Chapter Twenty-Five

Parker Lowell

I've never been much of a phone person. I hate not being able to see a person's expression when they're talking to me (and hate even more not being able to hear their tone of voice, all the more reason to hate chatrooms). I hate calling other people because I'm not sure what they're doing that I might be interrupting. What if they're sleeping? What if they're in the middle of something extremely important? What if they're going to the bathroom? I especially hate it when I have to call someone I've never called before. Someone like Theresa, for example.

I had no choice. It was either that or try to survive under Gina's dirty looks as she played and replayed Theresa's message to me to call her when I got home. I had to do it.

I began to regret my bravery in sucking it up and dialing the damn phone when Rose Mayfield's voice came on the other end saying, "For God's sakes, what?" in an annoyed, groggy voice. I told you that I hate calling people.

"Uh....hi?" I said hesitantly.

"Look, it's too damn early in the morning," she said with exasperation. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten-thirty. "We're not interested in whatever it is that you're trying to sell us. Thank you and good-"

"No, Rose, it's me, Parker Lowell," I said quickly before she hung up. "You know, Gina's son?"

There was a long pause.

"Oh! Yeah, right, sure, Parker," she said as if she didn't remember me at all from the company picnic I had been dragged to a few months before. Or maybe it had only been a few weeks. I couldn't remember. It had all become the same to me over the past few days. "What do you want?"

"Could I talk to Theresa, please?" I said.

"Theresa?" she said, her voice immediately softening.

I rolled my eyes, knowing what was going through her mind at the very moment. Pictures of an alter and Theresa in a white wedding dress.

"Yeah, we have to discuss wedding invitations," I said sarcastically.

Gina's head shot up from where she was tiredly staring into her cup of coffee.

"Don't say that, Parker. You know she'll believe you," she whispered to me.

"Very funny," Rose said from the other end. "But soon enough, Parker. Trust me, soon enough. What do you want to talk to her for?"

"She left a message on our machine to call her when we got home," I told her.

"Oh, I get it," she said in a wink-wink, hush-hush tone of voice. "Hold on a second."

I heard the sound of the phone exchanging hands and a moment later, Theresa said, "Hi, Parker."

"Hi, Theresa," I said back.

Cricket....cricket....cricket...

"Uh, you wanted me to call you when we got back?" I said.

"Oh! Right!" she said. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"That's good."

Cricket...cricket...cricket...

"You know, we're pretty pathetic conversationalists," I said, chuckling.

She laughed. "No kidding. Personally, I don't really like to talk to people on the phone. It's uncomfortable for me because I can't see their expressions."

"Oh?" I said.

Not a word. Not one word from you.

"Yeah," she said. "So where've you been all this time?"

"You make it sound as if we've been gone years," I said.

"Well, you know, when the medical people at a concert tell you to leave without one of your friends after they've passed out and hit their head, waiting to hear what happened to them can feel a little bit longer than it really is," she said.

"Oh, yeah, right," I said, not sure how to react to her tone. "We were in Buffalo the whole time."

"For a whole week?"

"Yeah. Why? Can you smell the clothes I was wearing all week all the way over there?" I said, smiling to myself at the memory of how bad I had smelled the day we had come home because of the fact that I only had one outfit to wear the whole week we were at the hotel.

She giggled. "Is that what that smell is?"

"Probably. Does it smell like exhaust and garbage?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Then that's me," I said. "Dam..uh, dang, and I took a shower too."

"Take more," she said. "Your mom is there, isn't she?"

"Yeah, how can you tell?"
"By the way you caught yourself on the d-word, if you know what I mean," she said. "But seriously, how are you? What happened? We were all really worried."

"It was just a slight concussion," I lied, not knowing what else to say. "They brought me to the hospital and then because she's so gosh darn paranoid, my mother and I stayed there for the rest of the week."

"Oh," she said. "Are you okay now?"

"I've been okay for the past week," I said. "Like I said, my mother's just paranoid. Were Beth and Kim mad that they didn't get to see Hanson perform?"

"Not really. Mostly just worried about Taylor," she said. "Besides, they couldn't reamin mad for too long when they both got Isaac and Zac's autographs."

"They gave out autographs?" I said as innocently as I could.

"Yeah. They were really tense the whole time though. I wonder what happened to Taylor? There's a whole bunch of rumors floating around, but no one seems to know the truth."

"Rumors?" I said curiously. "Such as...?"

She sighed. "They're pretty stupid. But mostly, some people are saying that he's anorexic or bulemic or some such thing. A lot of people are saying that he had appendicitis, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense because he got his appendix removed a couple of years ago. That's what it says on all the webpages anyway."

"Well, you can't believe everything you read on an unoffical webpage," I said.

"I guess not," she said. "So anyway, are you going to come with me to that make up concert that they're supposed to be doing?"

This caught me off guard. Make up concert?

"Make up concert?" I repeated my thought.

"Yeah. The people at Darien Lake announced on the radio the other morning that Hanson agreed to do a make up concert at the end of summer, when Taylor feels better since we sort of got jipped on this one. If you saved your ticket stubs, you can get in. I took the liberty of saving yours. I hope you don't mind."

"No, that's fine," I said absently, trying to work out in my mind what she had just said to me. How come she had heard about this supposed make up concert, but I hadn't?

"Good," she said. "Or, you know, we can just exchange the tickets for tickets to another concert that's going on there this summer."

"You can do that?"

"I guess. That's what the guy on the radio said anyway. I hear matchbos 20's coming in August...."

"Really? Did you want to go?"

"Did you?"

"I wouldn't mind," I replied.

"Cool," she said. "Then maybe we'll just do that instead if Hanson ends up falling through with this."

"Okay," I agreed.

There was a short pause at the other end.

"My mother wants to talk to yours again," she said. "Sooo...Thanks for calling. Bye."

"Yup, bye," I said before handing the phone over to Gina.

"Uh, Taylor," I said, walking over to the table where Taylor was listlessly stirring the rainbow colors of his cereal into the milk. "I think it's dead."

He looked up, eyebrows raised. I raised mine back, pointing to his bowl.

Looking down, his only verbal response was, "Oh, sorry."

"It's okay," I said. "You know, we're going to have to check you for feather or something."

"Huh?"

"We're going to have to check you for a feather," I repeated. "It's a joke. You know, feather equals tickle equals laughter equals smile equals cheerfulness?"

"Sorry," he said. "I guess I haven't been much fun so far."

"I wouldn't be either," I said. "At least I have the advantage of getting to know you before I have to spend three months at your house."

He nodded.

"Anyway," I said. "Have you heard anything about a make up concert?"

He shook his head, his expression becoming one of confusion. "No. Why?"

"Theresa said that they announced over the radio that you guys are doing a make up concert when you, ahem, 'feel better.' Either that or you can exchange your ticket stub to go to another concert they're having there this summer."

"That seems a little out of character for a theme park," he said.

"Especially without confirmation from the band, don't you think?" I said.

"Maybe Isaac or Zac knows something about it," he replied.

"Yeah," I said.

"So are you going?" he asked grinning into his Roy G. Biv milk.

"I don't know," I said jokingly. "Matchbox 20's supposed to be coming in August. I might just go there instead."

His grin grew wider. "Hey, what kind of cereal was this again?"

"Trix, I think," I said, leaning over and observing what looked like a science experiment gone horribly wrong. "Maybe Lucky Charms or Froot Loops. It's hard to say."

"Oh, wait," he said, pulling out the bloated soggy figure of what might have been a little fruit shape at one time. "I think it was Trix."

You know my number.
Index
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Six