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TRACK 1: SCORPIONS- ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE
Ned likes Dewey. They met years ago, shuffling CDs around in a music store while Ned was getting his teaching certifications, and Dewey has stuck around ever since. He’s not even a bad roommate, even though he doesn’t have a room, more of a nook with all of his records piled in. He’s just a slob, kind of, and his weird bandmates sleep on their couch a lot, and he doesn’t take out the recycling even when it’s full of beer bottles.
The point is that Ned is intimately familiar with Dewey’s habits and lack of, so when he comes home from an exhausting day of trying to wrangle third graders to find Dewey shaved and cleaned up he’s… surprised.
“What’s up, man?” Ned sets his stuff on the breakfast table, on top of Dewey’s piles of mail, and watches Dewey tie his shoes. It must be serious if Dewey’s wearing shoes that actually tie. “Nice look.”
Dewey laughs, rubbing at his sideburns. “Got a third date with the girl from the personals,” he explains. “Beard was getting scraggly.”
" Oh, okay.” Ned wasn’t necessarily in favor of meeting people from anonymous ads from the random assortment of newsletters Dewey subscribed to, but it was Dewey’s life. His mental picture of the girl was some pierced and tattooed punk rocker that Dewey met in grunge bars and made out with in his beat up van. It must be going well, he thinks, if Dewey was actually willing to clean up for it. “Don’t, uh… bring her back here, maybe? I’m pretty tired, man…” he laughs awkwardly. He still has paint under his nails and he’ll definitely not be able to pass out if Dewey is essentially having sex in the living room.
“Dude! She’s a classy lady,” Dewey protests, then smirks. “We’ll be doing it in her apartment if anything.”
Ned sighs, relieved. “Alright, have a good time.”
“Woo!” Dewey slaps him on the shoulder and bounds out of the door, all grins and cheer.
This girl must be something special to get Dewey so amped, Ned thinks. The only thing that gets him fired up like this was No Vacancy.
TRACK 2: CREAM- SUNSHINE OF YOUR LOVE
Mrs. Lemmons has known Rosalie Mullins for a short period but she feels pretty confident she has the measure of her character. As principal, Mullins is anxious and strict, but it’s out of a genuine care for her students and a desire to succeed; Horace Green is a serious school, after all, and while Mrs. Lemmons has gotten used to the atmosphere it’s clear that Mullins has not.
She’s very stiff, Mrs. Lemmons thinks, watching Mullins at converse with a student through the doorway of the teacher’s lounge, and too hunched over for a younger woman.
“She needs to lighten up,” Wally says, sitting next to her on the couch.
Mrs. Lemmons nods. “She’s new, is all,” she says. “It’s probably just nerves.”
They sip their coffee instead and savor the peace of not being in a room with twenty children.
“Do you know anything about her personal life?” Wally asks.
F or a gym teacher Wally was awfully hooked in on the teacher gossip. If he was asking her Mullins must present a real mystery.
“No,” Mrs. Lemmons says. She knows from individual meetings that: “She doesn’t even have pictures on her desk.”
Mrs. Lemmons has several pictures on her desk and walls; her kids, her husband, some of her old students accepting awards. She likes the reminder of why she’s doing this when she grades late into the night. The power to help these kids, to change lives for the better; the family that she supports with this job and the love she has for her own kids powers her through the day. It’s sad, to think that Mullins doesn’t have people like that, reminders of her own.
Or maybe she’s just focused and busy, Mrs. Lemmons thinks. That’s what she gets as an English major kind of woman- always too willing to weave fantasies in her head. For all she knows Mullins is just as happy as she is and content being more private about it.
They direct the conversation to different matters. Zack Jefferys being so quiet, for one, with his horribly overbearing father, and then who will end up performing at the talent show.
But the idea of Mullins having a personal life at all and what it could be like sticks around in the back of Mrs. Lemmon’s head, a little niggling curiosity about her enigmatic coworker.
A few weeks later, Mullins and her mysteries are buried under the work of grading book reports and the building pressure of standardized tests coming up. Her, Wally, and Mr. Green are complaining- the parental expectations for what Horace Green can do for their children are insane. Wally tries to get the kids’ minds off of it with games, but about half of them get sick with worry and the other half take it out on their peers.
“I caught Freddy Jones in a fight with Summer Hathaway in the hallway,” Mr. Green says. “He can’t stop talking in the library.”
They all groan. Summer has her screws tightened professionally, probably by her mother, and it only worsens every year.
Winter Hathaway, legal shark and terror of the halls of Horace Green, is simultaneously personally invested in every minute of her daughter’s education and unreachable except for parent teacher night, when she comes in and scares the bejesus out of everyone. Even the normally unflappable Mullins quails under her gaze.
Their unfavorable comparisons of Mrs. Hathaway to Stalinesque figures in history ends when a man bursts into the lounge.
H e’s not a teacher, with his band shirt and layered jackets, and too young to be a parent here, with his shaggy hair and long sideburns. “Roz!” he exclaims, goofy grin on his face. He has a bagged lunch in one of his hands; the other one is making the “rock on” sign like he’s at a concert.
T he three of them whip around to look at Mullins, the recipient of his boundless energy.
“Oh!” Mullins freezes up. The coffee she’s making spills it on her hand and she hisses, breaking out of her paralysis. “Dewey!” she says, “What are you doing here?”
Dewey goes over to meet her and, in a voice obviously meant to be more of a whisper, says, “You forgot your lunch! So I brought it, babe.”
The three of them exchange shocked looks.
Babe, Wally mouths to Mrs. Lemmons, eyes wide.
Mullins takes the bag with shaking hands. “Thank you, Dewey.” She’s obviously trying to sound professional, but the warmth in her voice leaks through.
“Are you going to introduce us to your friend, Principal Mullins?” Mr. Green asks, the brave man.
Gesturing stiffly at Dewey, Mullins hesitates for a minute, then goes, “This is… my associate, Dewey Finn.”
“Yeah, we associate,” Dewey Finn agrees, waggling his eyebrows. He’s almost handsome, in a rugged rock and roll kind of way, but seems so friendly it’s curious how he would end up meeting Mullins. In her gray suit and pearls, tall and bony, she seems the perfect opposite to him.
“And what do you do, Dewey,” Mr. Green inquires politely.
Mrs. Lemmons would ask the same question. She’s fascinated by this man who delivers his girlfriend lunch at eleven on a Tuesday.
“Oh, I’m in a totally epic band called No Vacancy?” Dewey makes a little air guitar motion. “We’re liberating the world with the power of rock, you know, Ramones style.”
The three of them nod. Mrs. Lemmons is more partial to Neil Diamond herself.
Mullins recovers herself and starts introductions. “This is, ah, Valerie Lemmons, one of our third grade teachers, and Wallace Briggs-”
“Everybody calls me Wally,” Wally interrupts.
“- who teaches gym, and David Green, a first grade teacher,” Mullins finishes.
“Rock on, brothers,” Dewey says to all of them.
“So how did you two meet?” Wally says, fully turning to Dewey and throwing his arm over the back of the couch.
They share a small, panicked look, and Mullins shakes her head, clearly trying to get Dewey to lie.
“At a bar,” Dewey says, “I was shredding, and I looked out into the audience and I saw her, and I was like,” he makes an explosion noise, “It was insane. Instant connection. She inspired a guitar solo then and there. After the set I asked her out for a beer-”
“-That’s enough, Dewey,” Mullins cuts him off. “They don’t need the whole- you know.”
“I didn’t know you went to bars,” Mrs. Lemmons says, suppressing a smile.
“Yeah, Roz,” Wally teases. “You’ve been holding out on us.”
Mullins colors and avoids eye contact. “Yes- I suppose.”
“Anyway, practice is soon, so…” Dewey finger guns at all of them.
He reaches out and squeezes Mullins’ hand, cupping her long fingers in his thick ones and lingering for a second. “See you later, babe,” he says.
Mrs. Lemmons didn’t think that Mullins could blush any worse, but she’s gotten almost painfully red, staring down at her and Dewey’s conjoined hands.
“Aren’t you two sweet,” Wally says, like they’re kids going to a middle school dance.
“Thank you,” Mullins replies stiffly, and grabs Dewey by the elbow, dragging him out of the room as he waves goodbye.
The three of them stay silent for a minute, shocked by this interlude into Mullins’ life.
“What was that,” Mr. Green says. “I mean, who was that?”
“He seemed nice,” Mrs. Lemmons says.
Wally laughs. “It really does look like she found him in a dive bar, but we all know that’s not true.”
“Oh, that story,” Mr. Green argees. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
They all cannot believe that this is who Mullins is dating and descend into vivid speculation as to her apparent double life. Maybe she dresses up like an occultist and goes out to rock shows all the time. No wonder she doesn’t have any pictures, Wally jokes, they would all be her in tattoos.
“You are bad,” Mrs. Lemmons playfully admonishes, and soon the bell rings and they all must go back to their classrooms, still buzzing with the news.
The next time Mrs. Lemmons sees Dewey, she’s waiting outside of the school for her husband to pick her up. Her car broke down last week, and Herman insists on fixing it himself so he has to drive her anywhere she wants. If the stubborn man would only take it to the shop, but of course he’s so concerned about crooks stiffing them for simple repairs. Simple repairs! They’re taking him two weeks to fix.
Good at shop class, hah. High school was over twenty years ago now.
It does bring back memories, watching him swearing over a car. He used to be lean with a full head of hair she would look at as he fiddled with things under the hood. She would dream of running around with little dark haired kids and admire the way his broad shoulders looked in coveralls. Now he’s bald, shaped the way old men are shaped, but he still hits his head on the propped up hood and cusses.
And all their kids were as ginger as she was, too.
Principal Mullins steps out the doors next to her.
“Cold out here, huh,” Mrs. Lemmons says, in the vague kind of small talk way people do. Weeks ago she might not have done this, but ever since Dewey burst into their lounge Mullins has been a little more open, more approachable. She even put a bet down with Wally on when Ms. Bianci and the art teacher would get together.
“Yes,” Mullins says. “Waiting for someone?”
“Herman’s coming once he can get off work,” Mrs. Lemmons replies, “Any minute now, he said on the phone. And yourself?”
“Dewey wants to take me out,” Mullins says. “Concert and dinner.”
Mullins is dressed in tweed, holding her brown leather briefcase, as prim and proper as she’s ever been. Mrs. Lemmons tries to picture her at a concert and it just doesn’t happen.
A big beat up van covered in bumper stickers screams into the parking lot, smoke pouring out of the exhaust pipe, before jerking to a halt in front of them. Dewey Finn jumps out and around to open the passenger side door. He’s wearing a charmingly patterned button down and a skinny bow tie.
“Your chariot awaits, milady,” Dewey says.
“Oh, Dewey,” Mullins scolds, swatting him on the arm. She has a small, secret smile on her face, like she’s so pleased she can’t help but have it spill out of her but god forbid anybody really know how she feels.
Dewey produces a CD in a clear plastic case covered in stickers from the depths of his jackets. “Your mixtape,” he says, as serious as if it were a dozen red roses. “Plenty of live Stevie.”
Mullins sighs. “You didn’t,” she accuses.
He hands it to her, their hands lingering around the edges of the case until Mullins clears her throat and puts it in her briefcase, blushing again.
“Twelve tracks of awesomeness, just for you,” Dewey says, bouncing a little with happiness. The two of them can’t stop smiling at each other.
Mrs. Lemmons feels an intruder, then, to their little courtship moment. They’re adults, grown and proper both of them, but sweet on each other like a pair of kids on a their very first date.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Lemmons.” Mullins waves, short and curt.
Dewey turns to Mrs. Lemmons, obviously just realizing she’s there, and waves too. “What’s up, man?”
“Good, and you?”
“I’m fucking great,” Dewey announces.
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Lemmons smiles back at him. She means it, too, to see somebody making the recalcitrant Principal Mullins happy.
They bundle off into Dewey’s big van and peel away, smoke again pouring from the back of the car, revealing that Herman pulling into the school drop off zone has been hidden away behind the big clunker.
“Herman,” Mrs. Lemmons says, getting into their car.
His big mustache quirks up at the edges and he leans over, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m going to fix it tonight.”
“Or else I’m calling the shop,” she threatens fondly, patting his hand on the steering wheel.
TRACK 3: THE ROLLING STONES- (I CAN’T GET NO) SATISFACTION
Katie hates Horace Green, and she hates wearing skirts, and she would punch Freddy if it wouldn’t get detention. They’re at lunch, which is also the worst, because Thursday is fish day. She hates fish.
“So are you like gay-gay? Real gay?” Freddy whispers. “How does it work?”
Katie kicks him under the table. “Shut up.”
She buries her head in her arms. It wasn’t her fault that sometimes when Summer looks at her, when she takes attendance or they’re working on a group project, and smiles a little bit- never at Katie, obviously, but just at her work being so good or getting a gold star or whatever- and Katie’s stomach squirms and prickles, like she’s being tickled.
It’s not a big deal. Some people are just shinier than other people, prettier and interesting, like actresses, and even actresses have to start somewhere.
Freddy caught her staring at Summer once or twice and has never stopped bothering her about it until she admitted her crush.
He was annoying, but at least he wasn’t a blabbermouth.
Katie feels him poking her in the ribs.
“Don’t be a baby,” he complains.
She smacks at his hand. “Cut it out.”
Summer and Marta’s voices ring out as they pass by and, like an idiot, Katie raises her head to watch. Her hair is so long and perfect, Katie thinks. It’s probably super soft.
Freddy fake gags. “Gross.”
The rest of the afternoon is spent sulking and zoning out. She even runs into Principal Mullins more than once, who eventually stops Katie with a concerned look on her face.
“Are you okay, Katie?” she asks in that syrupy voice adults have when they suck. “Do you need to talk to someone?”
She looks at Principal Mullins’ pearl necklace and hopes with her entire body that she sinks into the floor and never has to speak to another human being for the rest of her life. She feels like her throat is full of glue.
“My door is always open,” Principal Mullins says, patting Katie on the shoulder.
She just keeps standing there, trapping Katie in whatever awful situation this is.
This is taking forever, Katie, say something, she urges herself.
“Why do we have to wear skirts?” Katie blurts out, high pitched and fast.
Principal Mullins blinks repeatedly. “Ex-excuse me?”
“I uh, was just thinking… why do we have to wear skirts?” Katie shuffles nervously.
Her mom always tells her to just get over it, but they make Katie want to peel her skin off. She should be happy she even gets nice clothes, since her mother had to wear potato sacks in the great depression or something, and Horace Green is the most expensive school in the world and they sacrifice so much. Whatever.
“I don’t know, actually,” Principal Mullins says, tapping her finger on her chin.
Katie stares at her.
“I understand how you feel, though,” she says. “I never liked my clothes as a kid.”
Was Principal Mullins ever a kid? Freddy had a theory that she was made in a principal factory to make kids miserable, but ever since he’d seen Jurassic Park his ideas were always factories full of clones or something.
“Maybe I’ll take it up with the board, but I can’t make any promises. I’m sorry, Katie, but change takes a long time sometimes.” Principal Mullins looks really sad, actually, like she cares about Katie’s skirt opinions.
She nods and mutters, “Thanks,” to Principal Mullins’ shoes.
“I hope you feel better soon,” Principal Mullins says, and finally walks away.
Kate sighs and sags against the lockers. That was the worst. Adults are the worst. Her life is the worst.
Summer and her have to do a group project with Freddy and Lawrence about the state of Colorado. They’re in the library, reading dumb history books about the Louisiana purchase, and they don’t even live in Colorado so what does it matter. Katie's book is open to a page she's barely read.
Katie’s recently been rendered completely mute by Summer’s presence, so she’s not much help. She just picked books off of the shelves Summer can’t reach and avoids eye contact sitting at the table. Even looking at her in class makes her want to duck away, but to get closer at the same time. It was electric, almost, and this close it's driving her a little insane.
Freddy seems especially fidgety today, drumming his pencils against the desk and shaking the whole table with his wiggling leg. He won’t stop talking Katie’s ear off.
“And then my dad was like, ‘Sarah, you can’t go on a date, you’re only sixteen’ and then my sister was like,” he lowers his voice, “‘Go f yourself’ but she didn’t say f. She said the real word.”
Katie gasps despite herself.
“And they all got so mad nobody noticed I didn’t eat my brussels sprouts. Gave ‘em to Beans.”
Beans is his ancient lab, who will eat anything up to and including Freddy’s math worksheets. In fact, his primary diet was probably whatever vegetable was on Freddy’s plate and paper, Katie thinks.
“And then she spent the rest of the night on the phone to her gross boyfriend. He drives the rustiest car in the world and smells so sweaty, and she’s like ‘I love you Bryan’ on her phone because she paid me twenty bucks to swipe it from Dad’s nightstand.”
What were they talking about again?
Freddy continues: “So yeah, I think I will be able to get CDs this weekend. My sister wants to get the new Madonna album but Madonna sucks, man.”
Oh right, if he was going to the mall.
Katie nods.
“My dad should let me get a phone,” Freddy starts, only for Summer to slam her book closed, cutting him off.
“Some people use the library to study,” Summer says. She’s glaring at Freddy. “Some people are going places.”
“The crazy house,” Freddy says.
“Colorado?” Lawrence offers in his gentle, quiet voice. Katie can’t tell if it’s a joke or not, honestly.
Summer slaps her hand against the table. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you,” she points at Freddy, “and you,” she points at Katie, “are supposed to be copying down information for our poster, which is obviously not happening because- because you keep flirting!”
“Gross,” Freddy says, screwing up his face.
Katie nods furiously. So gross. Freddy is like her brother, and boys are disgusting.
“So then you’re useless to me for no reason!” Summer’s voice gets louder. “I am not doing this alone.”
“But why don’t you do everything for the poster yourself, huh, if you’re so good at everything?” Freddy taunts.
“You- slacker!” Summer’s face is getting red.
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
“You’re just mad ‘cause you’re a lame nerd with no friends!”
The librarian aggressively shushes them, and Freddy smirks, confident in winning his argument.
Summer wavers, her eyes shining- is she going to cry? Katie elbows Freddy, concerned, and then Summer turns on her heel and storms out of the library. Katie, helpless to do anything else, follows, flicking Freddy in the head as she goes.
She finds Summer in the stairway, crying quietly. Katie sits down next to her and bumps their shoulders as a silent apology for goofing off.
“This project is thirty percent of our grade,” Summer says.
Katie wouldn’t know. Any syllabus she’s given ends up crumpled up in her locker; any syllabus given to Summer ends up laminated and put in the front of a color-coded binder.
“Is it so bad that I take myself seriously?” Summer asks, sniffling.
Katie shakes her head no. She likes it. Summer’s so passionate, and she has so many goals. It’s impressive. Katie doesn’t like anything but cello, which she also hates a little because her mom made her start doing it.
The uniform doesn’t even look stupid on Summer, Katie wants to tell her. It makes her look professional, with the tie and everything. Freddy’s tie makes him look like an idiot since he can’t tie it right.
Summer rubs the tears off of her face but more keep welling up.
Open your mouth, she coaches herself. Do it.
“I uh. Think you’re really cool. You know.” Katie rolls her eyes. “You’re not lame. Freddy’s stupid.”
“He’s your best friend,” Summer replies.
Katie shrugs. She doesn’t mind Freddy being dumb most of the time. It’s pretty funny, actually, even if he has bad taste in music and cheats at cards.
“He likes Styx, so. He has the wrong ideas about stuff,” Katie says. Her heart is beating so fast she’s almost scared Summer can hear it.
Summer laughs once, hiccupping through her tears. “Who?”
“A band. A super old band,” Katie says. “They suck, but he likes this song they did about robots. Actually who even knows what it’s about. But robots, yeah.”
“So he’s the nerd,” Summer says. She sounds so serious saying it Katie can’t help but smile.
Steps echo in the stairwell before Principal Mullins turns the corner. They both scramble to their feet.
“Girls?” she asks. “Are you supposed to be somewhere?”
Summer straightens up and makes another attempt at wiping her tears away. “We’re fine, Principal Mullins. Just going back to the library.”
“Yeah,” Katie says to her shoes.
“Alright, if you say so.” Principal Mullins smiles. Lately she’s started to do that more, which Freddy says means she’s got a boyfriend because that’s what his sister does.
They turn to leave but Principal Mullins stops them, clearing her throat. “Ah. You know, Katie, I looked at the school regulations for you, and- well. Pants are an option for all students here at Horace Green.”
Katie smiles a little Principal Mullins, glancing back at her; Principal Mullins looks- nice, actually, for once. Not so serious. “You didn’t have to do that, I mean. Thanks.” Talking to adults is hard, Katie thinks. She always fumbles it.
“The comfort of all students here is my concern, Katie,” Principal Mullins says, and she really means it, from the way she speaks. “Especially when it comes to the dress code, which I know can be hard on young people.”
Katie nods. She’ll have to go home and tell her mom that they’re making students buy pants for winter and then lie about having cold knees from the air conditioning inside.
“But stop rolling up your sleeves. And get back to class,” Principal Mullins commands.
Summer and Katie walk back to the library together, Summer’s fast pace keeping up perfectly with Katie’s longer legs.
Katie looks down at Summer as they pause in the doorway. She has a thoughtful look on her face.
“I think you’d look really good in pants,” Summer declares, like she’s putting it down in stone, and then walks back into the library like she didn’t just make Katie’s heart explode.
She was so awesome. Freddy can suck it, Katie decides, Summer might be know it all nerd, but she was still so cool.
Years later- about a half a decade later- Kat has stopped calling themself Katie. They still go to Horace Green, now in the high school portion, and they always wear pants with the uniform. Freddy is still their best friend, even though he’s now taller than them and on the track team.
They’re in assembly on Monday morning. Kat actually likes assemblies because Summer, as student president, sits up on stage, and their schoolyard crush never really went away, so a full half hour of getting to appreciate her beauty without being noticed is pretty cool. Summer is still short, with her long black hair and put together appearance, and has only grown more magnetic with age. She’s the most visible from Kat’s viewpoint in the middle of the stage, at the very start of the row, and maintains perfect posture the entire time. Kat couldn’t drag their eyes away from her for anything.
Apart from that, the new principal- a lady or something?- is being introduced, but when she steps to the podium it’s not random person woman, it’s Principal Mullins. She’s exactly the same, with wire-rimmed glasses and a stern look, and Kat and Freddy share a surprised look before Principal Mullins starts talking.
She says all of this stuff about growth or whatever and that she’s so excited to be meeting them or whatever. Kat doesn’t care, really, but- Principal Mullins was the first person who told Kat they could wear pants, and that means something to them. Even if they haven’t thought about her in ages, it still counts.
Getting out of that skirt was the best thing that ever happened to them.
A bright wedding ring glints off of the fluorescent gym lights as Principal Mullins gestures with her hands.
“Man, Mullins got married?” Freddy whispers to them, incredulous.
“Huh,” Kat says. They guess so. That’s why women wear rings like that.
Freddy frowns. “Do you think he’s as scary as her, or worse?”
“Mullins isn’t that bad,” Kat says. They do think it’s probably some guy in a three piece suit, though. They picture early-seasons Giles from Buffy.
The assembly lets out and they stick around by the gym doors, watching everybody stream out. Freddy keeps up a running commentary on who is dating who and what’s going on with the student body into Kat’s ear as they wait. Lawrence and Tomika were seen holding hands behind the music building and are possibly dating, but they’re both so shy that nobody knows. Zack was writing emo music again in chemistry class. Alicia and the dance crew fell out with the baseball team because Randall Vega cheated on Melissa, the co-captain, with somebody on the cheerleading squad from Heavenly Mary’s.
Billy walks over and nods at Freddy and Kat. “Hey,” he says. His backpack is bedazzled with gold rhinestones now.
“Nice,” Kat says, pointing at the newly shimmering fashion statement.
“I know.” Billy preens.
Freddy smacks him in the shoulder. “Good on you man. Getting any?” His voice is weirdly deeper than it was five seconds ago. Does Freddy think people like that?
Billy and Kat smack him back.
“You’re an ass,” Billy says, striding off to greet Summer, who has finally gotten off of the stage after breaking out of the circle of student government.
Kat watches Freddy watch Billy leave- is he looking at Billy’s butt? Ugh.
Freddy turns to Kat and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hot.”
Kat shakes their head. Freddy’s incorrigible.
“Is that you, Katie?”
Freddy and Kat whip around to see Principal Mullins standing there. She still has the same briefcase, Kat sees, as pristine as ever.
“Kat,” Freddy says immediately. He’s been even more defensive since Kat came out. “They go by Kat now.”
“Kat, great,” Principal Mullins says, bobbing her head. “That’s- that’s wonderful.”
They don’t know what to say, so they just nod.
“And I like your button,” Principal Mullins adds, tapping her shoulder where Kat’s backpack strap sits, upon which is pinned a tiny trans symbol.
Kat straightens up and beams. “Thanks!”
They reevaluate Principal Mullins, their opinion rising greatly.
“I hope to see more of you,” Principal Mullins says. “And I want you to know that my door is still open.”
S he and Kat shake hands. Principal Mullins has a firm handshake.
Billy and Summer come over, excited to greet Principal Mullins to their school, and Summer directs her into a long, enthusiastic conversation about the improvements Summer thinks could be put into place. Principal Mullins takes it in with a serious look, like she’s listening and considering what Summer says- which is cool, since even teachers tend to tune Summer out after a while.
Freddy and Kat take it as their cue to leave, ducking out to find the one vending machine that actually works in the gym basement and get a bag of chips to share. They get Fritos this time, and walk out behind the bleachers to share it.
Both of them have a free, and the smokers- seniors who ignore them for the most part- are on the other end of the bleachers, so it’s quiet except for the birds as they sit on the mix of gravel and crabgrass.
Freddy groans as he stretches out. “I hate school.”
“We should drop out for sure,” Kat says.
They have this conversation every single sixth period, right after assembly and right before lunch.
Kat looks for their new ipod in their backpack, digging around to find it at the very bottom, headphone wires plugged in but all tangled. They offer an earbud to Freddy.
“White Stripes or the Killers?” they ask, scrolling through their music list.
Freddy pops in the earbud. “Oh, Killers for sure.”
Kat presses play and lays down, head on their backpack, staring up at the bottom of the slats of the bleachers. They’re covered in gum and sharpie tags, some of the newer ones obviously in Freddy’s chicken scratch handwriting, some of them old and faded. Marina and Joey 1993, written in bubble letters, is next to ROACH KING OF HG FOREVER in bold red letters; later, somebody covered up the “OF HG” with “sucks” in thin black pen, making it more like “ROACH KING OF sucks HG FOREVER”.
Clearly everybody who ever went to Horace Green were about as smart as the people who go there now. Good luck Principal Mullins, Kat thinks, rolling their eyes.
“Hey, want to go buy cds after school?” It's Monday, so Freddy shouldn't have track practice and Kat doesn't have cello either. There’s an okay place tucked into a strip mall diagonally across the street from school, where a shaggy-haired guy doesn’t care how long you loiter, unlike the better place at the actual mall where the employees have nametags and probably work on commission. The guy was pretty good at recommending stuff in the bargain bin, and he never asked if Freddy and Kat were dating, only told them weird rock history and trivia.
“Sure, but we have to be back by six for my dad to pick me up,” Freddy says. “Do you think Billy would come, if I asked?”
Kat scrunches their eyebrows. “What? Why?”
“I dunno. Shut up,” Freddy replies, the tips of his ears turning red. “Why don’t you ask Summer,” he sing-songs.
“At least my crush doesn’t like disco,” Kat says.
Freddy throws an eraser at them. “He’s not my crush!”
“Lying Eyes,” Kat says. “The Eagles.”
“Fatlip, Sum 41.”
Kat takes the hint and shuts up, turning away from the graffiti to look at Freddy. He’s hunched over a notebook, scribbling something down with a concentrated look on his face. They wonder if he’s doing homework, and if so would he let them copy his answers? But that’s a worry for the last half hour of lunch. Right now, they fold their hands over their stomach and closes their eyes.
TRACK 4: THIN LIZZY- ROSALIE
Ned walks out of his bedroom at about noon on Saturday in his boxers and sleep shirt, scratching at his stomach and wondering if Dewey remembered to fill up the coffee machine when he emptied it last night, to find Principal Rosalie Mullins of Horace Green Elementary, the most accomplished and difficult to get into elementary school in the state, a woman who has been featured in more than one edition of teacher’s monthly with her opinions on early education for the youths of America, a woman who knows all the principals of the schools Ned usually subs at, the schools he hopes to work for one day-
He yelps and dives back into his room to put some pants on.
“Dewey!” Ned shouts through the door.
Dewey busts into his room without knocking like he usually does, bag of doritos in his hand. He’s also shirtless. “What’s hanging man?”
“You didn’t tell me you were having company over,” he says, and then, lowering his voice, “And you didn’t tell me that your company is Principal Rosalie Mullins.”
Wait, is this why Dewey got a job at the new music store? Even though he thinks chain stores are “selling out to the man” and he complains about the corporate radio they pipe in?
“Yeah, Roz,” Dewey says. “She works at a school. Why? You two know each other?”
“People know who she is, Dewey.” Ned runs his hand over his face repeatedly, like he could wake up again and Principal Mullins won’t be in his living room. He breathes deeply and slowly.
“Well, we’re going to watch the second and third Matrix movies, double feature style,” Dewey says. He shoves some more doritos in his mouth and talks through them. “Also we’re out of beer.”
“Great,” Ned mutters. “Just great.”
Instead of flinging himself off a cliff, Ned goes on his computer and IMs this girl he met while subbing, Patty. She’s a math teacher and she really has her life together- plus, she’s so out of his league it’s not even funny. He couldn’t even believe he got her email when he asked; he kept the post-it, even, stuck to the corner of his desktop.
The faint sounds of the Matrix movies filter through the walls as he emails Patty, but that peters out after a while. Eventually enough time passes that he feels like he won’t embarrass himself getting something to eat, so he peaks out of his door.
Principal Mullins is wrapped around Dewey on the couch, her legs slung over his and her head tucked into Dewey’s shoulder, a single hand resting on his fuzzy chest. It’s right in between Dewey’s top scars on top of his breastbone, and as he watches, now feeling vaguely voyeuristic, it rubs back and forth, so slowly it seems unconscious.
He shuts the door and hunts for the box of granola bars he knows he has under his bed. Dewey hates shirts, but- Ned’s never seem him so cuddled up with a girl before.
It’s not like Dewey’s a player or anything, he just brings home scary women who leave as Ned is coming home, the kind of women with dog collars and leather jackets that don’t give off the cuddling vibe.
Ned munches on a granola bar and pulls out his battered copy of Lord of the Rings. He can let them have until dinner, but then he’s reheating his pasta even if it kills him.
Dewey knocks on the door partway through his reread of the first novel. “Movies are over, dude. I’m calling for chinese.”
“You’ll pay?” Ned asks, surprised. Dewey usually has about four dollars in spare change after gas money and rent.
There’s silence in Dewey’s hesitation. Clearly Dewey wants Ned to pay for it, but he won’t say it out loud in front of his gainfully employed girlfriend.
You’re too nice, Ned, he thinks. “I’ll pay for my part,” he tells Dewey. That’s all he’ll give him.
“Awesome, man.” Dewey does a fist pump with an audible yeah.
“Knock when it arrives. You know what I order,” Ned says. He turns back to his book, flipping the page, expecting the conversation to be over.
“Hey, man?” Dewey opens the door and pokes his head in. “Thanks.”
Ned grins back at him. “Anytime.”
Dinner is awkward, but not unpleasant. Rosalie insists he call her by her first name- “I didn’t- didn’t choose it not to use it,” she jokes.
They go through a six pack of beer that Dewey ran out and got from the corner store, which loosens all of the tension up significantly.
“Dewey told me you met through one of those newsletters he gets?” Ned asks.
“I wanted to meet people in the area,” Rosalie says. She smiles at Dewey. “Thankfully, Dewey called me.”
“Roz was immediately impressed by my musical knowledge and my sex appeal,” Dewey says, tearing through his carton of kung pow chicken. He points his chopsticks down at it. “You want to get in on this, babe?”
“I’m good, thanks.” Rosalie shakes her head. She seems to be happy enough with her fried vegetables.
“C’mon, what’d you really think of him?” Ned knows that his immediate impression of Dewey was not a necessarily positive one- he was falling asleep behind the register of the CD store in a torn up Black Sabbath shirt, a stack of unsorted country cds next to him.
Rosalie shares a look with Dewey, who offers an encouraging smile, and leans forward to faux-whisper, “I had doubts about the beard.”
Ned laughs. “Better or worse than the sideburns?”
“Hey!” Dewey interjects. “Don’t be dissing on the beard.”
Rosalie gives him a crooked smile.
“Aw, you love it,” Dewey says.
“I thought he was strange,” Rosalie says delicately, “And, honestly, that we wouldn’t get along. But you can’t help liking him.”
“I know what you mean,” Ned says.
Dewey points at him. “But you’ve never made out with me, man. So you don’t know.”
“I let you live here. It’s worse,” Ned deadpans. Dewey once nested for a month in his unwashed pile of laundry, but he’s got the strength not to tease Dewey that bad.
His girlfriend is wearing a blazer right now, after all.
Rosalie stares into her fried vegetables. “I never thought I’d meet a man who would treat me like Dewey does…” she trails off, pushing them around.
There’s a certain familiarity to that refrain; one night, after a big fight with the other members of No Vacancy, Dewey got horribly, horribly drunk and bemoaned that he could never get cis men to take him seriously. Ned takes Dewey seriously, as a man and as a man-child and a guy who once ate ramen the whole month of July, but the rest of No Vacancy see him as a riff production machine and little else. Dewey puts up a brave front, and he fucks the world, as he puts it, but nobody can be fucking the world the entire time. Not even Rosalie Mullins can be fucking the world, Ned thinks wryly, but she may be fucking Dewey Finn, who looks at her like she’s the entire world.
“How could I not,” Dewey rushes to reassure her, placing an arm around her shoulders and shaking her a bit. “You being such a major hottie and all.”
Ned busies himself with grabbing more noodles and smiles, just a little quirk of the lips. He leaves them alone after dinner to watch the first Matrix movie and when Dewey comes back after driving Rosalie home Ned gives him a big bear hug, thumping him on the back in the bro-y way Dewey likes, and tells him Rosalie is welcome any time.
Ned thinks Dewey's either going to get married or ruin his life over this girl.