Broken Birdie Chirpin by Adam Tarsitano Read Free Book Online Page B

She held her ground like a gladiator as waves
of love-struck zombies crashed all around. Her auburn hair was pulled back with
some tendrils framing her decorated face. I’d never seen her in a dress before.
Blood hell. She was every bit a lovely bird. My ticker fluttered as she smiled
from ear to ear. Even at that moment, however, I could feel myself being torn
away. There was a gymnasium full of temptresses in a horrible frenzy on account
of our budding stardom. Regrettably, the tension between affection and lust
didn’t dwindle as we thundered forward with increasing artistry and confidence.
    High-fives
and salutations abound as the curtain closed on our first set. We wouldn’t be
playing the polka at Aunt Wanger’s 50 th anniversary gala. We
wouldn’t be but a footnote in the chronicles of rock n’ roll obscurity. We were
a magnum of cuvée
de prestige. Top of the Pops on a meteor made for four. Giggles from stage left suddenly
interrupted our self-congratulatory saber-rattling. It was none other than Lana
Moxley and her gaggle of fem fatales. She and her mates were royalty.
    “Hey,
Skeff. We just wanted to tell you and the other lads that we really like your
music.” Lana spoke over continued giggling.
    “Yeah,
really tight.” Annie “Lips” Ralston chimed in.
    “Thanks,
Lana. Annie. We’ve got some more gems for you ladies in set number two.”
Skeffington rubbed elbows with these high flyers on account of his status as a
legendary jock. He rolled steady and smooth.
    Lincoln
and Frisby drew some incredulous glances as they imitated the giddy birds,
which probably elevated their status as rebellious rock n’ rollers. I lurked in
the shadows hoping they wouldn’t address me directly so as to avoid making a
plonker out of myself.
    “We
can’t wait!” Lana winked at Skeffington. “Oh, and we’re throwing a little
after-dance party at mums. We’d like for all of you to come…even your brooding
guitar player.” She smiled at me and I nearly sparked out. I wanted to say
something witty, but I was much too frightened.
    “Thanks
for the invite, Lana. We’ll see you later.” Skeffington shined as the band’s
official spokesperson.
    “Toodle
pip, girlies.” Lincoln spoke only on behalf of the rhythm section. He waited
for them to scuttle off before piping up again. “Well, well, well…what do you
think about that, Churchill?”
    “Bloody
hell.” Only the crème de la crème stepped foot in Moxley Manor.
    “You’ve
become a bona fide A-lister after only one-half of a sodding show, mate.
Cheers.” Skeffington had been an A-lister for years. I didn’t want to be a
tourist. But there was a single act of sheer cruelty that would have to be
undertaken before I could officially click my heels. Regrettably, I knew I had
it in me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    Our
ten minute hiatus had mostly been spent. We hustled back into formation and
waited for the curtain to part. Boom! “Gutter Minx” blasted forth with my
bone-crunching power chords rattling the P.A. system to the brink. The
gymnasium immediately sprung back to life. Lana, etc. had established a
perimeter directly in front of the stage for dancing and worship. An invisible
force field of attitude and hubris kept tossers at a safe distance. There were
many other pockets of prime skirts scattered about. If smiles and winks were
currency, I could’ve instantly retired a bloody mogul.
    Becky.
She and Rita were sipping fizzies by the side of the dance floor. Rita was
fixing to monopolize her attention with animated blabber. No matter. Becky
looked like a proud sunflower stretching towards the warmth of the sun. She
never took her eyes off the stage. We’d planned a post-dance rendezvous behind
the school. I had neither the decency nor the courage to tell her that I
wouldn’t be attending.
    In
a blink it was time to close out the dance with “Wisteria Blues (She Been
Dancing with the Wrong Guy).” The ordinary blokes deserved a fighting chance
since we were