BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

“You’re such bus losers,” Mike said, hugging Jade and the rest of us hello. I watched Jade hold him tightly, not wanting to let go. But he broke off and turned to me, and his eyes flickered over my appearance. I’d made a big effort to look good, with my hair in four quirky buns planted around my head, leaving two wispy bits framing my face, and four layers of Maybelline mascara. Mike grinned. “Hey, Fern, I met your boyfriend during the sound check.”

“Mike!”

“He seems into you,” he laughed. “He told us you have great legs.”

I simpered at the compliment, like Liam had just compared me to a summer’s day, while Jade and Sally let out shrill shrieks. Mike winced, as boys always do when girls make a noise of genuine happiness.

“I’m too nervous,” I declared. “I’m going to mess this up.”

Mike put his arm around me in a fatherly way and guided me toward the club. “Come on, calm down. I’ll get you guys stamped for free. Follow me.” He’d never given me so much attention before, and I marveled at the focus I got when Jessica wasn’t there, stuffing a lighter between her boobs.

Hot air painted our bodies with sweat the moment we walked down the stairs into The Illustration—the dive bar gig venue, where nobody ID’d you if you didn’t complain about the superglue floors and the toilets with no seats. It was jam-packed already; seemingly every angry teenager who wanted to reject their upbringing had followed a bat signal there. I crossed my arms as we stepped inside, but Mike reached over and uncrossed them. “Confidence,” he told me. “Fern, you’re hot, OK. You just don’t know you’re hot, and that makes you less hot.”

“Wow, Mike, thank you,” I said, with full sincerity, like he’d just taught me an incredible life lesson, rather than implied that, given the chance, he might consider fucking me. My phone buzzed in the butt of my baggy jeans, and my insides turned to butter as I pulled up a message.

Liam: Broke guitar string! Restringing now. C u after our set instead? I’ll find you in the crowd after.

Fern: OK. C u later. Good luck for the gig