The kid acted like he hadn’t spoken. Some things never changed — teenage boys still hero-worshipped Scott.
Scott finished what he was doing and glanced at Carver. “Yeah, he’s fine. It was the amps. Let’s go again.”
They went again, for the sole audience of this zitty teenager in a crisp polo. Carver tried to channel some of his lunatic horny fighter pilot energy into his playing, which at first resulted in a couple of sour notes, to the clear disdain of the teenager. But before long Carver’s fingers caught up with his mind, and then he saw what Scott meant. The mix benefitted when the bass had some energy behind it — Scott sounded better too, without doing anything different.
Scott grinned at him again, nodding, and Carver smiled back. They wound down, and Scott said, “Okay, that’s solid. I think we’re good. So I can just leave all my shit here overnight?”
“Yeah, we only use this hall for events, and nothing else is booked for this weekend,” the teenager said. “Just make sure you pack it up and get it out of here after the reception ends.”
“Cool,” Scott said. “Thanks.”
The kid took the hint that he was being dismissed. “No worries, man,” he said, and vacated the scene.
Scott turned to Carver. Standing this close, Carver had to crane his neck to make eye contact — he was about five inches shorter. “I feel like we’ve barely had a second alone.”
“Uh, do we need one?”
“I mean, I’d like to catch up.” Scott set his guitar down and moved toward the edge of the stage, sitting down.
Carver followed suit, but sat with his legs crossed instead of dangling them like Scott was, his body rigid.
“It’s cool to see Letty so happy,” Scott said, glancing over at him.
“It is,” Carver said.
“You haven’t really hung out with them as a couple, have you?”
“Uh, yeah, no. I only just met Sana.”
“Oh, shit,” Scott said. “The four of us should meet up after the rehearsal dinner tonight. Catch up, reminisce.”
Carver stared into space. “Sure.”
“It is weird being back here. Since my parents moved, I’m never out here anymore.”
“Right.”
“I always forget how much I really, uh…” Scott trailed off, then laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “I really don’t like these people.”
Carver swiveled his head to him. “What people?”
“Bitterfeld people, man. Aloof, entitled…”
“You know, you’re one of them,” Carver snapped. “You grew up here, you’re one of us, you always will be.”
Scott examined Carver for a moment, making his cheeks warm. “You got me there,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “but it’s not like I was in step with the rest of you.”
“You elected not to be.”
“No, man, I — come on, don’t get defensive. You know I’m not talking aboutyou. We always used to talk about this, how weird we both felt growing up here. You’re telling me you don’t still feel that way?”
Carver didn’t respond to this. It was embarrassing to get defensive and be called defensive, yet everything Scott wassaying was making him more and more defensive. Down the hallway, the door to the reception hall banged open, and they both looked up. Letty’s mother, Carver’s aunt Josie, bustled in with her husband Hank on her heels. They looked like they had gotten dressed in a hurry and rushed over here.
“Hi Carver, sweetheart,” Josie called to him across the room, smiling. Carver liked Josie, even though she was flaky and kind of a loudmouth. “Hi Scotty.” (Scott waved.) “Did we miss everybody?”
“Hi,” Carver said. “No, they’re out looking at the grounds.”
“Shit,” Hank said. “I told you we should have been here at nine. Letty said nine.”
