Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2008 22:37:32 -0400
From: EleCivil <elecivil@gmail.com>
Subject: Laika - Chapter 15

Intro/Disclaimer:

We're nearing the end, so I'm going to make this quick:

-Don't read this if you're underage.
-It's fictional.
-It's not stolen. Don't steal it.

Thanks to Nifty, Codeysworld.com and AwesomeDude.com for hosting (the later
two have the complete story, already).

Hi-ho,
EleCivil@gmail.com


-----------------------
Laika by EleCivil
Chapter 15: The Plan
-----------------------

On Wednesday, Nick told his parents that he needed a ride to the library. I
just happened to be there when they dropped him off. We signed up for a
private study room and spent two hours reading to each other. I don't even
remember what book it was. Some poetry anthology. Yeah, we sat around
reading poems to each other. We're lame, okay? Besides, what we were
reading didn't matter. All that mattered was that the door had locks, and
the windows had curtains, so nobody could see us or disturb us. We pushed
two chairs right next to each other on the same side of the table. Close
enough that I could feel him reacting to whatever I was reading; feel him
pouring emotion into whatever he was reading.

Between readings, I asked him if he'd ever been to a concert.

"Right. My parents would be all over me going to a concert. Alcohol,
smoking, and dancing. Throw in a lecture on evolution and it's their idea
of hell." He laughed. "Plus, according to this book they gave me, all rock
music, starting with The Beatles, has been a front for the druids, who
secretly insert demon-summoning drum beats into all their songs as a means
to possess helpless teens."

"...Seriously? Druids?" I shook my head. "I didn't think druids were still
around."

"Around and running the music industry, according to 'Spellbound,' by Jack
Chick. I'll let you read it sometime, if you want."

"I think I'll pass. But I know a drummer who might be interested in this
whole demon-summoning thing." I said. "Anyway, what I meant to ask was...do
you want to go to a show with me, sometime? I mean, if there's ever a
chance for us to do it."

"I don't know." He looked nervous. "It'd mean going behind my parents'
backs..."

"We're doing that right now."

"Yeah, but if I get caught here, I get caught talking to someone at the
library. No big deal. If I got caught at a concert...what am I going to
tell them? That I got lost on the way to the library, and was lured in by
the hypnotic powers of the druids?"

"I know, I know. I'm just asking if, at some point in the future, things
line up so that we can go to a show together and not get caught, would you
want to go?"

"Hey, I'll go anywhere with you, so long as you can bust me out." A smile
started to creep across his face. "And, yeah, I guess I do want to know
what it's like to go to one of those things."

"What are you smiling at?"

"Just thinking about how, if it wasn't for you, there'd be a lot of things
I didn't know about. That I'd never get the chance to try." He grabbed my
hand under the table. "Which made me think of something."

"What?" I smiled back.

"With me, baby, it's always gonna be a zeppelin." He said, imitating my
voice. I burst out laughing. "I think I almost get what that means, now."

"That makes one of us." I took a quick look around the room to make sure
that all the curtains were still drawn and that no one could see in, then
kissed the back of his hand. He did the same to mine.

"You know, I always hear guys at school talking about how they take girls
here to make out," He said.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I squeaked instead.

"No, I mean, I wasn't suggesting anything," Nick was blushing intensely. "I
was just thinking...when I heard them talking like that, I always had this
attitude, like 'God, how desperate do you have to be to make the library
seem sexy?' And now...well..."

"...Now you're getting all hot-and-bookwormed?"

"Yeah. Checking out a hardcover."

"Leather-bound?"

"Umm...hang on, let me think." He closed his eyes for a second, deep in
thought. "Periodicals...reference section...nope, I'm totally out of
library double-entendres."

"Well, don't worry about it."

"Easy for you to say. You're not going to be the one waking up in the
middle of the night shouting 'Of course! Bibliography!' or something." A
smile slowly formed on his face. "I do it APA style. All over the reference
sheets."

"There you go. You just made me associate citation with sex, in such a way
that I will probably get all worked up every time I write a research paper
from now on. Thanks."

"You're just mad that you didn't think of it first."

He was right.

-----------------------

On Friday, I met up with the band. We went to a restaurant called
Bellini's, one of their favorite places. Alex kicked off his shoes as we
approached the building. Corey held open one door while Scott held the
other. After taking a few steps back, Alex ran at full speed inside, then
stopped sharply, sliding across the tiles on his then-wet socks and
knocking over a sign that asked if we would please wait to be seated. I
kicked his shoes in after him, and he pulled them on and began lacing them
up. Sarah ran in and gave him a quick kick to the ribs, since he was
already down on the floor. He laughed and untied her shoes. A girl, about
Corey's age and wearing the restaurant's uniform, shook her head and tried
to look angry through her laughter.

"You guys, again?" Her eyes fell on me. "Oh, god, and you've grown another
one."

"Miss Melody!" Corey strutted in and bowed deeply. "We'll take your best
and most visible table, if you please."

"You'll take a hike, is what you'll take. Come on, you know Mr. B hates you
guys. Every time you come in here, he ends up in a bad mood for days."

"But our month-long ban finally ended! Besides, we tip well." Alex said,
standing up.

"I wouldn't say 'well'." Melody said, picking up the sign that had been
caught in Alex's path and setting it back up. "Not nearly enough to make up
for the damage."

"The entertainment value makes up for that, don't you think?" Scott asked.

"And, after all, we're your regulars!" Sarah added.

"Regulars? You come in here once every couple months, smash something, and
then don't order anything."

"Well, we would come more regularly," Corey said, "But your boss keeps
banning us. Anyway, if we promise to eat something this time, can we have a
table?"

"Okay," Melody said, sighing. She led us to a booth in back, far from
everyone else. Once we were seated, she pulled out a pad of paper and a
pencil. "What can I get you to drink?"

Everyone asked for water, except for Corey, who insisted on soy milk.

"Okay. I'll have that for you soon. Now, here's some menus-"

"Not necessary," Alex said.

"Oh, come on!" Melody slapped the stack of menus against the table in
frustration. "You promised!"

"We promised to eat something. Not that we'd buy something." Sarah
said. "Gentlemen, produce...produce!"

Corey pulled a carrot from each pocket. I pulled out a stalk of
celery. Scott removed a head of lettuce from under his coat. Alex took a
bell pepper from his coat pocket, though it had been slightly crushed from
his trip to the floor. Sarah pulled a tomato and onion from her purse. We
all set our items on the table.

"And what the hell do you call this?" Melody asked.

"D.I.Y. salad bar." Scott looked from the pile of produce on the table to
our waitress, who I was beginning to pity. "We're going to need five bowls,
five forks, at least one knife, and some salad dressing, Melody. If you
please."

"Vegan salad dressing," Corey added.

"I hate you guys so much." She said, though she was struggling not to
laugh.

"While we're waiting for that stuff, can you bring us some of those
placemats with the mazes on them and a jar of crayons?" Alex asked.

"Fine."

"And some of those risers. The ones that you have the little kids sit on
when they're too short to reach the table." Sarah said.

"Why?"

"I require a throne."

"Absolutely not." Melody said. She returned a few minutes later with our
bowls, silverware, and drinks.

As Corey and Alex played a rather obscene game of hangman on the back of
their placemats, Sarah and Scott were scribbling anti-government propaganda
on napkins and then re-inserting them into the dispenser. I realized that I
was definitely falling behind in the current sport of petty harassment and
anti-social behavior. I had to step up, make them glad that they'd brought
me along. Okay, it wasn't just that; I wanted to have some fun, too. But
what could I do? That was when my eyes happened upon the stack of jelly
packets. I stood up and slid out of the booth, past Corey and Sarah. They
both asked where I was going, but I just mumbled "Be right back."

I walked in the direction of the restroom, but turned at the last minute,
making a quick circuit of the restaurant and picking the racks of jelly
packets from a few of the unoccupied tables. When I got back to my seat, I
poured the packets into a large pile along with our own and set to work on
what was, without a doubt, the most epic tower of jelly ever to be built.

Usually, there were limits to the extravagance of condiment
architecture. There were only so many at each table, and I'd always had to
compete with Mark for resources. This time, however, there was unlimited
potential. I stacked intently, ignoring the encouraging words from the
others as I built the tower higher and higher, with columns and parapets
and even a few balustrades made from sugar packets. It was a work of art
with a jelly center.

"It looks like a giant dick." Scott said, nodding.

"Much like yourself." Corey said.

Sarah snorted and scribbled something about "toppling the towers of
patriarchy" on her napkin.

They were right. I hadn't meant it that way - those were supposed to be
supports on the sides, not testicles - but from an overview, it really did
appear phallic. Of course, if you're in the right mindset, anything taller
than it is wide could appear phallic. Whatever. It was still art, in my
mind.

"Oh, Bran," Alex said, "I found something for you." He pulled a slip of
neon green paper from him pocket and slid it across the table to me.

It was a flyer for a show. I didn't recognize any of the bands that were
playing. "Locals?"

"Yeah. Nothing too rough, but they won't bore you, either."

I checked the time. Five o'clock - fairly early for a show. Maybe even
early enough for me to smuggle Nick out of the church for a couple hours. I
noticed the date.

"This is tonight?" I looked up.

"You said to find one that was coming up, so I grabbed the earliest one I
saw."

"What time is it now?" I looked around for a clock, then remembered that I
had my phone in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked. "Two? It starts in
three hours?"

"What's the matter? Got something else planned?" Alex asked.

"No, but I was hoping to ask somebody..." I stopped myself from saying
anything else. The slowly emerging grin on Alex's face told me that I'd
already said too much.

"Ask somebody to go with you?" He finished for me, tilting his head
sideways. "Like...on a date?"

"No. Just for fun. Like when you took me."

He laughed. "Think about what happened the time I took you."

"Oh. Right. Not exactly like when you took me, then. But, just a friend who
I think could use some, uh...exposure to a different subculture."

"Planning on exposing your subculture to him on the first date? Jeez. And
here I thought you were a bit of a prude." He eyed the giant, somewhat
phallic tower that was looming over the table.

I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. "Forget it."

"Aw, perk up." He slapped my shoulder. "Now, what's the problem? Three
hours isn't enough time for you to ask this guy?"

"It's not just that." I said. "There's no way in hell his parents would let
him. I'm sure there'd be some way to work it out to where we could sneak
around them, but it'd probably take a lot of planning."

"You realize who you're talking to, right?" Alex said. "Sneaking around
overprotective parents is, like, practically a part-time job for me. And
I'm so good at it that they keep giving me more hours. They won't make it
full-time, though, because then they'd be on the hook for benefits, and
being the capitalist pig-dogs they are...well, point is, I'm sure I could
help you out."

"Wait...in that analogy, who were the capitalist pig-dogs, again?"

"My bosses."

"Your bosses. In the job of 'sneaking around on your parents.' Wouldn't
that be you?"

"I'll be damned. Hey, Corey!" He called across the table. Corey
turned. "I'm a capitalist pig-dog!"

"You are not." He replied, rolling his eyes. "You're a consumer-whore. Get
it right, man."

"Anyway," Alex turned back to me, "As I was saying, give me twenty minutes
and I can slip through any parental defense. Trust me."

"These aren't just any parents. And besides, I don't know if he'll want
even want to go if it'll involve all this...uh, capering."

"If he's anything like me, the capering'll make it even more fun. Is he
anything like me?"

"Not really. I mean, other than you both having well-known, overprotective
parents."

"Really?" He grinned. "Sounds like this may even be a challenge. If you
decide to do it, just give me a call, okay?"

"Will do. But...why are you so interested in doing this?"

He shrugged. "Couple reasons. First, it involves lying to authority figures
and going to a punk show - two of my favorite things to do. Second, it
helps you out, and I owe you for knocking some sense into me and helping me
smooth things out with Cor." He checked his watch and turned back to the
others. "Hey, guys, I've got to leave soon."

"Really?" Scott asked. "Guess we'd better hurry up and get thrown out of
here, then. Hey, wench!" He pulled off his shoe and threw it at Sarah. It
knocked her glass of water into her lap.

"What the hell?" She stood up, grabbed Corey's glass of soy milk, and
splashed it into Scott's face. It dripped cleanly off of one side of his
face, but it stuck to the half-beard that he had on the other side.

"Hey!" Now Corey was standing, as well. "I had to pay for that!" He grabbed
Alex's glass of water and dumped it over Alex's head.

"What? I didn't do anything! Yet!" Alex said, reaching for my glass. I
inched away as Alex tossed my water directly at Corey's pants. Corey yelped
and bumped against the table, which caused my tower of condiments to
collapse into a giant heap on the table, covering our plates and the
remains of our salad.

This was when I spotted an ice cube, no doubt from one of the thrown
glasses of water, sitting on the table. I grabbed it and dropped it down
the back of Alex's shirt, making him jump. "That's for making Corey smash
my tower."

At this point, Scott was feeling left out, so he took his own glass of
water and threw it at me, most likely because I was the only dry person
left at the table. Looking around for something to use in retaliation, my
eyes settled on the remains of the tomato. I grabbed it and had my hand
cocked back when I heard someone scream "Out!"

A man wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, a tie, and a murderous
expression was stomping his way over to our table. Scott grabbed his shoe -
still resting on the table - and scrambled to put it back on. "It's
Mr. B. Get ready to run for it. Everybody throw in for the tip."

We each dropped a dollar or two on the table and made a dash for the
door. As we ran out, we heard Mr. B yelling after us. "You're banned!
You're all banned! I don't want to see any one of you again for...for six
weeks!"

When we made it to Alex's van, we were all out of breath from laughing.

"Man, why doesn't he just ban you guys for life?" I asked.

"No idea." Alex said. "So, was that your first time getting thrown out of
someplace?"

I nodded. "It's more fun than I thought it'd be."

"I find it's good to get thrown out of something at least once every couple
months." Corey said. "Helps you to remember what we're fighting against."

"What's that?"

"Property! The whole idea that someone can 'own' a piece of the Earth and
tell you whether or not you're allowed to set foot on it."

I looked over at Alex. "Is that why you're doing it? Fighting against the
concept of ownership?"

"Actually," He said, "I just think Mr. Bellini's a prick, and I like to get
him mad."

Corey sighed and shook his head. "You're doing the revolution no favors,
Alex."

"Yeah, how's that revolution of yours going, Cor? Overthrown anything,
yet?"

"Shut up." He reached up and smacked Alex in the back of the head.

-----------------------

I rang the bell on the door of First Baptist and waited for Nick to
answer. I knew that he spent most of his time in the basement, so it would
take him a while to get to the door. I looked out at the parking lot, which
was still free of snowdrifts. It hadn't snowed since the night Nick and I
shoveled it. That made me wonder if that had been the last big snowstorm of
the year.

The door swung open, and Nick gestured me inside, where I followed him to
his room in the basement. The church was cold, but an electric heater kept
Nick's room warm. As soon as I had my coat off, he had his arms around me.

That's one thing I noticed from the time we spent together: Nick clung to
me. Not in the figurative, "he's too clingy" kind of way. I mean that
whenever I hugged him, he would cling to me, tightly, like there was a
tornado swirling around us and I was the only thing anchored into the
ground. I only noticed this because I started thinking about the way I held
onto him. Gently would be the best way to describe it, I guess, like I was
afraid I was going to break him. Or like I was afraid I'd scare him off by
coming on too strong.

"It's been two days!" He said. "I'm going crazy, locked up in here."

"Want to get out?" I asked.

"Yeah. Can we?"

"There's a show that starts at five. Want to go?"

"Yeah! But...it starts at five?" His expression fell. "My parents will be
home by then."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. Don't worry about it. Unless, of course, you
want to sneak out."

He shook his head. "They'll come looking for me if I don't show up for
dinner."

"We could always wait until they get back, then tell them that you're going
somewhere else."

"But I never go anywhere. I already used the library once this week; they
won't buy it again." He said. "Besides, I'm a terrible liar. They'll see
right through me."

"You could get somebody else to lie for you." I said. "I've got this
friend..."

I explained Alex's offer of giving us a cover story.

"I don't know. Bringing another person into a lie seems like it'd make it
that much easier to see through."

"Yeah, but this guy...he's practically a professional liar. He's the best
liar I've ever seen. And I mean that in a good way."

"Well..." He glanced around his room. "Okay. Call him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Just...we'll see what his plan is, first. Okay?"

"Okay." I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed Alex.

"Hi-ho."

"Alex? It's Bran."

"Hey! You decide you needed my services after all?"

"Maybe. We want to know what your plan is, before we commit to anything."

"I don't have a plan, yet. First, I need to know about him and his
parents. Then I can make a plan." Alex said. Nick, meanwhile, was pacing
around the room.

"One second." I turned to Nick. "I've got to tell him who your parents are,
so he can make a plan for getting around them. Okay?"

Nick bit his lip. "You're sure we can trust this guy? You're sure we can
trust the best liar you've ever seen?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay, then."

I took my hand off of the phone. "Alex?"

"Yeah."

"His parents...well, his dad is Reverend Patton."

There was a pause on the line. "Wait. The Reverend Patton? Brimstone
fucking Patton?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You want me to con Brimstone Patton? Oh my god, this is the big leagues!
Smuggling Brimstone's own kid to a punk show? They're going to give me a
medal for this!"

"Who?"

"I don't know, whoever goes around giving people medals for outstanding
acts of punkery. Hang on. Yeah, yeah, I've got a plan."

"That quick?"

"Hell yes. This is going to be brilliant. This will be my masterpiece. Even
if I don't get a punk medal for this, I'll get an academy award for the
great acting I'm going to do. Maybe even both. Okay, listen up. Wait, is
your dude there? Put me on speaker and I'll tell you both the plan."

I hit the button for speaker and motioned Nick over. I set the phone on the
floor, and we sat down next to each other, leaning against Nick's
bed. "Okay, you're on."

"Here's my plan. First, Bran, you're going to need to get out of there. I
don't want you around when this goes down. You can wait in your car
somewhere down the street, at a gas station or something. Okay, it's going
to happen like this: I ring the doorbell. When the Rev. answers, I tell him
that I've been going through some tough times and I need someone to talk
to. I'll play that part by ear, it'll sound more natural. But, basically, I
tell him that I want to learn about the bible and stuff. Then I tell him
that I know...um, Bran, what's your friend's name?"

"Nick."

"Right. I tell him that I know Nick from school. That everybody there knows
that he's the person to talk to about God and stuff - I'll have something
good cooked up by the time I get there - which will not only help our
cause, but give Nick some huge points with his parents, I'm guessing."

Nick nodded, apparently too transfixed by The Plan to realize that you
can't nod over the phone.

"Now, I ask if I can talk to Nick, since I feel that I could better
understand the message if it was coming from somebody my age. He's around
my age, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. So I come in and talk to Nick for a couple minutes, then we come out
and we explain to his parents that I'd feel more comfortable talking about
this stuff at my place, and ask if he can come over for a couple hours. The
Rev., being in the business he's in, says yes, because, hey, anything
that'll win a soul for the big G is cool in his book, right? And, yeah, I
won't use terms like 'the big G' while I'm there. Anyway, we head outside,
I drive Nick over to the gas station where you're conveniently parked, he
gets in your car, and the two of you head off to see some dudes scream into
some microphones. Oh, and Nick - you listening?"

Nick nodded again.

"He is." I said.

"Pack a change of clothes. Your parents will get suspicious if you come
back from a bible-ministry-whatever session drenched in sweat and smelling
like smoke. Unless you guys really get into that kind of thing. But you
probably don't."

There was silence for a few seconds as we all pictured the plan in our
heads. From my end, it was looking pretty promising.

"One second." I said. "Won't that plan work just as easily if I do it?
Like, instead of having to go through the whole thing with picking up and
dropping off at a gas station and changing cars and stuff, what if I was
the one to come to the door and say all the stuff about wanting
counseling?"

"No, that wouldn't work," Nick said. "My mom already knows you. And
besides, the less they see us together, the better. It'll keep them from
jumping to any conclusions, you know? Like, we could always say 'Hey, no, I
barely even see him!'"

I glanced at the phone. When Nick saw where I was looking, his eyes nearly
popped out of his head. That sounded pretty incriminating. Like we had more
to hide than just sneaking out.

"Yeah, sounds like you guys are on top of it, then. When are we doing
this?" Alex said.

"Uh, my...my Dad will be here around four thirty." Nick said.

"Okay. Let's make it quarter-to-five. Approximately. No need to synchronize
our watches. Although...actually, that'd be cool. Let's synchronize our
watches."

"I don't have a watch." I said.

"Me neither," Nick said.

"Aww. Okay, fine. Bran, drop me a text around four thirty if we're still
going through with it. Alexander Molotov, Liar-for-Hire, over and out."
With that he hung up, no doubt by dramatically snapping his phone shut and
probably playing an air-guitar solo. I imagine he's the kind of guy that
plays a lot of air-guitar solos when no one's around.

"His last name isn't really Molotov, is it?" Nick asked, sounding
suspicious.

"Nope. His first name isn't really Alex, either."

"That's good. I'd hate to think that the guy behind my breakout plan would
use his real name."

"You're up for all this?"

"I'm really nervous about the plan and really exited about going out with
you," He said. "I'm not used to feeling so much. Like, I've felt nervous,
and scared, and excited and everything, but just never this intensely."

"Is that a yes?"

He raised one hand as if he was going to smack me, then dropped it around
my shoulders at the last second. "Yeah, it's a yes." We stayed like that,
leaning against the side of his bed, until the time came to put the plan
into action, and I had to leave.

-----------------------

Questions, comments, and other such missives can be directed toward
EleCivil@gmail.com