When It Happens Read Free

time, what would I think? It all looks kind of damaged. Do I need to get new underwear? I hate having to ask my mom to buy it for me. Everyone wears underwear, but it’s humiliating to admit this fact to your mother. Even if she does do my laundry.
    Suddenly I have a profound idea. I can buy my own underwear! She doesn’t have to know anything! Why haven’t I thought of this before? I haven’t had my car long enough to realize that I can go around and do this kind of stuff.
    Are relationships always this complicated?
    Technically, Cynthia wasn’t my girlfriend. So I don’t exactly consider what we had a relationship. It was all about sex. We didn’t have much in common except for our mutual lust for each other. Which was fine with me, until I got sick of the emotional void. My friends don’t get it. How I’m a complete anomaly when it comes to girls. I mean, I’ve hooked up with random airhead groupie types. But nothing ever lasted more than a couple months. They were too lacking.
    I know what I’m looking for. Something that feels right. Something real.
    I dig through the pile of Converse in my closet, old guitar equipment that I got at garage sales, and stacks of magazines until I reach the shoe box.The shoe box has all of my most personal stuff in it. I lean back against the wall and open the box. It’s a total rush. I take out my first guitar pick, remembering how it felt to finally know how to use it. There’s an E-string that broke during our first rehearsal in ninth grade. I keep all of my lyrics about girls and sex in here, in a smaller notebook separate from my main notebook. Because my mom has no problem with going through my backpack and looking through my stuff. Even though I’ve told her a million times that an admirable quality of parenthood is the ability to respect your kid’s privacy.
    I turn to a page with the song I wrote for Her. It’s like she’s renting all the real estate in the girl department of my brain. I don’t even know her that well, even though we’ve always gone to school together. After they segregated us in seventh grade based on how smart they thought we all were, I didn’t see her again until we had art together last year. I didn’t have the balls to talk to her until the year was almost over. And then I heard she was going out with Scott, who is a total dweeb, but still. So I never asked her out.
    There’s something about her that’s different from other girls. She’s crazy smart. I dig that. And she’s kind of shy. Not like the other girls I’ve dated who came right up to me and asked me to go home with them when I hardly even knew their name. Talking to those girls is cake. But talking to Sara is impossible. Not only is she smart, but she’s hot. Girls with the beauty-and-brains thing going on are the most intimidating girls in the world.
    What if I get this song ready for Battle of the Bands? I could dedicate it to her. She’ll be so turned on.Then I’ll smile and dazzle her with my eyes. Girls always tell me I have great eyes. But Battle of the Bands isn’t until November. I can’t wait that long.
    I put the notebook back in the shoe box and stash it way back in my closet. I toss some magazines on top of it and cram random shoes against it.
    I get this surge of adrenaline, like I could play for hours. I call this feeling my hot zone. When I’m in the hot zone, I know I can do phenomenal stuff.
    I pick up my guitar and turn the amp down. My parents are probably already asleep. I guess that’s what life is for most people. Marrying someone who seems decent enough, buying a house, having kids, and turning in at ten every night. They consider bridge games with the neighbors and the all-you-can-eat buffet at Sizzler entertaining ways to spend a Saturday night. Why does life have to be that way? I assume my parents were madly in love at some point, but now they just look tired all the time. I don’t want to settle for that.
    I jam on my guitar. The way I feel