Sorta Like a Rock Star by Matthew Quick Read Free Book Online

vigilante approach to—”
    “Search your heart, Prince Tony. You know what’s the right thing to do. I believe in you. And I’m praying for you. Every night.”
    I walk out of his office, and his ancient wrinkly secretary Mrs. Baxter—who wears the reddest lipstick I have ever seen on any woman, and looks like a patriot with blue hair and white skin—asks me, “How’d it go in there?”
    Mrs. Baxter is pretty nice, and I think it’s safe to say she’s an Amber Appleton fan.
    “I’m praying for your boss,” I tell her. “He has the ability to turn this school around.”
    “If he only had the chutzpah,” she whispers, with her hand shielding her ancient lips so that only I can see.
    “Viva la revolution, Mrs. Baxter,” I say as she writes me a pass, and then I jog up two flights of stairs so I can check out Doolin’s Accelerated American Lit class, where I learn all about civil disobedience and that cool cat Henry David Thoreau, whom I admire a whole bunch, because he represented hard-core and even went to jail for his beliefs, which is saying something. True? True.

CHAPTER 5
    Practical Life Skills class, where I work on my prom dress.
    Semi-boring history, and then I’m at Ricky’s locker.
    “Amber Appleton slapped Lex Pinkston in THE FACE. Bad girl! Bad girl! Bad girl!”
    “If you don’t stop saying bad girl, I’m going to tickle you.”
    “No! Ricky Roberts does NOT like to be tickled. No tickle-tickle.”
    This is as close as Ricky gets to making a joke, because tickling is his favorite. I get him good under his armpits, and he doubles over and yells “Hi! Hi! Hi!” until some bearded teacher I don’t know comes out of his classroom and asks if everything is okay.
    “Beautiful,” I say to the beard.
    “Amber Appleton is my best friend. She makes omelets with tequila and takes me on missions and I am taking her to prom in a limousine! Yes,” Ricky says.
    The beard nods once, real serious—as if Ricky told the beard that he needed to donate a kidney to the president because it was the beard’s civic duty or something—and then the beard walks back into his classroom.
    Truth be told, there are a lot of teachers who are scared of Ricky, because he flips out sometimes and punches himself in the head, which can get a little intense.
    As we walk to Donna’s house together, Ricky counts aloud, and I enjoy the afternoon winter sun on my face.
    Bobby Big Boy always pisses himself whenever we are reunited, so I pull a few paper towels from the roll, and then let him out of his room. In the tiled hallway, he circles me seven times, like he has been snorting cocaine all day, and then he pees on the floor, so I wipe up the yellow puddle and give Thrice B a kiss. He tries to slip me the tongue, but he doesn’t make it into my mouth or anything.
    I give Ricky a sleeve of Fig Newtons and a blue Gatorade.
    He’s already doing his math homework, because he frickin’ loves math.
    “I have to go see The KDFCs,” I tell him, but he doesn’t look up from his math. “I’ll be back to cook dinner. Okay?”
    “Ricky Roberts is doing math. Do not talk to Ricky Roberts when Ricky Roberts is doing math!”
    “Cool,” I say, and then lock the door behind BBB and me. Ricky will do math problems forever if you let him, so no worries leaving him alone.
    I take Donna’s ten-speed bike from the garage and put B3 in the little basket Donna bought for him that is attached to the handlebars. He fits perfect so that just his head sticks out. It’s pretty frickin’ adorable.
    We are flying through the cold January air, out of town, across the tracks, and into the ghetto. There are a lot of down-and-out people in this town, and they usually stare at me when I ride my bike through.
    The first time this happened, it scared me a lot, because it sorta looked like these people wanted to kill me, but I have since learned a trick.
    Whenever someone looks at me like they want to stomp my face in, I now look the person