Thunderbowl - Lesley Choyce [11]
“But, Dad, be real. Music is really important to me. You bought me my first guitar, remember? Besides, we might be landing a recording contract soon.” That was a long shot, but I needed to try and convince him that I was going somewhere, that I couldn’t give up.
“Get off it, Jeremy. Record companies don’t give contracts to sixteen-year-old kids. You’ve got to get your feet back on the ground. Your mother and I have let you live in your little dreamworld for too long. You are going to listen to us for once.”
Suddenly my old man was the great authority on everything. He thought he could order me around.
“You stay in school and work harder. You quit that stupid band and stay away from those nightclubs before you get into real trouble.” Now he had a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, both clenched tightly in his fists. “If you want to stay in this house, you will do as I say. That’s final!”
My blood began to boil. So it had come to this. I couldn’t believe they could be so unfair.
I got up from the table and walked up to my room. I felt dizzy. It seemed like I had been rocketed through deep space to some other planet. Nothing in the house looked the same. I knew I had to get out of there.
Chapter Ten
I could hear my parents downstairs. They were still talking about my problems at school. Then they got going about how I lied to them, how I couldn’t be trusted. Finally I had heard enough. I ran down the stairs and out the front door. Even though The Dungeon was all the way on the other side of town, I started walking in that direction. There was no other place to go.
I made up this fantasy that the record deal came through. Thunderbowl was an overnight success and we became millionaires. I bought my parents a new, fancy house to patch things up. My dad had to admit he was wrong about me and music, and we all lived happily ever after.
But it was just a dream. We might not get a recording contract. I might flunk school. I had come this far, though, and I had to keep going. I had to see it through.
At the first phone booth I came to, I looked up Langford’s number and called his house.
“Hi, Jeremy. What’s up?”
“Look, Mr. Langford, remember what we talked about the other day? About me and school? Well, I’ve made my decision. There is more to life than sitting in a boring classroom. I’m quitting. I want you to tell the office for me.”
“Jeremy, I think you should consider this more carefully—”
“No, man, I’ve made up my mind. I’m out of school.”
“Look, if it’s just your grades, there’s still time—”
“It’s not just my grades,” I told him, my voice cracking. “It’s more than that. Come on, I’m just asking you to do this one thing for me.”
Langford sounded disappointed. I knew he would be, but he didn’t try to talk me out of it. “Well, you’ll have to sign some papers. Come by the school in the morning.”
“Give me a break. I’m not going to come down there in the morning. Can’t you get them to send me the papers?”
There was a stony silence on the line. Then Langford responded. “Where should I have the papers sent?”
I didn’t know what to say. My jaw was locked. I felt like somebody was tying a rope around my stomach.
“Jeremy, are you still there?”
“Forget the papers. Just tell them I quit.” I slammed the receiver down and walked off toward The Dungeon.
I was almost there when a car turned onto the street and pulled up beside me. When I turned around, I saw that it was Suzanne.
“Hey, mister, do you want a ride?”
I was too tired to say no. I walked to the passenger side and climbed in.
“You saved me from wrecking my car the other night,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
“Look, I’m sorry about what happened. I have a way of messing up everything. Parents. School. Other guys. Now you.”
Traffic was backed up behind us as far as the lights at the intersection. Other drivers were honking at us to move. Suzanne let out the clutch slowly and we began to creep along.
“Hey, if you want to talk about real screw-ups, you are looking at an expert,” I said.
“Not you, Jeremy?” Suzanne