The Bad Decisions Playlist by Michael Rubens Read Free Book Online Page B

into the kind of half grimace you make when you’re prepping yourself to get stung by bad news.
    He clears his throat diffidently. “Uh . . . hi,” he says.
    â€œGuuh,” I say, goggling at him some more.
    â€œUm . . .” he says, like he’s weighing whether to ask the question he came to ask. He fidgets, looks away for a second, then back at me. I’m aware of how loud the evening crickets are.
    â€œUh . . .” he says again, then scratches his head and takes a deep breath, evidently having decided to be a man and tear off whatever the internal Band-Aid is. “Sorry to bother you,” he says. “Um . . . does Katie Methune live here?”
    â€œKatie? No,” I say automatically, thrown by how close his question slices to real life while just missing the mark.
    â€œOh,” he says. Relieved, I think.
    Sudden inspiration as I realize the obvious. “Wait,” I say. “Did you say Kay-Dee? Like, Kelly Dean Methune?”
    â€œWhat? Yeah. Yeah, Kelly,” he says, perking up. “I’m a . . . friend of hers. I’m just in town a bit for this thing, and I thought​—”
    â€œAustin, who’s at the door?”
    My mother’s voice, coming from inside. When Shane hears her, his expression changes, like he just got a big mainline shot of adrenaline.
    â€œAustin,” repeats my mom as she approaches behind me. “Who’s at the​—”
    She cuts herself off. Shane is looking past me at her, his face a mixture of hope and uncertainty, like he’s got a gift to offer and isn’t sure how it’s going to be received. And then he smiles.
    â€œHey, KD. How have you OW, CRAP! OW OW OW! WHAT’D YOU DO THAT FOR?” he shrieks, frantically shaking his head and wiping at his face, because she’s just dashed her scalding-hot herbal infusion right at him,
splat
on his shirt and neck and right cheek. I can’t even get a word out I’m so astonished, staring at him wide-eyed as he dances on the front porch, swearing, pulling his steaming black T-shirt away from his chest to escape the burning. “KD! Are you out of your fricking​—” Which is as far as he gets before
BONK
her heavy mug rebounds off his forehead, snapping his head back. The rest of his body follows that momentum, his rear foot missing the edge of the porch and finding air, and he flails his way backwards to land ass first in the hedge, moaning.
    â€œMom!” I say, finally able to force some words out. “Do you know who that is?!”
    â€œOf course I know who it is!” she says. “It’s your friggin’ father!”

 
I got off at the wrong station of the holy cross /
    and I was lost / the light too bright to see my way
    Â 
    â€œYou told me he was dead!”
    â€œI never said that!”
    â€œWhat?! Mom, you told me​—​it was my fourth birthday, we were at the frigging nature preserve​—​and you told me that he died in a car wreck!”
    â€œOh my God, Austin, I can’t believe this. You know, Terry was completely right. She predicted this month would be full of drama. She said, ‘The coming month will​—​’”
    â€œMom, are you going to explain​—”
    â€œDo you have any weed?”
    â€œMom!”
    It’s twelve thirty at night and we’re in the kitchen, and I swear we’ve been arguing like this since MY DAD showed up on the front porch earlier NOT BEING DEAD. My mom has her elbows on the tiny kitchen table, her face in her hands.
    â€œI know you have weed somewhere, Austin.”
    â€œI want you to explain to me how you could tell me all these years that​—”
    â€œI need. Some. Weed.”
    â€œMom, you’re not supposed to​—”
    â€œI’m not supposed to
drink,
Austin. And right now it’s either drinking or
smoking some