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
Monday roars up and immediately kicks my ass. All I've been thinking about all weekend is seeing Gramps in that wheelchair looking so old, and all the stuff I looked up online about dementia. And then Ms. Kelley got on my case first thing this morning, reaming me out in front of the whole class because my shirt is ripped. Like, who fucking cares? She sounded exactly like my mom this morning. "Go change your shirt, you look like a slob." Mom didn't even notice that I just threw a sweatshirt on over my t-shirt, which I then took off and tossed in the bottom of my locker as soon as I got to school.
I guess I was lucky Ms. Kelley didn't give me a detention - she said she would if it happened again. All during class, while everyone sat there scribbling down the notes on the board, I got more and more angry. What if I was homeless and couldn't buy a new shirt? That's discrimination. My shirt being ripped has nothing to do with how well I can take notes.
Ms. Kelley's probably still pissed at me for what I did that first day of school, cheating her note-taking system by pulling out my phone and taking a picture of the blackboard. Of course, she confiscated my phone and told me I could get it back at the end of the day. Clearly, I was not the first to think of this, because a few kids gave me knowing looks after class, the ones who weren't tittering with laughter. Tittering, cuz they know full well they'd be in deep shit if Ms. Kelley heard them laugh.
By the time I get to gym class I'm ready to play tackle football or dodgeball or some other full contact sport. Ready to pound some heads. And voila, my opportunity arrives.
"Hey, you seen the new girl yet?"
The words rise up from deep within the bowels of jockstrap hell, and my ears perk up. I have a feeling the next words out of this meathead-jock's mouth is gonna piss me off, and man, do I wanna fight.
"Yeah, she's pretty hot, I guess," says one of the other guys.
I yank on my gym shorts and creep out of my section of lockers to try to see who's talking in the next section over.
"Why you checkin' her out?" The guy talking now is a tall kid with tanned skin and floppy black hair. "You got a girl."
Back to the second guy, who is the first black kid I've seen at this school. "And Becca's got you—" He makes a whipping sound and flicks his arm.
They have to be talking about Mitzi. How many other new girls could there be?
Behind me, someone says, "Hey, you're new. Do you like basketball?"
I turn to look at who's talking, and see this nerd with boring hair tugging on a Star Wars t-shirt. He adjusts his glasses and waits for me to answer.
"Nah," I say, and try to return my attention back to the jocks.
"You're really tall," says Star Wars kid behind me.
"Yeah, well." Can't this kid take a hint? Somebody slams a locker shut and there's some laughter that makes it hard to hear what's said after that. Goddamn locker room acoustics.
