Lukey Kid

If you look up “third wave ska legend” in a dictionary, you’ll find Aaron Barrett’s picture with his band Reel Big Fish. Because of this, I was completely star struck and confused while sitting in the passenger’s side of Mr. Barrett’s car.

“So, where you goin’?”

“Um, the recording studio back there.”

“No shit? You’re in a band?”

I nodded. He pounded the steering wheel excitedly. Then he took a cigar from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

“Yawannashigah?”

“What?”

He took it out. “I’m just kidding. This was my last one.”

Okay…

His cell phone rang, so he picked it up and answered it. In doing so he made the car swerve to the right.

“Barrett. Wait - what? No! No! Nooo! I said green, not purple! There’s no such thing as purple lasagna!”

He pursed his lips and snapped the phone shut, breaking it in two. “Damn it all, I am in the worst band ever. EVER.”

I couldn’t help but smirk, and he was quick to take notice. “Ahh, there’s a smile! Why the long face?”

I shook my head, a little hesitant. I stayed quiet, but he was persistent. To get me talking, he smacked my arm at two-second intervals. “Come on,” he repeated.

“Okay, okay! See…my band’s kind of in a fight. I don’t know, though…I escaped in the heat of the moment,” I explained.

“That sucks. What band?”

“Plaster Caster.”

“Ohhhhh - I’ve heard about you! See, we’ve done a lot of shows with The Max, and lately they keep bragging about being on the label with you, and so we’re like, ‘Shut up, assholes!’ But they never do, so -”

“Whoa whoa whoa - you’ve…heard of us?!” I exclaimed. Okay, if anyone else had said something like that, I wouldn’t have minded so much. But this was Aaron Barrett, a legend in my eyes!

He nodded with a silly grin. Then he went quiet, trying to think of something to say.

“Would you be pissed off if we covered one of you guys’ songs?”

I couldn’t speak for a full two minutes. I just sat there with my eyes wide open and my mouth dropped so I looked like a fish. Aaron noticed and smacked my cheek.

“I-I-I don’t…I don’t know - I’d have to ask the band, and there’s some legal stuff, I’m sure…”

“Ah. You know, that’s good, goin’ by the laws…”

I was never able to figure out if he was being sarcastic.

“You wanna get a drink?” he said nonchalantly. I shook my head.

“Not old enough.”

“What? How old are you?”

“Fourteen and a half.”

Aaron gasped so hard he hiccupped. “You are kidding me! Christ, I’d swear you were at least twenty-one!”

Once again, I shook my head. “Um, no…”

When I was in fifth grade, I was already 5’5. By ninth grade I was shaving. Puberty had a funny way of working for and against me.

“Look, you know what? I’m driving you to the studio and I don’t even know your name. Spill it, kid.”

I hesitated. “Luke.”

“Ah. Like Luke Skywalker?”

“No.”

An awkward silence plopped down between us. Aaron flicked the cigar out the window and laughed. “You know…I’m in a band too.”

“I know. Reel Big Fish. You guys are legends.”

“You like us?”

“Yeah! I got the live album, and Monkeys for Nothin’-”

“You heard the song Sellout?”

“I think every fan has.”

His smile faded like he was actually being serious this time. “See…don’t follow the words. I mean, don’t take ‘em seriously. ‘Cause, like, it sucks when you got pressure to… stray from your roots. Know what I’m sayin’? If that ever happens to you guys, I want you to grab that manager or CEO or whatever by the balls and scream, ‘No way, mother-’”

I cringed as he loudly finished the sentence.

“…Alright.”

He punched my shoulder. “Atta boy. Say, where’d you say you were going?”

I pointed behind us. “To that studio.”

“What, you don’t live here? Are you a hobo?”

“Well, I have a home, but I we’re only here to record. I live farther north.”

“Canada? Aw, that sucks.”

“Claymore.”

“What’s a Claymore?”

Of course. Where the heck is Claymore?, they always ask. “A town.”

“Are your parents down here too?”

I went silent, thinking of an explanation. I didn’t want my hero to throw me a pity party. After ten seconds of quiet, he gasped.

“Oh…shit! Your parents were eaten by jackalopes! I’m sorry!”

I looked at him with a confused expression, but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Yeah. Eaten by jackalopes.”

He snorted a stupid laugh. “Cool.”

Once again, I beamed. He elbowed my side. By then, I was fairly certain he was less than sober.
“Got brothers? Sisters? God, that would suck to be an only child and an orphan.”

Tell me about it. “I got a little brother named Aaron-”

“Ha. Kickass name. I should know.”

“…But…he lives in a different foster home.”

“Gnarly! When did you last see him?”

“A week ago, actually. He’s the record company owner’s kid.”

His face broke into a huge grin. “That is so cool!”

I laughed a little. “Yeah. It is.”

Out of nowhere Aaron twisted the steering wheel and made a sharp u-turn. I held on for dear life as we spiraled across the road, my heart beating up into my throat.

He read my face afterward. “You said you had to go back to the studio, right?”

I barely nodded. “Uh…huh…”

After my sanity returned I remembered why I left the studio in the first place. I groaned, apparently pretty loudly.

“Why so glum, Lukey kid?”

I bit my lip. “I don’t know if I should go back. Tensions are a little high.”

Aaron flapped his hand. “Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it. We all hate everyone sometimes. And you kids’re going through puberty.” He snorted. “Ah, I remember adolescence. You wanna kill your best friend one minute, then cry like a baby and eat a gallon of ice cream the next.”

“…I don’t know for sure, but I think that’s what girls do on their period.”

He shifted his eyes from me to the road a few times. “Really? Er…anyways, the point is, don’t get too pissed off. Your mates’ll get over themselves. Everything passes.”

For a guy who questioned why all girls think they’re fat, sang about getting drunk, and ex-girlfriends who turned lesbian, he made a good point. And puberty only meant that it especially wouldn’t loom over our heads.

We were quiet, all the conversation bubbled over out of us. Even if I looked up to Aaron Barrett like he was my biggest hero or something, just being driven to a place by him was cool.

He pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car. I unbuckled and got out. “Good luck,” he said.
I nodded.

“Need backup?”

I shook my head. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No prob, kid. Stay strong, young skanker.”

Then I walked into the studio, into heck. But there were no harsh words. No tension. Just absolute silence. Just Olli surfing his FlySpace. I looked around, searching for any sign of the rest of Plaster Caster.

“Where is everyone?” I spoke, rubbing the back of my head.

“They went back to the hotel,” he stated.

I looked at the floor, biting my lip.

“Ya wanna ride?” he said, jingling his keys.

I shrugged, thinking what the heck.