are 350 people in our class, and there’s another high school on the other side of town—Maxfield East—and she’s probably friends with half of them, too. And probably random people in Indonesia.
    “Either way, dude, you have fans.” She pretends she doesn’t want to smile. “Don’t get a big head.”
    “I’m cool.” But it’s too late.

    When I leave Paige’s house, I call John. “You’ve got to come to the corner of Eighteenth Street and Third Avenue. Like now.”
    “That’s a pretty dull part of town.”
    “Just get here, will ya?”
    I go back to the abandoned warehouse and look at it some more. It’s completely insane.
    I take a bunch of pictures with my phone, breaking the wall into parts so I can get it all. Then John pulls up in his pimpmobile, which is a 1965 Cadillac Eldorado, just like Elvis drove.
    “What’s so all-fired important that you had to drag me to this ugly part of town?” He’s laughing. “You got a hot date out here?”
    “Take a look.” I point to the wall. It’s corny as hell to say, but every time I look, it feels like someone put a glow stick in my chest.
    John turns where I’m pointing. “Holy goddamn smokes. Look at that. Somebody’s listening. Even to the sports show.” After he looks for a bit, he turns back to me. “Ugly Children Brigade? That’s pretty catchy.”
    “I know.”
    “So what’re you gonna do now? Give ’em new directions next week?”
    “Probably.” I can’t stop smiling.
    He holds up his hand for a high five. “Gimme some skin, Liz … Gabe … sorry.”
    I slap him five.
    “Your show this week has to be extra good.” He’s walking to his car, pointing at me so I’ll get in mine. “Or they’ll quit listening.”
    “So let’s go practice.” I slide in and put on “Rubberneckin’ ” by Elvis, then follow John as he pulls out.
    Stop, look, and listen, world, just like Elvis says. Gabe is comin’ at you, right here, right now, on KZUK, the Z that Sucks, rockin’ and sockin’ and blockin’ your cocks off!
    Maybe not quite like that.

Conan O’ Brien is the
new Elvis and He Has the Hair to Prove It

    Friday afternoon. At 2:17 John leaves a message on my phone: “Get your butt over here after school, pronto!” I get the message at 3:12 and have to wait until 3:35 to bolt out of my seat, but I hurry my ass to John’s house. Either someone’s died or there’s news from the Vibe.
    I screech into my driveway and barely get the car door open before running across the lawn to John’s.
    “You don’t have to break the door down, you know. The email’s not going anywhere.” He moves aside to let me in.
    “You have no idea what this means to me.”
    “Oh, I might.” He grins. “This is your career, Liz—Gabe—sorry. Your career, starting right here and now.”
    “Where’s your computer?” I’m walking from music room to music room, looking for his laptop.
    “On the table.”
    I almost don’t want to read it. But I do.
    Dear Elizabeth (entered by John Burrows):
    Congratulations! You’ve made it to the final round
of the Vibe’s DJ Talent Scout