Danny

The lunch bell finally rings- and just in time, too.  I'm starving.  Social studies is almost as boring as math; why do they have to put the most boring, slow classes right before the best stuff of the day?  It's like they're messing with us or something.

Single file, we march into the cafeteria.  As usual, I sort of hang back from sitting down right away.  Although Mom always makes me bring a sack lunch from home, Lauren is on the school lunch program thing; I like to wait and see if she gets in line or just makes straight for the tables.  Art is not a Thursday class, and all my other morning classes are assigned seats, so I haven't seen much of Lauren yet today.  That is going to change very soon.

Soon her red ponytail appears in the cafeteria line.  I sigh, frustrated.  I hate waiting too long, and today I'm feeling especially impatient thanks to all the Freddie stuff I'm just dying to talk to her about (including that my very own godfather, Uncle John, played bass with him for twenty-five frickin' YEARS)- so I just plop myself down in my usual spot and start eating, ever so often turning my head to see if she's almost out of the line and heading my way.

I tried asking Cousin Roxie more questions about the ring, but she wouldn't tell me anything.  "I promised," she kept saying, shrugging her shoulders.  So I tried a new, more roundabout tactic.

Staring at the wipers sliding back and forth across the windshield, I asked, "Yeah, but- I mean, how long ago was it, Rox?  That you got it, I mean."

She hesitated, then replied, "I was twenty-one at the time, so let's see- that would be- 1982."

My eyes bugged.  I forget sometimes how old Cousin Roxie actually is.  "Wow."  After a second or two of silence, I spoke up just once more.  "Was it a present?  Or did you just randomly find it?"

"It was- I suppose it was kind of a gift."

"From who?"

But I guess that was another of the "wrong" questions, because she answered, "Danny, I'm sorry, but I promised.  He made me promise."

"Who's he?" 

"I can't tell you.  I want to, though.  It's been so long, and I've wanted to tell so bad some days, but- if I never told any of my husbands, and I never told your mother, and I didn't even tell the cops when they- well anyway-"

"The cops?" I interrupted, shocked.

But she didn't explain, just kept on, "If I never told them- then I can't tell you.  It's- just a secret for Me, Myself, and I."

"And the guy," I added.

"And the guy," she hummed in agreement.  And said no more about it. 

I don't think about it for much longer, though.  I didn't really get any helpful clues out of her, and there's so much other cool stuff to think about right now anyway.

A couple of my other friends sit down too, but they're not very much fun to talk with.  If they aren't listening to music through their earbuds, they're hunched over either watching anime or playing some game on their smartphone.  At least Jamal shares his shows and stuff with me, lets me wear one of his buds so I can hear too- but he's sick today.  So really, Lauren is all I've got- but that's totally fine.  She's all I want most days anyhow, but not in a creepy way.  She's my best friend.  Like I said, she gets me- or at least, she doesn't mind me.  And for an "excessive personality" weirdo like me, that's plenty.

I've already finished my sandwich by the time she's through, looking for a place to sit.  Right away I put my hands in the air, wave them around.  "Lauren!" I yell.  "Over here!"

She looks at me, but then turns her head away before looking back.  She presses her lips together, like she's trying to make up her mind.  I sit up, follow where her eyes went before- and sigh.  Because her girl-friends are on the other side of the room, and also calling her over.  I already can tell how this will end.

And I'm not wrong.  She glances one more time at me, shrugs, then scurries over to the girls.  Frustrated, I ball up the empty cellophane wrapper.  And it's all because she doesn't want them to say I'm her boyfriend, I tell myself.  It's not fair.  Even though I keep telling her what Mom tells me about not caring what the crowd says, she keeps on doing that. 

Mouthing the Bob Dylan song I heard on the way to school, "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" (you know, the really awful one that goes "Everybody must get stoned," a song Roxie picked only because of the rain and because she thinks it's funny; I just think it's stupid) I pull out my notebook. My phone doesn't have any cool games on it besides Tetris, and I'm already bored with that game, I've played it so much, so I usually either doodle or play with my yo-yo when I'm "alone" during lunch.

I sigh.  I don't feel like doing either of these things right now.  I want to talk- but Lauren's on the other side of the room, and these guys sitting here don't listen, and don't care.  Trust me, I know.  So, reluctantly, I draw out Mom's old iPod and stick one bud in my ear, play some Prince while I eat. 

I chomp viciously into my apple slices, flipping silently through my notebook. Where careful notes should be, instead there are funny faces, human pyramids, trolls, robots, and cartoon characters. It's kinda funny; I love Japan, and Japanese things, but I don't really care for anime, nor do I try to draw it. It's mostly stuff from TV shows, games, and movies that I draw, with no real pattern or order, just whatever pops into my head.

On one page I see the outline of the Starship Enterprise traveling at Warp Factor Eight; in the corner right underneath is a bad sketch of Yoda arm-wrestling with Yoshi, while the fat kid from South Park looks on.  A few pages further, a grinning Zoidberg wears a sombrero, standing just above a skateboarding stick figure zipping toward what he doesn't realize is the edge of the Cliffs of Insanity. Don't worry, he'll be fine; I was nice enough to put a net at the bottom.

But I soon grow tired of looking over the same old drawings and stuff.  I look up toward where Lauren is sitting again.  Man, I'd love to just pick up and plop down in that space between her and Baylee, the girl that told on me for singing.  Not only would that make Baylee mad (Bwa-ha-ha-ha!), but I won't have to wait till recess to tell Lauren all about everything. That's only next period, I know- but I reeeeally hate waiting.

I wonder if Dad would do it, just walk on over and crash their party.  I know Mom might want to, way down inside, but in the end she wouldn't do it.  She's funny about things like that.

My eye widen, and I smile sneakily.  Yeah- but Freddie would.

That's good enough for me.

Zipping up my lunchbox and stuffing my notebook and iPod back in my bag, I hop off the bench and tiptoe toward the group of girls.  They don't notice me right off.  With a tiny little chuckle, I hold back for a second, and then I strike.

"Konnichiwa, dah-lings!" I declare, mimicking Freddie.  Why, I don't know, but it seems to work for him, so it's worth a try. 

In a split second, I worm myself in next to a very surprised Lauren.  The other girls around, though, don't look too happy. 

"Danny, this is the girls table!" Lauren whispers, her cheeks turning a little pink.

"So?  You sit with us at the boys table, no one cares."

"That's different!"

I roll my eyes.  "Whatever.  Listen, I just learned some really cool stuff about my Uncle John, and about what he used to, uh-"

Baylee cuts in, whining, "OMG, Danny, you're so annoying!"

Like usual, I pretend she isn't even there.  "What he used to- do."

Lauren blinks.  "Is that the old British guy in the pictures in your house?"

"Who?  Uncle John?  Yeah, yeah."

"What's so cool about him?"

"Well-"

"Danny, I'm serious, go away!" Baylee groans- but now she's starting to stand up, like she's going to call once of the teachers over.  I can see where this is going.  Only one thing left to do: abort mission.

Quickly I turn to Lauren, "I can't tell you right here, can you come over there by me?"

She swallows, looks around at her posse, then back at me.  "I- Danny-"

"Please?"

"No," she shakes her head.  "I'm eating lunch with them today, maybe- maybe during carpool?"

"But that's in three hours!"

"During recess?"

"Lauren, this is important!  The most important news ever, and I've got to tell you right this minute-"

"Mr. Samuels, you've just earned yourself ten minutes on the wall during recess," a nasal teacher's voice crashes down on me.  "And if you don't leave these girls alone now, you'll spend all of it there."

With a sigh, I lift my chin, hop back out, my big news still tingling on my tongue.  Great, now I have to stand there basically in time-out (which I am WAY too old for) with the other kids who cause trouble.  Even worse, since it's raining, recess will be in the gym so everyone will see.  And to top it off, I'll have to tell Mom.  Whoop.  Tee.  Doo.

"Don't be a lemming, be yourself," Mom always says.  "Who cares what people say?  If you know something is true, stand your ground, and stand up for it.  Real friends are the ones who will stand with you.  Remember: just because most people believe something is true, doesn't make it true by consequence."

Yeah, I scoff to myself a little sadly, sitting back in my original spot.  But it sure doesn't make me a lot of friends, either.  Not even fake ones. 

It wouldn't be so bad if I had, you know, like a brother or sister who was just as oddball as me, but I'm all alone.  Even Lauren has Benji her half-brother; nobody likes him much, but he's there.  I don't know why Mom and Dad only had me- maybe he disappeared too soon- but I sure wish that if he had to go missing, or go away, or whatever happened, he could have waited at least until I had someone else to grow up around- and some memory of him just so I could be sure Mom and me weren't the only ones after all. 

Being myself is a lonely business sometimes.  Mom at least has (ugh) Dr. Preus, I guess, but from the way she talks most evenings, I think it's mostly the same for her too.  I wonder if it's that way for Freddie?

But then I shake my head.  Nah.  He's a rock star.  He's probably got millions of friends, and millions of dollars.  Or pounds.  Yeah, pounds, he's British, they don't have dollars over there.  He's got everything he wants, I bet.  Wonder what that's like- to be that rich, and that famous, have all sorts of people around that think you're great.  Sounds pretty cool.  No wonder he misses home so much.

Then again, he does seem to like certain things about the future.  I mean, he likes us, right?  And Mom likes him, even though he was saying she didn't, all because she went along with what Dr. Preus wanted, as usual.  But Freddie's wrong.  She never takes days off, unless I'm sick, which rarely happens anyway.  And he's a grown-up, he can take care of himself better than I can.  But she stayed home. 

They must have been really good friends, I say to myself, zoning out somewhat.  I can tell.  Even if they are weird together now, they must have been super-close back then.  Close enough to date, anyway... and dance...

I frown.  Oh, yeah.  That reminds me.  They danced. 

For some reason, that means more to me than that they went on a date.  Because there's something about two people dancing, I've seen it in the old movies, like the ones with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  There's a feeling, kind of like what I notice whenever Mom and Freddie are alone together, except it's sweeter, not as tense.  I'm not squishy, and romance stories make me want to ram my head into the wall, but I know that feeling when I see it- or rather, when I feel it.  Because you can't see feelings; if you could, you would call them see-lings.  Ha ha.

Still, I wonder if Freddie and Mom were like that, when they danced...  I'd kinda like to see them do it, see for myself-

My stomach flips.  Am I betraying my own father by thinking these things? 

Uh... I mean, they probably weren't, she was only like that with Dad. Then again, she never said anything about dancing with Dad. If she never danced with Dad, but she danced with Freddie- yes, that's a problem. She probably did dance with Dad, though, she just doesn't talk about it. At least she's never danced with Preus, right?

But try though I might to tell myself all this, I still can't help thinking how nice an image it is, the image of Mom and Freddie dancing.  Even worse- and I know he can't stay, I know he's got a perfect world to go back to, and that's fine- but still, I have been thinking, every now and then, how cool it would be if Freddie actually didn't go back, and he stayed here with-

"Danny?"

The voice jogs me out of my traitorous thoughts.  I turn around- and I can't believe my eyes.  I even clean my glasses on my shirt and put them back on, but it's true, no trick of the mind.  Lauren sets her bag down on the table- I guess she's already finished eating- and sits down.

"Hi," I say, confused.

"Hi," she murmurs.  "If you're mad, I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad."  And I'm not.  In fact, I'm feeling much, much better now.  "I thought you were sitting with them today."

"I was- but Baylee- she started saying some things, and - I didn't want to sit there anymore."

"What'd she say?"

"You know."

"Same stuff?"

"Yup."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Why is she your friend again?  I want to ask- but I don't.  I've got too much other, better stuff to say as it is.  Such as: "I'm glad you changed your mind, though." 

And I am. 

"Sure," she shrugs, but her mouth is curved in a shy little smile.  "So- what's so cool about your uncle?"

"Hold on, tell you after dessert."  So saying, I reach into my lunchbox, pull out the chocolate mints I'd almost forgotten about.  I put the extra in palm and hold it out to her.  "Andes?"

Lauren's eyes light up.  "Thanks!" 

But when she reaches for it, I pull my hand back.  Just before she can get huffy (and she will), I move back toward her, and she plucks it away before I can psych her out again.  We both laugh.  Her friends are probably watching us, thinking we're lovebirds or whatever, but I don't care.  They're wrong.  And that's that.

"Now," I begin, mouth full of chocolate, "you know that guy from Queen?"

"Freddie?"

"No, the one who plays bass."

"Hold it, I don't- let me look up their videos."  She whips out her phone and pulls up YouTube.  "The only one I know is Freddie."

"You just like his hair."

"Aw, shut up." Yup, things are normal again. "Is he the one with the afro?"

"No- and that is not an afro, by the way, his hair's just crazy."

"Okay, I know who you mean, then.  What about him?"

I beam with pride.  "That's my godfather."

She scoffs, "Get outta here-"

"It's true!  John Deacon played bass for Queen.  I guess he quit, or something- but he knows all those guys!"

"Seriously?" 

True, her dad talks to old rock stars and plays their music for a living- but he's never interviewed anybody from Queen, certainly never John Deacon.  And I can see she's interested, because she's really getting into the group, more than I think she wants to admit- so, dramatically I pull out my cell phone.

"If you want, I can prove it," I offer.

'What, are you going to call him?" she says.

Before I can answer, however, the phone vibrates.  I read the little contact window on the cover, and my jaw drops. 

It's Uncle John again.

"Looks like he's calling us," I murmur. 

"He is?"

I nod, then with eager hands, I pull it open.  "Hello?"