And the Canary Sings

Def Leppard was a low hanging murmur in the crowded basement, competing with laughter, footsteps thudding up and down the single panel stairs that seemed to hang on a hope and prayer, and the heavy click-clack of Mrs. Curtis’ beaded curtains, a woman who never seemed to be at home when her grandson visited from next door with more than twenty of his closest friends from the neighborhood. A loud voice demanded everyone’s attention, yet, again.

“Nobody cares, Heather!” Turning his attention back to the girl standing by his elbow. “Are you telling me you forged your teacher’s signature? Yeah, right, Terri.”

“Give me a break, I didn’t say I forged it, Dusty, I copied it. Like this,” Grabbing the notebook and red pen he had been using to practice a series of signatures, Terri scribbled two initials L.T. in a swooping cursive arc. “See? Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy, and I didn’t have to practice like you.”

Dusty scrutinized the initials with a frown, “Whatevs, I don’t know what your teacher’s initials look like, you could be lying.”

“Get over yourself, like I want to impress you.” Terri slapped the notebook down in front of him the pen skittering across the table and onto the floor. “As if!”

“Could’ve fooled me with the way you’re up in my face. If you hadn’t noticed, I have other people I could be talking to.”

“I thought we were friends.” Terri pushed the sleeve of the bold geometric pattern sweater up her arm and fidgeted with the row of bracelets on her wrist. “What’s the deal?”

Dusty’s gaze slid to the side where a girl with a pixie cut sat laughing with a group of girls, her white boat shoes a colorful spattering of synthetic paint, “Talk to ya later, I’m about to propose.”

Terri watched Dusty saunter over to the girl with the pixie haircut, his stonewashed jeans tightly rolled at the ankle and the hypercolor t-shirt he wore was oversized and tucked into the jeans. Terri had never seen the girl before which, was strange because she thought she knew everyone in the neighborhood. Terri rolled her eyes when Dusty took a knee in front of the girl, she was probably from the apartment complex on Kissimmee and Main by the look of her crop-top and tight, short pants. Who did she think she was Madonna or Joan Jett?

“Jealous?” Heather gave Terri’s shoulder a bump to get her attention while sucking on a Charms Blow Pop, her halo of bleached blonde hair was crimped and teased with pink strands throughout. “

I think she’s Aleksy and Agata’s cousin from the mother country.”

“She’s Polish?”

“Yeah, and you’re so jealous.”

“As if and barf. I’d rather die than be caught wearing that costume.”

“Face it, she’s so European and you’re so… not. Does it sting that Dusty’s over you?”

“Like, bag your face or something, Heather. He’s such a poser, and you know he’s not my type, I’m so sure.”

“Take a chill pill, Terri. I can’t help if you’re acting like a total spazz.”

“Me? What’s your damage?” Terri noticed Heather holding a red plastic cup. “Oh my gawd, is that Dusty’s grandmother’s windowsill wine? You’re so dead.”

“You’re such a Joanie, I don’t know why I hang out with you.”

“Ditto, Heather, I’m so out.” Terri began to push her way to the basement stairs, tears stinging her eyes when she heard Heather call out, her slurred voice fighting to be heard over Def Leppard’s Hysteria now cranked at full volume.

“Hey, everyone! Guess who Terri has the hots for? Aleksy!”

Terri gasped, the room fell silent as everyone’s gaze including Aleksy turned toward her, Def Leppard thumped in her chest. Dusty gave her a thumbs up, and the girl with the pixie haircut laughed. Turning blindly for the stairs, Terri tripped when she felt someone grab for her legs half-way up. Kicking out, she yelled, “Let go!”

“Terri stop, come on, it’s no big deal.”

Twisting free, Terri fled from the basement. She passed Grandma Curtis who gave her a frown on her way out the door, and she continued to run, mortified and shaken. How was she ever supposed to show her face outside again? Aleksy lived right next door.