"So, does anyone actually know what we're doing?"
Buck sat in the corner of Dion's living room tuning his guitar. His eyes searched for some remnant of competence.
"Well..." Dion began.
"Nope."
Jay had no problem admitting the truth.
"Okay," my boyfriend ran his fingers through his hair, his lips curling into a restrained smile. He was getting cocky. I gave him a look. A sliver of pride shed from his brow, and his gaze returned to the neck of his guitar.
"What genre are we going for?" I asked, folding my legs onto the couch to avoid Sunny, who was now lying between my legs and the coffee table. Dion opened his phone, presumably to take notes.
"Somewhere between Twenty-one Pilots and Dodie Clark."
I nodded- not quite understanding.
"Okay. Do we have a violin or cellist?” Buck's guitar was now tuned.
"No," Jay snorted, “Is that vital?”
“It’s better.”
"I can find someone."
"What?"
"Don't worry about it," Dion shrugged, sending a text.
"Great. Anyone have lyrics written out?"
Jay shifted in his seat.
"I've got- a few songs."
"You have chords?"
"Just what I could figure out on my ukulele."
“That’s fine. You wanna play one for us?"
Jay's eyes locked with Dion's. Dion looked confused for a second, then gave a reassuring nod. Jay smiled slightly.
"Okay."
I underestimated Jay Smouse. His songs were good. Very good- and I'd forgotten how impressive his voice was.
"So- we can all sing," I confirmed, as Buck edited Jay's paper of scribbled lyrics and chords. The boys nodded.
"Is it crazy to suggest we all sing an equal amount then? We could do some really cool harmonies."
"That sounds fine," Dion agreed.
"Okay. The harmonies shouldn't be too hard to learn."
"Do we need another female voice, then?"
"Yeah. And… I know someone," Dion was texting again.
Jay laughed,
"Do you have some sort of list of talented people, or-”
"Yes."
Before we knew what was happening, we had two more members.
“Hey guys.”
“Hey, come on in. You can put your backpack wherever. Buck, Jules, this is Tamika Washington. She’s our second female singer.”
“Nice to meet you,” I outstretched my hand and she shook it cordially, “I’ve seen you at school. You’re dating Vance.”
“I am,” she smiled. She had a nice smile. I miss it.
“Oh, and you’re Kelly’s sister, right?” Buck asked, messing with the soundboard of the little theatre.
“Yeah, you know her?”
“There was a foster kid Christmas thing a couple years ago. I met her there.”
“Okay yeah, I think I remember that.”
Tamika was a short, attractive high schooler, with tastefully applied makeup and a sense of style that kept up with the latest trends, despite her wardrobe restrictions. There’d been some revisions as far as what Christians could wear. “Faded” colors were the new rule. We were all sent a color code explaining what that meant. Basically, the only remotely bright color we could wear was white. Everything else had to be dark or faded. It was interesting how quickly everyone else took to wearing colorful clothing. The only color that was still completely off limits was purple. My favorite color. When we found out about that one, Eugene mentioned that purple often stood for royalty. So, I guess that might’ve meant something.
Tamika crossed the recording studio and sat down in front of the mic Buck had assigned to her.
“Trent’s coming soon right?” She asked, scrolling through her phone.
“He should be.”
“Dion, could I talk to you alone for a second?” Jay asked, inching towards the door. Dion glanced at us, then nodded and followed him out.
DION’S POV
“Why are we going into the bathroom?”
“You knew Tamika was dating Vance.”
“That’s what this is about?”
“Yes, that’s what this is about!”
He was taking this more personally than I’d expected. I looked into his dark brown eyes. They blinked anxiously. I’d messed up.
“So… are you jealous or-”
“What? No. I just-” he took a breath, “You knew how hard that was.”
“But Vance is a Christian now.”
“Yeah,” he nearly laughed, “I know. It doesn’t change anything I-” I could hear the lump in his throat as his hands strung together.
“I can’t look at him,” he forced out through heavy tears.
“Okay. Okay,” I kissed his head that was suddenly buried in my chest. He cried for a few minutes, dampening my sweatshirt. I’d forgotten how abusive their relationship had gotten. I don’t know why… he was happy with me, so I assumed he was over it. Obviously, I was wrong. We ended up sitting on the bathroom floor. Jay was gripping a crumpled piece of toilet paper in his left hand. His right was strung into mine.
“I hate him,” his hoarse tone gave a slight release from the silence the empty washroom gave off. My first instinct was to agree. I bit my tongue.
It was true. I did hate him. How could I not? He’d hurt my boyfriend. As my palm rested on cold tile, my mind drifted to six months ago. When I’d found Jay in the bathroom. When I’d seen his bone-thin frame latched onto the toilet bowl he was straining to vomit into. When he’d collapsed in exhaustion onto the stone floor. I’d said his name. He’d turned around, terror in his eyes. He’d broken down and told me everything. So quickly I’d gone from envying Vance to loathing him. I never stopped. But at that moment, Jay needed me to be the sensible one. The strong one. The one that said the right thing.
“I know,” I whispered. My mind grappled for another sentence. “You don’t have to see him. I’ll talk to Tamika.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Hey, look at me.”
He lifted his head.
“I’m gonna keep you safe.”
BUCK’S POV
Trent showed up not long after Tamika. I’d never talked to him before. Seen him around. He was a tall eighteen-year-old of what I assumed to be Brazilian descent. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a very 90s retro sweater. His shoes looked like they came from the same decade, as their battered frames kept close together and squeaked on the tiled flooring of Whit’s End. He came in with a cute brunette, who was quickly introduced as Mandy Strausberg. She had a similar vintage look, her pink collared dress reminding me of one from the 1930s. I assumed they were together.
“You’re Eugene and Katrina’s foster kid, right?” He asked as I handed him a jack for his cello.
“I was. Elizabeth and I were adopted a little over a year ago.”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, congratulations.”
“Thanks. How long have you been playing?”
“Cello? Seven years.”
“Nice.”
“You play guitar, right?”
“Mhm. Don’t ask me how long it’s been. I sort of grew up with it.”
“You’re giving me instrument envy. It’s so cool when people can spend that much time on their music.”
Dion and Jay were back by now. He gave Tamika a slight smile, to which she responded with a forgiving nod.
“Alright. We’ve practiced alone, we have until eight tonight. Do you want to just try recording the music first?”
We nodded, and Dion began telling us where to sit, how close to the mic we need to be, etc. The girls sat behind the soundboards. Apparently, Mandy had enough experience to run the sound when Dion couldn’t.
And that’s how it started. We had a band. We’d meet every other night to practice, write songs, and try to come up with a name.
“So how do we feel about Smallpox?” Mandy asked, repeating Tamika’s earlier suggestion.
“…not bad,” I bit into my sandwich.
“It’s easy to remember,” Trent brushed his hair from his forehead, “I’m getting like a grunge yellow vibe.”
“Works for me,” Jules shrugged, taking one of my baby carrots and dipping it into my plastic Chipotle cup of guacamole.
From that point on, we were ‘Smallpox.’
Within a month, we had an album recorded. To launch it, we threw a party and live show at Whit’s End. Everyone was invited. We played live and gave away albums. Heaps of compliments were paid as we basked in the fruits of our labor. That was hands down the best night of our lives. Our final good memories before the bad ones took over. A last hurrah as teenagers. For the next day, we’d be forced into the shoes of adults.
DION’S POV
It was a Monday. I was tired. The night before we’d gone out for dinner and came back to the party celebrities. We had signed an autograph for about every kid in Odyssey by the time we were able to go home- at two in the morning. I twisted my wrist. It was understandably sore. It’s funny to think about now. I mean, we were an unknown group outside our small town. I guess everyone needed something to be excited about. The attention didn’t stop that night either. Coming back to school we were very quickly thrown into a whirlwind of social media, praise, and more autographs. We were even scheduled to go on TV that night for an interview with Ted Humphry. Out of nowhere, I was expected to behave perfectly. To dress perfectly. To be on constant alert. I kissed Jay before going to geometry and the next day it was on Instagram drawn as fan art. We weren’t making out or anything- it was one kiss- I didn’t know anyone had taken a picture. Now I’m really glad they did.
Classes were a comfort. They were the only points during the day when I felt normal- like myself. I so miss normal.
Um. I was- sorry. It’s… hard to think about.
I was sitting at my desk. I had just written an answer to a test, then looked at the clock. It was 1:18 when-
“What was that?” Alex asked from across the room. We’d all heard it. Four slow, consecutive bangs. I turned to Mrs. Meltsner.
“I think something dropped,” her voice sounded unnatural. As she turned to her left, I expected her to leave the room- to see what had dropped. She didn’t. She locked it. Then looked directly at me.
“Dion, would you help me move my desk?”
“What,” my answer stuck to my throat. You’d think I would realize what was going on at that point- but I didn’t.
“Dion,” I’ll never forget how she said my name. It was all she could say- a sob sort of got in the way. That’s when I realized what was wrong. I stood up heavily. It was like a dream- when you try to run or jump or move quickly but all you can do is drag yourself to the intended destination. I want to believe I got to her as fast as possible. I’m not sure. I’d just reached her desk when the tormentor of my future nightmares appeared at the window of the door. He had dark brown hair, streaked with white. He wasn’t old- just over 40, but the bulging veins beneath his forehead told me he was sixty at least. He had blue eyes. I wish I could say they were like ice. That they were dark and deadly. They weren’t. They were kind. Fatherly. Clouded. With one swift movement, he had broken in.
Gunshots are loud. People underestimate that. How loud a gunshot is. He shot Katrina first. I saw him shoot her. The only adult that never shunned, never gave up, never judged me, was suddenly on the ground at my feet. So, I ran in the opposite direction. I grabbed Jay’s hand on the way to the back of the room and pulled him under the table with me when we got there. We put chairs in front of us, then huddled as close to the wall as possible. Through Jay’s hand, I could feel his heart pounding. My pulse was just as quick. I closed my eyes. There were a lot of gunshots, lots of people screaming, Jay crying. I brought him closer. I felt like crying. I don’t know why I didn’t. It was just an instinct. If Jay was crying, I wasn’t. He needed me. We stayed under there for maybe five minutes? During that time, I thought about getting shot. What it would feel like. If I would die or not. If anyone would miss me if I did. And I just kept waiting for a bullet to zip between the two metal chairs we were using for protection. But it didn’t. And the screaming stopped eventually. There was no more shooting. The chairs in front of us were practically thrown out of the way, and then I couldn’t hear for a second. Something had set my thigh on fire, and everything else went blurry. When my surroundings returned to normal, the first thing I saw was a dozen teens, huddled into the corner of the room- untouched. Jay and I were dug for. I new wave of pain attacked my leg. Michael was tackled by two police officers before I could take a full breath. I was dragged out from under the table by a medic. I must’ve looked panicked because he kept saying stuff like,
“I need to you calm down,” and “You’re gonna be okay.”
I was put on a stretcher and was beginning to feel lightheaded when I saw him. Jay. On a stretcher next to mine. There was so much blood. One medic was trying to stop the blood flow, while another gave Jay an oxygen mask. I don’t think he was breathing.
EUGENE'S POV
“Oh my god.”
I’d never heard Connie say that.
“Oh my god.”
Was she praying?
“Connie!” I finished wiping off a class before going to find her. She was at the counter, staring at her phone. She looked up at me. A terror, three shades darker than I’d ever seen tinted her green pupils. She handed me her phone. And I read the texts from Jules. I swallowed a throat of vomit before looking at her again.
“Is this a joke?”
“It’s not. I swear it’s not.”
“Okay.”
There’s a certain horror. I can’t describe it. The slow meticulous realization that your wife and son could be dead. I mechanically took Connie’s hand and led her to my car. Saying nothing. I mean, Connie started crying once we were driving, and I wanted to, but we couldn’t actually form words. I tried to comfort her. I held her hand. We couldn’t get to the high school soon enough. I didn’t bother parking when we did. I stumbled out of the vehicle to see-
“Dad!”
Buck.
I ran to him.
BUCK’S POV
I don’t like being touched. I don’t like being hugged. I don’t like feeling helpless or helped. So, I hugged my dad. Because I knew he was scared. And I knew I had to tell him something that had the potential to destroy him.
“She wasn’t breathing when they put her in the ambulance.”