Danny

Finally I get up enough courage to say something. But as soon as my mouth opens, the words fly out my ears and all I'm left with is a soft, stupid "Um..."

The driver still hears me, and he turns his head my way. "Yes?"

I stammer, "Uh- Mr. Charles, sir- um- do you think-"

"Just Charles will do," he corrects me gently.

That's nice of him, but the only adult I even really want to call by his first name is Freddie. This guy's too big and not half weird enough for me to act like he's my pal or something. "What's your last name, sir? Mom says-"

"I know, I remember," Charles chuckles. "I guess you can call me Mr. Burdon then. My full name is Charles P. Burdon- like Eric Burdon from the Animals."

Mr. Burdon. That's nice, I guess. "Animals? Who are they again?"

His jaw drops- and I bet if he wasn't wearing sunglasses I'd see his eyes get really big. "Have you never heard 'House of the Rising Sun'?"

"How's it go?"

Mr. Burdon clears his throat, about to sing- then looks in the rear view mirror, and shakes his head, sighing. "Ah, well, never mind. I guess that would be before your time anyway-"

"Hey!" I exclaim, raising my voice a bit. 'Prince is before my time- and he's my favorite! Uh, no, I mean- he's one of my favorites. Just one of 'em. There's bands I like way more than him- one of them is Queen."

Now, I'm not really sure if I mean that forever and ever, because as much as I love Freddie's music, it's still reeeally hard to say whether Queen's honestly better than Prince, or the other way around- but right this second I mean it. On instinct I turn around, hoping I've made Freddie smile, or at least look up- but he just keeps writing away, eyes on the paper, like he didn't even hear me say anything. He probably didn't.

The driver guy's way nicer than he seems. He even leans over and whispers, very quietly, "I'd love to put some of that on, Danny- see, I love Queen too, they hold a very personal place in my heart- but..." He trails off, nods his head toward the back seat where Freddie is. I know exactly what he means.

So once again, I'm staring out the window, music folder closed and laying in my lap. Bored, I open my flip phone, squint at the screen. No messages, no calls. Not even from Uncle John- at least, not since this afternoon at recess. It's so quiet in here.

And not the good kind of quiet, either; you know, the sort of quiet you need when you're thinking, or about to go to sleep. This is the weird quiet- the tense kind, like in the movies when the main character's wandering around in some dim, creepy room when suddenly the music cuts out, and you just know in a few seconds something is going to jump out of the shadows and scare the crap out of you.

If there was music playing, it would be better, I gripe to myself. But I'm too scared to ask for it. I don't want to make him mad- sorry, madder.

Very carefully I turn my head to look back at Freddie again. I was thrilled at first that he was coming to New York too, since I didn't get to say hi this morning before I left for school- and even more so when Charles just suddenly showed up out of nowhere right after me and Lauren did, offered me and Freddie a ride up to New York. But I haven't heard Freddie say a single word since this morning.

So far all I've really said to him, is "How's your nose?" And even then, he didn't answer me except with a "Mm."

In fact, all he's done since he got in this super amazing car is scribble stuff down in that spiral notebook. He's barely looked at me once. I wonder if he even knows I'm sitting up here- but again, I'm afraid of reminding him. He's still my friend and all, and I still like him better than Dr. Preus- but man, he's so scary when he's angry.

I wonder, would it cheer him up to tell him about Uncle John? Or would that just get me in even more trouble with Mom?

More trouble, I answer myself. I don't like the answer, but like she says, the truth is not always nice. So, I keep my mouth shut.

And then my phone screams. Literally. My ringtone is "Gett Off"- and it starts with an actual scream. My heart nearly pops right out of my chest. None of us were expecting that. Even the driver jumps a little.

Cheeks burning, I scramble to turn it off. I don't care who it is, I just want Prince to stop. As fast as I can I open the phone and close it- just barely I notice it was Roxie calling. But it's too late, the ringtone goes dead- and everything's quiet again.

I put the phone on silent, tuck it into my coat pocket.

"What was that?"

Freddie's the one who asks this. I whirl around, look at him- but it's so hard to tell if he's angry or amused right now, it's that "meh" look again. So I turn my eyes from Freddie's baffled face.

"It was my phone, I'm sorry," I whisper, then curl up against the door again, looking out. Freddie draws a heavy sigh behind me, but he doesn't say any more.

I have to wonder what happened with Mom and Freddie while I was at school. Mom didn't say much about it, she just said it was a nice day. It is kind of weird she didn't come with us, though. I wish she had- but then again, things might have been even more awkward than they already are.

She did say, after all, that "I think Freddie's had to look at me enough for one day."

Does that sound good? I don't think so.

All of a sudden Mr. Burdon takes a random exit and pulls over at a gas station. "What's going on?" Freddie demands.

"Running low on power, sir," the driver answers. "Need to charge. I may grab a drink at the mart while I'm at it. Can I get you two anything?"

Freddie shakes his head. "No thank you," I murmur.

"Right then."

Sure enough, there's a charging station right next to the convenience mart. We park, Mr. Burdon lets in the cold as he shuffles out, and goes to work on charging the car battery. I hop out as well- but not to watch him. I'm switching seats.

"Sure you don't want anything?" he asks again.

"Uh- I don't know. Dr. Pepper, maybe?"

"My pleasure."

"Oh, okay. Cool, thanks."

Just before he walks off, he looks back. "You sound nervous, Danny."

"I'm not, I just- Mom rarely lets me drink soda."

"It'll be our little secret, then." He smiles a little at me, then walks into the convenience mart- and I roll my eyes. Aw man. I am so done with secrets. Why can't people just tell people stuff and be happy?

I touch the button, and DeLorean style, the back passenger door lifts up. Maybe he wanted to be alone, that's why he sat back there- but I'd much rather sit next to a quiet, sullen, slightly scary Freddie Mercury than sit up front with a friendlier stranger. He might be gone soon, Mom said so. I want to make this count- and plus, if he cheers up enough, I can ask him if he knew my dad the way Uncle John did!

But as soon as I put my knee on the seat, Freddie asks, in that same flat, I-want-to-be-alone voice, "What are you doing back here?"

My heart sinks a little inside. "Uh- nothing. I- just wanted to sit next to you, but- I can go back- sorry..."

And just as I'm about to shut the door again, Freddie stops me. "Hang on, hang on, I- go ahead and sit here, I don't mind. Really."

I blink. "I won't be annoying you?"

He scoffs. "My God, Danny, could you possibly sound any more like your mother?"

"What?"

Freddie doesn't really explain. "What I mean is- my dear boy, no one's bothered, just sit down. It's a bit lonely back here, I tell you."

Then what'd you sit back here all alone for in the first place? I ask him in my head. But still, he's invited me to stay, so I will. I'd just better slide into phantom mode, make sure I'm almost invisible. I shut the door, open my phone and close it a little nervously. It's just him and me in the car right now, and no one is saying anything. Man, this is awkward.

"So, um," he begins, "how was, uh- school?"

"It was fine." That's actually not true- I stood five minutes on the wall for "harassing the girls' table" and Ms. Rydinger kept asking me why Mom hadn't answered any of her emails- but right this moment I don't feel like talking about any of that. So I point at the notebook. "What are you writing?"

"Oh, uh- just lyrics and, um -ideas, things like that."

"Oh. Okay." I want to see them, but I don't ask. Not yet.

"Did you learn a new word? In Japanese, I mean."

"Not today," I reply. "Art's on Monday Wednesday, and Friday only. I did yesterday though."

"What was it?"

Right about now, I decide he's just talking to me because he thinks he has to- sort of like Dr. Preus does. It makes me sad, but it's not unusual. So I shrug, turn my head toward the window, and forget to even answer.

A few seconds later, I feel a finger softly tapping my shoulder. With a gulp I turn around to face him.

And he asks, "What's wrong, Mr. Phantom?"

Though his eyebrows are sort of knit together, he doesn't look angry. I already feel better- but I don't show it right off. "Nothing," I reply.

Freddie folds his arms and arches his brow; I guess he doesn't believe me.

"I mean it!" I exclaim- but all he does is roll his eyes and twitch his lips over his teeth.

"Danny, don't lie, you're bad at it anyway," he winks playfully (YES! He's winking! That's much better!). "Just tell me what's eating you, okay?"

"You sure you wanna know?"

"Yes, I want to know," he answers in a more singsong-y voice. Freddie shuts the notebook, slides the pen in between the metal coil. "Do go on, Mr. Phantom!"

I can't help but grin. Freddie, I'm sorry I ever said you were anything like Dr. Preus.

And so, after a tiny pause, I ask, "Are you- still mad from last night?"

"Mad?"

"Mad at Mom, and the whole movie thing-"

"Danny, I told you I wasn't angry."

"Yeah, but you were anyway. You looked it."

"I wasn't mad at her, I mean. I was just, um- upset at the circumstances, you know?"

I nod slowly, doing what I've seen Mom doing when she practices her "counseling body language" with me sometimes. "So, are you still upset?"

"Not about that. I'm well past it. I don't hold onto things like that -most things, anyway. I mean, I try not to."

"So what's wrong?"

"I'm fine. Really I am. I just- I just wish things were different."

Does he still think she doesn't like him? Suddenly I have another idea what he means- and like this afternoon, it only makes me sadder. Before I can ask, though, Mr. Burdon comes back, slides into the driver's seat.

"All right we're all set," he murmurs- then reaches back to hand me a bottled Dr. Pepper.

"Domo arigato," I thank him.

"No problem," he hums, then puts his hand on the screen, which scans his palm and says in big green letters, "Identity Confirmed," and then sticks his thumb in the place where the keyhole should be. The car starts right up, and we're on the road again.

That is so cool, I giggle to myself- but I haven't forgotten what Freddie and I have just been talking about. I turn to him again, watch him try to lose himself in writing stuff down.

"What do you wish was different?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, dammit."

"You don't have to say if you don't want to," I add quickly.

"I don't know if I should tell you, to be honest," Freddie shrugs, "especially since you went and told your mum about Roxie. I mean-"

My eyes bug. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that. "Freddie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It just- it just fell out."

"Danny, it's really all right, I've already taken care of it," he says, putting his hand on my shoulder. "It wasn't very fair of me to ask you to keep secrets from your mother anyway."

"Okay, then, good," I grin. "Now will you say what's-?"

"Good Lord, you're a pushy one, aren't you," he mumbles, still smiling- but now, the smile's a little sad. He thinks for a minute. "It's, um- a bit complicated, admittedly. I wish I could really, you know- explain it in a way you'd understand."

I take a gulp of Dr. Pepper. "I understand a lot. I bet I could get it. Want a sip?"

"No, I'm fine. And yes, I know you do- but I'm just not so sure I want to talk about it, tell someone."

"Okay," I sigh. "I bet I know what it is, though."

He smirks a little. "Oh, really?"

I nod, looking down in my lap. "You miss home a lot, don't you?"

Mr. Burdon coughs a little, and Freddie pauses before he answers. "Oh, yes. I miss a lot of things about, um- home."

"Like what?"

He swoops his hands around dramatically. "The fame and fortune, of course." A little less jokingly, he adds, "And my cats."

"Oh, yeah." That's right, he's a big time cat person. Now I like cats and everything, but I prefer dogs. They have more personality. What's really funny is, I almost ask him if he has pictures on his phone so I can see the cats.

"How many do you have again?" I ask instead.

"About five at the moment. I lost one of them a bit recently, actually. Jerry was his name. Dear thing, I had him a long time."

"Do you take them with you on trips and stuff?"

"Not always. For the sake of convenience, you know, I leave them at the house- I miss them, but- I mean, I'm moving from here to there, back and forth, almost constantly- almost a sort of perpetual motion, so it's really better if I just keep certain things in their places- make them stay put, you know what I mean?"

Not really, I say to myself. Leaning against the seat, I twist the cap back on my soda. "What's your house like, Freddie?" I ask all of a sudden. "Is it big?"

"Well, it has to be. The darlings need roaming room, you know."

"How big?"

"Twenty-eight rooms- plus there's a big lovely garden and a koi pond, and a great big wall to keep out the bad guys."

My eyes grow as big as hubcaps. "Twenty-eight rooms? Whoa- that's huge. Our house only has-" I cut myself off, counting down our rooms on my fingers, then go on- "nine rooms? I think? I might have missed one. Either way, our house is way tinier than yours."

Freddie shook his head. "Your house is lovely."

But now I'm thinking about how small it is. Funny, I never really noticed it before, but it's a really teeny house. Roxie's place is even bigger than ours. Not by much, but it is.

"Do you ever get lost?" I ask- which makes Freddie laugh. "Trying to find your way around, I mean."

"No, no, no," he chortles. "I'm quite able to navigate my own home, I think."

"Twenty-eight rooms," I whisper again. "Man. And that's in Munich, right?"

"Oh, no. I have a flat in Munich, much smaller-"

"You have a house AND a flat?" I'm beside myself.

Freddie blinks. "Well, yes. Also used to have a flat in New York, but it's been a long time since I've used it. And overall, even then, I'd say I've spent much more time living at that flat than the house, to be honest."

"Where's the house?"

"London."

I know I'm asking a bunch of questions, but I'm so curious. I keep forgetting this guy is a world famous rock star, and that he lives the way rock stars live: big houses, big money, big cars, big parties-

And then I remember. Why hasn't he said anything about his family? This guy's got to have one. You can't just live all by yourself in a great big house with a bunch of cats. That sounds terrible, I'd hate that so much; it'd be like I was living in a prison or something. But so far, he hasn't talked about his kids, his wife, his girlfriend, anything like that. He's talked about his bandmates, his friends, and his music- but nothing about family.

So, very carefully, I ask, "Does your wife come with you, or does she, uh, 'stay put', too?"

Freddie's eyes change at that. I can't really describe it, but they seem almost darker now. "Danny, I don't have a wife. Well, I mean, at one point- no. Never mind. It was silly."

I squint. "Then, do you have, like, a girlfriend or something?"

He looks at his lap. "No."

Something in the way he says that keeps me from asking whether he has any kids, because I already know that's how he'll answer again- but in an even more unhappy tone. "So- it's just you?"

"In one way, no," he replies. "But in another way- a more important way- yes. It's, um- it's really just me. But it's been that way for a long time. I'm used to it, you know- and I really don't think I could have it any other way."

That's it. Now I know what that expression is. I know because Mom makes that face all the time.

He looks lonely. And now I don't know what to say.

Then, Mr. Burdon saves us. He turns on the music, and the first song? What else? BJ Thomas, of course. You know, the one that goes, "Raindrops are fallin' on my head-"

"My God, Charles!" Freddie groans. "Anything but that!"

"What would you rather hear, then, sir?" Mr. Burdon asks.

"I don't care, just none of him."

"Got any Prince?" I ask.

"No, I'm afraid not," Mr. Burdon replies. "I'm not his biggest fan. I'll just hit shuffle, see what comes up."

Freddie waves his hands. "Fine. Play anything- just no BJ f---ing Thomas- I mean, uh- oh, Danny, I'm sorry, don't ever use that word, it's a terrible word, and only terrible people use it."

I grin. "You're not terrible. And you use it. A lot."

"Why thank you, Danny, I tell you, uh- that- makes me feel so much bett-" He might have said more, but he's laughing too hard right now to go on. This is much nicer than before. I'm good with this.

The rest of the drive is pretty fun, actually. Freddie lets me look at some of the lyrics he's written in the notebook- but he's very careful about the pages he lets me read. There's some stuff he says is off limits, which is fine with me. We also end up hearing a whole bunch of early Maroon 5 tracks because Freddie decided out of the blue that he wanted to hear more of them, as well as the band Muse. Apparently he really likes those two bands- newer music wise, anyway.

Maroon 5 especially, though. I asked him why, and all he said was, "The lyrics speak to me."

Whatever that means.

Soon we're approaching the Brooklyn Bridge- and I'm almost a little disappointed. This has been a much more fun ride than I thought it would be- but then I remember, we have all the way back to enjoy too, which is great.

"Freddie, look," I exclaim excitedly. "We are hashiwawotaru-ing!"

He squints. "What?"

"We're crossing a bridge!" I know that's not how the Japanese say it, but it's the best I can remember and right now I really don't care. Across the East River we roll- not very fast, true, because of traffic, but we're getting there.

"You never did say," Freddie murmurs. "What was the word?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. It was, um- teo torriatte." I smile at him. "That's a Queen song, too, right?"

Freddie doesn't smile back. "Uh- yes. Yes, it is, actually. Have you ever head it?"

"I don't think so. I want to, though, if it's in Japanese."

"It's quite lovely," he says, voice getting a little distant. "Brian wrote that one as well. As I recall, one of your mother's favorites, in fact."

I raise my eyebrows. "It is?"

"I mean, it was at one point. May not be anymore."

"I bet it still is," I smile.

He shrugs. "Who knows."

Freddie's starting to look down all over again. Quickly I try to think of a way to cheer him back up before he goes to his radio station meeting thing. But all I can come up with right away is this:

"Mom does like you, you know."

He turns to me, frowning. "Hm?"

"You said last night that she didn't. But she does. A lot."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No- but I can tell."

"How?"

"I just can. She's my mom."

"Mm."

We both fall silent for a minute.

And then, for no reason, I blurt this out: "Did you know she's never danced with Dr. Preus?"

His eyes almost sparkle at that- but his voice sounds no different. "What's that got to do with me?"

"I don't know, I just- know she danced with you, but she never did with him. I don't know. Dancing's important, I guess."

"She told you about that?" Freddie's voice is so soft when he says this.

"Uh huh. Last night."

He doesn't respond to that. His fingers drum a little against the notebook cover, twitching like he wants to write something down- but he doesn't. For several minutes he doesn't speak, till finally we're almost to the church.

"So she likes me," he sighs at last, his eyes looking through me almost. "Perhaps- but there's one thing that's certain."

"What's that?"

"She loves you." He takes a deep breath. "She loves you very much."

I smile. "I know. I love her too."

"Very much?"

"Very much. Domo."

"As you should," Freddie nods quietly. "You're really very lucky. She would do anything for you, Danny. Anything she had to."

I'm a little confused. "What do you mean?"

He coughs. "Again, it's hard to explain."

"So you're not even gonna try?"

"No- but- suffice it to say- your father really, um-"

"My father!" My spine prickles, because he's just reminded me. "Yeah, I meant to ask you. Did you know my father?"

"What? No. At least, I don't think so. Why?"

"Oh," I sigh, hopes dashed. "I just thought you might. See, my Uncle John knew him, I thought maybe you would too."

"Your Uncle John," he repeats, a little perplexed. "Yes, who is this Uncle John person anyway? He seems like a bit of an odd bird."

I hesitate, then open my mouth to tell him- but we've already arrived at the church, and Mr. Arthur gets so huffy if we're even a tiny bit late to practice. "Tell you later, I gotta go."

"Right, right. Off with you then." He winks, waving me out. "Sayonara, Mr. Phantom."

"Ja matane," I say back. I open the door- but before I hop outside, I slide back over, and give Freddie a hug. He chuckles a little, then puts his arms around me too and holds on tight.

He's not going back till tomorrow, but I already know I'm going to miss him. A lot.

It's not until I'm in the sanctuary that I realize I've accidentally taken Freddie's notebook along. I run back toward the door, peer through the glass, but the yellow car is nowhere in sight. With a shrug, I open it, flip through a few of the pages.

Well, at least now I have something to read in-between time.