Piano Man

Chain Saw

Ryan's POV

The Ramones had been my favorite band since I was young. I know that's a basic punk band to choose to be yours but it's mine. I spent hours listening to them. Laying down in my bedroom. I thought about them most of the time. Sitting here with nothing to do. Well, that's not fully true. I did have something to do for once. I had a girl to call. A girl I was too scared to even think about. The first thing I did when I got into Brendon's car was pull out one of the McDonald's napkins from his glove box. I searched for a pen and wrote down the girl's number before I forgot.

Now I was sitting up thinking about calling her or listening to music and ignoring my problems.

"Ryan!"

My mom's voice was shouting from the stairs.

"What?!"

"Don't you have practice at 3?!"

"Shit."

I said to myself.

"Yeah, yeah! I know!"

I did not know.

I pulled off my sweatshirt and my flannel-layered jacket.

I was scrambling through my dresser throwing clothes everywhere looking for my pair of basketball shorts. I have been playing basketball for as long as I've loved The Ramones. I pretty much always loved both forever and haven't lived a single day without the other.

Most of the guys on the team barely knew how I was outside of practice and classes that I had with them. At school, I was pretty much the typical prep. I fit into my place and didn't try to stray away from that. My mom expects me to go to an Ivy. She and Dad met at Yale and got married the winter after they graduated. My mom came from a generation that went to college for marriage, so girlfriends were never pictured with me until I predicted Ivy days.

I half jumped into my found basketball shorts, grabbed my bag reached for my keys, and ran out the door.

I got into my Bently and looked at the time: 5:48 pm.

I lived about 17 minutes away from the preparatory hell I endured every day.

I started the car up and pulled out of the driveway praying that I wouldn't hit a red light.

Being late to practice at a school of this standard was as bad as failing a midterm. Maybe that's an exaggeration but I didn't need to hear it from Coach Adams again. I was given the attendance speech after getting to practice late because my cousin had gone into emergency heart surgery and her parents were on vacation in Jamaica.

My GPA was 3.98. I was a varsity basketball player since my freshman year at Salesian College Preparatory. I played baseball for "conditioning". I had played the violin since 3rd grade the Oboe since 1st and I was in a band my mother had no idea about since my freshman year. I taught myself to speak broken German and French. I'm in Spanish 5 as a Junior. I am president of 2 clubs on the board of 3 and a part of 4 more. And I am still not enough Ivy League to my mother.

I ran through maybe 4 red lights but it's okay because I wasn't pulled over so no crime was committed. It was now 5:58, as I pulled into my school's student parking. I slammed shut the door and sprinted into door 7. The door that led to the basement, where I ran up the stairs and down the hall on the left. I got in with about a minute put on my shoes and started warming up.
"James, you seem like you were in a rush?"

Coach Adams said to me nodding his head.

That is another thing I forgot. I never told her my name, Ryan James