Practice makes perfect, but only after more years of practice than you’re likely to commit to
LITTLE BILLY UZELESS’ HEART POUNDED whenever Princess Carpenter passed him in the hall. Older boys would get a chubby for older girls as hot as Princess, but Billy was only eleven and the best he could manage was a pounding heart. A heart that pounded fiercely in his chest, like a bass drum pounded with a wooden mallet. At an age when Billy should have been calling insults to the object of his affection—insults like, “Your mother’s songs stink like horse doo doo”—Billy’s heart pounded and yearned for an afternoon with Princess while they drank his father’s peanut butter banana smoothies and watched Harry Potter Blu-rays.
Did I mention Princess’ mother’s stinky songs? Princess’ mother ruled the charts as a pop diva, cranking out drek that made Billy cringe. Songs like “Rain on my Heart,” and “Go Down on My Love.” Songs that usually made Billy clutch his stomach and wretch, but when he spotted Princess in the hall, he hummed those tunes with a smile on his face.
Princess Carpenter. One year older and seventh-grade diva, with her own platform on YouTube where her songs attracted more than a half-million followers. Princess Carpenter, always surrounded by her entourage of mean girls who cleared the path before her like linebackers on a professional football team.
At an age when Billy should have been calling insults to the object of his affection—insults like, “Your mother’s songs stink like horse doo doo”—Billy’s heart pounded and yearned for an afternoon with Princess while they drank his father’s peanut butter banana smoothies and watched Harry Potter Blu-rays.
What chance did Billy have of attracting her attention? Princess, the most popular girl in middle school with a half-million followers, and Billy, a scholarship student whose father had taught English at Minnie Ripperton Middle School for decades. Then, with four-weeks to go to summer break, he spotted a poster for the end of semester talent show, featuring Princess as the closing act, and auditions for her band the following Monday.
He ran home and burst through the door where his father graded essays and considered suicide to avoid another year of dealing with over privileged middle schoolers. “Dad, dad. I’ve got to learn to play drums. It’s the only way to catch Princess Carpenter’s attention.”
His father sat him on the couch and explained the pitfalls of pre-teen crushes, the inevitable heartbreak, the likelihood you wouldn’t remember their names by college, and the likelihood they’d never give you a second thought. “You mean like Mom?” Billy asked.
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