More Than An Issue Of Social Status (MCR) Chap. 3 *I Like Lattes and Singing*

Well, um… I’m pretty mad right now…

Mum decided to chuck all my CDs she deemed, “Unworthy of my lovely daughter’s ears listening to.”

This, of course, included my Green Day CDs. As such, I decided to take drastic measures. Or, well, what I consider drastic measures.

I took forty dollars of saved allowance, not sure how much what I was looking for was going to cost, I told my parents I was going for a bike ride (which wasn’t a COMPLETE lie), and I rode down to the CD store that was a few blocks away from where I lived. Now, this store, was something my parents would SHOOT me if they ever saw me walking into it. So, of course, I thought it was super-cool… I have a tendency to like everything that my Mum and Dad hate.

As such, I parked my bike out front of the store, aptly named, Jack’s “Black is Back” CD Emporium. So, yes, I did in fact feel very awkward walking into the store that looked like a punk hangout while dressed in a white Hollister tank top with light brown Bermuda shorts on. Oh, and I was wearing flip-flops too, if that matters. I had, however, the year before, convinced my parents to replace my pink bike with a blue one last year. THANK GOD. The old thing was completely hideous – I’d had it since I was thirteen and it looked like something straight out of a Barbie play set. That was the perfect excuse to get picked on by ANY social category.

Confirming that my money was in my pocket, because I find purses impractical, and my book bag was so big that I would end up losing the money in it, I took a deep breath and entered the store… and it was deserted. I let out a HUGE sigh of relief there. I try not to stereotype people, but I’m not oblivious to tougher crowds – and I’m a lover, not a fighter, for the most part. The only person I could see was a boy behind the counter, feet up ON the counter, reading a magazine. Since he was BEHIND the counter, I thought it was pretty safe for me to assume he worked there. Anyway, to begin with, I wasn’t even sure he saw me, until I saw a huge head of hair peek around the magazine, raise an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘What the heck’s a prep doing here?’ and ask, “Um… can I help you?”

‘Okay,’ I figured, ‘May as well get first priority first.’

“Um… where could I find Green Day’s Nimrod and Dookie?”

“Um… turn to your left, and keep going until you get to the G’s. It’s pretty simplistic from there on in.” There were, I believe, three UM’s in the last three lines of dialogue. “Um,” always makes me sound intelligent.

“Thanks…” I said, “I guess that seems pretty straightforward.”

He nodded and went back to his magazine, though I could feel his eyes on me as I walked down the aisle, probably making sure that I didn’t cause any trouble. After finally reaching the G’s, then G, R’s, I let out a squeal of delight as I pulled out the two Green Day CD’s I wanted that caused him to look up sharply from his magazine.

“Sorry…” I blushed, “It’s just… two for twenty-five!” I pointed at the price stickers on the two CD’s, which were proclaiming the sale of a lifetime. He gave me a strange look, and, again, went back to his magazine.

‘Great, Tori,’ I thought, ‘This guy looks like he probably is… seventeen? Eighteen? Two or three years older than me. That would mean that he goes to your school in a couple of weeks, and you’ve already made yourself out to be a fool in front of him.’ I let out a sigh, and walked to the cash register. The boy behind the counter put his feet down, and I assume he was in a chair with wheels, because he literally SLID over to the cash register. He rang up my total, “$26.75.”

I paid the man, and exited the building, hearing him behind me saying, “Thanks for shopping at Jack’s “Black is Back” CD Emporium!”

I smiled to myself as I unlocked my bike from the bike rack. ‘I’VE GOT MY GREEN DAY CDS BACK!!’ I thought happily. I quite possibly had fallen in love with that CD store, and it’s INSANE sales that made me go crazy with happiness, and the guy didn’t seem like a BAD guy, per say, just like he minded his own business. Needless to say, I was SO going back there sometime. I threw the two CDs into my book bag, hoisted myself up onto my bike, and was about ready to pull out when, in my delirious happiness, I almost didn’t notice (well, okay, I DIDN’T) a black car pulling into the parking lot, in the space right by the bike rack. Actually, I kinda pushed off and started moving, then missed grazing the car by about an inch by veering instantly to the right after I realized what I was doing.

At this point, self-induced ecstasy had transformed into a look of pure horror. As several boys seemed to… well, fall out of the car over each other, I put down the kickstand to my bike, and went to inspect the driver’s side front door, and to, of course, apologize profusely to the driver.

“OH MY GOODNESS, I didn’t scratch it, did I?!?! I am soooo sorry!! I just didn’t see you there and I -”

“Whoa… chill out, it’s fine,” said the boy who’d climbed out of the driver’s seat, he knelt down beside the door, then looked back up at what I’m sure was my completely terrified face.

“Looks like you missed it by a mile,” he said, giving me a cheesy grin. I realized that I’d been holding my breath, and I exhaled.

“Thank you, God! I thought I’d hit you!”

“Well, clearly,” he said, standing up, “you did not.”

“Sorry again,” I said, hopping up on my bike.

“Really, it’s alright. It’s Bob’s car anyway, so I really don’t care.”

“Not cool, man. NOT. COOL,” said one of the… as I now counted, three other boys that had fallen out of the car. I assumed, of course, that this was Bob.

Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no –

‘Oh, shit…’ I thought, pulling my phone out of my pocket and looking at the caller I.D. Yes, “Carry On Wayward Son” is my ring tone. ‘That’s Dad and Mum wondering where I am.’

I waved goodbye to the four, pushed off on my bike, steered with one hand and answered my phone with the other.

“Hello?” Whenever I say “hello” on the phone it always comes out as a question – it does not matter who is calling me.

“Honey? Are you okay? You’ve been out for a while, your Mum and I just wanted to make sure you were alright, that you hadn’t gotten lost or anything.”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m fine. I’m on my way home right now, I’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”

“Okay, sweetheart, see you when you get home. We’re having spaghetti for dinner.”

“Heck yes, I LOVE spaghetti!! Bye!!”

I hung up the phone, and I was actually pulling out of the parking lot when one of the boys (distinguishable by his tattoos and hairstyle), whistled after me to get my attention.

“HEY!! YOU DROPPED THIS!!” He was waving around… MY NIMROD CD?? It must have fallen out of my backpack when I was spazzing out about the whole almost-hitting-a-car incident. I pedaled back by the four, and grabbed my CD, inspecting it for scratches before making sure that both of my CDS were now securely lodged in the backpack.

“Today is just NOT your day, is it?” said the kid… I can call him a kid because he was, like, a midget. I shook my head and brushed a loose strand of hair out of my face.

“Guess not,” I smiled, “Thanks…”

And, as I TRIED to pedal away for the last time, I heard the boy who had been driving yell, “HEY! What’s your name?!”

I swerved around one last time, but just enough to face them, and screamed back, “Tori! Tori Valentine!”