Mel didn’t text back. I just assumed she forgot about it. That was until I heard a car horn honking outside. I jumped out of my bed, startled. I ran downstairs and saw high-beam lights flashing through my living-room windows. Was someone honking their horn at my house thinking it would move out of the way? I didn’t understand until I opened the front door. The light was so bright that I couldn’t even see the car. Eventually, the light died down, and I saw a beat up, old school, faded purple Camaro. The front door opened, and Mel got out to lean against it while pulling her hairband off to reveal her new look. Her hair was long, natural and unapologetically wavy. She had on her black leather jacket and blew a ball of bubble gum from her mouth, followed by a pop.

“Your hair looks awesome!” I said.

“I know. You coming to this punk show or what?” she asked.

“A punk show?” I said, confused. “I’m not even dressed.”

“You got five minutes.” Mel reached into the car and honked the horn. “You don’t want me to wake your parents, do you?” She honked again.

“They’re on vacation.”

“Neighbours then?” She honked louder.

“Fine! Hold on.”

I rushed inside. My aesthetic didn’t exactly scream punk rock, and I felt pretty insecure when I wasn’t wearing anything dark. So I put on a pair of dark blue jeans and a baggy black hoodie.

“Where’d you get this car?” I asked, amazed.

“It was my Christmas gift. I told you I had a feeling my dad was getting me a car,” she said as she got in.

“Your outfit isn’t really screaming ‘punk rock,’ Adrian,” she pointed out when I got in the passenger side.

“I know. It’s all I got.” I shrugged.

“It’ll do. Let’s go.”

Mel put the car in reverse, and then we were gone.

Her car was a little messy on the inside. Schoolwork flooded the backseat, and there was a gym bag under my feet. Mel’s phone was connected to an AUX cord, playing heavy metal. I wasn’t a fan, so I spoke over the music.

“So where are we going?” I asked.

“There’s a punk show in Dreamer’s Corner. That’s in the basement of Redemption House.”

“Isn’t Dreamer’s Corner a bar? We’re sixteen, we can’t get in.”

“I know a guy.”

Mel turned into the parking lot. A group of bearded guys wearing either jean jackets or vests started cheering when they saw the car.

“What a beauty that thing is!” I heard one of them say.

“Let’s go.” Mel got out. She ignored the guys’ questions about the car and walked right up to the stairwell that led under Redemption House. There was a giant of a man standing in front of the entrance. He had a big beard, bald head, and little patience.

“I’m gonna be straight up. I can’t let you two in,” he told us.

“I know the band playing tonight,” Mel replied.