Deathskull Bombshell by Bethny Ebert

Nick grabbed her an empty beer can, filling it with
water. He grabbed another folding chair for his sister.
    Elizabeth chugged the water down and leaned
her head on Brooke’s shoulder. “Dear Christ,” she said.
    Brooke laughed. “Yeah.”
    “What a concert. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts. “I
wonder where that guy ran off to.”
    “What guy?”
    Covering her mouth, Elizabeth yawned.
    “We drove some guy here after his car broke
down,” Nick explained. He grabbed the donation jar from the counter
and shook it, trying to weigh the profits in his mind. The coins
jingled quiet, muffled by the dollars. He told himself not to get
too optimistic about it. They were going to have to split it all up
anyway.
    “Oh, cool,” Brooke said. She grinned. “Was he
cute?”
    “What?” Nick said, crossing his arms. “I
don’t know. God.” He glared at her.
    “Way-ooooooooooooooh!” Parker yelled then,
running up from downstairs, and they stared at him. “That was
amazing! Fuckin’ Ȼørpseflowerź! Right there!”
    Nick nodded.
    “They were so tall!” Parker said, drunk,
slurring his speech. He wobbled slightly, then leaned against the
counter to steady himself. “And they had a real synthesizer! And
the bassist let me touch his Fender!”
    Nick stared at him, mortified.
    “How was it?” Brooke said, suppressing a
giggle. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
    “Awesome!” Parker said. He jumped around,
exclaiming over everything.
    A few other people wandered upstairs. They
all chatted for a while about the show and about other shows that
were going on later that week. Some guy was throwing a party. Nick
didn’t know him, but it felt nice to be invited. One guy wore an
Anti-Flag shirt, prompting a discussion about their new album.
    Parker found someone with rolling papers and
gradually calmed down. Brooke smoked a few cigarettes with him and
some guys she didn’t know very well. She was getting really into
this whole thing, the attention. It worried him.
    Nick wondered if this was his future, sitting
around like a nerd and fetching water while everyone else got drunk
and high. It almost made him want to get high too. He tried to
remember some Buddhist quotes about heedlessness and sobriety.
Thinking helped.
    Trevor came upstairs a while later, a leggy
drunk girl on his arm. He blinked, looking dazed, surprised to see
everyone still there.
    “Yo, bro,” Elizabeth said.
    He nodded at her. “Brooke,” he said to
Brooke.
    “Bjorn,” Brooke said, hooking her fingers
through the belt loops of her jeans. She was the only one who put
up with his stupid rock star nicknames.
    Trevor smirked. “I was pretty good up there,
huh?” He ran a hand through his crunchy gelled hair, and the girl
giggled at him. He winked at her.
    “We were all pretty good,” Elizabeth
said.
    “Gotta go,” Parker said, jumping up. He ran
off, out of the house.
    Nick followed him. He sucked at running, and
he had to reach into his pocket for his inhaler once they were
outside. Parker waited next to him as he huffed and puffed,
pressing the inhaler to his mouth and breathing in the medicinal
vapors.
    “Was that really necessary?” he
complained.
    Parker looked at the sky. “Yes.”
    Nick took another puff on his inhaler.
“Why?”
    “All that sleazy post-show bullshit,” Parker
said. “I can’t stand it.”
    “Yeah.”
    They stood there, quiet, while Nick’s panting
subsided. Whoever heard of a punk with chronic obstructive
pulmonary disease? Lame.
    His breathing slowed after a few minutes.
Cool and dark, the sky was littered with a bunch of stars, and
there weren’t any people outside. If it wasn’t for the light
glinting off their glasses, they could both be invisible.
    They stared at each other in the inky
dark.
    Parker grabbed Nick’s wrist, inspecting his
hand for no real reason. “I can read palms,” he bragged. Drinking
made him bold.
    “It’s a little dark