Just Think Happy Thoughts
Ch. 13: Very Well
“This is the place.” Marty smiled up at the green graffiti above the entrance to the Progressive. It was a small club on a corner, the entire building covered in spray paint art. A few random hipster kids struck poses against the brick, straightening their pseudo-vintage clothes.
Rosie raised an eyebrow at the grungy exterior. “You’re high as a fucking kite if you think I’m stepping foot in that place.”
“For fuck’s sake, RoRo, pull the stick out of your ass long enough to enjoy a good rock show, would you?” Danny sighed, bending down to retie his Vans.
“I’ve told you losers before, I don’t like rock music.”
For a brief moment, Marty looked ready to vomit in rage. “You don’t like rock? YOU DON’T LIKE ROCK? What the fuck is WRONG with you?”
Manny sighed. “My sister is a blood traitor to her rock royalty roots. She likes pop. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Wait, like kitschy ‘80s pop, or like cheesy tacky American Idol pop?”
“She’s a Kiki Marx fan…”
Elena shivered in revolt. “Makes you ill, doesn’t it? I’m embarrassed to even ASSOCIATE with someone who listens to that Radio Disney crap.”
“My lineage does not mean I have to listen to the air pollution Papa churns out.”
Unable to take any more, Melody grabbed a handful of Rosie’s hair and yanked. “If I have to go in there, then so do you. Now shut up, you’ll enjoy yourself.” She let go and headed inside, hands shoved in her pockets.
The little group stood in awe for a few moments. “Dude…” Marty chuckled to Elena. “Your cousin is HARDCORE.”
“Don’t I know it,” Elena chuckled back, taking his arm. “C’mon, show us around the place.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Marty led the rest inside the club, not noticing the look of pure malice Tony was giving him. “Here it is, my little home away from home,” he grinned, gesturing around at the packed house. The club was already full to the max with teenagers waiting to see the band, a veritable sampler platter of rocker kids. “This is the best all-ages club in the Midwest, kiddies. If memory serves, Uncle Trav is working the bar tonight, so if you guys want a soda or something, it’s on the house.”
“Very well, then, I’m grabbing a Diet Coke,” Rosie grumbled, working her way to the back. She cast disapproving glances around at the disaffected youth around her, scorning their openness. For a sizable chunk of her own adolescence, she’d been avoiding clubs and people like this. It wasn’t because she disliked them, like she’d convinced everyone; it was because she wished she had the courage to be one of them.
The house was quiet, for the first time since the Toros had lived there. Ray and Manny had gone down the street to the Iero house when they’d gotten back from the funeral. Rosie stayed behind, wanting to call her friends for comfort.
As it was, however, none of her friends were answering their phones. Then again, it was a Saturday afternoon; most likely, they were all at the mall…without her. The clique didn’t talk much about serious things, anyway. Rosie hadn’t even mentioned the fact that her mother had cancer until the previous Tuesday, when the condition had finally caught up with her and the family had to schedule the wake.
She was alone, completely alone, she realized. The Chem Kids were no longer an option, seeing as she’d eschewed their company once she’d gotten the ‘cool’ kids to accept her into their circle. In turn, the ‘cool’ kids were now ignoring their grieving comrade, abandoning her for The Buckle and Abercrombie. As much as Rosie hated herself for taking her last resort, she took it nonetheless. She headed down the hall.
Manny’s room was cluttered, messy, slightly musky, like any preteen boy’s room. She braved it anyway; she needed to use his stereo. It had become a habit of hers to sneak in when no one was around and listen to his music, having gotten rid of all her rock after she’d been christened too cool for it. And now more than ever, she needed it. Rosie went straight for the Jawbreaker.
Four hours later, Manny came back to find her asleep on his floor with his headphones on, “Jet Black” blaring. He promised not to tell anyone.
Rosie took a seat at the end of the bar, taking a deep breath. Travis spotted her and made his way down. “What can I get you, little ma?”
“Diet Coke, with lemon, please,” she grumbled, picking at her nails. He left, leaving her to her thoughts.
A boy came and took the seat next to her. He sported a devilock and more eyeliner than her. She caught his eye. “What is a pretty girl like you doing here?” he asked politely. He had a thick European accent.
“Mourning,” Rosie replied, trying to ignore him.
The boy smiled at her. “A pretty girl like you should not be sad. You stand in front row in five minutes when music starts, and I promise, you will not be sad anymore.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m so sure.” Travis came back with her drink and left it for her with a smile.
Persistent still, he offered her his hand. “I am Gregori,” he grinned warmly. “I sing for the band playing tonight. We are called Basilica.”
It was the name that caught Rosie’s attention, making her take his hand hesitantly. “Basilica…like the Jawbreaker song?”
“Yes, Jawbreaker, yes. We cover ‘Jet Black.’ Pretty Girl likes Jawbreaker?” Gregori smirked.
“Actually, yes, I do,” she admitted quietly. “My name is Rosie, by the way.”
“Rosie…” Gregori repeated, sounding slightly wistful. “You will stand in the front, please? It would be great luck for me to have such a pretty girl to sing to.” She noticed he had deep green eyes, like prime-cut emeralds.
“Very well, then,” Rosie smiled, taking a sip of her soda finally.
Rosie raised an eyebrow at the grungy exterior. “You’re high as a fucking kite if you think I’m stepping foot in that place.”
“For fuck’s sake, RoRo, pull the stick out of your ass long enough to enjoy a good rock show, would you?” Danny sighed, bending down to retie his Vans.
“I’ve told you losers before, I don’t like rock music.”
For a brief moment, Marty looked ready to vomit in rage. “You don’t like rock? YOU DON’T LIKE ROCK? What the fuck is WRONG with you?”
Manny sighed. “My sister is a blood traitor to her rock royalty roots. She likes pop. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Wait, like kitschy ‘80s pop, or like cheesy tacky American Idol pop?”
“She’s a Kiki Marx fan…”
Elena shivered in revolt. “Makes you ill, doesn’t it? I’m embarrassed to even ASSOCIATE with someone who listens to that Radio Disney crap.”
“My lineage does not mean I have to listen to the air pollution Papa churns out.”
Unable to take any more, Melody grabbed a handful of Rosie’s hair and yanked. “If I have to go in there, then so do you. Now shut up, you’ll enjoy yourself.” She let go and headed inside, hands shoved in her pockets.
The little group stood in awe for a few moments. “Dude…” Marty chuckled to Elena. “Your cousin is HARDCORE.”
“Don’t I know it,” Elena chuckled back, taking his arm. “C’mon, show us around the place.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Marty led the rest inside the club, not noticing the look of pure malice Tony was giving him. “Here it is, my little home away from home,” he grinned, gesturing around at the packed house. The club was already full to the max with teenagers waiting to see the band, a veritable sampler platter of rocker kids. “This is the best all-ages club in the Midwest, kiddies. If memory serves, Uncle Trav is working the bar tonight, so if you guys want a soda or something, it’s on the house.”
“Very well, then, I’m grabbing a Diet Coke,” Rosie grumbled, working her way to the back. She cast disapproving glances around at the disaffected youth around her, scorning their openness. For a sizable chunk of her own adolescence, she’d been avoiding clubs and people like this. It wasn’t because she disliked them, like she’d convinced everyone; it was because she wished she had the courage to be one of them.
The house was quiet, for the first time since the Toros had lived there. Ray and Manny had gone down the street to the Iero house when they’d gotten back from the funeral. Rosie stayed behind, wanting to call her friends for comfort.
As it was, however, none of her friends were answering their phones. Then again, it was a Saturday afternoon; most likely, they were all at the mall…without her. The clique didn’t talk much about serious things, anyway. Rosie hadn’t even mentioned the fact that her mother had cancer until the previous Tuesday, when the condition had finally caught up with her and the family had to schedule the wake.
She was alone, completely alone, she realized. The Chem Kids were no longer an option, seeing as she’d eschewed their company once she’d gotten the ‘cool’ kids to accept her into their circle. In turn, the ‘cool’ kids were now ignoring their grieving comrade, abandoning her for The Buckle and Abercrombie. As much as Rosie hated herself for taking her last resort, she took it nonetheless. She headed down the hall.
Manny’s room was cluttered, messy, slightly musky, like any preteen boy’s room. She braved it anyway; she needed to use his stereo. It had become a habit of hers to sneak in when no one was around and listen to his music, having gotten rid of all her rock after she’d been christened too cool for it. And now more than ever, she needed it. Rosie went straight for the Jawbreaker.
Four hours later, Manny came back to find her asleep on his floor with his headphones on, “Jet Black” blaring. He promised not to tell anyone.
Rosie took a seat at the end of the bar, taking a deep breath. Travis spotted her and made his way down. “What can I get you, little ma?”
“Diet Coke, with lemon, please,” she grumbled, picking at her nails. He left, leaving her to her thoughts.
A boy came and took the seat next to her. He sported a devilock and more eyeliner than her. She caught his eye. “What is a pretty girl like you doing here?” he asked politely. He had a thick European accent.
“Mourning,” Rosie replied, trying to ignore him.
The boy smiled at her. “A pretty girl like you should not be sad. You stand in front row in five minutes when music starts, and I promise, you will not be sad anymore.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m so sure.” Travis came back with her drink and left it for her with a smile.
Persistent still, he offered her his hand. “I am Gregori,” he grinned warmly. “I sing for the band playing tonight. We are called Basilica.”
It was the name that caught Rosie’s attention, making her take his hand hesitantly. “Basilica…like the Jawbreaker song?”
“Yes, Jawbreaker, yes. We cover ‘Jet Black.’ Pretty Girl likes Jawbreaker?” Gregori smirked.
“Actually, yes, I do,” she admitted quietly. “My name is Rosie, by the way.”
“Rosie…” Gregori repeated, sounding slightly wistful. “You will stand in the front, please? It would be great luck for me to have such a pretty girl to sing to.” She noticed he had deep green eyes, like prime-cut emeralds.
“Very well, then,” Rosie smiled, taking a sip of her soda finally.