Struts & Frets by Jon Skovron Read Free Book Online Page A

with a couple of other bands that Joe knew?”
    â€œHey,” said Rick, breaking into the conversation. “Are youguys taking about that gig we did where all those rednecks were heckling us?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “It didn’t help that Joe decided to do an impromptu version of that old Camper Van Beethoven song.”
    â€œâ€˜Take the Skinheads Bowling,’ right?” He laughed a little. “That was pretty funny, you have to admit.”
    â€œRight up until they rushed the stage and nearly beat the shit out of us.”
    â€œWe got away, didn’t we?” asked Rick.
    â€œThe point is, we’ve never had a real gig,” I said. “One that went well.”
    â€œJust believe in yourself,” said Jen5. “Don’t give up.”
    I smirked at her. “Thanks for the pep talk, Coach.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’re going to work at 7-Eleven your whole life. Happy now?”

hallway at school and stared at a new poster for a long time. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was thinking that the bell had rung and I was going to be late for class. But still I looked at the poster.
    It was glossy black with that messy “thrasher” font that had been designed to appeal to teenagers like me. The poster said:

    I couldn’t stop staring at the poster. It amazed me that the people who came up with this garbage thought they could get to us with this kind of stuff. A Battle of the Bands? How utterly lame. Music wasn’t a competition like football. Not that I expected a poser radio station like KLMN to get that. On the other hand, free studio time to lay down a professional-sounding track . . . that sounded really nice. And how funny would that be to have one of our songs playing on KLMN? And maybe then Mom would lay off about the math and science stuff.
    But who was I kidding? A station like that wouldn’t even like our sound. And anyway, I wasn’t sure we were ready for a big venue like that yet. But I still couldn’t stop staring at the poster.
    â€œThat’s right, Sammy,” said a low, gruff voice behind me.
    Joe.
    â€œWe’re going to enter this poser contest,” he said. “And we’re going to kick all their asses and get a single on that wannabe radio station. And then they will all understand what real hardcore is about.”
    The way he said it was so totally confident. Like there was no other way it could go.
    â€œSeriously?” I asked. “You want to join a Battle of the Bands?”
    â€œWhy the hell not?” said Joe.
    I looked up at him, into his hard, angry eyes and his perpetual sneer, and it made me feel better. Yeah, I thought. Why not? What did we have to lose? Sometimes it was really good to have Joe on your side.
    â€œJoseph McConnahay and Samuel Bojar!”
    We both turned and saw Ms. Jansen’s head sticking out of her classroom door. She glared at us from behind her thick octagonal glasses. “Gentlemen, are you waiting for an invitation?”
    â€œAh, Ms. Jansen,” said Joe, stretching his arms out wide. “I was just trying to peel young Samuel’s eyeballs off of this Battle of the Bands poster.” He started walking over to her in a casual swagger. “He seems to think that rock and roll is more important than literature. Can you believe it? The next thing you know, he’ll be sacrificing goats to Lord Satan!”
    â€œThat’s not funny, Joseph,” said Ms. Jansen.
    â€œMy humble apologies,” said Joe with a wicked grin. He had told us many times that he had a way with older women, but I could never tell if teachers like Ms. Jansen were really charmed by his little act or if they only tolerated it because, deep down, they were just as scared of him as we were.
    â€œJust get in here,” was all she said.
    At lunch, I didn’t go to our usual table. Even though Joe sounded completely confident that we would win