Two high school misfits who hate each other. One music competition where they have to work together. Can their love of classic 80s rock unite them?
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High...
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Side A: Oz
When Mitzi shows up to my house, I'm nervous for some reason. Probably because her parents are standing right behind her on the porch, smiling at me.
"My parents want to meet you and your parents before they let me hang out," Mitzi says, looking like she wants to die a little.
"Come on in!" Mom calls from the living room, where she sits amid a pile of fabric and trims.
"Good lord, woman," I hiss at her. "Don't embarrass me."
"You embarrass me all the time," she says matter-of-factly. "It's only fair I get a turn."
Mrs. Howard looks just as perfect as Mitzi usually does. Only today Mitzi has her hair up in a ponytail and she's wearing an old sweatshirt covered in paint stains and jeans with rips that don't look like the kind you'd buy pre-ripped in a store. Mr. Howard is wearing a polo shirt and glasses and doesn't look like a dad who taught his daughter how to use power tools. I can't quite figure out how Mitzi came out of them.
"Mom and Dad, these are Mitzi's parents," I say.
"Of course," Dad says, getting up and hiking up his pants like he's the man of the house. "I'm Mike. This is my wife Hannah."
"That's so funny. His name is Mike, too!" Mrs. Howard says.
I give Mitzi a gooey smile. "Awww, our dads both have the same boring name."
"We don't allow Oz to have girls in his room," Mom is telling Mrs. Howard.
"Oh god," I moan.
"Can we escape to the computer room yet?" Mitzi asks me.
Dad grabs me in a headlock and gives me a noogie. "Aww, honey, we're embarrassing the kids!"
I wrestle myself free and fix my hair. Then I say, "Yeah, we're outta here." I grab Mitzi's hand and flash them the devil horns, then drag her down the hall.
When we get inside I slam the door shut, even though Mom yells, "DOOR OPEN, OSWALD!"
I turn away to crack the door open.
"My parents aren't worried about the door being open," Mitzi says, looking down. She squints a little, puckers her lips. Then she blows her hair out of her face. "Me being ace and all."
It takes half a second for me to figure out what she means. Then it clicks: of course she's ace. It's exactly the energy I get off her. "Oh, cool. You think that'll work on my parents?"
"Are you ace, too?" she asks, wincing.
"Nah. I think I'm bi, actually. Got a pretty strong man-crush on the lead singer of Disturbed. Kinda makes me wanna shave my head."
I reach past her to get my sketchbook from next to the computer. She sits facing me, one leg tucked up under her.
"Okay, so, costumes." Flipping past a bunch of old band logos, I arrive at my newest designs. "Since we're doing an 80s song, I think we need to go with that same aesthetic."
