Happy Anniversary.

37. Growing Up.

The days turned into a week, and a week into two. Jack, although recovered from his concussion and his cuts were healing well, still refused to even consider going home. He knew it was safe for May and Joe, but somehow he couldn't convince himself that he would be okay even though his parents weren't allowed to be near their children until they were found guilty or not guilty. They were still awaiting a trial, and because Jack turned 18 in less than two weeks, he refused to go home since he would soon not be protected as a minor against them. It was a bullshit rule of our government, and when he explained it to Rian's, Zack's, and my own parents, they understood why we were still down here. They weren't happy about it, but it wasn't like they could do much less than send the police after us, which they wouldn't do.

Christmas was a strange event. We each called our respective families in the morning and spent the rest of the day in Zack and Rian's room. We weren't family, but we were as close as we could get today. Rian bought us McDonald's; food from the only restaurant open, and although none of us had any sort of gifts for one another, it had to be one of the best Christmases I'd ever had. At some point we ended up jamming out: Zack and Jack playing the guitars we had, Rian tapping a beat against the hardcover bible he found in the bedside table drawer, and me singing. "This must be fake, my lip starts to shake. How does she know who I am, and why does she give a damn about me?" I finished the bridge of Teenage Dirtbag, and as I took a deep breath to continue, Jack cut me off and took over.

"I've got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby. Come with my Friday, don't say 'maybe'. I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby, like you." I'd never heard Jack actually try to sing; all of those long car rides were more about shouting the lyrics as loud as possible with some semblance of melody. Now, though, Rian and Zack looked at me, all of us asking each other the same question: Jack can sing?

"Let's start a band!" Rian shouted once the last note of the song faded into nothing.

No one was sure how to respond, unsure if he was serious or not. To break the stalemate, I laughed nervously. "You're...you're kidding, right?"

His eyebrows drew together in a way that told me no, he was definitely not kidding. "Why would I be?"

"I don't know, Rian. Like, do you really think we're cut out for that? So we did decently at one song. We can't make an entire set off of one song."

"But Alex!" He groaned, taking a seat beside me on Zack's bed. "You write poetry! I'm sure some of it could be turned into lyrics!"

My eyes narrowed into slits, cheeks reddening. "How did you know I wrote poetry?" I don't remember ever telling anyone I did such a thing; not even Jack.

Annoyed, he rolled his eyes. "Dude, I've taken care of you too many times when you were drunk. Don't think I don't know your secrets." Well, fuck. I made the mental note to find out at some point everything I told Rian when I was too hammered to know what I was saying.

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Okay, so I write. Doesn't mean it's good, and it doesn't mean I have any intentions of sharing it."

I hadn't noticed the facial expressions Jack and Zack were making towards each other while Rian and I fought. "Well, there is an easy way to figure out if they're good." Zack piped up eventually. When he was sure he had all of our attention, he told us. "Let us see them, and we'll see if we can make something outta them. If we can, maybe we could do a demo. If not, no harm, no foul."