Read Online Band Fags! by Frank Anthony Polito - Free Book Online

house hanging out one Saturday afternoon. We had a Total Blast, playing Atari and calling the Party Line and stuff. We even got Tom to pretend his name was Tammy and talk to one of the guys. And boy was he good at it…He came up with some totally wild things to say, which I won’t even repeat. Too bad when we got back to school on Monday, I tried talking to him during Ms. Lemieux’s 6 th & 7 th hour Enriched English & Social Studies, and he totally blew me off!
    I can’t even believe Tom’s going with Marie Sperling now. She used to be all Little Miss Innocent, back in 7 th grade. I swear, you could tell her a joke in 1st hour and she wouldn’t start laughing till 5 th . Even though she’s always been a Total Sweetheart, none of the Popular Guys wanted anything to do with her. Then last Summer, puberty kicked in and BAM!
    Now that I think of it…Marie kinda reminds me of Kristian Alfonso. Whom I’m still totally in love with. She’s gotta be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Every night before I go to bed, I pray that one day I’ll find a girlfriend who’s as beautiful as Kristian Alfonso. If only that could happen, I know I’d be set. Then I could prove to all those Jock Jerks out there—like Fuck Face Craig Gershrowski—that I’m not… You know.
    With regards to the Tigers’ Parade, I start to tell Brad, “I don’t know…”
    It’s not that I don’t care about the World Series, don’t get me wrong. Even though I’m not technically a Sports Fan, I have a fond affinity for the Detroit Tigers. Back in 4 th grade, my Dad used to take me to Tiger Stadium all the time. I’d sit there in the bleachers with my program on my lap, memorizing all the players’ names and their numbers: #1—Lou Whitaker, #3—Alan Trammell, #4—Aurelio Rodriguez, who was always my Aunt Sonia’s favorite ’cause he wore patent leather shoes. Not to mention #8—Ron LeFlore, #10—Rusty Staub, #13—Lance Parrish, #19—Dave Rozema, #33—Steve Kemp.
    But partying with a bunch of strangers in Downtown Detroit of all places is the last thing I wanna be doing…
    â€œCome on!” Brad practically begs. “The Tigers haven’t won the World Series since like 1965.”
    â€œ1968,” I correct, only knowing this fact because my Dad’s been stressing it this entire season.
    â€œIt could be the Year 2000 before they ever make it to the World Series again,” he tells me. “And by that time, we’ll be too old to even care.”
    â€œOkay…” God forbid I should miss out. Which is why I have no other choice but to give in and agree to go along.
    â€œAwesome!” Brad cheers. “We’ll be right over.” Then he throws in, “We gotta pick Bobby up first.” By whom he could only mean Bobby Russell. As in Dear Bobby… from the letter Mr. Grant read aloud to us in the cafeteria at the beginning of 7 th grade.
    In case I haven’t mentioned it…Bobby happens to live just four blocks away from me on the other side of John R, over on Moorhouse. Across I-75 from where he went to elementary school at Roosevelt with Symphonic Band 2 nd chair clarinet Carrie Johnson. Though I couldn’t figure out why he’d be coming along with us. I mean, he’s been in Band with me and Brad for the past two years. But it’s not like either of us is friends with him.
    Which is why I have to ask, “Why’s Bobby Russell coming?”
    To which Brad replies, “I don’t know…What’s the big deal?”
    â€œNo big deal.” Though Brad knows how much I can’t stand Bobby Russell. I mean, he sits right next to me in Band. But whenever I see him outside of class, he acts like he doesn’t even know who I am. Probably because every time he’s challenged me for 1st chair, he’s always