Words I Might Have Ate

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The graph shown below consists of a line segment connected to a piece of a parabola with the intersection at (0, 2). The derivative at the point of intersection is continuous and each tick mark on the axes represents one unit. Find the equation of the parabola in the form p(x) = ax2 + bx + c.

I scowl down at the paper, my eyebrows drawn together in a tight frown as the calculus problem stares back at me innocently. The only other noise in the apartment is Mike moving around in the living room. When I had walked past nearly an hour ago, he had been restringing and cleaning his bass. He had been so concentrated in his activity that he hadn’t even looked up when I dropped the orange juice carton on the floor and swore colorfully enough to make Mom blush in mortification.

A part of me wishes that a massive distraction would present itself so I wouldn’t have to finish this stupid calculus packet that David sent home with me yesterday. It was only Friday and I had until Tuesday until I had to go back to Dave’s house, but I know that as soon as the weekend arrives, there’s no way in hell I’m going to want to work on my math homework.

Zero is basking in the sunlight on my windowsill, purring contentedly. Her tail is waving in the air and I watch her sleep for a moment before I hop up onto my feet and stretch towards the ceiling, my homework lying forgotten on the floor beside me.

My cat cracks an eye open at me and watches as I scratch at my messy hair absentmindedly. Honestly Zero has always kind of frightened me. It’s like she has a sixth sense for when I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be and she always stares at me reproachfully. It’s like having Mom around all the time, except without the nagging and constantly being plied with food, though come to think about it, that would be such an improvement for Zero. But why stop at just food? What if I taught her to do laundry as well? It'd be like having all of Mom's good parts rolled into a fuzzy little kitten.

Except Zero isn't a kitten and I'm pretty sure she'd scratch the shit out of me if I even attempted to hold her. So I guess it really wouldn't be the perfect idea after all.

“I’m going to do it,” I mutter under my breath as Zero stretches out lazily in her patch of sunshine. “I’m just taking a break. I have to start getting ready for the show tonight, don’t I?”

She shoots me a look before turning around and curling back up. I glare at her back for a moment before my distraction arrives in the form of a certain drummer named Tré Cool. I can hear him coming up the stairs to the apartment based on the fact that he was taking the steps three at a time and drumming on the walls with his drumsticks, despite the many times our landlord had expressly forbade practicing on the walls. It really wasn’t all that hard to come to the realization that he would never have a career in espionage.

So when the door collides harshly with the wall and Tré greets Mike affectionately in a loud, cheerful voice, I can’t say that I’m surprised. I exit my bedroom and walk through the kitchen towards the living room, where Mike and Tré are talking.

“Hey guys,” I call out before throwing myself down onto the sofa and tucking my hands behind my head. “What’s up?”

Tré pulls at his shirt with a bit of a goofy smile. “I’m on the clock right now for work, but I thought I’d stop in and see what’s going on with you two.”

I raise myself up onto my elbow and squint over at Tré interestedly. He was wearing a rather gross looking red polo shirt with a mysterious stain down the front. “And you’re getting paid for this?”

“I get paid by the hour,” He shrugs, sitting down on the armchair and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

Mike sets aside his bass and looks up at our friend incredulously. “So what are you going to tell your manager when it takes you an hour to deliver one pizza?”

“I got lost,” Tré leans forward and grabs the bag of chips Mike had been eating previously. “Guys, don’t worry about it, I already delivered the pizza. It’s not like I’m letting it get cold in the car. I only did that once.”

“Once?” Mike begins but stops himself before he can go any further. “What time do you get off?”

Tré’s face screws up as he thinks for a moment. “Four o’clock. You’re driving to Gilman’s, right?” The last question is directed at Mike as I still don’t have a car at the moment.

Mike nods, reaching up and taking his snack back. “Yeah, always do.”

“Because we all know the Pinto barely makes it to work,” Tré sniffs indifferently, wiping his greasy fingers off on his black work pants. “Anyway, before I split, I want to know if you’d heard anything from Reprise yet?”

I knew that part was directed at me. It seems like just because David had been able to set up a meeting with Mr. Smith, all of the official things had been directed towards me. It was my name on the contact information and every day, we guarded the phone for the call that would effectively change the rest of our lives.

Our meeting with Mr. Smith had gone well. We had read over the contract that Reprise faxed over and he had explained it all to us in intricate detail. As a band, we had made our changes to the contract, fixing clauses and adding stipulations, before a new contract had been drawn up and sent over to the head offices at Reprise. But that had been nearly two weeks ago and we hadn’t heard anything back from them yet. I was starting to think that maybe we had gotten a little bit too greedy with our demands, but Mr. Smith had assured us that these types of things take time and if we hadn’t heard back from the record label by Monday, he would personally call and check on the status of our contract.

But that still didn’t mean that the three of us were at ease. We were all anxious and nervous and it showed. After our show on Wednesday, I had nearly wrecked Mike’s beloved car in my haste to get home to check the phone’s messages because I was certain that they would have called. But the only message left was from Mike’s girlfriend, asking him to call her back.

And so the rest of the week marched by on lead feet. I had torn myself away from the phone long enough to go to work and then come straight back home. Even on a normal basis, I didn’t like being employed but now that I was waiting for the single biggest thing to ever happen in my life, it had become just about unbearable.

We are less than two weeks away from August being over and according to my original hiring agreement, September meant that the guy I was only temporarily replacing was coming back to take his job from me. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on what my mood happens to be—he still had another three weeks of physical therapy to undergo before he can return to work.

And for me, this means that I’m gainfully employed for another month or so. I am grateful that I will still have another thirty-one days of a steady paycheck because if this deal with Reprise Records falls through, than I’m right back at square one. I’ll be unemployed and broke yet again and after having the luxury of money for the past three months, I wasn’t about to go back to sofa diving for quarters to buy food again.

“Billie?” Mike snaps his fingers and I snap out of my daydream hurriedly.

Both of them are staring at me curiously and I hastily assess the situation. What is the last thing we had been talking about? Oh right, the Reprise contract. I shake my head, kneading my palms into my eye sockets. “No, I haven’t heard anything from them yet.”

Tré moans loudly and judging by the muffled thump that follows, I can only assume that he’s crashed his head against the back of the sofa out of frustration. “When are they going to call?”

“Dale did say he would call on Monday to check on the status of our contract,” Mike begins, always the ever-rational one of the group. He shrugs his thin shoulders carelessly. “Don’t stress out over it; it’ll just make time go by more slowly.”

“Like you don’t check the phone messages just as often as we do,” I mutter, swinging my legs over the edge of the sofa and sighing heavily. “I’m sure we’ll have a phone call waiting for us when we get back from the club tonight.”

“Billie,” Mike begins uneasily but cuts himself off when he catches sight of the look on my face. His words hang in the air heavily until Tré decides to ease the tension with a loud burp, shortly followed by a content sigh.

“Well losers,” He stands and straightens out his pants. “It’s back to the grindstone for me. I’ll be back here around five-ish—don’t be surprised if I come bearing the gift of free pizza.” And with a rather effeminate wave of his hand, the door slams shut behind him and we listen to his thunderous footsteps as he sprints down the stairwell to the foyer, singing the Ramones off-key as he goes.

“I won’t be surprised if he comes back unemployed,” Mike mumbles, standing up and picking up his instrument and his bag of potato chips. “Do you want to go to the video store with me? I rented Jurassic Park and it’s due tonight.”

“Was that any good?” I ask, looking at the VHS with interest. “I meant to see it in theatres, but that never happened.”

Mike shrugs, looking indifferent. “It was alright—I mean it had its moments of awesome, but I don’t see it being really popular anytime soon. Anyway, you in?”

“Uhm,” I’m about to climb up off the sofa and join him as I don’t have anything better to do when there is a soft knock on our door. A confused expression drifts across my face as I glance at my best friend before he moves towards the door.

“I don’t know who it is,” He murmurs, opening the door and looking down at the stranger. “Can I help you?”

“Is Billie here?”

The person sounds young and a bit terrified. I peer around the door and through Mike’s arms to see a pimply-faced teenager glowering at the both of us darkly, his hands shoved deep in his jean pockets and a baseball cap twisted sideways on his head.

I raise an eyebrow at his attire but I make no comment as I come fully around the door. “That depends, who’s asking?”

“I hear you can hook me up dirt cheap,” The kid begins in a low voice after he glances down the hall. It’s quite obvious to everyone that this is his first time doing something like this on his own.

Mike releases the door and steps away, his chip bag crinkling cheerfully. “Looks like I’ll be returning the movie on my own.”

“Work calls,” I joke, motioning for the kid to enter the apartment. “So what do you have to give me, kid?”

From his pocket, he produces several crumpled bills and he shoves them at me quickly, looking anywhere but at me. I count the money with a critical eye before I fold it up neatly and nod my head.

“I’ll be right back.”

-X-

Gilman’s is busy tonight. The thumping bass can be heard as we drive down 8th Street with Operation Ivy blasting. Tré had commissioned the passenger’s seat and so he had been elected to hold the dashboard speaker as Mike drove because if he went over 20, the speaker fell out of the dash completely. He had begrudgingly agreed to do so, but only if I would continually hand him his pizza so he could eat at the same time.

Mike parks around the corner and before he can even turn the engine off, I scramble out of the backseat. Adrenaline is coursing through my body and I can’t wait to take the stage tonight. As Tré and Mike take their time climbing out of the car, I jump up and down in place, shaking all the kinks out of my body.

“Someone’s anxious to see a girl,” Tré coos in my ear before he dances out of my reach, giggling a bit.

I frown at his words as Mike pushes Blue into my arms. “What? Who?”

“Nothing,” Mike shakes his head, unsuccessfully stifling his laughter at the confused look on my face. “Let’s just start carrying our stuff in there. I didn't come this early to hold my bass in the middle of the street.”

Tré starts to cough, not even bothering with covering his mouth as he bends down to pick up his snare drum. “Abigail,” He barks, clearing his throat and smiling sweetly at me.

Immediately my stomach drops a few inches. I hadn’t seen Abigail in a few weeks. In fact, the last time I saw her was as we were driving away from Gilman’s and she was watching me from the alley in the middle of a swarm of smokers. It had been difficult to decipher her mood with me. I really hoped that the annoyance on her face was just a figment of my imagination because truthfully, I liked Abigail.

Somehow she managed to catch my attention and keep me captivated. Whether it was from the cool indifference that she seemed to ooze or from the way she was able to keep up with my obnoxious one-liners and even get a few witty remarks back in return, I’m not sure. But I liked the challenge that she presented and I hope that my abandoning her didn’t damage any chance I had with her.

We use the back door to get to the side-stage where we deposit our instruments as the band on stage continues their set. We still had a good thirty minutes before we were due, but I had pestered Mike until he agreed to come down early so we could spy on the other bands comfortably.

I double-check to make sure that Blue is safe behind an amp before I stretch, my shirt riding up a bit. “I’m going to smoke outside,” I rustle in my pockets for the smashed box of cigarettes that I had grabbed off my dresser at the last moment.

Mike barely glances up from his bass before he waves me off. Tré has already dropped his drum kit and hopped down into the ground, most likely intent on finding a girl to occupy his attention for tonight. This was pretty much standard protocol for us by now.

I use the back door to step back out into the dusky evening air. The smell of pot reaches my nose and I look around curiously until I spot three kids passing a bowl back and forth back by the dumpster. I grin to myself as I cup my hand around the end of my cigarette and click my lighter to life.

The familiar course of nicotine floods over me and I savor the taste deep in my lungs before I exhale, slouching back against the bricks comfortably. My mind is peacefully blank as I smoke and for that, I am grateful. I had been in over-drive nearly all day and I just wanted a chance to shut it all off. Especially right before our show. I didn’t want to be thinking about my calculus formulas in the middle of a set instead of how I intended to keep the audience entertained.

“Long time, no see.”

My heart begins to race at the familiar voice and I have to physically restrain myself from appearing too overly eager as I glance to my right. Abigail has materialized beside me quietly without my knowledge and she has mimicked my slouched position perfectly, a thin cigarette dangling from her pink lips lazily.

“I’ve had things to do,” I reply indifferently, shaking the ash off of my hand before I chance a glance at the girl beside me. “But I’ve been here, so the better question is where you’ve been.”

“I’ve been here,” She laughs and it has a soft, teasing tone to it. “You just haven’t been looking hard enough.”

I don’t have anything to say to that and so a silence sweeps down upon us which we both spend smoking and dropping ash to the concrete. The breeze picks up and the salty air from the San Francisco Bay tickles my nose before I notice Abigail’s perfume. It’s subtle but it’s sweet and I try to be inconspicuous as I attempt to decide what she’s wearing.

I eventually give up because really, who can expect me to be able to identify what type of perfume she’s wearing? Just as I open my mouth to speak, Abigail flicks her cigarette butt across the alley and laughs lightly as the embers glow bright before they putter out pathetically.

“What are your plans after your set tonight, Rock Star?” She inquires in that low voice, turning those icy blue eyes on me.

I deftly hide the smirk that tries to blossom on my face as I take my last hit before I follow her example and toss the butt away. “I don’t know; what do you have planned?”

She scoffs at my words, rolling her eyes. “Who says I want to spend tonight with you?” And judging by the way she looks so disdainful, a tiny dart of doubt shoots across me. What if I had been reading too much into our meetings?

Regardless, I act quickly to save myself from embarrassment. “I don’t think you can resist me,” I retort smoothly, using my foot to push myself away from the wall. “You come to Gilman’s every week just to see me play.”

“How do you know that? I really like the bartender who works weekends,” She arches a graceful eyebrow up at me as if she were issuing a direct challenge. “He hooks me up with some beautiful weed for practically free.”

I’m not stupid; I know what she’s using to pay for her drugs. Nevertheless I keep my composure. “I can do you better,” I pause, letting her analyze my words in her head before I lean forward, so close that I can see the different shades of blue in her eyes. “Both in bed and out.”

Her jaw drops at my words and I wink cheekily at her before I turn on my heel and stroll back towards the entrance of the club. I’m torn between looking back just to see the incredulous look on her face and keeping up my arrogant attitude.

At the door, I stop and glance back. She’s watching me with an unreadable look on her face, though she does tilt her head to the side at my sudden halt. A million thoughts are communicated between the both of us in that split second before I cock an eyebrow up and grin widely back at her.

“I’ll save a spot for my number one fan up front.”