Danny

Lauren finally lowers her clarinet. "I'm done practicing, can I make some hot choc-" she begins to call, then stops, and finishes the rest in a whisper. "Whoops, I think he's still on the phone. Sorry, Dad!"

Like a pro, she starts taking the thing apart, cleaning it and putting each piece carefully back in the case. "I think he'd say yes," she whispers. "You want some, too?"

"Nah," I mumble, quietly plucking at the strings of the acoustic guitar lying across my lap. I strum the first few bars of "Please Come Home For Christmas," then set the acoustic down. It's one of my favorite belongings, the guitar is. Uncle John sent it to me as a birthday present when I turned eight. I don't know how to play like Prince, but he and Mom have taught me enough chords to mess around with and copy songs on the radio.

"Not even a marshmallow, maybe?"

Usually I'm the biggest sucker you ever saw when it comes to marshmallows- and peppermint. Ooo, I love peppermint. But still, I shake my head. "I'm good, thanks."

Lauren looks at me. Now she knows I'm not feeling right. "What's the matter, Danny?"

"Ms. Rydinger is a bleep-hole" is all I say.

Lauren just nods, doesn't ask what happened this time as we walk into the kitchen. She was there, and she remembers.

It really wasn't anything new. We'd finished the lesson early, so people were talking and being loud, and so in a soft voice I started practicing "O Holy Night." But then, one of the girls who sits in front of me decided to be a bleep (aw, man, I wish I was a grown-up so I could say the word I want to say), and she told me to stop singing. So I did what I always do whenever the clique-y kids tell me to stop singing: I ignored her.

Which led, as always, to a "MS. RYDINGER! DANNY'S BEING ANNOYING AGAIN!" (Mom's right: 4th grade is the new kindergarten.)

But not only did Ms. Rydinger get mad at for singing at all, she got mad at me for what I was singing. I don't remember what all she said, I was so upset and thinking more about all the things I wanted to yell in her face, but she did say that the words of that song could be taken the wrong way, and someone of a different background could get offended by being "involuntarily exposed" to my religious beliefs- which is stupid. Because Lauren is Jewish, and Jamal is Muslim, and all three of us were singing silly Christmas songs at lunch today.

And top it off, she asked me whether Mom had seen the email she sent. And I said "Probably not yet." Which was true. Because on Sunday I hacked into her email account and deleted it before she knew it was there.

Ha ha ha. That for you, Ms. Rydinger. You are no match for Danny Phantom!

Sorry for getting so wound up, she just makes me crazy. I'll stop talking about her. Anyway.

Gonzo and Gizmo follow us into the kitchen and swim around Lauren's legs as she heads to the pantry to get the cocoa. Rolling her eyes, she reaches into the treat jar and makes her big German shepherds roll over and high five her before giving them each two treats. I smile, feeling better as I watch the dogs. Fry knows how to sit and stay, and that's it- and even then, he only does it sometimes. He's kind of a dumb dog, really- maybe it's his name- but still he's mine, so I love him.

"You know what I'm gonna get you for Chr- I mean, Hanukkah?" I say.

"Nope," she says. "What?"

"A German shepherd."

"But I already have two!"

"Yeah, but all good things come in threes- and it'll be from me, so it'll be even better than a regular-"

"No, it'll be worse, cause it's from you!" she laughs, nudging me a little.

"You're so rude. Just for that, I'm gonna get you a hermit crab, because that's what you are."

"I am not!"

"Are too. Your hair's red, you're crabby, you-"

She blows a raspberry at me and we have a little flimsy slap-war. We talk like that all the time, and yet we're friends. I don't know why, but it's so much fun to just say stuff to mess with her, and the other way around. Mom says that's a sign of true compatibility, when two people can fight or argue with each other, and still stay good friends.

Funny, but I don't think I've ever heard Mom argue with Stuart once. Wonder what that means.

"Hey, Lauren," I say, suddenly (and, because that last thought had nothing to do with him, weirdly) reminded. "Have you ever heard the name Freddie Mercury before?"

She looks up. "Huh?"

"Freddie Mercury."

"Uh..." She thinks about it a minute, then shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. Who's that?"

"I don't know. That's why I asked you." I'm not breaking my promise by asking; I'm not telling anyone the actual guy is living in our house now, I just want to know what's so special about him.

Lauren shrugs. "Dad might know."

"Know what?" Mr. Adams yawns, his footsteps coming closer. After a moment, he's standing there with his wireless headphones still on, smushing his curly, dark brown hair. I rarely see him without them. He probably only takes them off for work, and that's just to put on a bigger pair; he works in New York City as a disc jockey for the one classic rock station we have. It's kinda cool to live close to a guy who's on the radio for three hours every day. It's almost like knowing a celebrity.

"Who is Freddie Mercury?" I ask again.

He looks stunned. "What?"

"I said-"

"I heard what you said," he replies, shaking his head. "I just can't believe- a seventies and eighties music-lover like your mom wouldn't show you Queen!"

I frown. Lauren and I are confused. "Queen...?"

"Come on, kids, you've heard Queen before. You know 'We Will Rock You'?"

I've heard that- on his station! I nod, and Lauren rolls her eyes and says, "That's such a dumb song, Dad."

Honestly, it's not my favorite, either; in fact, I kind of have to agree with Lauren. That, and one that always comes after it on the radio, "We Are the Champions, My Friend"- I've always thought they were kind of lame, even though I've never actually heard the second song all the way through because Mom always changes the channel whenever it starts- but at least I know what Mr. Adams is talking about.

"Is Queen the name of the band that did it?" I ask, and when he nods, I squint a little. "That's a weird name. They must have been weird guys. They were guys, right?"

"Yup. Four of them. Brian May was the guitar player, Roger Something-or-Other played drums, Freddie sang lead, and- I forgot the bass player's name, but who c-"

"Freddie Mercury was the singer?" My eyes widen. Freddie Mercury is a singer? A famous singer? WHOA! This is even better than having a DJ for a neighbor- we have a famous singer living IN OUR HOUSE!

"So Queen is a rock band? Is that the only song they did?" I ask, growing more and more excited, following him into the foyer.

Lauren slurps some of her cocoa. "Geez, Danny, what's with all the questions about some old rock band that wrote lame sports songs?"

"Because the guy who-" I almost blurt, but then I cover my own mouth before I give it away. I have to put this right: "Uh- the guy who... sang- yeah, the guy who's living with us now-"

Mr. Adams looks something between shocked and hurt. "Has your Mom got a new boyfriend?"

"Nope. That's still Stua- I mean, Dr. Preus. No, this random guy's just living with us while, uh- stuff. And uh, he looks a lot like Freddie Mercury, that's all."

Lauren whips out her phone and taps something into the search box while Mr. Adams takes a look out the window. When no one is looking, I sneak one marshmallow from the still open bag. Come on. It's not just girls that can change their minds all of sudden. We men do it, too- we're just sneakier about it. At least, I am.

Then my best friend taps me on the shoulder. "So wait, he looks like that?" She shows me a picture she's pulled up on Google:

I shake my head. "No, maybe that's a different Freddie Mercury."

"Too bad," she sighs. "He's kinda, um- kinda cute."

Mr. Adams smiles. "If you'll forgive the reference, 'There can be only one.'"

I grin. That's such a great movie, one of my favorites. Grandpa showed it to me last time we visited their house in Biloxi. But then I say, "Huh?"

What does Highlander have to do with it? I ask myself.

"Queen did the music for Highlander,"he explains, as though he can read my mind.

My jaw drops. "Really?"

"Flash Gordon, too."

I've never seen that, so I don't get half as excited, but I still think to myself, Whoa. I gotta learn more about this guy, and fast.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I open it up to see a message from Mom telling me she's just left the university and is on her way home. She follows it up close with another message that says, "Stuart's right behind me, he'll be stopping by, perhaps for dinner. Please make sure the house is respectable for me? Thanks, sweetie. See you soon."

I sigh, and close my phone. I can hear it now: "Great to see you, buddy!" "How was school, kiddo?" "Listen, pal, could I have a word alone with your mother? Thanks, buddy."

Urghhh....

Mr. Adams looks outside again, then raises his brows.

"Hey, Danny, there's someone pulling up to your door," he says.

I nod. "That's probably him."

Mr Adams waves his hand for us to watch as well. But the window's too small for us to all see, so Lauren opens it up, letting in a cold burst of air, and I lean out and squint against the wind. I can't see Freddie yet, but I do see the car. And what a car. It's bright yellow, like a taxi, but it's super-smooth and sleek. There's something awfully weird about the wheels, too. I don't know what it is- but the way the car's designed, you can't really see them except for a little bit of rubber on the bottom; it's like they aren't even there.

"Ooo," Lauren smiles at her phone. "What about this?" She shows me another picture.

I nod. "Yeah! Looks just like that."

"Does not," she challenges me.

I smirk. "Oh, yeah? Look!"

She looks. The car's passenger door is opening DeLorean-style, and out steps Mr. Mercury, hands in his coat pockets, sunglasses over his eyes even though it's already getting dark, altogether looking like a boss. Funny, but the more I see him, the cooler he seems.

"Okay, I get the mustache," she says. "But that's got to be it."

I close the window. "Still don't believe me? Come on! I'll introduce you guys."

So I make them (yes, I make them) put on their coats. Well, Mr. Adams does, anyway; Lauren loves the cold. Once she actually came to school in a short-sleeved shirt when the temperature outside was twenty degrees. She's nuts. But anyway, I grab my guitar and head outside with my neighbors right behind.

"Now, he talks kinda funny, so, just FYI," I whisper, walking backwards while I tell her.

"How?" The word leaves Lauren's mouth in a little cloud.

"He's British, I think," I say. "Plus he kinda says his l's and s's a little weird. It's cool, but it's weird. You'll see."

The driver of the yellow car (I don't even know what kind of car it is, I've never seen one like it before) doesn't get out, just sits and watches us come closer. Wonder what he's waiting for. Ubers and taxis don't ever stick around that long.

Mr. Mercury's still standing at the front door when we reach the house. I run up the steps and say, "Hey!"

Startled, he whirls, then relaxes as soon as he sees me. "Oh, good, it's you," he sighs with a smile. "I don't seem to have a key, do you have one?"

"Hi! Oh, yeah, right here," I say, handing Mr. Mercury mine. That makes me feel so good inside, what he just said. "Oh, good, it's you." He meant it, too, he wasn't just saying it. I think he likes me, which is great, because I think I like him too now. He's much nicer than I thought at first.

He glances up to see my neighbors as they come closer, and takes off the sunglasses to get a better look. "Those friends of yours?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes, sir." I wave for the Adamses to come closer. Their eyes are big with shock. They believe me now. "This is my friend Lauren, Mr. M-" I stop, almost calling him by his name, when Mr. Mercury cuts in and saves me.

"Dubroc," he says smoothly, putting out his hand to her. "Richard Dubroc."

Lauren shakes it, but she still has her phone raised up in her other hand like she's trying to give it to him, and she looks at it, then back up at Mr. Mercury. Then she moves her thumb twice while he's shaking the hand of her dad.

"Pleased to meet you, darling," he says to Mr. Adams. That's different. Never met a guy who calls other guys "darling" before.

Mr. Adams thinks it's a little strange too, that must be why he's making that face. "You- your name's Richard, you said?"

"You can call me Rick, if you like," Mr. Mercury says.

Mr. Adams is trying not to look so amazed now, but it's not working at all. "How do you know Julia?"

"Ah... well," Mr. Mercury thinks about that for a minute, then he says, "I'd say we're simply very old friends. Very. I'll be, um- staying here for a while. But not for long, they tell me."

"Well, um," Mr. Adams stammers, "if there's anything you need, anything at all, just give me a heads-up. If I can help, I will."

Mr. Mercury nods. "Likewise."

"Seriously?" Mr. Adams grins.

"Of course, dear. I've got too much time on my hands of late, if I can do anything for you, too, I will."

Mr. Adams nods, and looks about to say something when the man in the yellow car gets out and yells, "Are you going to come get your stuff or what, man?"

Mr. Mercury's eyes narrow for a minute, and his hand starts tightening up, but then he remembers something. "Oh, yes, dear, so sorry," he calls back, but mutters something a little less nice under his breath as he runs on over.

I turn to my still very stunned friends and whisper proudly, "Ja matane."

With that, I follow him, and they make their way back to their house but not before Lauren sings to herself, "This is so going on my feed. #Separatedatbirth!"

The back of the yellow car opens with a hiss and I see that he's been shopping. There's not a lot of stuff, though; there's just a couple of big bags that seem a lot heavier than they actually are. I grab one, about to race back up to the front door while he takes the other one when I stop and look at the driver, who's looking at me. He's actually pretty big for this car, but that's all I can really see of him; he ducks back inside and soundlessly speeds away before I can see anything else.

"What is all this stuff?" I ask once we're inside and Farnsie has greeted us.

"Just little things," he shrugs. "Just went out and about today. Where's your mum?"

"She's on her way home. Who was that guy with the car?"

"That's Charles. He's basically my honorary driver," he answers. "And I might as well just tell you now before it comes up again later: no, I can't drive."

What's he telling me that for? I ask myself. So what? I can't drive either.

I peek into the bag I'm holding to see there's a bouquet of flowers in it.

"But anyway, that's good," he murmurs. "That gives me a chance to- Mr. Phantom, what are you doing?" All of a sudden, he sounds sharper- and maybe a little embarrassed.

I pull them out. "What's with the flowers?"

"I like flowers- and I thought these were nice, that's all," he mumbles. "Hand them over, would you, please?"

"Are they for Mom?" Why does that question make me smile while I'm asking it?

"Why do you ask?" he mutters.

"Cos Mom likes flowers a lot, and I thought maybe they were for her."

"Well, I happen to fancy them myself, so, um- and they're for everyone in the house, actually- including your mum, and, uh- one second." So saying, he takes the flowers out of my hands and trots to the kitchen. "Where do you keep the vases?"

"Laundry room," I call back. "It's downstairs."

While he's off messing with the flowers, I put my guitar away and set the other bag in the floor of Mom's bedroom. Then I run through the house and make sure nothing looks messy or dusty. Stuart's a neat freak, and I mean, Mom is too, kind of, she tells me at least once a week to straighten up my room- but Stuart's ridiculous. I've been in his office before. Everything is organized and alphabetized. He doesn't even really like it when Mom wears her hair down. I guess he thinks that looks sloppy.

Whatever.

I'm smoothing the covers on my bed when I get a text from Lauren. It says, "OMG You weren't kidding! I already have like 40 likes on the pic- I just now got five more!" Another text comes in right after, that says, "Wait till I post the video!"

I think for a minute, turning on the radio; music helps me think. I'm still crazy curious about him, but there's not much chance Mom will let me get on the computer and look him up, especially while he's around- and while we're busy being hospitable to Dr. Preus. So I send back, "Can U look him up 4 me online pls?"

The response comes quick. "You got it. Tell you what I find at lunch tomorrow."

"K thx," I reply, and just as I'm replying I hear a knock on my door frame. I look up, and there he is, this time with a notepad in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His cheeks and nose are still a little red from the cold, and his teeth are sort of sticking out between his lips again. But he doesn't look silly to me anymore. I'm already used to it.

"Did you find a vase?" I ask.

"I saw a couple," he nods, "but then I had a better idea, they're sitting in a pitcher on the table."

"Cool," I smile. "So what's up?"

He shrugs. "I was just- can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, sure! Come on in."

So Mr. Mercury comes in and seats himself (but not without asking first) at my desk, and I plop down on the bed, messing up the gray bedspread all over again. He looks around my room, at the purple walls, at the big poster of Purple Rain I have in the corner, at the guitar in its stand, at the better projects I've finished in art class, and at the picture hook sticking out where Mom made me take down my favorite picture of us with the Deacons. I don't know why, she wouldn't tell me.

"Did you do all this?" he asks.

"Mom helped," I murmur. "I wanted purple, but she picked the actual color. Everything else was me."

"Very nice," he decides, then opens up the notepad. "Anyway, they're all in here."

"What is?"

"Um- well, you're going to think me something of a, you know, a rather naive sort of person," he says shyly. "But- I was wondering if you might sort of help to bring me up to date, as far as the vernacular is concerned."

"Vernacular?"

"The, um- things people say, the way they say them, you know. The language people use. It's a bit different from where I come from."

"Oh," I nod. "Is it really that different?"

"Mm, very different, so, um- I mean, it's not a lot, just a page's worth, if you're not doing anything else, would you mind giving me a hand with that?"

I shrug. "I may not know all of them, but I'll try. Modo would probably kn-"

"I'm not asking that fu- um, that thing anything." He waves his hand. "Anyway, you seem like a man of the world. I believe in you."

That makes me smile. "Okay, Mr. Mercury."

"Wait, wait. First of all- you don't have to keep calling me that, you know."

"Mom says I should always call adults by 'mister' or 'missus' or 'miss' with the last name-"

"Yes, I'm certain she does, but I tell you, you don't have to do that with me. I'm not your teacher, or whatever. Just call me Freddie. All right?"

I smile. This is pretty cool, calling a grown-up by his first name. "Sure, Freddie." I put up my fist for him to bump it- but he just sits there, looking blankly at my hand. After a moment he puts up his big fist too, but doesn't move it closer to mine. How does he not know how to fist-bump?

I try not to roll my eyes, I don't want to make him feel bad. So I say, "Like this," and gently move my fist and touch his with it, then open my hand. After a second, he copies me, but much slower. He grins a little sheepishly.

"Let's try that again, shall we?" he chuckles. So we do it again, and this time he does it right.

Cool. I've just taught Freddie Mercury how to bump fists.

But you know, I'm still not sure about him, the way he acts. Mr. Adams has to be wrong, getting his names mixed up or something. This guy cannot be a big loud rock star, especially one from the eighties. I mean, sure, he had this really big crazy party- that's how I met him- but I don't know. Not only is Freddie too quiet, he's too nice, almost nerdy in fact.

And besides, I still haven't heard him sing.

******************************************************************************************

Julia

I pushed the button to open the garage door and scooted the Jetta inside. Stuart wasn't very far behind, so I stepped lively. Fortunately I'd already started thawing the chicken this morning, which I had decided to fry in the unhealthy, but oh, so delicious, Southern style.

Humming "Peace on Earth," the David Bowie and Bing Crosby standard, I started for the inside door, my hands full with liquor. Truthfully, I was only half-certain Freddie would be there when I walked in. I knew how bored he could get, and how deeply he hated his hands to be idle. All the same, I still hoped he'd be home soon. Whether I wanted to feel so or not, I had actually missed him today.

I couldn't reach my key without setting the Stoli and things down on the concrete floor, so I yelled while I fumbled around, "Would someone come help out the Booze Fairy, please?"

Just when I had the right key between my fingers, however, the door opened, and there he stood, with such a big, warm smile on his face that I had to return it. Wow, I said to myself. He's sure happy to see me. It must be the Stoli.

"You're still here!" I exclaimed.

Freddie's brows rose. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason, it's just- I almost thought you were going to make a break for it or something," I said.

He shook his head. "Not yet, I wasn't in the mood for any daring escapes. Maybe tomorrow."

"Fair enough."

He held his hands out to me. "Can I help you with anything?"

"If you want to take your Stoli, and I'll take my Absolut Peach, that would be great. So what all did you do today after your appointment?"

He told me, quite willingly, while carrying both the bottles up to the freezer- and I had to wonder what was going on. Had he missed me too? Or had he simply busted into my happy pills and taken more than the recommended dosage? Who knew. I wasn't going to ask.

I followed him up and set my purse down on the counter. "How did the counseling things go?" he asked, breaking the seal on his liquor.

"Oh, kinda slow. Finals week is here, so everyone's just concerned with taking their tests and getting out of town. Is fried chicken okay?"

I saw him smile- but I knew why that time. "That's a wonderful idea," he crooned. "Can I help?"

"I mean, I got it, you don't h- where did these come from?" I asked, glancing at the table. In its center, a delicate bouquet of yellow and white roses was peeping out of a small glass pitcher.

Freddie almost looked bashful. "I thought they would look nice in here, is all, so I brought them home. I mean, you like them, don't you?"

I gently touched one of the petals, smiling up at him. "Always have."

Danny walked into the kitchen, but he didn't say anything, and I really wasn't paying attention. Neither was Freddie, who walked a little closer to me, still smiling. He looked like he was going to say something more- but he didn't get the chance.

DING-DONG.

Someone was at the door.

After a moment, I stood up and dusted off my hands. "Ah," I nodded. "And that'll be Stuart."