Take This to Your Grave

My dad was contemplating in whether or not to go out late with Amy. I was pushing it so I could go with Pete to his show. My dad, he paced and bit at his lip; "I can't keep leavin' you alone, Naomi."

"I'm fine alone, dad." I tried to smile, to show I was happy.

He hummed, "I'll be home late, though."

"Dad, just go." I urged, bustling my hands, shooing him.

He tweaked his lips, "Okay, okay." He spoke guiltily, "I hate to leave you."

"You got some hot woman who needs you more than I do," I teased him, "Go on."

He chuckled and leaned over the side of the couch to kiss the top of my head, "Lock up, alright?"

"I will." I assured as he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

I listened for his truck to go before I went upstairs to wait for Pete. I paced, just as my dad had, and wondered if I should do this. It gnawed at me; I was nervous about going to this show; I hadn't thought it truly through.

There would be older people there, people who wouldn't like me. Pete's friends, whom all were acquainted with one another and I was this new kid barging in. I didn't want to impose, or be a nuisance to them. I most certainly did not want to be baby sat. I was certain that I wouldn't need it, so I didn't want anyone to think I did.

I exhaled and sat at my desk and looked at myself in my mirror. I didn't look older than 18; most adults say I look like a damn sixth grader. No, I didn't see that; I saw Naomi Valentino, the 16 year old girl who is smitten by a certain bad boy. What was I to do? I couldn't turn Pete down about this; I liked him and he wanted me to come along.

I stared at myself until I heard Pete knock on my window and slip in. I spun the chair around and faced him; he had a backpack with him, "When'd your dad leave?" He asked as he sat on my bed.

Pete began to open his backpack, me watching, "Like," I looked at my watch, "10 minutes ago."

Pete only gave a nod and continued to rummage through his bag. I tilted my head, wondering what he was doing, what he brought. I saw a black eyeliner pencil and a tube of lipstick. He had black jeans that looked way too small and had a tear at the left knee. He set those on the bed and turned to me and grinned; "I'm gonna give you a makeover."

"A makeover." I stated dumbly, "Why?"

"To help you fit into the crowd, Naomi." He came over to me, "Alright, I use this stuff to look like I got a black eye."

He tilted my head back, holding the exposed end of the eyeliner pencil and began to trace the underside of my eyelid; "The lipstick?"

"It's red." He said shortly, "Look up, Navy."

I frowned slightly, "What did you call me?"

"Navy." He murmured, still tracing my eyelids. "N-A-V, your initials. I added the Y to be cute."

I rolled my eyes and Pete laughed, "Navy. Like Navy Pier."

"It's creative and I like it just as much as Naomi."

I blushed, my face warm, but I don't think Pete noticed. He moved onto my right eye and continued to trace it. Once he finished, he told me to face at him, and to shut my eyes; I did as he said. He began to smudge the eyeliner with his index finger; "You're messing it up!" I exclaimed.

"It's on purpose, Navy. You'll see."

I didn't protest or argue; I trusted Pete, I had to. He added a little more to my top eyelid and smudge it. He let out a small sigh, "Open your eyes."

I looked at him, seeing that infamous grin; "How is it?"

"You look good," he tossed the pencil onto the bed and pulled out the lipstick; "Open your mouth."


Pete held my hand tightly as he led me towards the back of this small club. There was a lot of kids around, which put me at ease; but there were lots of girls there that were too dressed up and too pretty to not feel insecure. But, I kept my head down and followed Pete; the tight jeans he lent me were riding low, hugging my hips, making me feel exposed and uncomfortable. He had me wear this t-shirt that had a silhouette of Morrissey on it; I loved it and told him I was keeping it.

I tried not to focus too much on my clothing, more so on the things around me. There was a lot of talk about Arma Angelus and Projekt Rocket; Pete informed me that they were going on before his band. I wanted to be in the know, so I perked my ears and listened to stories about how they were ready to quit and that they were the best band to come out of Wilmett.

My listening didn't last long; Pete got us inside, in this dark place that caused my eyes to water at the sudden darkness. There was loud music and the sound of sneakers; my eyes gushed when sudden red light lit up the space and we were approached by a bouncer who wore the cliche black shirt with Staff screen printed bold on the back.

"How old is she?" The bouncer questioned Pete; his voice deep and skeptical of my being there.

"19." Pete told him over the music.

The bouncer turned to me, "Lemme see your hand." He ordered.

I quickly out out my right hand and he whipped out a black sharpie and slashed an X over it. I frowned, but didn't say anything. We were let go; Pete led us pass a curtain and then a door which led us inside the club.

There was a bunch of kids there; I saw a lot of hands with Xs like my own. Pete kept a hold on my hand, both of our palms were sweaty, but we didn't unlace our fingers. He got us to the side of the stage, a band was setting up, and Pete leaned into my ear; "That's Projekt Rocket."

I turned to speak into his ear; our cheeks brushed, causing me to smile like an idiot; "Are the guys from your band here?"

"Yeah!" He answered, and then he was back in my ear, "They're in the back, we'll go back there after they play, alright?"

I gave a nod. I didn't mind anything at all. I was with Pete having a new experience.