雙語暢銷書·怦然心動 Chapter 11　極度緊張

Chapter 11

極度緊張

我發(fā)現(xiàn)爸爸對幽默感的理解力與加利特差不多，這讓我陷入了極度緊張中。

只要看到爸爸，我就坐臥不安，更別提跟他說話了。但是在星期五下午五點鐘左右，我至少在一件事上和他達成共識——我們還不如組織一次燒烤。燒烤給人的感覺會更加，嗯，非正式?？上?，媽媽正在廚房里煎炒烹炸，忙得團團轉(zhuǎn)，指使爸爸和我做這做那，仿佛即將來用餐的是總統(tǒng)大人。

我們擦了地板，給桌子多加了一張活動面板，搬進五把椅子，還擺了桌子。當(dāng)然，我們擺得錯誤百出，可是媽媽也不過是把所有的東西重新折騰了一遍。對我來說，這沒什么不同，不過反正我什么也不懂，對吧？

她拿出幾座燭臺，說：“瑞克，你能不能幫我裝盤上菜？我想抓緊時間去沖個澡。做完這些你就可以換衣服了。還有布萊斯，你穿的這是什么？”

“媽媽，不過是和貝克一家吃飯。你想讓他們覺得自己一文不值嗎？”

“特瑞納和我約定要正裝出席，因此——”

“但為什么要正裝？”

媽媽把手放在我的肩膀上說：“為了讓我們感到一樣的不自在，孩子?！?/p>

女人哪。我看著她說道：“這是否說明我得打上一條領(lǐng)帶？”

“不用，但至少換下T恤衫，穿件帶紐扣的上衣。”

我回到自己的房間，在衣柜里巡視著，想找到一件帶紐扣的。

好吧，有不少衣服都有紐扣。我有的是奇怪的紐扣。我在心里幻想著抵制媽媽的著裝要求，但手里卻拿起襯衫開始往身上穿。

二十分鐘后，我還沒穿好衣服。我非常不滿，穿成這樣有什么意義呢？我為什么要在意為這頓白癡的晚飯穿什么衣服？我表現(xiàn)得活像個姑娘。

透過窗簾的縫隙，我看到他們過來了。出了院門，走過人行道，穿過大街。就像個奇怪的夢境。他們仿佛飄向我家的房子。他們五個人。

我從床上撿起一件襯衫，把胳膊穿進去，系上扣子。

兩秒鐘以后，門鈴響了，媽媽喊道：“你能去開門嗎，布萊斯？”

幸好，外公替我開了門。他跟他們?nèi)掖蛑泻?，就像見到了久別重逢的親人，甚至分得清馬特和麥克。他們一個人穿了件紫色襯衫，一個人穿了件綠色的，所以記住誰是誰并不難，可是他們一進門就捏著我的臉說：“嘿，小弟弟！最近可好？”我十分氣惱地發(fā)現(xiàn)自己又把他們搞混了。

媽媽從廚房出來，說：“進來，快進來吧。你們?nèi)叶紒砹?，這太好了，”她喊道，“利——奈——特！瑞克！客人來了！”

她看到朱莉和貝克太太的時候頓了一下，“呃，這是什么？”她問道，“家里做的派？”

貝克太太說：“黑莓奶酪山核桃蛋糕?！?/p>

“看起來真棒！太棒了！”媽媽表現(xiàn)得過于亢奮，我不太相信她的話。她接過朱莉手中的派，飛快地拉著貝克太太進了廚房。

利奈特從角落里冒出來，馬特和麥克看見她就笑了：“嘿，利。今晚真漂亮?！?/p>

黑襯衫，黑色指甲油，黑色眼影——對于夜行嚙齒類動物來說，是的，確實不錯。

他們?nèi)チ死翁氐姆块g，當(dāng)我轉(zhuǎn)過身，外公正領(lǐng)著貝克先生走進前廳，我被留在玄關(guān)和朱莉在一起。只有我們兩個。

她沒有看我。她似乎看過了每一樣?xùn)|西，但就是不看我。我感覺自己像個白癡，穿著帶奇怪紐扣的古板襯衫呆站在那兒，兩頰凹陷，無話可說。這種沉默讓我緊張，心臟在狂跳，就像剛跑完百米賽跑或是打過一場籃球什么的。

最重要的是，她看起來甚至比那張白癡報紙上的照片還像照片，不知道這樣說你是否能明白。不是因為她今天穿著正裝——她沒有。她穿了一條普普通通的連衣裙和一雙普普通通的鞋子，頭發(fā)也和平時一樣，也許比平時稍微平順一點點。而是因為，她看著所有的東西卻不看我。她把肩膀扭過去，抬著下巴，眼睛閃閃發(fā)亮。

我們可能只在那兒站了五秒鐘，感覺上卻像過了整整一年。終于，我開口說：“嗨，朱莉?！?/p>

她瞥了我一眼，一切都清楚了——她在生氣。她小聲說：“我在圖書館聽到你和加利特拿我叔叔開玩笑，我不想和你說話！你明白嗎？不是現(xiàn)在，是永遠！”

我的腦子飛速地運行著。當(dāng)時她在哪兒？我沒在附近看到她呀！

還有，她是自己聽到的？還是從別人嘴里聽到的？

我想告訴她，那不是我，那是加利特，全是加利特的錯。但她沒等我開口，就跑進前廳找她爸爸去了。

于是我站在這里，后悔當(dāng)初不如在圖書館就把加利特揍一頓，這樣朱莉就再也不會跟一個拿智障人士開玩笑的家伙同班了。這時爸爸出現(xiàn)了，他拍拍我的肩膀：“好吧，派對進行得如何，孩子？”

說曹操曹操到。我真想把他的手從我肩膀上打下來。

他上身朝前廳探去，說：“嘿，她爸爸把自己弄得挺干凈嘛，是不是？”

我擺脫了他的手：“貝克先生的名字是羅伯特，爸爸?！?/p>

“是啊，好吧，我知道他叫什么?！彼曛终f，“我想必須得過去跟他們打個招呼。一起來？”

“不，媽媽也許要我過去幫忙?！?/p>

不過，我并沒有進廚房。我站在那兒，觀察貝克先生和爸爸握手?？粗麄冊谀抢镎勑︼L(fēng)生，我卻被一種奇怪的感覺包圍。不是因為朱莉——而是我爸爸。站在貝克先生旁邊，他顯得很小。是身材上的小。跟貝克先生下巴的輪廓相比，爸爸的臉看上去有點狡猾。這不是你想要的對爸爸的感覺。小的時候，我總覺得爸爸永遠是對的，世界上沒人比得上他。但站在這兒看著他，我意識到貝克先生想打敗他就像按扁一只蟲子一樣簡單。

可是，他的舉止還要更糟。看看他和朱莉的爸爸故作親切的樣子吧——就像是在看他撒謊。對貝克先生、對朱莉、對我外公——對所有人。他干嗎表現(xiàn)得像個可憐蟲似的？他為什么不能顯得正常點兒？好吧，或者說，有教養(yǎng)一點兒？他干嗎非要假惺惺地演下去？這已經(jīng)不是為了安撫媽媽那么簡單了。這簡直讓人作嘔。

別人都說我就是我爸爸的翻版。這句話我聽到過多少次？我從來沒有仔細想過它，但現(xiàn)在它讓我覺得惡心。

媽媽敲響用晚餐的鈴聲，喊道：“開胃小吃已經(jīng)準(zhǔn)備好了！”然后她發(fā)現(xiàn)我還站在走廊上，“布萊斯，你姐姐和那些男孩去哪兒了？”

我聳聳肩：“在她房間，我想?！?/p>

“通知他們開飯了，好嗎？然后來吃點冷盤吧?！?/p>

“沒問題?！蔽一卮鹫f。只要能讓我擺脫這種糟糕的感覺，干什么都行。

利奈特的房間關(guān)著門。平時我一般會敲敲門，喊一聲：“媽媽叫你！”或者：“開飯了！”可是今天這種灰頭土臉的狀況下，我的手一定是被魔鬼操縱著，扭開門把手，直接走了進去。

利奈特有沒有大發(fā)脾氣、朝我扔?xùn)|西或是尖叫著讓我出去？沒有。她根本無視我的存在。馬特和麥克沖我點點頭，利奈特看見我了，但她的手捂在耳機上，聽著音樂，全身上下隨之搖擺。

馬特——也許是麥克——悄聲說：“馬上就好。我們這就過去。”就像他們知道我肯定是來叫他們吃飯的。那我干嗎還要待在這兒？

不知怎的，我覺得自己似乎是被遺忘了。我甚至不是這些男孩中的一員，我只是個小弟弟。

我并不是剛剛知道這件事，但現(xiàn)在我忽然在意起來。好像突然之間，我在任何地方都變得格格不入了。在學(xué)校、在家里……每當(dāng)我轉(zhuǎn)過身來，總有一個我認(rèn)識的人永遠地成了陌生人。甚至連我自己，都讓我覺得陌生起來。

雖然吃上了涂上軟奶酪和魚子醬的小圓餅干，但這對我的心情并沒有太大幫助。媽媽就像一只繁忙的蜜蜂，哪里都有她的身影。廚房里、廚房外、端飲料、拿餐巾、介紹菜肴，但她一口也沒吃。

利奈特不愿輕信媽媽對點心的介紹——她把自己那份分成油膩的、惡心的和討厭的等幾類。

雖然坐在利奈特旁邊，但貝克家的男孩子們?nèi)匀徊活櫺蜗蟮匕扬灨烧麎K吞下去。上帝，我就等著看他們把自己卷在桌子腿上了。

朱莉、她爸爸和我外公坐在桌子另一頭，一直在聊著什么，我爸爸和貝克太太坐在對面，能看到我傻乎乎地一個人呆站在那兒。

媽媽輕輕地走到我身邊：“你還好嗎，親愛的？”

“我沒事?！蔽一卮鹚?，但是她不由分說地把我推到外公那邊?！敖又?，接著聊，”她輕聲說，“晚飯馬上就好。”

我站在那里，聊天的人們條件反射地給我讓出一個位置。沒人理我，他們接著聊永動機去了。

永動機。

老天，我甚至連永動機是什么都不知道。他們談起封閉系統(tǒng)、開放系統(tǒng)、阻抗、能源、磁力……就像是加入了另一種語言的討論。還有朱莉，她正在說著什么：“嗯，如果我們背對背放置磁鐵——顛倒磁極呢？”就像她真能理解他們說的東西似的。外公和她爸爸給她解釋，為什么她的辦法行不通，但他們的回答只是引來朱莉更多的問題。

我徹底茫然了。雖然假裝在聽他們聊天，可我其實是在努力不要盯著朱莉。

媽媽叫我們吃飯了，我竭盡全力把朱莉拉到一邊，向她道歉，她根本愛答不理。不過，這怎么能怪她呢，對吧？

我在對面坐下，心情極為沉重。我為什么沒有在圖書館反駁加利特幾句？不一定要揍他。為什么我沒有當(dāng)面告訴他這很過分？

等到媽媽給每個人盛上菜，爸爸似乎下定決心要主導(dǎo)餐桌上的談話?！班牛溈撕婉R特，”他說，“今年是你們在高中的最后一年?！?/p>

“上帝保佑！”他們同聲說道。

“上帝保佑？你們的意思是，很高興能離開中學(xué)了？”

“當(dāng)然?！?/p>

爸爸轉(zhuǎn)著手里的叉子：“為什么？”

馬特和麥克對視了一眼，再看著爸爸：“這地方早就讓我們不爽了?！?/p>

“真有趣，”他環(huán)視著餐桌，“高中是我生命中最美好的時光?！?/p>

馬特——也許是麥克——說道：“真的嗎？老兄，那可遜斃了！”貝克太太斜了他一眼，可是他繼續(xù)說下去，“哦，這是真的，媽媽。無趣的教育理念。限制、批評、服從——我已經(jīng)完全受夠了?！?/p>

爸爸向媽媽露出一個“我告訴過你”的隱蔽笑容，然后對馬特和麥克說：“那么我想，大學(xué)里就沒有這些問題了？”

上帝，他怎么了？一瞬間，我抓緊手中的刀叉，做好了和那兩個捏我臉、管我叫“小弟弟”的家伙打一架的準(zhǔn)備。

我深吸了一口氣，試圖放松下來，試圖潛入平靜的水中。這場戰(zhàn)役與我無關(guān)。

再說，馬特和麥克看起來淡定得很?！芭?，不是，”他們說，“上大學(xué)只是一種可能的方向?！薄笆堑?，有幾所學(xué)校錄取了我們，不過我們想先搞個樂隊試試。”

“哦，樂隊?！卑职终f。

馬特和麥克對視一眼，聳聳肩，繼續(xù)吃東西。但是利奈特盯著他說：“你的諷刺一點兒也不好笑，爸爸?！?/p>

“利，利，”馬特——或者麥克——說道，“沒關(guān)系。人人都是這個反應(yīng)。說得容易，是騾子是馬拉出來遛遛，他們一般都是這個態(tài)度。”

“好主意?！崩翁卣f，從座位上跳起來，沖向走廊。

媽媽呆住了，她不知道該拿利奈特怎么辦，但這時貝克太太說：“晚餐非常美味，佩西?！?/p>

“謝謝，特瑞納。我們……我們很高興你們能來?！?/p>

大約有三秒鐘的時間，大家都沉默著，然后利奈特跑進來，猛地按下CD機的按鈕，直到唱片收進去為止。

“利，別這樣！這不是個好主意，”馬特——或者麥克——說道，“沒錯，利。這音樂不適合吃飯的時候聽?！?/p>

“忍著點。”利奈特說罷便調(diào)大了音量。

砰，啪！砰砰，啪！蠟燭在燭臺上搖擺；吉他的和弦撕裂了空氣，聲浪幾乎能把人吹跑。馬特和麥克抬頭看著音響，相視一笑，對我爸爸說：“立體聲——好棒的配置，羅斯基先生！”

所有的大人都恨不得躲出去，或是關(guān)掉音樂，但利奈特站在那里守護著音響，怒視眾人。一首歌結(jié)束，她把CD拿出來，關(guān)上播放器，然后對馬特和麥克露出了微笑——她真的笑了——她說：“這是最棒的歌。我只想一遍又一遍地聽?！?/p>

馬特——或者麥克——對我爸爸說：“也許你不喜歡它，但這就是我們的作品?！?/p>

“你們自己寫的歌？”

“嗯哼?！?/p>

他讓利奈特把CD遞過來，說道：“只有這一首嗎？”

馬特——或者麥克——笑了：“老兄，我們寫了很多，但只有三首錄了小樣?！?/p>

爸爸拿起CD：“這就是小樣？”

“是的。”

他盯著CD看了一會兒，然后說：“如果你們自稱‘神秘小便’，怎么刻得起CD呢？”

“爸爸！”利奈特厲聲說。

“沒什么，利。他只是在開玩笑，對不對，羅斯基先生？”

爸爸微微一笑：“是的，”但他又補充道，“我只是有點好奇罷了。這明顯不是自制的小樣，而我湊巧知道對于大多數(shù)樂隊來說，租用錄音室的成本有多高……”

馬特和麥克用一記響亮的擊掌打斷了他。我對爸爸竟然問起費用的問題感到憤怒，這時媽媽為了彌補爸爸的口無遮攔，支支吾吾地開口了。

“當(dāng)年我認(rèn)識瑞克的時候，他也在玩樂隊……”

我嘴里的水煮三文魚忽然變得難以下咽了。當(dāng)我噎在那兒的時候，利奈特瞪大她那浣熊般的眼睛，喘著氣說：“你？玩樂隊？你演奏什么樂器，單簧管嗎？”

“不，親愛的，”媽媽定了定神，“爸爸是吉他手?！?/p>

“吉他？”

“酷！”馬特——或者麥克——說，“搖滾，鄉(xiāng)村，還是爵士？”

“鄉(xiāng)村，”爸爸說，“千萬別笑話我，孩子?！?/p>

“老兄！我們懂的。向你致敬，哥們兒。”

“當(dāng)時，我們樂隊想試著錄一張小樣，可那貴得沒邊兒。那是在大城市里，競爭激烈。在這里錄小樣？我甚至都不知道這里還有錄音棚呢?！?/p>

馬特和麥克還在笑：“這里沒有?！?/p>

“你們?nèi)ツ睦镤浀?？怎么支付得起呢？”媽媽在桌子底下狠狠地打了他一下，于是他補充說，“我只是好奇，佩西！”

馬特和麥克俯下身子：“我們自己錄的?！?/p>

“就在這里？你們自己錄？這不可能。”他看起來快要瘋掉了，“你們從哪兒搞到合成器的？”

媽媽又踢了他一腳，但是爸爸轉(zhuǎn)過身去對她說：“別這樣了，好嗎？我只是好奇！”

馬特——或者麥克——說：“沒關(guān)系，羅斯基太太，”他沖爸爸笑了笑，“我們在網(wǎng)上和二手市場尋找賣家。人人都想把手里的舊模擬合成器換成數(shù)字合成器，因為別人都這么做了。數(shù)字合成器，如果你問我們的話，很爛。丟失了太多的波形。它們不夠豐滿，而我們顯然希望它更雄厚一些?！?/p>

外公舉起一根手指：“可是CD上收錄的是數(shù)字信號，所以……”

“沒錯，不過這是最后也是唯一一個我們不得不妥協(xié)的步驟。這是進入這個行業(yè)所必需的。人人都想要CD，但是多音軌和壓制成雙軌的時候，仍然是模擬信號。而且我們負(fù)擔(dān)得起，羅斯基先生，因為我們買的是二手合成器，我們從十二歲那年就開始攢錢了，”他笑了，“你現(xiàn)在還彈吉他嗎？如果你愿意的話，我們也許可以，嗯，錄一些你的曲子?！?/p>

爸爸低下頭，起初我不確定他是不是會發(fā)怒或是叫罵。然后，他似乎輕輕地哼了一聲，說：“謝謝，不過那已經(jīng)不是現(xiàn)在的我了?！?/p>

那也許是爸爸整晚說出的唯一一句真心話。在那之后，他就陷入沉默。他試著偶爾笑一笑，不過，基本上都是在沉思中度過的。我開始有些為他傷感。他是不是想起了年輕時玩樂隊的美好時光？我試著勾勒出他當(dāng)年的樣子，穿牛仔靴，戴牛仔帽，肩膀上挎著吉他，彈起威利·尼爾森的曲子。

他是對的——那已經(jīng)不是他了。

可是，這讓我前所未有地感覺自己像是個陌生人，來到了一個陌生的地方。

當(dāng)聚會結(jié)束，貝克一家走出屋門的時候，發(fā)生了一些奇怪的事。朱莉碰了碰我的胳膊。那天晚上頭一次，她看著我。還是那種眼神，坦率地、單純地看著我。她說：“對不起，剛才進門的時候我太生氣了。今晚人人都很愉快，你媽媽能邀請我們，真是太好心了?！?/p>

她的聲音很輕，像耳語一樣。我像個傻瓜一樣站在那兒，看著她。

“布萊斯？”她又碰碰我的胳膊，“你聽見我的話了嗎？對不起?！?/p>

我強迫自己點了點頭，可是我的手臂發(fā)麻，心臟狂跳，我覺得自己正在朝她靠過去。

然后她走了。在一片歡快的再會聲中，走出大門，走進黑夜。我試著平復(fù)呼吸。這是怎么了？我出了什么毛??？

媽媽關(guān)上門，說：“好吧。我說什么來著？這家人多可愛呀！兩個男孩子就和我想象的一樣。利奈特，你為什么從沒告訴過我他們這么……這么迷人！”

“他們是毒販子。”

人人都把目光轉(zhuǎn)向爸爸，張大了嘴。

“什么？”媽媽問。

“不這樣，他們根本不可能買得起那種合成器，”他盯著利奈特，“是不是這樣？”

利奈特的眼珠子都快從眼眶里瞪出來了。

“瑞克，拜托！”媽媽說，“你不能就這樣指控別人！”

“這是唯一合理的解釋，佩西。相信我，我知道音樂家是什么人。沒有別的可能了?！?/p>

利奈特叫道：“我碰巧知道他們既不吸毒也不販毒。你怎么能說出這種話？你是個兩面三刀、高高在上、心胸狹窄的白癡！”

片刻的安靜之后，他給了她一個耳光，很響，重重地打在她的臉頰上。

媽媽指著他的臉，我從來沒見過她這個樣子，而姐姐則跑向她的房間，邊跑邊回頭罵著。

我的心怦怦直跳。利奈特是對的，我也差一點兒就要指著他的鼻子說出同樣的話了。但外公拉住我，我們一起退到屬于我們的角落。

我在自己的房間里轉(zhuǎn)著圈，急切地想和利奈特說幾句話。去告訴她，她做得對，是爸爸太過分了。但是透過墻壁，我聽到她在大哭大叫，而媽媽正在安慰她。然后，她沖出屋子，不知道跑到哪里去了，然后媽媽又和爸爸吵了起來。

因此，我留在了屋子里。十一點以后，一切風(fēng)平浪靜，但余波仍在。我能感覺得到。

我躺在床上，透過窗戶遙望天空，想起爸爸平時有多看不起貝克一家，他是怎么貶低他們的房子、院子、汽車以及他們?yōu)橹\生所做的一切，他是怎么管他們叫“垃圾”，還嘲笑貝克先生的畫。

而現(xiàn)在我發(fā)現(xiàn)他們家其實很酷。每個人都是。

他們……很真實。

而我們呢？在這間屋子里，有些東西正在迅速失去控制。

探尋貝克家的世界為我們自己的世界打開了一扇窗，而里面的景色一點兒也不美。

這些東西都是怎么出現(xiàn)的？

為什么我從前都沒有意識到？

Chapter 11

The Serious Willies

BRYCE

Realizing that my father had the same sense of humor as Garrett gave me the serious willies. I had the hardest time just looking at my dad, let alone speaking to him. But at about five o'clock Friday afternoon I agreed with him about one thing — we should've barbecued. A barbecue is more, you know, low-key. Instead, my mom was flying around the kitchen, slicing and dicing and barking orders at Dad and me like the president was coming to dinner.

We swept the floor, put an extra leaf in the table, brought in five more chairs, and set the table. We set it all wrong, of course, but all my mother had to do was shuffle things around to make it right. It looked the same to me, but what do I know?

She put out candlesticks and said, "Rick, can you load the dishes and run them? I'd like a chance to get cleaned up. After that you can change. And Bryce? What are you wearing?"

Mom, it's the Bakers. Are you trying to make them feel totally worthless?

Trina and I agreed on a dress-up, so —

But why?

My dad put a hand on my shoulder and said, "So we can all feel equally uncomfortable, son."

Women. I looked at her and said, "Does that mean I have to wear a tie?"

No, but some sort of button-down instead of a T-shirt would be nice.

I went down to my room and ripped through my closet looking for something with buttons. There were lots of buttons, all right. Lots of geeky buttons. I thought about boycotting my mother's dress-code requirements, but instead I started putting on shirts.

Twenty minutes later I still wasn't dressed. And I was extremely ticked off about it because what did it matter? Why did I care what I looked like at this stupid dinner? I was acting like a girl.

Then through a gap in my curtains I saw them coming. Out their front door, down their walkway, across the street. It was like a weird dream. They seemed to be floating toward our house. All five of them.

I pulled a shirt off my bed, punched my arms in, and buttoned up.

Two seconds later the doorbell rang and Mom called, "Can you get that, Bryce?"

Luckily, Granddad beat me to it. He greeted them all like they were long-lost family and even seemed to know which one was Matt and which one was Mike. One was wearing a purple shirt and the other was wearing a green one, so it shouldn't have been that hard to remember which was which, but they came in and pinched my cheeks and said, "Hey, baby brother! How's it goin'?" and I got so mad I mixed them up again.

My mother zoomed in from the kitchen, saying, "Come in, come in. It's so nice you all could make it." She called, "Lyn-et-ta! Rick! We've got com-pa-ny!" but then stopped short when she saw Juli and Mrs. Baker. "Well, what's this?" she asked. "Homemade pies?"

Mrs. Baker said, "Blackberry cheesecake and pecan."

They look wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! My mother was acting so hyper I couldn't believe it. She took Juli's pie, then whooshed a path to the kitchen with Mrs. Baker.

Lynetta appeared from around the corner, which made Matt and Mike grin and say, "Hey, Lyn. Lookin' good."

Black skirt, black nails, black eyes — for a nocturnal rodent, yeah, I suppose she was looking good.

They disappeared down to Lynetta's room, and when I turned around, my granddad was taking Mr. Baker into the front room, which left me in the entry hall with Juli. Alone.

She wasn't looking at me. She seemed to be looking at everything but me. And I felt like an idiot, standing there in my geeky button-down shirt with pinched cheeks and nothing to say. And I got so nervous about having nothing to say that my heart started going wacko on me, hammering like it does right before a race or a game or something.

On top of that, she looked more like that stupid picture in the paper than the picture did, if that makes any sense. Not because she was all dressed up — she wasn't. She was wearing some normal-looking dress and normal-looking shoes, and her hair was the way it always is except maybe a little more brushed out. It was the way she was looking at everything but me, with her shoulders back and her chin out and her eyes flashing.

We probably only stood there for five seconds, but it felt like a year. Finally I said, "Hi, Juli."

Her eyes flashed at me, and that's when it sank in — she was mad. She whispered, "I heard you and Garrett making fun of my uncle in the library, and I don't want to speak to you! You understand me? Not now, not ever!"

My mind was racing. Where had she been? I hadn't seen her anywhere near me in the library! And had she heard it? Or had she heard it from somebody else.

I tried to tell her it wasn't me, that it was Garrett, all Garrett. But she shut me down and made tracks for the front room to be with her dad.

So I'm standing there, wishing I'd punched Garrett out in the library so Juli wouldn't stick me in the same class as someone who makes retard jokes, when my dad shows up and claps me on the shoulder. "So. How's the party, son?"

Speak of the devil. I wanted to whack his hand off my shoulder.

He leans out so he can see into the front room and says, "Hey, the dad cleans up pretty good, doesn't he?"

I shrug away from him. "Mr. Baker's name is Robert, Dad."

Yeah, you know, I knew that. He rubs his hands together and says, "I guess I ought to go in and say hello. Coming?"

Nah. Mom probably needs my help.

I didn't run off to the kitchen, though. I stood there and watched Mr. Baker shake my father's hand. And as they stood there pumping and smiling, this weird feeling started coming over me again. Not about Juli — about my father. Standing next to Mr. Baker, he looked small. Physically small. And compared to the cut of Mr. Baker's jaw, my dad's face looked kind of weaselly.

This is not the way you want to feel about your father. When I was little, I'd always thought that my dad was right about everything and that there wasn't a man on earth he couldn't take. But standing there looking in, I realized that Mr. Baker could squash him like a bug.

Worse, though, was the way he was acting. Watching my dad chum it up with Juli's dad — it was like seeing him lie. To Mr. Baker, to Juli, to my grandfather — to everybody. Why was he being such a worm? Why couldn't he just act normal? You know, civil? Why did he have to put on such a phony show? This went way beyond keeping the peace with my mother. This was disgusting.

And people said I was the spitting image of my father. How often had I heard that one? I'd never thought about it much, but now it was turning my stomach.

Mom jingled the dinner bell and called, "Hors d'oeuvres are ready!" and then saw me still standing in the hallway. "Bryce, where'd your sister and the boys go?"

I shrugged. "Down to her room, I think."

Go tell them, would you? And then come have some hors d'oeuvres.

Sure, I said. Anything to get rid of the taste in my mouth.

Lynetta's door was closed. And normally I would have knocked and called, Mom wants you, or, Dinner! or something, but in that split second before my knuckles hit wood, my hand became possessed by Evil Baby Brother. I turned the knob and walked right in.

Does Lynetta freak out or throw stuff at me and scream for me to get out? No. She ignores me. Matt-and-Mike give me a nod, and Lynetta sees me, but she's got her hands over some headphones and her whole body's bobbing up and down as she listens to a portable CD player.

Matt-or-Mike whispers, "It's about over. We'll be right there,"like of course I was there to say it was time to eat. What else would I be doing there?

Something about that made me feel, I don't know, left out. I wasn't even a person to those guys. I was just baby brother.

Nothing new there, but now it really bugged me. Like all of a sudden I didn't fit in anywhere. Not at school, not at home ... and everytime I turned around, another person I'd known forever felt like a stranger to me. Even I felt like a stranger to me.

Standing around eating little round crackers smeared with whipped cheese and fish eggs didn't do much for my mood either. My mother was acting like an entire swarm of busy bees. She was everywhere. In the kitchen, out of the kitchen. Serving drinks, handing out napkins. Explaining the food, but not eating a thing.

Lynetta didn't buy Mom's explanation on the hors d'oeuvres — she wound up dissecting hers, categorizing the parts into gross, disgusting, and revolting.

Hanging near her didn't stop the Baker boys from shoving crackers in whole, though. Man, I was just waiting for them to wrap themselves around a table leg and flex.

Juli, her dad, and my grandfather were off to the side talking nonstop about something, and my dad was over with Mrs. Baker looking about as stupid as I felt, standing by myself talking to no one.

My mom flutters over to me and says, "You doing okay, honey?"

Yeah, I tell her, but she forces me over to where Granddad is anyway. "Go on, go on," she whispers. "Dinner will be ready in a minute."

So I stand there and the group of them opens up, but it's more like a reflex than anything. No one says a word to me. They just keep right on talking about perpetual motion.

Perpetual motion.

My friend, I didn't even know what perpetual motion was. They were talking closed systems, open systems, resistance, energy source,magnetism ... it was like joining a discussion in a different language. And Juli, Juli was saying stuff like, "Well, what if you put the magnets back to back — reversed the polarity?" like she really understood what they were talking about. Then my granddad and her dad would explain why her idea wouldn't work, but all that did was make Juli ask another question.

I was completely lost. And even though I was pretending to follow along with what they were saying, what I was really doing was trying not to stare at Juli.

When my mom called us for dinner, I did my best to pull Juli aside and apologize to her, but she gave me the cold shoulder, and who could blame her, really?

I sat down across from her, feeling pretty low. Why hadn't I said something to Garrett in the library? I didn't have to punch him. Why hadn't I just told him he was out of line?

After Mom served everyone their food, Dad seemed to decide that he ought to be the one directing the conversation. "So, Mike and Matt,"he says, "you're seniors this year."

Amen! they say together.

Amen? As in you're glad high school's over?

Absolutely.

My father starts twirling his fork. "Why's that?"

Matt and Mike look at each other, then back at my dad. "The regurgitation gets to you after a while."

Isn't that funny, he says, looking around the table. "High school was probably the best time of my life."

Matt-or-Mike says, "Seriously? Dude, it's totally lame!" Mrs. Baker shoots him a look, but that doesn't stop him. "Well, it is, Mom. It's that whole robotron attitude of education. Confine, confute, conform — I've had totally enough of that scene."

My dad eyes my mom with a little I-told-you-so grin, then says to Matt and Mike, "So I take it college is out of the question?"

God, what was with him? In a flash I was clutching my fork and knife, ready to duke it out for a couple of guys who pinched my cheeks and called me baby brother.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Tried to dive down to calmer water. This wasn't my fight.

Besides, Matt and Mike seemed cool with it. "Oh, no," they said. "College is a total possibility." "Yeah, we got accepted a couple of places, but we're going to give the music thing a shot first."

Oh, the music thing, my father says.

Matt and Mike look at each other, then shrug and get back to eating. But Lynetta glares at him and says, "Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Dad."

Lyn, Lyn, says Matt-or-Mike. "It's cool. Everyone's like that about it. It's a show-me-don't-tell-me thing."

That's a great idea, Lynetta says, jumping out of her seat and dashing down the hall.

Mom freezes, not sure what to do about Lynetta, but then Mrs.Baker says, "Dinner is absolutely delicious, Patsy."

Thanks, Trina. It's ... it's nice to have all of you over.

There's about three seconds of quiet and then Lynetta comes in and jabs at the CD player buttons until the drawer slides back in.

Lyn, no! Not a good idea, says Matt-or-Mike. "Yeah, Lyn. It's not exactly dinner music."

Tough, says Lynetta, and cranks the volume.

Boom, whack! Boom-boom, whack! The candles practically shake in their holders; then guitars rip through the air and about blow them out. Matt and Mike look up at the speakers, then grin at each other and call over to my dad, "Surround sound — awesome setup, Mr. Loski!"

All the adults were dying to jump up and turn the thing down, but Lynetta stood guard and just glowered at them. And when the song's over, Lynetta pulls out the CD, punches off the player, and then smiles — actually smiles — at Matt and Mike and says, "That is the raddest song. I want to hear it again and again and again."

Matt-or-Mike says to my dad, "You probably don't like it, but it's what we do."

You boys wrote that song?

Uh-huh.

He motions Lynetta to pass the CD over, saying, "Just the one song?"

Matt-or-Mike laughs and says, "Dude, we've got a thousand songs, but there's only three on the demo."

Dad holds up the CD. "This is the demo?"

Yeah.

He looks at it a minute and says, "So if you're Piss Poor, how do you afford to press CDs?"

Dad! Lynetta snaps at him.

It's okay, Lyn. Just a joke, right, Mr. Loski?

My dad laughs a little and says, "Right," but then adds, "Although I am a little curious. This is obviously not a home-done demo, and I happen to know studio time's cost-prohibitive for most bands..."

Matt and Mike interrupt him with a slamming hard high five. And while I'm getting uptight about my dad asking them questions about money, of all things, my mom's fumbling all over herself, trying to sweep away my dad's big pawprints. "When Rick and I met, he was playing in a band..."

Poached salmon was suddenly swimming down the wrong hatch. And while I'm choking, Lynetta's bugging out her raccoon eyes, gasping, "You? Played in a band? What did you play, clarinet?"

No, honey, my mom says, trying to hold it all together. "Your father played guitar."

Guitar?

Cool! Matt-or-Mike says. "Rock? Country? Jazz?"

Country, my dad says. "Which is nothing to scoff at, boys."

Dude! We know. Total respect, man.

And when our band looked into getting a demo made, it was astronomically expensive. That was in a big city, where there was a little competition. Getting a demo made around here? I didn't even know there was a facility.

Matt and Mike are still grinning. "There's not."

So where'd you go? And how'd you afford it? My mother whacks him under the table again, so he says, "I'm just curious, Patsy!"

Matt and Mike lean in. "We did it ourselves."

This right here? You did this yourselves? That's impossible.He's looking almost mad about it. "How'd you get the gear?"

My mom kicks him again, but Dad turns on her and says, "Stop it, would you? I'm just curious!"

Matt-or-Mike says, "It's cool, Mrs. Loski." He smiles at my dad and says, "We kept cruising the Internet and the trades looking for a deal. Everyone's blowing out their old analog gear for digital because that's the move everyone else has made. Digital, if you want to know our opinion, is weak. You lose too much of the waveform. There's not enough fat to it, and obviously we like it beefy."

My granddad puts up a finger and says, "But a CD's digital, so..."

Exactly, but that is the last and only step we'll compromise on. It's just a necessity of being part of the industry. Everyone wants CDs. But the multitrack and the mixdown to two-track is analog. And we could afford it, Mr. Loski, because we got used gear and we've been saving up our pennies since we were twelve years old. He grins and says, "You still play? We could, you know, lay down some of your tunes if you want."

My dad looks down, and for a second I couldn't tell if he was going to get mad or cry. Then he sort of snorts and says, "Thanks, but that's not me anymore."

Which was probably the only honest thing my dad said all night. After that he was quiet. He'd try to plaster up a smile now and then, but man, underneath it he was broody. And I was feeling kind of bad for him. Was he thinking about the good old days playing in a band? I tried picturing him in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, with a guitar strapped across his shoulder, playing some old Willie Nelson song.

He was right — it just wasn't him.

But the fact that it ever had been made me feel even more like a stranger in a strange land. Then, when the night was over and the Bakers were piling out the front door, something else strange happened. Juli touched my arm. And for the first time that night she was looking at me. It was that look, too, channeled directly and solely at me. She says, "I'm sorry I was so angry when we first came in. Everyone had a good time, and I think your mom's really nice for inviting us."

Her voice was quiet. Almost a whisper. I just stood there like a moron, staring at her.

Bryce? she says, touching my arm again. "Did you hear me? I'm sorry."

I managed a nod, but my arm was tingling, and my heart was pounding, and I felt myself pulling toward her.

Then she was gone. Out the door and into the night, part of a chorus of happy good-byes. I tried to catch my breath. What was that? What was wrong with me?

My mother closed the door and said, "There. Now what did I tell you? Tha