Travis and I continued to rehearse every day after school in the two weeks leading up to the Battle of the Bands. Travis was begrudgingly compliant at first; he would meet Purple Hair and me in the side lot where she parked every day after class, rehearse with me for a couple hours, then ride back to school with me so Purple Hair could make it look like we had been studying the entire time when my mom picked us up. He would even put on a talkative, friendly persona that friends’ parents loved, telling my mom all about how Purple Hair was helping us study. And making that stuff up on the spot was no easy task, given how attentive my mom was compared to Travis’s parents. Not only did this make the two of us look good overall, it made my mom especially proud of me; every time we got home after dropping Travis off she would praise me for “persuading” Travis to join me in continuing our after school study sessions with Purple Hair.
“Although Troy and Marissa are nice people,” she would say, trying to be generous to my friend’s parents, “I’m not sure they hold Travis to the same standards your father and I have of you. He’s lucky to have a friend like you who pushes him to be better.”
At first, Travis sure didn’t act like he was lucky to have a friend like me. And although I was pushing him to be “better” in some sense of the word, it definitely wasn’t the way my mom had in mind.
He practically put me on the silent treatment the first rehearsal we did after I “renegotiated” the terms of our agreement with Purple Hair.
“Turn your amp up.”
“Let’s run it again.”
“You’re flat.”
This was almost all he said to me during that first rehearsal.
When we took a break to raid Charlie’s fridge (Travis was right, his food was about to expire anyway), we noticed Purple Hair wasn’t in the house itself, but we heard noise coming from the garage. Not wanting to take our eyes off of someone we had just threatened for too long, we peaked our heads in to see what she was doing.
To our shock, we found her sitting in front of one of Charlie’s disassembled guitars.
“What do you think you’re doing!?” I shouted.
Although I had startled her, she quickly regained her composure and explained, “I’m just trying to figure out what your friend was doing with a workshop full of musical instruments and holy weapons. That’s why I had initially offered to give you a ride here to rehearse for the Battle of the Bands before you doubled down on me, okay? Yes, I admit I had my own ulterior motives behind my offer…”
I knew it.
“…But I don’t see how the new terms you added to our agreement forbid me from working on this. I’m not breaking, disassembling, assembling, reassembling, or modifying your friend’s stuff in any way. I’m just trying to figure out what he was doing with it. Is there something wrong with that?”
I angrily took a breath, about to tear into her again. The only problem was I didn’t know what I would say. Travis pulled me aside and shut the door to the garage before I had the chance to figure it out.
“Is there something wrong with that?” Travis repeated Purple Hair’s question.
This was probably the longest sentence Travis had said to me that afternoon, so I tried to keep my patience when answering his incredibly stupid question. Like I said, I needed him, and he was already angry with me.
“Of course there is, Travis! Are we just going to let him mess with Charlie’s personal property like that?” I responded in the most level tone I could manage.
“What do you think we’re doing?” Travis spread his arms and gestured around at the house we were in.
I opened my mouth to object and shut it when I realized I didn’t have a response to that.
“We were the ones who broke into Charlie’s house first,” Travis continued, “The stuff in the garage is probably his only personal property we haven’t messed with. And bringing Purple Hair here was your idea, remember?”
I again opened my mouth to object before shutting it again.
“Are we really supposed to tell her she can’t investigate the one thing that can defeat those demon things? The things that almost ruined her life twice before you topped both of them?”
“Watch it,” I snapped.
“Besides,” Travis continued unabated, “How do we know the demons aren’t a threat to us as well? You were afraid we might be walking into another one of Charlie’s traps. You were the one who said he was a demon, a deceiver. If all that’s true, wouldn’t we want to have a way to defend ourselves against him?”
“Well in case you haven’t noticed, Travis, Charlie’s been missing for a week. The only sign we’ve been able to find of him was a guitar tied to the bottom of the bleachers, which Jeff Hennessy smashed. I’m not so sure he’s a threat to us anymore. And even if he is, why would he collect a bunch of weapons that could hurt him?”
“I dunno, maybe for the same reason he has all these guns,” Travis replied, “But sure, you’ve got a point. Maybe Charlie’s not a threat. Maybe he’ll never even come back. But shouldn’t that also be a concern to us? Who else do we know of who disappeared after running afoul of the teachers union? You should know, you just implied the same thing might happen to Purple Hair.”
“Giuseppe Andolini,” I begrudgingly answered, “Both he and Charlie even left clues that you could only see if you looked up.”
“And both of those clues are gone now, too,” Travis said, “But while we don’t have an extra copy of Encyclopaedia Daemonica, we have an entire garage full of guitars and then some. And the only person we know who has a decent memory of the Encyclopaedia is trying to figure out what makes them tick. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Purple Hair is a tool. But maybe this tool has a hidden feature you didn’t know about. Don’t you at least want to try it out in case it comes in handy? We’re not exactly the best friends of the teachers union ourselves, you know.”
Again, I couldn’t think of an objection. Instead, I asked Travis a question, “Travis, have you ever noticed that when we rehearsed with Charlie the instruments he wanted us to play would seemingly appear in our hands?”
He chuckled, “I had almost forgotten about that. Yeah, I noticed it.”
“And his house is a mess for everything other than stuff related to music,” I continued, “You think maybe Charlie’s demon power is manipulating and teleporting musical instruments and accessories?”
“Shoot,” Travis replied, “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but that would actually make a lot of sense! If it’s true that’s gotta be the lamest demon power I’ve ever heard of, though.”
“Lame until you splice the instruments with an arsenal of holy weapons,” I said, “Purple Hair’s going to love to know this.”
I turned around to open the door to the garage, only to find Purple Hair already standing there in the doorway, probably to ask us what was taking us so long to answer her question.
“Exciting as that discovery is,” she began, “They didn’t seem to do him much good when the teachers union representatives came for him.”
“If he even meant to use the holy weapons against the teachers union reps at all,” Travis added.
–
Once we had returned to the studio, I took out my old guitar to play. The one that actually belonged to me, not Charlie.
“What are you doing with that thing?” Travis asked, “Charlie’s guitars are all way better.”
“I know, but I want to get a feel for playing our set with my guitar as well in case something happens to Charlie’s,” I explained, “Who knows what Charlie was planning to do with those things? I may not even have access to them by the time Battle of the Bands rolls around.”
“Suit yourself,” Travis rolled his eyes, “I’m sticking with Charlie’s basses. There’s no way I can go back to the piece of junk I own after experiencing these.”
“That’s fine, the drum machine and I are tuned so low no one will be able to hear the bass anyway.”
“Screw you.”
“From the top,” I said, ending the conversation.
The drum machine counted us off: click, click, click, click
I started riffing: CHUGGA CHUGGA CHUGGA CHUG-twang!
One of my guitar strings broke.
“Forget it,” I said, “I’ll bring some strings from home and change this tomorrow. I don’t want to be reliant on any of Charlie’s strings, either.”
–
The following week Travis and I had another run-in with Jeff Hennessy and his new lacrosse friends. It started routinely enough: Jeff shoulder-checked Travis as they were walking past each other in a crowded hallway.
“Watch where you’re going, Hennessy,” I said in a calm, but firm voice. A handful of onlookers faintly went “ooooh!” before the hallway went completely silent.
Just like the only other time I verbally defended myself from him, I had no idea what possessed me to do so. I expected Charlie to come out of nowhere and rescue me just as much as I had expected it the first time.
Jeff, who was still walking as if nothing had happened, stopped. But it wasn’t like in movies where the bully coolly turns around and says “What did you just say to me?” Jeff did turn around, but he looked far from confident doing it, and he didn’t say anything at first. Almost as if he knew how the bully was supposed to act in the movie, but didn’t quite have the nerve to act that way in real life. After a few excruciatingly long seconds, he finally responded.
“Why are you talking to me?”
Definitely a challenge, to be sure, but he had a bit of a waver in his voice. Like he was legitimately surprised I was talking back and wanted to know why.
“Uh, because you just shoved my friend?” I replied, laying on the sarcasm. The remark even elicited a few snickers from the crowd.
Now Jeff was starting to get angry, “I’ve already been through this with you! You’re done! You don’t have a demon to protect you anymore! The black eye I gave you two weeks ago has barely faded!”
Still not sure what had gotten into me, I pressed on, “Your friend gave me this black eye. You only gave the order. And look what good it did your friend to follow it. I don’t even see you hanging out with him anymore. You traded in your old friend for this lot here,” I gestured to the lacrosse players. They glared back at me, but didn’t say anything.
“Think these friends won’t do the same? You trying to get your other eye to match?” Jeff asked. I was surprised Travis hadn’t stopped me yet, but he was still standing behind me, looking ready to throw down if necessary.
“Oh I have no doubt they’d do the same. They seem like a loyal group. For now,” I answered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Jeff spat.
“You already defeated us once, that’s why they’re friends with you now. But you said it yourself, the demon’s gone. He’s not coming back. So what are you going to do to keep their attention? You’re right, Travis and I are losers. We’re not even supposed to be talking to you. If you bump into us in the hallway we’re just supposed to take it. Your new lacrosse buddies sure won’t take the effort to help you beat us up like your old friends did. They’re above that. So why should they stay friends with you once they inevitably forget about how you put us in our place?”
A teacher was finally starting to approach the crowd that had formed in the hallway. Under normal circumstances they probably would have broken this up a lot earlier, but they all recognized my voice at this point and were much more wary to go near me than my peers.
Seeing the teacher approach out of the corner of his eye, Jeff barked one last challenge, “How about I stomp you one on one? Bleachers, after class! No friends helping us out, just you and me, Eric!”
“I’ll be there!” I shouted back as Travis pulled me away, seeing the teacher as well.
“What happened to rehearsal, Mr. ‘Battle of the Bands is less than a week away?’” he asked me once the crowd had dispersed.
“Don’t worry,” I replied, “I’ll make it quick.”
–
A small crowd had already gathered around the bleachers to watch me fight Jeff by the time Travis and I showed up. Including the lacrosse team. They surrounded Jeff, amping him up.
Jeff himself was not wearing the smug grin I had often seen him sporting since he and his old friends beat Travis and me up two weeks prior. He was trying to look tough and serious, but I could have sworn he looked a little nervous. This was his first time taking one of us on without backup.
That wasn’t to say I felt in the least bit confident, either. Travis was rubbing my shoulders like some boxing coach, telling me something about fighting strategy his dad had taught him once. I wasn’t listening.
“What took you so long? You get lost or something?” Jeff muttered, trying to work himself into his usual demeaning self and coming up short.
“Oh, I’m lost, alright,” I replied, “Lost in trying to think of how you can beat me!”
The crowd looked around at each other, confused. Travis stopped rubbing my shoulders and distanced himself from me. Jeff and I stood in the middle of the crowd, staring at each other, trying to think of more quips or one-liners to delay the fight itself and failing. After a few minutes of the both of us inhaling as if we were about to say something clever, but not thinking of anything clever to say, Jeff finally broke the silence.
“Let’s just fight already.”
“Okay,” I replied…menacingly.
Just like the last time Jeff and I got into it, I figured I at least needed to land the first punch. I awkwardly threw my right fist at Jeff, still not knowing what I was doing. Just like last time. Time slowed. I could see my fist gradually approach one of Jeff’s acne-scarred cheeks. Was this actually happening? Was I actually about to sock Jeff in the face?
Then time snapped back to normal as Jeff effortlessly blocked my punch, landed one of his own on my face, then proceeded to beat the snot out of me.