Rules to Rock By by Josh Farrar Read Free Book Online Page B

slow things down a little,” Jonny said. “I was about to tell you, number one, that Jackson’s already in a band, and that, number two—”
    “Why did he say your scar’s healing nicely?”
    “Nothing. Forget it.”
    “Did that guy give you the scar?”
    “I said forget it.”
    “Okay, fine. So there’s another band at Federal Hill?” I said.
    “Yeah, there’s Jackson’s band, Raising Cain. They’re heavy. They’re all eighth graders. And they’re really good.”
    “So I’ve heard. What grade are you in anyway? You’re sixth, right?”
    “Seventh. But I occasionally allow sixth graders to talk to me.” A quick smile. “Anyway, listen. Even more important is that Jackson Royer is easily the biggest jerk in the whole school. There’s no point in talking to him. He’ll just mess with your head.”
    “Okay, I get the message.”
    Here’s a new rule to rock by , I thought.
    Rock stars don’t let bullies mess with their heads.

THE CHURCH OF ROCK
    “Hey ho, let’s go!” Xavier shouted the next Saturday morning, processed sugar pumping through his veins. He was skateboarding wildly inside the house, although for once it was for a very specific reason. See, a miracle had taken place: my dad had agreed to take some time off from mixing the Benny and Joon album, and the Cabreras were going on … a family outing.
    “Nick, honey, have you seen the blanket?” my mom asked.
    “Babe, we’re not going camping,” said Dad. “We’re just going for a walk. Right?”
    “I thought we could go to Roger Williams Park. It’s supposed to be beautiful there. I packed lunches.”
    “Roger Williams Park! Roger Williams Park! Roger Williams Park!” X chanted.
    “I said I could take a couple hours off, not the whole day,” Dad said.
    “Whole day off, whole day off!” X had obviously entered a chanting phase, and it was grating on all of our nerves. My nine-year-old brother was starting to act six again. Or maybe five? Not cool. Not cool at all.
    “Nick,” Mom said, “can I talk to you for a second … in private?”
    I had to laugh at that one. There was no such thing as “in private” in our place. Unless they were going to lock themselves in the bathroom and whisper like church mice, X and I would hear every word.
    My mom took my dad’s elbow and steered him toward the kitchen. They actually did a pretty good job, because I just heard a few snippets.
    “… almost finished with it …,” said Dad.
    “… but that was the whole point …,” Mom said.
    “… what puts food on the table …”
    “… not about the money and you know it …”
    “… come to a compromise …”
    “Okay, okay.”
    “… I’ll do my best … you know I love you …”
    “Yes I do … now where is that blanket?”
    Mom walked back toward us. “Okay, kids, we’ve got it all figured out. We’re going to take a walk over to Brown. We’ll do a little window shopping, maybe get some ice cream—”
    “J and J’s Candy Bar, J and J’s Candy Bar!” X chanted the name of a great ice cream place on Thayer Street, one we passed every time we went into town, as he literally tried to run up a wall.
    “Xavier, honey, you need to calm down, okay?” Mom said.
    “Sugar is the last thing X needs,” my dad said, but he said it nicely, ruffling X’s hair and giving him a playful swat on the butt. I could tell X was glad to have my dad’s attention, but it didn’t calm him down at all. If anything, it revved him up even more.
    On the way out the door, Mom tried to take X’s hand, but he twisted out of her grip. He zipped down the staircase, sliding on the handrail like a maniac. So we had it all: parental tension and my brother dancing on the edge of chaos in the key of fourth grade.
    X had never been this bad in Brooklyn. Sure, he had always been a sugar freak. He could get out of control like any nine-year-old. And my parents were horrible at controlling him. But Abuela and I had always been able to calm him