Read Online Sons of the 613 by Michael Rubens - Free Book Online Page B

if he’s forgotten about me entirely. He finds an open spot and stands there facing the stage, sipping the beer, nodding distractedly to the music and scanning the crowd. I plug my ears.
    And that’s what we do for the next several songs: me standing there grimacing with my fingers jammed in my ears, feeling stupid, Josh totally ignoring me.
    After a while I start to get used to the situation, relaxing a bit, maybe even enjoying the music a little. It’s not so bad, really. I’m in a club with my older brother, listening to music. Has Danny, Steve, or Paul been to a club like this? No. To be honest, this is sort of cool. Everything will be okay.
    And that’s when I notice the guy coming straight at me from my right.
    He’s big, as big as Josh, a fierce-looking punk with a red Mohawk and a motorcycle jacket and spikes and studs and big black boots, marching with purpose directly toward me, his fists clenched, looking like violent death personified.
    I feel a rush of terror and adrenaline and turn toward Josh for help, but it’s too late—the guy is just a step away, and now he’s on top of me, but then he’s brushing past me and I realize it’s Josh he’s heading for and something horrible is about to happen.

CHAPTER TEN
IN WHICH THE MYSTERY OF JOSH DEEPENS
    Â 
    M ERIT B ADGE : A TTACK BY P UNK R OCKER
    There’s no time to warn Josh, no time to even shout something, before the punk jabs out a stiff arm and gives Josh a brutal, jarring shove on the shoulder.
    The impact jolts Josh sideways a step or two, beer erupting from the bottle he’s holding. Josh pivots in surprise, his face registering bewilderment and then instantaneous fury, and I feel my knees nearly buckle from the fear of what’s about to happen. And then Josh’s expression changes again, shifting from angry incomprehension to recognition, then a huge smile, and then he and the punk guy are embracing and pounding each other on the back and laughing.
    I watch them as they have a shouted conversation, a conversation punctuated with enthusiastic fist bumps and high-fives, the two of them leaning close to scream in each other’s ears over the music. Josh points to me and says something, and the punker nods, then leans over and shouts, “What’s up, little dude?” and offers me a hand. I’m not sure whether to slap it or shake it or bump it, and there’s an awkward moment where I try to do all of those things at once, and finally the guy just grabs my hand, makes it into a fist, and does the fist bump for me, he and my brother laughing at me. Humiliating.
    They talk a bit longer, do more bumps and high-fives, and then the punk walks away, patting me on the head as he passes. His rings hurt my skull.
    As I watch him go the band finishes, and suddenly I can hear again. I turn back to Josh.
    â€œWho was that guy?”
    â€œHim? That’s just Patrick.”
    I watch Patrick vanishing into the crowd, pausing to greet someone else.
    â€œHe looks like that guy you told me about, the one you got in the fight with. The one who bit your ear off.”
    â€œHe is.”
    â€œWhat?!”
    â€œYeah, that’s him. Not a bad dude, really.”
    He’s distracted again, looking around at the crowd, looking toward the bar, like it’s no big deal that he just ran into the guy who bit off half of his ear and whose jaw he shattered.
    â€œYou’re friends now?”
    â€œYup.”
    I shake my head, adding another item to the Mystery List. Now that the band has stopped, the house lights have come up and I can see the rest of the crowd. Everyone looks like college students or older, and they all look like they could be drunk or high or I don’t know what, and the atmosphere feels charged and unstable, like an orgy or a riot could break out at any second. I have to pee, but I’m afraid to go to the bathroom, envisioning someone grabbing me and making me smoke