Three

I was thirteen when I found the Clubhouse. I'd known Buddy for a year. The bullying was really bad for both of us; me for being goth and him being a loser who didn't have any friends. He was lonely with none of his friends going to his middle school, and I was the new kid after Mom moved us out to the Green Lake suburbs. The fact I was goth made me a much bigger target compared to Buddy, but he was still a shy kid looking for a friend as much as I was.

I remember the day our teachers sat us next to each other. I never told Buddy, but I was sure our teacher purposefully put us together because he knew we could use someone. Buddy lived up to his name. He was a friend to everyone, even those who weren't to him. The motto "Kill them with kindness" was his life motto, which led to him becoming such a catch in high school. That and puberty's kindness.

Back when we were thirteen, we were walking downtown and spotted a small hole-in-the-wall department store with a man handing out fliers. He was operating a clubhouse for children interested in the arts. Musicians, actors, and artists all gathered there from the range of sixth graders to seniors in high school. Buddy wasn't much a fine arts fanatic (though he was a supporter) as he was a gamer and geek. We both enjoyed Nintendo and would watch shows like Community and 3rd Rock from the Sun.

The one thing that separated us was the fact that I always wanted to learn to play drums. In elementary school, I had to move every nine months because of Mom's job. I could never take lessons for long if I wanted to, and based on the places we moved to, it wasn't as though I could easily pack a drum kit and take it with us. She would have been okay with several other instruments, but drums were a no-go. Too bad I always wanted to be like Roger Taylor. He was the sexiest member of Queen, and I always found drummers to be the most attractive member of any band. I wanted to be that sex symbol.

It was through the clubhouse that I learned how to play the drums. Brody was fresh out of high school when he and his brother founded the clubhouse. It wasn't an actual store. Brody's uncle owned the strip mall and apartments it was connected to, so he gave him the clubhouse area for the hell of it to encourage adolescents to follow their artistic dreams. There weren't many of us, roughly twenty overall, but we had people come and go who needed a taste of creativity to liven their dull lives.

The clubhouse itself was separated into multiple sections. All musicians had to stay in the back where they'd be away from any actors trying to rehears, though they rarely came in. There were a few who went to high school with me, but they only ever came on Thursdays. I decided not to play on those days, giving it up for them. At least until it was after hours, and Brody and I would have our own jam session.

He knew how to play several instruments, including the cello and the accordion. He once played with "Weird Al" Yankovic when he stopped by on tour. He taught me what every beginner needed to know in order to play drums, and I taught myself the rest through constant practice at both school and the clubhouse. I was able to convince Mr. Manovich, the head of the music department, to let me play after school. So long as there was no band practice that day.

Brody was five years older than me, twenty-three. Everyone knew I treated him like a brother, but I viewed him more like a dad. His approval meant the world to me. When Jeanie graduated from high school, Mom moved without us. Dad only ever sent a card on what he thought was my birthday, and Mom only visited on holidays or special occasions. At least she would call.

So whenever I needed someone, Brody was right there. He'd wipe away my tears when I was sad and buy me ice cream to make me happy. He cried when he saw me wear my Eighth-Grade Dance dress. He was protective of me in a way that could only be described as paternal. He treated me like how I always imagined fathers would treat their daughters, and he took on that role with pride.

When I walked into the clubhouse, the first thing Brody asked me was, "Do you have any homework?"

"Lots," I mumbled as I plopped down at an empty table next to Petula. She was an incredible artist. She sold her paintings on Etsy for top dollar, and she'd been showcased in multiple galleries in town. She attended my school's "rival school," but because of our lack of patriarchy, we never butted heads. The clubhouse was a peaceful place, and school rivalries were meant only during sports games.

"You came in late," she commented as she painted the reflection of a person in her still life model's eye. "Something hold you up?"

"Yeah, I had to give that Devon Quid kid his homework," I replied as I pulled out my algebra binder.

"Really?" Brody asked, perking up by the front desk and leaning forward. "Did he try anything on you?"

"The only thing he did was change my bandages," I said, holding up my hand.

"You went in his house?" Petula smirked. I rolled my eyes. "Look at you."

"Not like that." I chuckled, swatting at the air behind her head. I'd never actually touch her while she was painting. I wouldn't risk messing her up. "I had to drop off his work, and he saw it was getting dirty from the day, so he invited me inside, cleaned them off, and then I came here."

"They were covered in blood, weren't they?" Brody deadpanned.

"Yeah."

"Should you really be playing the drums then?"

"The doctor said they were going to bleed. And the stitches are there to keep the skin in place. I will not let some baby cuts stand in the way of drumming. If the stitches pop open, then the doctors are the ones who screwed up. Not me."

"Wise words from a wise woman," he sarcastically said with a chuckle. "Just play safe. If you start to bleed, you stop."

"That's never happened before."

"There's a difference between burning your hands from playing too hard versus having a sword fall on your knuckles and cut your hands. You bleed, you stop."

"But-"

"Finish your homework."

I groaned as I started my worksheets. Homework was never very hard for me to do. It wasn't always correct, but I never got below a seventy-five percent. As I remembered Jeanie used to say back in her college days, "C's get degrees."

Petula giggled beside me as she continued to paint, humming along to Fall Out Boy playing from Brody's phone. I glanced at her and smirked. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing," she said, stifling her giggled. "You two just act so cute-"

"There is nothing going on between us. Nothing ever will go on between us."

"Are you sure? You remind me of me and my boyfriend."

I faced her, quirking an eyebrow.

She pouted her lips, mumbling, "Don't judge me."

I quickly finished my work and walked to my drum kit in the back corner. "Do you care if I play?"

"If I can paint during an earthquake, I'm sure I can paint while you play the drums," she called out, waving me away without looking up from her canvas.

Plugging my phone into the doc, loading Down With The Sickness, I played along with the track, warming up. I could play mindlessly along with the song, dreaming of what it would be like to be in my own band. It was definitely a dream I could see once I went off to college. Join some band that needed a drummer, impress them with my talent, and then make it big. But I wouldn't be able to make it if I didn't practice, practice, practice.

Brody walked out of the back, smiling as he passed me. After the song ended, I played along with whatever random track played until Brody unplugged my phone so I could work on my own solo work. I wrote my own music, which was softer than what people would assume from looking at me. I knew how to write music for piano and guitar as well, though I didn't know how to play. I'd hear the melody in my head, and Brody would play it out loud for me during our sessions. But when I had my solo time, it was all about future drum solos.

With the songs we'd already written, I'd imagine where I could place a drum solo and impress the audience. I'd make it long enough for my bandmates to change their attire if they needed to before coming back on stage to finish the song. While I knew my club mates were being polite when they'd smile and cheer me on, I was confident enough to know that what I wrote was actually good. And if I needed the absolute truth, Buddy would tell me in vague ways if he enjoyed it based on how the song went and whether it fit.

I played all night as everyone left the clubhouse until it was just Brody and I. He always drove me home, despite it being a five-minute walk.

"You seemed to have a lot of passion there." He slid the drumsticks out of my hands and asked, "Were you playing your feelings?"

"What feelings? The ones about seeing Devon again, or the ones about going home to Jeanie? Because the answer is Jeanie. It's always Jeanie."

"Why don't you talk to her? I know things are rough right now, but they don't always have to be. Things can get better."

"I know, but it's still her dream. I can't just ask her to stop and hang out with me."

"She's family."

"Yeah, and you've been more family to me in the past five minutes than she has in five months. What does that say about her?"

"Just talk to her. For my sake, will you please talk to her?"

Heaving a sigh, I nodded and stood up. "Fine. I will."

Brody locked the Clubhouse, and we walked to his car. As strange as it was for him to drive a sedan, it was convenient for driving a bunch of members around in case they needed a ride home after club hours.

"Jacques is going to come in tomorrow to my place."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"There's a new community center opening up in Cider Lake. They want me to meet up with their director for some sort of partnership."

"Is the Clubhouse moving?"

"No, they're opening up an art class for college students and other young adults. They want to use our club as a sort of template. It'd be a place for our artists to go once they've graduated. And if they decide to go to the community college, it's right nearby."

"But after I graduate from high school, I'm still welcomed back, right?"

Brody glanced at me and smiled. "Always. Once a member, always a member."

Brody pulled up in front of my house. I faced him and asked, "Can I come with tomorrow?"

"It's going to be a boring meeting-"

"But tomorrow's Thursday. Actor's day. Can't I just come with you?"

Shaking his head softly, he smiled and glanced up at me. "I'll pick you up from school tomorrow. You need to do your homework while I'm in my meeting."

"Deal." I leaned over the console and hugged him. He kissed the top of my head through a giggle and playfully nudged me out of his car.