Surf Rock

Delaney chewed at the inside of her cheek, unable to accept the scene that played out in front of her. This was a disaster — a natural disaster, the kind that’d get her impeached as president of the senior class. She’d go down in school history as the worst person to ever step foot through the doors. This couldn’t be happening; not to her.

“That’s the band?”

“I guess so.”

Fallon laughed out loud despite Delaney’s attempts to shush her. There was no point. The 204 students that made up the senior class of John F. Kennedy High School had elected the worst president and vice president possible and now they’d have to suffer the consequences.

“What am I going to do?” she panicked. “These guys blow! There’s no way I can let them play at prom.”

“No one else answered your ad?”

The ad. As president, it was Delaney’s job to find a band or DJ to play at the prom. A natural-born procrastinator, Delaney put off her search till the last minute, only remembering when Fallon asked if she’d managed to finagle One Direction into agreeing to do it. She hadn’t, of course, so she did the only thing she could think of: posted a desperate ad on Craigslist and hoped for the best. The quintet in front of her was definitely not the best.

“No,” Delaney answered, clearly dejected. “They look like a bunch of Beach Boys rejects.”

Fallon didn’t bother disagreeing — they had shown up in cargo shorts, yellow polos and flip-flops. “It could always be worse.” Delaney cocked an eyebrow, challenging the true commander-in-chief to come up with a scenario worse than the one they currently found themselves in. “You’re lucky this year’s theme isn’t the French Revolution. You’d be Marie Antoinette in a New York minute.”

Delaney groaned. “Are you sure your brother’s busy?”

“Already asked him. He said he wouldn’t play a prom if we paid him $500.”

“What about $501?”

Fallon’s brother was a legend amongst the senior girls, which accounted for the sliver of popularity she still held. He graduated when they were awkward freshmen and most of them were still in love with him — holding out hope that he’d be waiting for them at graduation with a bouquet of roses and they’d ride into the sunset together on a Harley — all because he was in a band and smoked cigarettes.

Well, there was also the time during his senior year that he told Mrs. Pantucket, the god-awful geometry teacher, where to shove her Cavalieri’s Principle in explicit detail, but since Fallon swore she was still paying for it in spades, she didn’t like to talk about it much.

“Did you tell him I’m desperate?”

Fallon rolled her eyes. “Do you think he cares? We both know Matt’s a mega-douche. He wouldn’t even drive me to school this morning and he’s the one that backed into my car while it was parked in the driveway so I had to take the bus. Who does that?”

While Fallon rambled on about her brother, the band continued playing in front of them. It was supposed to be an open audition, but since they were the only group to show up, it was more of a showcase. Not that they had much to showcase. Neither Delaney nor Fallon was a musician but even Beethoven could tell they sucked, and he was deaf.

One of the guitarists hit a wrong chord and both girls winced.

“I’ll see if I can bribe him into it,” Fallon said. “I’ll give him my allowance for the rest of the month so he can buy cigarettes or something. Maybe that way he’ll die faster.”

Delaney didn’t care how or when Matt was going to die, only that his band played the senior prom before he did.


To put it simply, the Leahy household was nothing short of a circus. Fallon’s father was a veterinarian which meant two things: one, there was always an abundance of foster and/or rescue animals running around; and two, he provided the family with a nice cushion of money. Once Fallon turned six and was no longer an adorable, babbling toddler, Fallon’s mother decided to transform a section of the family’s already too-large house into a daycare.

“Jesus Christ,” Fallon muttered as she opened the front door to sheer chaos. It looked like a scene straight out of a movie, only there were no monkeys or small children hanging from the chandelier in the foyer. “Mom?”

“In the kitchen, Fal!”

One of the day’s children attached itself to Fallon’s leg and she began shaking her leg erratically in an attempt to make it let go. “Get off me, you foul creature.”

No wonder Matt moved out three years ago.

“I’m making sandwiches for the kids, would you like one?”

“Bananas and peanut butter? I’m 17, Mom. I think I deserve something a bit more dignifying than bananas and peanut butter. Are you gonna change my diaper and put me down for a nap afterwards?

“I’ll put you down, all right.”

Fallon hopped onto a stool at the breakfast bar, trying her best to ignore the lime green lizard that’d stuck itself to the refrigerator. She was never particularly thrilled when her father would bring new things home, but she really hated when those things were cold-blooded. They gave her the creeps.

“When’s the last time you talked to Matt?”

Charlene shrugged. “The other day, I think. Why do you ask?”

“I need to ask him for a favor but if he’s being an ultra-dweeb this week I’d rather just avoid it altogether.”

“He seemed ok. What do you need him for?”

“Well I was hoping we could work out an arrangement for him to die before you and Dad do so I can be the sole heir to the Leahy fortune.” Charlene reached over the bar and swatted at her daughter, giving her what could only be described as ‘crazy eyes.’ “Jeez, Mom, chill. Delaney messed up and got some bogus band to play at prom and if Matt doesn’t agree to do it we’re both screwed.”

“I thought you weren’t going to the prom.”

“I’m not,” Fallon replied. “You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to hang out with those snooty, uptight bitches after school hours, but that doesn’t mean I’m not partly responsible for its success.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t curse around the kids,” Charlene scolded her, “but Matthew’s supposed to be bringing his friend over for dinner. I’m making him since he ruined your car.”

Fallon thanked her lucky stars that she wouldn’t have to step foot in her brother’s grotesque apartment and retreated to her room, figuring she’d bide her time between then and dinner by brainstorming a plan of action.

Matthew was a simple guy. He liked women, loud music and smoking cigarettes, usually in that order. Fallon figured she could bribe him with show tickets or funnel him money for cigarettes, but she was pretty useless on the women front unless he was looking to score some high school chicks. She knew that wouldn’t work; apparently he’d tried it before and they were too clingy.

Since no one would be able to hear her over all the commotion going on downstairs, Fallon screamed as loud as she could, hoping she’d spontaneously combust before she’d even have to see her brother’s dumb, ugly face at dinner.


Delaney was certain she’d be the only person in history to go into cardiac arrest at 17.

Fallon hadn’t returned any of her texts — all 24 of them — which prompted an anxiety attack in the center of her living room, despite her father’s protests for her to take it elsewhere so he could enjoy the baseball game without her wheezing all over the place. She couldn’t help it.

“What the hell’s the matter with you, Delaney?”

“Dad!” she groaned, flopping onto the couch next to him in dramatic fashion. “I ruined everything. My life is a John Hughes movie and I’m completely and utterly doomed.”

Darryl rolled his eyes, well-versed in the ways of his daughter’s dramatics. He had no idea why she’d decided to join the debate club instead of theater but figured it had something to do with Fallon’s parents trying to bribe her into applying to law school. One of the Leahy children had to do something productive with their lives.

“Del, the game’s on.”

“Baseball doesn’t mean anything when my life is about to go down the toilet!”

“What, did you fail a test or something?”

“I ruined prom!”

“It’s Tuesday, Delaney. Prom isn’t until Friday.”

“You don’t understand!” she moaned, doing her best impression of a 1940s damsel in distress. “Fallon’s brother refuses to play, so I had to find this god-awful Beach Boys knockoff band to do it instead, and they’re so bad.”

“I thought Fallon wasn’t going.”

“She’s not, which makes it even worse. I’m gonna have to suffer alone.” Darryl didn’t respond, just turned the volume on the television a few notches higher. “Dad, help me out here! I don’t know what to do.”

“Sure, Del, no problem. I’ll call up Rodney and get him over here in a jiffy.”

Delaney’s father was chief of police, which explained why she never got invited to many parties, and Rodney Brashear was the department’s head detective. Delaney had only met him once when she was eight and called 911 when her pet rabbit went missing because she didn’t know what else to do. Out of respect for her father, Rodney came over and deduced it’d gotten hit by a car, even though everyone within the city limits knew Darryl had taken Lulu to the shelter earlier that morning. (She wound up at Fallon’s house a few weeks later.)

“Don’t call Rodney! Why would you call Rodney?”

Darryl sighed. “Look, if Fallon’s brother keeps giving you problems just let me know and I’ll talk to him. He got busted a few days ago buying cigarettes for a group of minors so I might be able to bribe him.”

“Isn’t that against the law?”

On the television, one of the away players hit a grand slam and Darryl nearly flipped the coffee table. Delaney figured it’d be best if she removed herself from the situation entirely and retreated to her bedroom, hoping her AP Psychology homework would serve as a viable distraction, although she didn’t see the point in doing homework if her life was going to end in three days anyway.


Without a doubt, Matthew Leahy was the biggest douchebag Fallon had ever met.

He had a habit of going through phases, none of which were ever convenient. He showed up to dinner that night and denounced his mother’s roast chicken, claiming he’d been a vegan for the last three months and the meal was highly offensive. Mr. Leahy told him he could either eat it or shove it up his ass, much to Fallon’s pleasure, and the family (including Matt’s plus-one for the evening) was settled around the table a few minutes later.

“Your sister has a favor to ask,” Charlene said as soon as everyone’s plates were halfway gone. Matthew had the word no halfway out of his mouth before she scolded him. “And you might want to think long and hard about it, considering you totaled her car.”

“It was a piece of shit. She should be praising me for ruining it.”

“You’re a piece of shit,” Fallon retorted, leaning over the table in a feeble attempt to strangle her sibling. “And if you talk about Talulah that way again, I’ll—”

“Fallon!” her parents yelled at the same time. Matt’s friend just looked on in horror.

“You’re lucky they’re here,” Fallon warned.

Matt narrowed his eyes at his sister. “I’d do it again if I could.” Fallon gasped. “I’d back into her everyday for the rest of your pathetic little life if it meant I got to see the horror in your eyes upon realizing what I did. I’m glad I ruined her.”

Fallon leapt across the table again, upsetting the bowl of mashed potatoes and knocking over the gravy pot. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, you stupid asshole!”

Mr. Leahy sprung into action, grabbing his daughter by the back of her shirt and yanking her backwards, back into her seat. Matt was smirking directly opposite her but immediately scowled when his mother smacked him upside the head.

“Both of you, cut it out!” Mr. Leahy yelled. “Matthew, whatever the favor is, you’re doing it.” Matthew immediately protested but was interrupted. “I don’t care how old you are, if you no longer live under this roof, if your sister is a galactic mega-dork with shit for brains that was hatched on another planet, or if you’re busy. Fallon, if you say that word in this house again, there will be severe consequences. You’re doing the dishes and cleaning up this mess.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Now tell your brother what you want and get it over with.”

Fallon stewed, unable to believe Matt had gotten her yelled at and put on dish duty. This was undoubtedly the worst day of her life.

“I need your band to play at prom.”

“Fat chance!”

“What’d I say?” Mr. Leahy said. “You’re doing it.”

“I’m not playing in front of a bunch of menstruating teenagers. They don’t even know what punk rock is, Dad. They probably listen to those gay boy bands and are gonna ask me to do Justin Bieber covers.”

Fallon nodded, figuring he wasn’t too far off-base.

“Then I suggest you start brushing up on your Top 40,” Mr. Leahy said.

“Justin Bieber’s pretty cool, man,” Matt’s friend said, helping himself to another serving of potatoes. “His new album’s not that bad. Kinda bluesy, y’know?”

Matt grimaced. “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

“It’s only for a few hours and you’ll get paid,” Fallon reasoned. “All the girls are still in love with you anyway, though I have no idea why, and I’m sure Tommy Vedasco is gonna spike the punch.”

Matt seemed to mull it over, weighing his options. He could either suck it up and do it or suffer the wrath of his father. Ned Leahy, before attending vet school, spent four years in the United States Marine Corps, so it really wasn’t a tough decision to make.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said. Fallon grinned. “But I’m not ha—”

“Great! It’s kind of a beach-y theme, so—”

“Your prom is beach themed?” Matt scoffed. “Fal, we live in northwest Arizona. We’ve never even seen a beach.”

“So what? Just play a bunch of surf rock and play pretend!”

“I am not playing surf rock.”

Matt’s friend shrugged. “Surf rock is pretty cool, man. We could do some Beach Boys and Dick Dale covers. It might be pretty cool.”

Ned’s eyebrows nearly shot through the roof at the mention of Dick Dale but no one else said a word. The quintet managed to get through dinner without any additional attempted murders or spilled food.

As soon as the dishes were washed and dried, Fallon flew upstairs to text Delaney the good news.

Call me Saint Fallon because I just saved your ass so hard.


Delaney stood at the punch bowl, nerves wound so tight she was sure if she tried to move an inch she’d fall on the floor and start having a seizure. Prom was in full swing and so far no one had any outstanding complaints. JFK wasn’t the most wealthy school around so no one was expecting much more than what they got, which worked to Delaney’s advantage. Since Mr. Leahy had no less than threatened Matt’s band into playing, the student council was able to use the $500 music budget for more decorations.

That, to Delaney’s horror, meant buying $500 worth of sand to spread all over the floor. Nothing like authenticity.

“This is a drag,” a voice said from beside her.

“Fallon? What are you doing here?”

She looked stunning, to say the least. Somehow she’d acquired a floor-length mint green gown and tamed her massive curls into a sleek up-do, putting Delaney’s fuchsia cocktail dress and sequined shoes to shame.

“I wanted to bask in my brother’s misery for a few hours and apparently I can only do that here.”

Delaney didn’t bother asking how she’d managed to get in without buying a ticket or signing up for a table. “They’re pretty good.”

“Matt’s band?” Delaney nodded. “God, don’t tell him that. Actually, do tell him that. Maybe the size of his ego will swell so much he’ll explode and die.”

Matt’s friend from dinner (Fallon had learned his name was Gavin in between make-out sessions in his Trans Am en route to the prom a few hours prior) appeared at Fallon’s side and asked her to dance. Apparently he’d been kicked out of the band for thinking Justin Bieber was cool, which he was fine with. Delaney watched them leave with a buoyant smile. After the week she’d had, this wasn’t the outcome she was expecting.

The sounds of amplifiers and tuning guitars filled the room. It wasn’t long before she heard Matt’s familiar voice count the band into the first song, and shortly after that she patted herself on the back for a job well done.

Senior class president Delaney Falwell pulled off the impossible.