Dirty Rocker Boys Read Online Free Page A

for my dad? Well he stayed grumpy, except maybe a little worse. Now I had a baby to worry about, as well as my mom. Usually when things got bad, I would lift baby John out of his crib (we soon started calling him by his middle name, Adam) and we’d hide in the closet. I’d hold him close to me and sing songs until things got quiet again.
    Things worsened when my dad quit being a car salesman and started his home-insulation business. Being around chemicals and fiberglass all day long made him tired and irritable. On top of that, he had trouble figuring out how to make money, hard as he tried. Add a hangover every morning, and you’ve got one mean, pissed-off son of a bitch. Life with the Browns was never a rose garden.
ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD JOYRIDER
    The one thing that always cheered me up, apart from playing with my baby brother, was my girlfriends. I learned early on that when family lets you down, your best friends can pull you back up. My BFF Missy Brown lived down the street. My other best friend was Shannon Parker, who lived next to Missy. Then my two other besties, Jenny Mizel and Kelly Winters, lived within walking distance. We were inseparable, like the Pink Ladies from the movie Grease , and we loved nothing more than putting on makeup, gossiping about boys, and making up dances to our favorite pop songs. Jenny and I, especially, were into the dancing. As soon as I could walk, I would groove. I stuffed socks into my mom’s bras and boogied with the vacuum cleaner while watching Soul Train .
    “Look, honey, she really loves that black music,” said my dad. To this day, hip-hop is my jam.
    I was shy in middle school, but once I started dancing at our school talent shows, that changed. When my mom found out, the stage mom that had resided inside her for so long was finally unleashed.
    “Okay, let’s do it one more time,” my mom would say, as Jenny and I practiced our ’80s dance moves. We had picked the song “Funkytown” for the sixth-grade talent show.
    “A little more like this, Bobbie! And smile !”
    Winning the talent shows boosted my confidence even more, and I started singing solo in front of the school. I never had an out-of-the-womb amazing voice like Christina Aguilera,but I knew how to entertain a crowd. I’ll never forget my mom’s proud face after I sang “Over the Rainbow” in front of the whole school. That moment, I think, is when she realized she had an entertainer on her hands.
    Along with my newfound confidence came a growing disregard for the rules. I became convinced that I knew better than most adults—and who could blame me, considering how my parents carried on with each other. Nothing was off-limits, as far as I was concerned, including stealing my mom’s car and kidnapping my baby brother. I blame my friend Penny’s older sister, who was eighteen. She was like a mentor to Penny and me. She taught us how to French kiss on our hands, how to make a boy think you were ignoring him, how to write a love letter, which lip gloss to wear, the importance of blending eye shadow, how much hair mousse to use, why dry shampoo mattered—the important stuff.
    I was eleven years old, and so was Penny. Driving an automobile seemed doable. Penny’s sister gave us a pretty thorough lesson in her mom’s Thunderbird, and by the end of the day we were confident drivers, our little butts propped up on cushions so we could see over the steering wheel, feet barely reaching the pedals. Driving around the block, then pulling up against the curb and parking was a thrill. I’d never felt so grown-up in my life.
    One day I thought it would be fun to take my toddler brother out for a spin. I found my mom’s car keys, carried him to the car, and sat him in the passenger seat. We drove about fifteen blocksthrough the subdivision and then back. It was a glorious morning, and my three-year-old brother seemed perfectly at ease with his eleven-year-old chauffeur. Pulling up to the curb outside my parents’