Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie: Good News, Bad News–Epilogue

But in the short run, delusion was an easier path than truth.

Annette came staggering in; she had been trying to carry a huge folder of sheet music in the crook of her injured arm.

Mr. Watras looked pretty perturbed by this news — every teacher in the world has a soft spot for Annette, plus the girl’s a musical dynamo.

She looked impressed that I had been willing to sacrifice my lessons, and thought it was hilarious that the Special Sticks still smelled weird.

Naturally, being Annette, she did feel the need to warn me about how ripping up my mom’s checks wasn’t going to work forever, but somewhere in the preceding half year, I had figured out that the lectures were just an Annette thing.

In fact, I would nearly have been disappointed if she hadn’t given me the big, fiery speech at that point.

Now that right there is a meritorious feat — most of my friends stopped doing volunteer household chores in about fourth grade.

Rather than trample on the innocent feline, Annette attempted to do a little leap over said animal, while balancing about forty-seven cans of cat food in her arms.

And when her parents responded to her pitiful yelps of pain, (a) her mom stepped right on that darn cat, anyway, and (b) they found Annette’s crumpled form at the foot of the stairs, head stuck to a pile of shopping bags by static cling, right arm twisted unnaturally into some sort of mathematically improbable three-dimensional rhombus shape.

And when her parents responded to her pitiful yelps of pain, (a) her mom stepped right on that darn cat, anyway, and (b) they found Annette’s crumpled form at the foot of the stairs, head stuck to a pile of shopping bags by static cling, right arm twisted unnaturally into some sort of mathematically improbable three-dimensional rhombus shape.

He’s been absent quite a bit this year, what with the constant trips to the hospital to try and save his life and the total shutdown of his immune system and the frequent bouts of high fever and all.

He’s been absent quite a bit this year, what with the constant trips to the hospital to try and save his life and the total shutdown of his immune system and the frequent bouts of high fever and all.

But hearing it from another kid devastated him.

When he finally switched off the X-ray eyes, he said very solemnly, I don’t know, Steven.

By the time we were done playing, Annette and Renee were writing frantically.

I’m sure you all know that there are families in this town who have dire financial situations, families that are trying their hardest but just can’t seem to make ends meet, families that could use a helping hand.

I, myself, felt vaguely like jumping up and shouting “AMEN!” but I figured it might be wise to find out what I would be “Amen”-ing about first.

One thing was for sure: One way or another, if my ’rents didn’t veto the entire shebang, it was going to be important.

Finally, I seized the day (or “carpe’ed” the “diem,” if you wanted some Miss Palma lingo).

It’s rather interesting; I had based our estimated taxes on a historical rate of return of approximately 10% annual yield.

I hope that none of the neighbors were watching this scene: the obviously sick lady swaying on the lawn in an old bathrobe, waving good-bye to the unshaven guy with the mis-buttoned dress shirt, who was driving two bald kids while one of them was intermittently spitting blood out the passenger-side window.

Other than our chaos, it was so quiet on the block, you could almost hear the tick, tick, tick of the property values dropping as passersby took in the tableau of horror.

The car lurched and veered into a driving lane in what might optimistically be referred to as a “close merge,” and my dad replied through those famous clenched teeth, Don't “but Dad” me right now, OK?

The car lurched and veered into a driving lane in what might optimistically be referred to as a “close merge,” and my dad replied through those famous clenched teeth, Don't “but Dad” me right now, OK?

On the other hand, I supposed his first choice was actually an inanimate injection-molded plastic figurine.

Just then, a whole squadron of medical people ran by the open room door, carrying all sorts of equipment and shouting directions at each other.

When the nurse walked back out, the mood had vanished, and we were just two bald kids on a sofa.

We check the blood levels of certain enzymes periodically in order to make sure that the liver is handling the strain adequately.

Then we have to adjust the patient’s meds until we get the chemo regimen in balance with the patient’s liver function.

Otherwise, there is a risk of liver failure, which can be fatal.

My math teacher (who was planning to bring a small army of anal-retentive, calculator-carrying, math-teacher children to the concert) even commended me for my improved work habits.

But you know, I AM entitled to a complimentary bus ride home at taxpayer expense.

But you know, I am entitled to a complimentary bus ride home at taxpayer expense.

But when my mom told the doctor about the big concert, he had agreed to discharge Jeffrey with another specific warning to rush to the E.R. if anything didn’t seem right.

So, Jeffrey, we hereby proclaim you to be an honorary member of the band.

Before we even played a note, we got a standing ovation.

We all took our time onstage, getting our instruments squared away, slapping fives, rubbing heads (weird sensation, by the way), and just basking in the success of the first set.

He faltered for a moment, and again I saw that people just didn’t know how to take this speech.

I looked down at Jeffrey, who had a really miserable look on his face, like he was tasting something vile.

I jump up, too, and the standing O is unanimous.