The Other Fish in the Sea (Grab Your Pole, #2) Page 6

  “There will be no makin’-out in front of the adults…again, we know you do it and we don’t care, but we don’t need to see it. And this ain’t an underage brothel either, so don’t be doin’ anything that requires exchanging rings and vows…you can try but if you get caught, you’d better be able to produce a legally sound marriage license. Watch the swearing around the younger kids and remember, they make better chaperones than we do…those kids’ll turn you in faster than you can say Bob’s your uncle,” he said and at the same time, jerked his thumb at my uncle Bob, who’s standing next to him with his hands on his hips, nodding in agreement. “Anyone caught breaking the rules will go in front of the adult tribunal council where there’ll be a just and swift meting out of punishment. Everyone have fun but be safe…you all got it?”

  There was a chorus of “Yeps,” “Yeahs,” “Got its,” and a couple very polite sounding “Yes, Sirs,” and then we disbanded to grab a bite to eat before going off to break whatever rule opportunity knocked with first. I say that because when we camp, the only rule the adults are really concerned with on a whole is the riding safety, which obviously includes the no drinking and driving. Like Derek said, they really don’t care what we do and basically adopt the theory that ignorance is bliss. Often times, the adults get more out of hand than the kids do, so they’ll be “responsible adults” by telling us the rules and then proceed to forget they’re adults themselves and totally let loose. It’s pretty funny actually. However, the younger kids will turn you in and if that happens, the adults are forced to follow through. If he were here this year, you could just ask my Uncle Bob’s son, Robbie. Last year he literally got caught red-handed with a beer in one hand, a girl in the other, and with his pants around his ankles. His own little sister busted him. His punishment was no desert for the rest of the season and all of this one, thus explaining why he isn’t here this year. So again, like Derek said, you can pretty much do what you want as long as you’re not obvious about it and don’t get caught.

  “So Jill, are you switchin’ teams this year or do I have to keep my wallet handy?” My cousin Parker asked.

  Let me explain what he’s talking about. It kind of speaks to that part about the younger kids making better chaperones and turning you in for whatever infraction you’ve been caught doing. Naturally, with her skills and inclinations, there isn’t much that goes on out here that Jillian doesn’t know about. The trick is to get to her first for the opportunity to pay her off. And again, the only thing she won’t accept a bribe for is drinking and driving, which no one does except the adults anyway. The amusing part to me is, she has never once actually told on anyone…or planned to. But, no one else knows that and that’s not to say you should ever trust her. In fact, everyone assumed it was Jill who turned Robbie in. She’s still letting everyone think it was her, too, because Robbie’s sister is afraid he’ll make her nine-year-old life miserable if he ever finds out it was really her.

  “Why? Are you planning on sneaking out of camp again to go mess around with slutty girls? If you are, you should know the economy has affected us all and rates aren’t what they were previously.” See what I mean? Parker was with Robbie last year, but he didn’t bring a girl back to camp with him and he ran into Jillian and bought her silence just to be extra safe.

  “Shit. I really don’t wanna have to track you down every night so how ‘bout I just throw in an extra ten and you gimme a flat rate for the weekend?”

  “Hmm. Let me think about that for a bit. I’ll find you before you take off and give you an answer then.”

  Almost all the other teens who’d heard this exchange asked her to consider giving them a flat rate as well and it looked like Jillian was not only going to get a weekend off, but also get paid well for doing it. Among those taking a risk and flying by the seat of their pants, though, are my friends, Derek, MaryAnn, and me. I’m guessing that’s because none of us really plan on breaking the rules. Well, aside from drinking which we won’t do until after 10:00 anyway, and we’ll stay in camp and out of “public” sight so it really doesn’t count as breaking a rule. Oh, and maybe the underage brothel rule…but you and I have already discussed that so you know I’m still in the thinking about it stage of the game and not the planning stage.

  So, we spent the first night of our trip being pretty quiet. Most everyone, adults, teens, and kids just hung around the campfire and relaxed while listening to the softer music stylings of DJ Jazzy K. After that, Brandon and a couple of my uncles strummed on their guitars and sang a bit, and it was during this period of time that I learned four things: One, Brandon is in a real band. Two, Melissa can actually really sing. I mean not like American Idol sing, but she can definitely carry a tune nicely. Three, I’m even more grateful her parents aren’t mine. And four, the four teens I hadn’t met before and whom I’m still rather unacquainted with, are the kind of Bible thumping snobs that give the rest of the Christian community a bad name.

  Okay, now I know I’m not exactly the most exemplary follower of God’s, but I do believe in Him and I at least try to be a good person based on His rules. I just don’t happen to believe that God will look less kindly on me based on the kind of music I listen to or whether I have a tattoo or twelve, you know? However, I’m guessing these kids forgot that whole thing in the Bible that says something like judge not lest you be judged, because with one look at Brandon, they totally picked up the gavel and slammed it down in judgment. And as far as I could tell, the only reason they had to do so at that time was based on Brandon’s physical appearance.

  I don’t think I ever really described him before, but Brandon looks pretty much like what you’d expect a guy who’s in a working rock band to look like. He has, actually, kind of pretty, icy-gray eyes and super dark brown hair that’s on the longer side in the middle because it’s still growing out from the Mohawk he had the first time I met him in October. His hair also perpetually looks like he just rolled out of bed, but it looks good, if that makes sense. He’s not especially tall and even though he’s not especially muscular either and his upper body is depicted with art that I gather wasn’t drawn on with Crayola washable markers, you can see he does have well-defined muscles—all of which was noticed when he was shirtless this afternoon. Both his ears are pierced two or three times each and there’s a very definite edge to him, like you know without a doubt that he totally walks on the wild side of life and probably always will. Like a dark, untamable horse. So yeah, he’s totally what I would call the epitome of “dirty-hot.” And yes, in my opinion he’s pretty damned nice to look at, although I do still get that “tread carefully here” feeling about him. But still…just because he might look like a hell-bound pagan to some, it doesn’t mean he is one.

  See, here’s how the whole trial without jury played out… We were all enjoying the random riffs Brandon and my uncles were coming up with, but the four pious teens had totally been giving Brandon the stank-eye all evening, they just weren’t actually saying anything…yet. I’m sure he noticed, too, but he didn’t seem to care one way or another. However, about thirty minutes into the jam session, Brandon began to blend in the beginning of Ozzy Ozbourne’s “Mama I’m Comin’ Home.” It’s a fairly slow and melodic song that’s great for an acoustic session like this, and my uncles picked it up pretty quickly and without issue or complaint. What started the kids talking though, was when Tristan gave his approval by saying, “Ozzy…nice,” thereby informing the “Righteous Four” they were listening to a song by a guy who supposedly bit the head off a live bat in concert, which, of course, makes him a devil worshiper. And even if that doesn’t on its own, well, everyone just knows Ozzy is Satan’s minstrel. And obviously, since it was Brandon who started it and looking the way he does, he must be in league with the big bad dude, too. Ugh. I mean really, of all the narrow-minded opinions...

  They didn’t come right out and state those prejudicial opinions to the group at large, though. They just started whispering to each other and without really meaning t
o, they whispered loud enough for those around them to overhear. And because this is what inevitably happens when you talk about people behind their back in a large group like this, what they were saying made its way down the line to get over to where Brandon was sitting with Derek, MaryAnn, and Melissa. I swear it was like the freaking game, Telephone, except not much of the condemnation being passed along was lost in translation. And I’m not going to get into specifics about what exactly they were saying, but suffice it to say they weren’t surprised that Brandon would play “this” kind of music and he was clearly going to hell. And yeah, I kept thinking that whoever invited these people to our Thanksgiving desert trip and thought they’d fit in with all of us should be flogged for their idiocy and prohibited from extending any future invitations without having their choices vetted first. And not just for our sakes but for the visitors’ comfort as well, you know? I mean I can’t imagine these kids or their parents feel very comfortable camping out with a bunch of drinking, swearing, non-church going heathens who make up a portion of my family and a good majority of all the other people who party in the desert.

  Anyway, I was watching when word got around to Brandon. He was playing and singing a little and then he casually leaned over to hear what Derek wanted to whisper to him. And I gotta give him credit here; all he did was lift an eyebrow. I mean that’s it—I don’t even know if it was in surprise, anger, irritation or what, but if it were me, I’m sure I would’ve at least grunted in my defense, you know? But Brandon didn’t utter a single disagreeable sound and just kept on playing. Melissa on the other hand looked pretty aggrieved on his behalf and kept glaring at the four kids, and I thought for a second she might even say something, but when Brandon ever so smoothly transitioned into an actual Christian song called “How Great is Our God” by a contemporary Christian artist by the name of Chris Tomlin, Melissa’s expression turned smug and the four teens’ turned to varying shades of shame. Honestly, it was beautiful.

  No, I mean it…it was absolutely beautiful. Brandon sang most of it by himself, but towards the end, Melissa came in and harmonizing with him, she slowly replaced the lyrics that went with the original song to some from the hymn “How Great Thou Art.” Listening to the two of them sing that song, it was like they’d transformed our campfire into a circle of worship under the star-filled night sky and I swear you could feel God’s loving presence. And I have no problem whatsoever admitting that I was moved to the point of tears.

  “Goodness, you two…that was simply touching,” my mom told Brandon and Melissa when they finished, obviously agreeing with my sentiments as I saw her wipe a stray tear from her cheek. “It’s really a shame that not everyone appreciates a talent such as yours though, Brandon, regardless of whether the form that talent takes is to a person’s individual taste. After all, many from my grandparents’ generation were offended by Elvis and the rock and roll he played, thinking it was a gateway to hell. However, few people realize that Elvis was lauded far more for the gospel music he did than he was for rock and he was posthumously inducted into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 2002, I think. In fact as far as I know, he’s the only person to have ever been inducted into all three Musical Halls of Fame of country, rock and roll, and gospel,” she said, having directed an admonishing look at the kids whose narrow-minded censure had instigated a mini biographical history lesson on the King of Rock ‘N Roll.

  And that just goes to show, once a homeschool mom, always a homeschool mom. Then looking back to Brandon my mom added, “That being said, I have to say I’m very impressed with your wide range in musical genres. And although I will admit I personally prefer listening to the kind of music you were playing for us before, I do realize that’s not always to everyone’s liking and a truly good musician knows how to play to his audience, which I believe you’ve just proven yourself to be.”

  I have to say I was pretty damned proud to be her daughter at that point. I was even sorely tempted to openly applaud the end result. You see, having been effectively put in their place by my mom, the “Righteous Four” abandon the fire and our company without a word. Also, we would come to find out that two of them faked the flu so their parents took them all home the next morning.

  Anyhow, Brandon followed their departure with his eyes and then with a nonchalant shrug he said, “Well, I’m in a rock band and we play mostly parties, weddings, and small clubs right now, but since we wanna play music professionally any way we can, I figure it’s a good idea to just know how to play it all, but whatever…those guys can blow me…the only reason I did that was ‘cause I’m just too fuckin’ chilled right now to enjoy physically beating the stupid out of ‘em. Thanks for the compliment anyway, though. Oh and just so you know, Elvis was inducted in 2001 not 2002 and he won two fuckin’ Grammys for his performance of that hymn ‘How Great Thou Art’ that sexy here piped up with.”

  Yeah, I know. First I looked at my mom and dad for signs of being offended by Brandon’s offhanded correction and crass acceptance of my mom’s worded support, but I wasn’t too surprised to find only amusement. My dad covered his in a cough and by keeping his eyes on the heavens, but I had to look closer to see my mom’s. She was keeping a straight face by doing some understanding nodding and pressing her lips together to keep from cracking a smile. I told you, like Elvis, my parents freaking rock. Then, even though it totally wasn’t meant to be a come-on or anything, I looked at Melissa to see how she’d handled being called sexy in front of basically everyone by a guy who so isn’t Keith. She wasn’t handling it at all, though, because it looked like she hadn’t even heard him. Or if she did, she wasn’t really paying enough attention to realize Brandon was talking about her; she was busy looking at something MaryAnn was showing her on her cell phone.

  “You’re ah…welcome…and that’s very wise of you and just shows how dedicated you are, which I find admirable, as I’m sure the rest of your audience tonight would agree with. And Melissa, you have a beautiful voice…have you had lessons?” My mom asked, graciously moving past Brandon’s less than eloquent acceptance speech and regaining Melissa’s attention.

  “Oh um, no, not really. My Grandma could sing though...she was always singing hymns and old country stuff, and she liked to have me sing with her,” Melissa answered with a shrug.

  “I can certainly understand why she did,” my mom replied and then yawned. “Well, I hate to say it, folks, but I think I’d better head off to bed.”

  Brandon began plucking at the strings of his guitar again and then with my parents the first to go, the rest of the adults and younger kids said their goodnights. Those teens who were remaining were just sort of chit-chatting back and forth, and I was giggling about how Julia was trying to dredge up how snotty those other teens were in a sort of flirty effort to get Brandon’s attention, which he was simply not gonna give her tonight.

  In fact, at one point he sighed in irritation, looked at my cousin and then said, “Look, it might work on other guys but I’m not into chicks who try to make themselves look better by talkin’ shit about other people, and unless your intent is to give me a goddamned headache, you’re wasting your fuckin’ breath harpin’ about those fuckwits so would ya just shut your yap and lemme enjoy the mellow I got goin’ on? Fuck…”

  Kate picked up on the increasingly aggravated vibes coming from their direction right away and trying to block them out like the rest of us, she turned to Melissa and asked, “That grandma wasn’t your mom’s mom, was it?”

  “You mean the really cool woman who my mom won’t acknowledge was the one who gave birth to her? Yeah, that would be that grandma,” Melissa answered with an eye-roll.

  “Your mom won’t even acknowledge her own mother?” I asked, being taken aback. I mean I’ve never gotten the warmest of feelings from Melissa’s parents to begin with, but a child who doesn’t even claim her own mother? Seriously, how cold is that?!

  “Nope, not since my grandma died and my mom found out she’d been cut out of the will and that my grandma le
ft everything to me and my brother just to spite my mom.”

  “Oh my God…I didn’t know about that!” Kate responded with what I felt was justifiable surprise and intrigue.

  “I never told you about that whole thing?” Melissa asked, like she could’ve sworn she had at some point in the past.

  “Nu-uh…I only knew that your mom got rid of all her mom’s pictures and stuff…remember when I saw that one of her you keep hidden in a book and I totally thought it was you at first? Seriously, you guys, if it wasn’t for the outdated and fading paper the picture was printed on, you would never know it isn’t Melissa.”

  “That’s what you said before but I still totally don’t see it. I mean my grandma was like pin-up girl gorgeous…she was even a real freaking Playboy Bunny. In fact that picture was taken during a Bunny photo shoot… But Kate, I could’ve sworn I told you the story that night.”

  “No, I swear you didn’t…remember we were rushing to get downstairs for dinner so you warned me that your mom banned all the pictures of your grandma and any mention of her because they’d had a falling out.”

  “Oh yeah…I guess that’s why I thought I’d told you…huh. It’s really kind of sad though, are you sure you wanna hear it?”

  “Well, yeah…but not if you don’t wanna tell us,” Kate answered.

  “No, I don’t care…I mean I already thought I did,” Melissa replied with a laugh. “Okay well, my mom started the whole family feud thing when I was really little and we still lived in Boston—”

  “Hey wait, I didn’t know you were from Boston…” Tristan interjected.

  “Seriously? How could you not know that? I mean it seemed like it took me forever to lose the accent…” Melissa said and laughed at herself again.

  “I don’t think I ever heard it,” he told her.