Great Expectations

"Oh, oh, I've got a crush on you tonight." - Bruce Springsteen

I paced my bedroom that evening, dreading the moment Dean would ring the doorbell. I had not told my parents I would be going anywhere with Dean. I didn’t tell them he was picking me up, and I definitely didn’t tell them where he was actually taking me. My plan was to leave before they could ask any questions. Of course, I could always lie and say I was going out with Hunter. This would work perfectly if my parents never spoke to Hunter, or if Hunter would cover for me. Since neither of those conditions was plausible, I decided a quick getaway was the best.

I glanced out my window every few minutes, pulling my hands in and out of the pockets of my skinny jeans. The pants felt strange; I almost never wore jeans and tee shirts. It felt as though a stranger had invaded my body, like a rebel had taken over and I was just going along for the ride. It was equally frightening and exhilarating.

When the doorbell rang, I jumped nervously and literally ran downstairs, flinging the front door open before my parents could reach it. I needn’t have bothered. My mother was sitting in the living room talking on the phone and my father was in his office, typing hurriedly.

“I’m going over Dean’s to work on our English project,” I called, attempting to close the door before either parent could call out. I wasn’t quick enough.

“Why aren’t you driving?” My mother’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Too tired,” I said.

“Then why are you going?” she demanded.

“Project’s due soon,” I answered vaguely. “See you later.” I slammed the door before another question could follow and stood on the front step, Dean smirking at me.

“I see your parents are also under the impression they work for the LAPD interrogation squad,” he said, leading me to a dark blue Corvette. “My dad’s car,” he explained. I got in the passenger side, anxious to get away from my house. Dean started the car and backed out of the driveway, speeding down the street towards the highway. We drove alongside the ocean, the sun setting brilliantly over the shimmering water.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” he said evasively, turning up the stereo. “Satisfaction” filled the air as he flew down the highway, driving farther and farther away from the city. Apparently, he was unable to stop himself from talking about the band, though. “They’re not really famous,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “But they’re absolutely brilliant. I can’t even describe them to you, but trust me, they’re good.”

“If you say so,” I said, watching the sun sink closer to the water. I remained quiet for the rest of the drive, trying to figure out if I had made the right decision in choosing to come with Dean.

He glanced at me as he pulled the purring sports car into a parking lot outside a tiny brick building. “You don’t look happy,” he said. He turned off the engine and turned to face me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I feel like I made a mistake coming here. Like I’m letting people down.”

“Who are you letting down?” he asked. “Your parents expect too much from you. They’re not expecting you to be yourself, and that’s wrong. Are you letting down Hunter? I don’t know what he expects from you, but it’s probably the same thing your parents do. Something tells me it’s not Poppy you’re letting down.” I bit my lip and refused to look into his face. “You shouldn’t think you’re letting yourself down,” he continued. “The only way you can let yourself down is by completely ignoring what you want.” He ran his fingers along my hand. “Come on. You’re here. Sitting in the car the whole time would be stupid. I promise you’re going to have fun.”

I got out of the car and followed him to the door of the club, where he passed a short line and walked straight past the guy taking tickets. “Why are you cutting all the lines?” I asked when we had gotten inside.

“You could say I’m an insider,” he said. “It’ll make sense after the show.” He smiled, took my hand, and wove through the crowd towards a small stage at the back of the room where people were setting up for a show. “It’s gonna be great,” he said. “I haven’t heard them in a while, but from what I’ve heard, they’ve only gotten better.”

“Who are they?” I asked, finally voicing the question he’d been waiting for me to ask.

“They’re called Wilson Shot Gatsby,” he said. “They’re kind of indie, kind of rock – they don’t have a label or anything but they’ve got a lot of talent.”

“Wilson Shot Gatsby,” I repeated. “As in -”

“Myrtle Wilson’s husband killing Jay Gatsby, yes,” Dean said. “They were arguing about what to call themselves while the singer was studying for her English final the next day, and she just kind of shouted it out. They went with it.”

“How do you know so much about them?” I asked. He smirked and before he could reply, four people jumped onto the stage. Three were guys – two blond, one brown-haired, and the third was a girl with long, deep red hair, dark brown roots visible when the lights hit her. The crowd cheered and they started to play, and all my questions were temporarily forgotten.

They started their set with the harmonica hook that began Bruce Springsteen’s Born To Run. I was so shocked I didn’t realize the song they were playing wasn’t “Thunder Road” and that they had stolen his intro. By the time my brain processed that thought, I realized they were good. They sounded nothing like the classic rock I listened to but more like the modern rock and folk Poppy loved.

“They’re good, right?” Dean asked. It was at that moment I realized I was grinning broadly. I nodded, not wanting to speak and miss a note of the music. They played through a long set of mostly original songs with a few covers of songs like Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” and The Beatles’ “Oh, Darling!” Dean was singing along to most of the songs, the smile never leaving his face.

After the show, the club started to empty quickly. I followed Dean towards the stage, where the band was now sitting. “Dean!” The lead singer jumped off the stage and threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you came. I haven’t seen you in forever!” I raised my eyebrows, surprised by this greeting. “I missed you!” she said.

“I missed you, too, Rosie,” he said, letting go of her.

She looked over his shoulder and, noticing me, said, “Little brother, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!”

I blinked a few times, looking between Dean and the tall redheaded lead singer of this band. After a few seconds, I realized her natural roots were the same dark brown as Dean’s hair, their eyes the same shade of green.

“Not exactly, but Rosie, this is Juliet,” Dean said, introducing us. “Juliet, this is my sister, Rosie.”

“Hi,” I said. “Great show.

“Thanks.” She beamed. “We’ve gotta get going, though. If you’re not gonna help us clean up, you should probably get going.”

“Yeah whatever,” Dean said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “See you, Rosie.

“Bye, Dean,” she said, coiling cables on the stage. “Bye, Juliet!”

We walked out of the small building, back to the sleek car. “You never said you had a sister,” I said.

“Yeah, well, Rosie left the instant she turned eighteen to go on tour with the band,” he said. “She came out here three years before we did.”

“Oh,” I said, rolling down the car window to let the velvety night air drift in. We spent the entire ride home talking about the show, Dean explaining to me what some of the lyrics were about. He rolled into my driveway and got out of the car, looking up at the sky. Few stars were visible beyond the bright glow of the city and the lights on people’s houses.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, still smirking.

“Yes,” I said, walking towards my front door.

“Good,” he said. He took a few steps towards me, but jumped back when he set off the motion sensitive light in front of my house. “See you Monday, Juliet.” He grinned and got back into his car. I opened the front door and stepped inside, listening to the car’s engine fade away. I closed the door behind me and was thankful neither of my parents had bothered to question why I came home so late.

As I walked upstairs to my room, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dean: his bright eyes, confident smirk, and even the way he said my name made me want to smile. For the first time in years, I went to bed without worrying about anything at all.