Wink: Chapters 15–20

I run the thumb of my right hand over the strings, and the sound is amazing. It feels like it resonates in my bones.

"What the..." Jimmy's eyebrows furrow. He's as confused as I am.

He looks back and winces, like he's debating how to say something. "Maybe not a stellar home situation for Jimmy, as you might imagine. His mom's a bit of a..."

I'm trying to find the perfect words to eloquently explain how I'm feeling.

It takes me a while to stop picturing Jimmy hunched over some grungy little computer making Cowboy Cancer memes.

At times I think I'm guitar-tab dyslexic and want to throw the book across the room—but then I lie back, take a few deep breaths, and try again.

But she's relentless. She wants to see a movie. She has questions about some homework. She can't remember the punch line to some dumb joke.
The texts keep coming.

"I'd take a Coke. But don't think I'm leaving until you play me something." She's smiling, but she looks serious. "Then I'm gonna dig deep and psychoanalyze this whole New Ross thing. Gonna get all Dr. Phil on you."

I try not to sound too angry or upset, but my voice cracks to where I sound a little unhinged.

An anonymous troll is wreaking havoc in the town.

An anonymous troll is wreaking havoc in the town.

Batpig flies into “confrontation mode.”

This is generic peanut butter!

YES! For your misdeeds, vile beast!

YES! For your misdeeds, vile beast!

And I get looks. It's hard not to start yelling questions at every person that glances my way. I'm mulling it over and getting more and more irritated when Jimmy drops into his seat beside me.

"You gonna favor us with a tune, Guitar Man? Gonna play us a little ditty?"

Somehow, I still have enough vanity in me to be worrying about my hat head.

It worked! Batpig has evaded the awful smelly oaf and saved the day!

It worked! Batpig has evaded the awful smelly oaf and saved the day!

We can hear Ms. Bayer's excited rambling coming from the office.

Only he doesn't censor himself.

Principal Kingsley's office is small and seems more so from all of the sports memorabilia on every available wall and surface.

Jimmy drops his head back, exasperated. "NO! I told you, I don't even have a phone! I've never memed a freakin' meme in my life!"

Jimmy flops back in his chair, flabbergasted.

Mrs. Hawley—the school secretary—averts her eyes as we walk out.

He slams his shoulder into mine and skulks back into Bayer's classroom.

A couple of times I get an "ulcer" on the white of my eye.

I started sitting lower in my chair in class, just so I could casually prop my elbow on the desk and cover that side of my face with my hand. I got pretty good at it. Made it look natural and maybe even a little suave.

But there’s Batpig! Armed with a very specific solvent.

"Good." I've no idea how to converse naturally. "Waiting to...Treatment."

"So, that was Chelsea. Was being the operative term."
I look back at the cloud of dust settling over the street.

My fingertips develop some gnarly calluses, and the strings start to hurt less as the days go on.

Frank walks in and opens a Diet Coke with a loud crack. "Yeah. It's the bane of every beginning guitar player. And I swear it was in every song I wanted to play when I started."

I drop down onto the couch. "I think it's a conspiracy. To keep out people who aren't serious."