Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 5

That night, the boys played at a small bar. There were a few people up dancing, but not many. Dancing was not exactly Wren's thing, so she sat at the bar and watched. The musicians played with more energy than Wren knew could be contained in human bodies. There was something about a stage that added an extra spark to their performing. It irritated her that nobody was really responding back.

Grinning wickedly, she raised her beer in salute as Billie Joe took his Stratocaster and played it behind his head. "I love you Billie Joe!"

Maybe she was a bit drunk, because she could not stop laughing whenever Mike made his characteristic truculent face. The irony was that, even though he looked like the type to wander alleys with sharp things to accost people with, his personality was much less violent. Perhaps it was sometimes verging on the harmful side of mischief, but never all out malice.

At the end, she met them out back and helped load up their equipment. As she struggled to pick up an amp and put it in the trunk, Billie took it and said, "Mike might need a hand inside." Wren slipped through the back door and bumped right into the boy in question.

"Sorry," he mumbled and kept walking.

Alright, I'm a bit annoyed. Kiss me and then ignore me? I mean, what the hell?

She stood by the stage, hands on hips as he walked out. Grinding her teeth, she started unplugging Billie Joe's amp. It took a bit of self control to stop herself from yanking out not only the cord, but the wall socket as well. When he came back in, she caught his sweaty arm.

"Mike, I'm not mad at you."

He shrugged her off and picked up some cords. "Who said you were?"

God, I hate this diplomatic sidestepping garbage!

She grabbed Tré's high hat cymbals and followed Mike to his half-ton. It took both his and Billie Joe's vehicle to get everything to and from a gig. Mike gently took the cymbals and placed them behind the front seats of the truck. Briefly, Wren wondered how he could stand being outside at night with a sleeveless shirt on.

"Mike--"

"Look, I'm sorry I kissed you. I shouldn't have done it without asking. Leave it the fuck alone. I won't do it again." He lifted his head and looked past her. "Tré, you coming?"

Fine, let Tré have the other seat in the truck and not me, even though we drove here together. That's okay, I can deal. I think.

Bewildered, she trudged to Billie Joe's car. Tré jogged past, "See you at the house, Trech! Hey, Mike lemme drive." Mike's keys glinted in the starlight as they flew into Tré's hands. Moments later, the car spun its wheels before ripping out onto the street.

Wren plunked into Billie Joe's car and complained, "Why does apologizing piss people off?" Needing somebody to blame, she added, "You suck at giving advice."

Billie Joe leaned back to peer out the rear window as he backed the car up. "What happened?"

"I apologized, said I wasn't mad and then he got all bitchy. I think he's the one who's mad."

Billie Joe shifted the car into first gear, "Must be that time of month for him." He stopped at the edge of the parking lot, and then eased the car onto the street. "It's just hard for him, he thinks too much. Look at Tré, he only thinks two seconds in advance and he's as happy as can be."

"So what do I do now?"

Billie Joe shrugged as he guided the car towards home. "I don't know. Never been here before. You know him. He's so damn high strung that he freaks over the little things." Widening his eyes, he did an impromptu impression. "'Holy fuck! We're late for a show. The world is going to end! Aaaahaaahaaa. God no!' Though, it's like I said, once he gets to thinking, he should relax. If not, then I'll go kick his sissy ass for you."

Wren toed a discarded pop bottle at her feet. "Until then, what do I do?"

"Well, it depends how you want to come across." Green eyes twinkling, he looked over at her. "C'mon. I know you like him." He began to sing, "You like him, you like him, Wren and Mike in a tree, F-U--."

"Billie! Knock it off," she yelped.

"What? I'm just saying what you're thinking. Laying there in your room, knowing that hot body is just mere feet away... "

Wren bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning like a moron. Lying through her teeth, she replied pompously, "I have no such thoughts. Ever. Maybe you do," she raised her eyebrows speculatively, "But never me. I'm not the type to just fling myself at people—if I liked him that way anyhow," Wren amended lamely.

"I'm not that type either, to tell the truth. I'm not too into the whole slut thing if you catch my drift. If it was me, I'd just---What the fuck?" Wren felt all the blood drain out of her face as Billie Joe accelerated the car.

Ahead of them, partially in a soccer field, Mike's black truck was flipped over on its side.