Matthew Quick - All Together Now (previously published as Sorta Like a Rock Star)

Lying down, shivering on the last seat of school bus 161, pinned by his teensy doggie gaze, which is completely 100% cuteIm such a girl, I knowI say, You wont believe the bull I had to endure today.

My legs are propped up against the window, toes pointing toward the roof so that the poodle skirt I made in Life Skills class settles around my midsection. Yeah, its the twenty-first century and I wear poodle skirts. I like dogs. Im a freak. So what? And before anybody reading along gets too jazzed up thinking about my skirt flipped up around my waist, my lovely getaway sticks exposed, allow me to say theres no teenage flesh to be seen here.

I have on two pairs of sweatpants, three pairs of wool socks, two pairs of gloves, a big old hat that covers my freakishly little ears, and three jacketsbecause I dont own a proper winter coat and its extremely cold sleeping on Hello Yellow through the dismal January nights.

I can see my breath.

Ice sheets form on the windows.

My teeth chatter.

Sometimes I wake up because my lungs hurt so bad from taking in so much freezing air. Its like gargling chips of dry ice.

My water bottle freezes if I take it out of my inner coat pocket.

Forget about peeing, unless you want to shiver your butt offliterally.

And its pretty lonely too.

Because I am holding him up above my head, Bobby Big Boy (Triple B) looks down at me, panting with his perfect pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. His breath stinks like the butts hes always trying to sniff whenever hes around any dog womenBBBs an awful flirt even though he is totally monogamous and loyal to Ms. Jennybut I want to kiss him anyway, because he is a sexy mutt and the most dependable man I know. Hell never leave meeverwhich is why I dont mind the smelly doggie kisses. Plus hes wearing his dapper plaid coat, which I also made in Life Skills class, and his doggie jacket makes him look beautiful. His hair is mussed around the ears like Brad Pitt, or maybe like he needs a bath, but his eyes are loyal and kind.

As I finish my confession, I keep him waiting, suspended above me, his little legs running like he thinks hes on a treadmill or something. Theres no rush. We are alone, we have all night, and Bobby Big Boy digs air running above my face.

Ive been sleeping with Triple B for somewhere around a year now. I found him in a shoebox half starvedno tags. No lie. He looked like a sock that had been flushed down the toilethaving traveled through all those gross pipesonly to be spit out of some sewer grate into a wet orange Nike box set up sideways like some elementary school kids diorama. PATHETIC ALMOST DEAD MUTT, the exhibition would have been labeled, had some little tyke taken it into the science fair. Needless to say, I rescued his butt from the curb and nursed him back to health, mostly with scraps of meat I initially stole from Donnas dinner table until she caught me and started buying BBB dog food.

Did I put up Lost-Dog-Found posters?

Ill put it to you this wayif I ever meet the people who let Triple B get so skinny, watch out.

Bobby Big Boy is still air-running like a champ, and will keep at it until I lower him.

Regarding time, the parking-lot streetlights go out around eleven, and then there is no reading or writingbecause I cant risk some curious passerby seeing me using a flashlight. That would blow our cover. With no lightsall alonethings can get quite weird, which is why I like to keep Bobby Big Boy around. But its only nine-something now, so Ill have plenty of time to do my homework, after Im done confessing to Triple B, who doubles as my at-home priest, of course, because Father Chee is only Gods servant and not God, so therefore, not omnipresent. I have priorities, and keeping my soul white with a nightly confession is high up on the list. Im a pretty good Catholic; Im still the big V. Momma Mary and me are, like, five-by-five; Im a holy teenager of God, sucka! And Mom wont be back until after the bar closes, and maybe not even then. Shes gone a fishin for men, as Jesus says.

Today, I kicked Lex Pinkston in the shin, I tell 3B, his legs still going like mad, which I know is a sin, especially since God made man in his own image, so He probably does have sympathetic (divine) shins prone to the unmerciful ache of a swift kick to the holy shin bone, and those Roman thugs probably kicked good old JC in the shins a few times before they nailed Our Lord and Savior to a tree, making Him equally sympathetic to the plaintiffs case, but before you go telling God all about my sin of punting teenage-boy shin, Father Big Boy, let me stress that there were extenuating circumstances. Lex made Ricky echo something filthy againand I warned that plebian, Lex, like fifty timesso I let him have it. I kicked him square in the shin, and he started hopping on one leghis friends laughing like hyenas, or maybe apes. Scratch that. Primates are cute, and way smarter than Childress Public High School football players, who suck and never win any games, because they are too busy being morons.