Page 50 of Styx & Stones

“No way. Too hard.”

“Fine, then. Right now?”

“This.” She fiddles with my phone and selects a track, but covers the screen so I can’t tell what the song is. The first few strains of an electric guitar echo through my dad’s shitty speakers. “Oh Christ, tell me that’s not Ed Sheeran.”

“This is not Ed Sheeran,” she protests with a pout. “James Bay is actually hot.”

“James Bay?” I listen to the distorted vocal and the laid-back rhythm. It has a very chilled eighties vibe, and I don’t mind it.

“Tell me you know who James Bay is? I thought you wanted to be a music journalist?”

“Yeah, a rock journalist; not top-forty shit.”

“Come on, have you actually listened to this guy’s lyrics? He’s like the Bob Dylan of our generation.”

“Okay, first of all, no one is the Bob Dylan of our generation. Bob Dylan is Bob Dylan; no one is ever coming close to that. And I’m pretty sure this dude is at least what? Thirty?”

“He’s twenty-five.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “Aren’t we the diehard fangirl?”

“Shut up.”

“He’s too old for you.” I grin. Her cheeks are all pink. I want to kiss her.Bad. “You know that, right?”

I put on “Seaside” by The Kooks. She rolls her eyes. “It’s like you’re an old man in a seventeen-year-old’s body.”

“So what would you do if James Bay were here right now?”

“I’d tell you to shut up for a start, and then I’d tell him to sing.”

“Really? That’s it?” I dart a glance at her, trying to see more in her expression than she’s apparently willing to give. “You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you even though you might never be in a truck as fancy as this with him ever again?”

“Is that what you’d do if the guys from Taint were here? Aren’t you like, their biggest fanboy?”

“Uh ...” He clears his throat. “Well, I’m a fan. That’s actually what I used my wish for.”

“You did not?”

“I did. I got to go backstage and meet the band. Interview them. I think they thought it was cute, me living out my music journo fantasies when everyone in the room was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen, but it was cool, nonetheless. And, no. That’s not what I’d do if they were here. I don’t bat for my own team. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. If I did, I’d probably be Levi Quinn’s bitch.”

“Are those rumors true? I mean, what do you even do with a twelve-inch penis?”

“Why don’t you slide on over here and find out.” I wink.

Alaska scowls. “Oh my God, has that line ever worked for you?”

“No, actually.” I sigh. “I’ve never talked to a girl long enough to use that line.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

“Nuh-uh. No way.”

“Way,” I say solemnly. “It’s kind of hard to hit on girls with a breathing tube sticking out your nose.”

“So you’ve never ...”

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