I’m weird for saying this, but I really want to meet you.” A minute went by, and then she answered, “me too” and then a moment later “ugh, so annoying, mom came in my room. Brb.” She hadn’t been right back, but she e-mailed the next day as usual. There was no mention of them meeting, so he’d listened to the voice telling him to slow down and held his tongue.
Jason watched the video she’d sent again. He was about to start formulating a response when he heard the front door open from downstairs. Mark was home. He slammed his laptop shut and grabbed his history book in case his mom came to his door to announce dinner was served.
When Jason finished washing the dishes that night, he returned to his room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Normally, there were clothes strewn about the floor and half the time his comforter could be found on the floor after he’d kicked it off in the night, but his mother had read him the riot act the previous weekend: Either he cleaned up his room himself, or she did, and there was no telling what she would throw away if she got her hands on it. And so he spent Sunday afternoon folding gray and white T-shirts and placing them in the wooden dresser that had belonged to his father when he was a kid. Jasonalphabetized the records he’d bartered for at Vinyl Exchange and won in late-night eBay auctions and stacked them in crates he’d dragged in from the garage. He’d made the bed with new navy-blue sheets his mom had bought him, and once everything was in place, she had helped him hang concert flyers and vintage movie posters he’d collected on his bare white walls. All week, Jason had been admiring his handiwork. A hand-printed sign for a Wild Flag show he’d been to that summer adorned the wall above his bed, and Ferris Bueller, mischievous as always, gazed down at him as he did his homework. His mom had looked on silently as he’d hoisted the last frame, a color poster for The Big Sleep , one of his dad’s favorite movies, onto the back of the door. Jason knew she didn’t like to think of his dad if she could avoid it, but he was always grateful she never bad-mouthed him the way other divorced parents sometimes did. Instead, she’d told him he’d done a great job cleaning up, and then, before it turned into some sort of Hallmark moment, added, “Now you may return to your regularly scheduled destruction.”
Settling into his desk chair, he logged in to Facebook. As he’d hoped, there was a green dot next to Lacey’s name, and he forced himself to slowly count to ten before opening a chat with her.
Jason: Hey
Lacey: Hey yourself
Jason: You’re not punk, and I’m telling everyone
It was the first line from the Jawbreaker song. He’d been planning to use the line since the second he’d opened the video.He hoped she’d think it was clever, but now he worried she’d think it was mean. After a second, she answered with another quote from the song.
Lacey: Seriously, how amazeballs was that?
Jason: Pretty amazeballs.
Lacey: Actually, all the videos the A.V. Club does are ridiculous. Titus Andronicus covering They Might Be Giants? Iron and Wine doing GEORGE MICHAEL? I MEAN.
Jason: Haha
Lacey: Can you even imagine how badass that room where they sign their names and the song they did must be? Gahh, I want to go to there.
Jason: It’s in Chicago I think. Have you ever been there?
Lacey: This is so embarrassing, but when my brother was in middle school, he went to lacrosse camp there. And when we went to pick him up, I made my parents take me to the American Girl doll store.
Lacey had never mentioned a brother before. For the life of him, he could not remember a word Mr. Sharp had said about derivative functions in the last two months, but everything Lacey had ever told him was cataloged in his mind. She drove a standard-transmission Volkswagen that had once belonged to her grandfather, she hated chocolate, and she drank her coffee black. And she
Jason watched the video she’d sent again. He was about to start formulating a response when he heard the front door open from downstairs. Mark was home. He slammed his laptop shut and grabbed his history book in case his mom came to his door to announce dinner was served.
When Jason finished washing the dishes that night, he returned to his room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Normally, there were clothes strewn about the floor and half the time his comforter could be found on the floor after he’d kicked it off in the night, but his mother had read him the riot act the previous weekend: Either he cleaned up his room himself, or she did, and there was no telling what she would throw away if she got her hands on it. And so he spent Sunday afternoon folding gray and white T-shirts and placing them in the wooden dresser that had belonged to his father when he was a kid. Jasonalphabetized the records he’d bartered for at Vinyl Exchange and won in late-night eBay auctions and stacked them in crates he’d dragged in from the garage. He’d made the bed with new navy-blue sheets his mom had bought him, and once everything was in place, she had helped him hang concert flyers and vintage movie posters he’d collected on his bare white walls. All week, Jason had been admiring his handiwork. A hand-printed sign for a Wild Flag show he’d been to that summer adorned the wall above his bed, and Ferris Bueller, mischievous as always, gazed down at him as he did his homework. His mom had looked on silently as he’d hoisted the last frame, a color poster for The Big Sleep , one of his dad’s favorite movies, onto the back of the door. Jason knew she didn’t like to think of his dad if she could avoid it, but he was always grateful she never bad-mouthed him the way other divorced parents sometimes did. Instead, she’d told him he’d done a great job cleaning up, and then, before it turned into some sort of Hallmark moment, added, “Now you may return to your regularly scheduled destruction.”
Settling into his desk chair, he logged in to Facebook. As he’d hoped, there was a green dot next to Lacey’s name, and he forced himself to slowly count to ten before opening a chat with her.
Jason: Hey
Lacey: Hey yourself
Jason: You’re not punk, and I’m telling everyone
It was the first line from the Jawbreaker song. He’d been planning to use the line since the second he’d opened the video.He hoped she’d think it was clever, but now he worried she’d think it was mean. After a second, she answered with another quote from the song.
Lacey: Seriously, how amazeballs was that?
Jason: Pretty amazeballs.
Lacey: Actually, all the videos the A.V. Club does are ridiculous. Titus Andronicus covering They Might Be Giants? Iron and Wine doing GEORGE MICHAEL? I MEAN.
Jason: Haha
Lacey: Can you even imagine how badass that room where they sign their names and the song they did must be? Gahh, I want to go to there.
Jason: It’s in Chicago I think. Have you ever been there?
Lacey: This is so embarrassing, but when my brother was in middle school, he went to lacrosse camp there. And when we went to pick him up, I made my parents take me to the American Girl doll store.
Lacey had never mentioned a brother before. For the life of him, he could not remember a word Mr. Sharp had said about derivative functions in the last two months, but everything Lacey had ever told him was cataloged in his mind. She drove a standard-transmission Volkswagen that had once belonged to her grandfather, she hated chocolate, and she drank her coffee black. And she
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