Sweeter Life Read Online Free

wrap it up—the case, the cord there, the strap, the whole kit and caboodle. I’d even throw in the stand while we’re at it. I got no use for it.”
    Cyrus stood again and looked out the window as a milk truck rattled past. Then he closed his eyes and pictured Ruby standing in the kitchen. He imagined himself in a suit at graduation. Finally he turned back to Geordie, patted his pocket and said, “You take a cheque?” Ten minutes later he was outside again, holding a case so heavy and solid it made him feel serious and grown-up and real.
    School was out of the question now, of course, so he headed straight over to the Three Links Hall where he and his band, Bluestone, had a rehearsal space. Byron Young, Janice’s dad, was some grand poohbah in the Oddfellows and for five bucks a month rented them one of the spare rooms upstairs as long as they didn’t rehearse on lodge night. It was cool beyond belief to have their own private hangout.
    Cyrus fired up his amplifier and blazed away for about an hour, trying every lick he knew. Although the Les Paul felt nothing like his Harmony and would take some getting used to, it was a brilliant instrument. The Harmonywas a beginner’s axe, something his uncle had bought for him. It certainly had never made him feel like this, like a star, like a pro. He launched into the opening riff of “Born Under a Bad Sign.” That’s when he noticed Janice standing in the doorway.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Get bounced from class again?”
    She stepped farther into the room. “Never mind me. What are
you
doing here? And what the hell is that?”
    For the hundredth time that morning, Cyrus held the guitar out from his body so he could admire it. “This,” he said, “is a sign from God. Totally freaking me out. And you’ll never guess where I found it. Star fucking Radio. A hundred and fifty bucks.”
    “Get out.”
    “One-fifty. I couldn’t believe it. I mean I don’t even want to think what it might be worth. It is a sign from God.” And they both laughed then and embraced, the guitar wedged between them.
    Janice was the band’s singer and the closest thing he had to a best friend. Ever since the summer, they had been messing around in private, not like love or anything and, from his point of view, not even like major desire, but just because she wanted to and he didn’t mind, because she was soft and sweet and funny and knew him better than he knew himself, because her eyes were so full of mischief and green and sometimes sadness; and even though she was not exactly his physical type—a small-time Janis Joplin was how he thought of her, with her wild halo of red hair, with her freckles and chunky arms and her heavy, mannish way of moving around—the truth was he liked kissing her cheeks, so soft and fragrant, and fumbling around in the dark, and especially the afternoons upstairs in her bed, because, really, when he thought about it, most likely they weren’t, either one of them, going to get much else.
    Barely able to contain himself, he led her over to the battered sofa in the corner and sat beside her, still holding the guitar. He looked across the room to the plaque on the wall, the motto of the Three Links Fraternity: Friendship, Love and Truth. Then he kissed her lightly on the temple and unburdened himself of his secret plan. “You are the first to know,” he said.
    HANK SOON REALIZED the radio was not an entire loss. Even the sound of static was preferable to the din of this place—the swearing, the night terrors, the violence, the guards’ squeaky shoes as they paced the corridors. Someone had told him once that radio static was the sound of outer space, a pretty cool idea, so he crawled beneath the covers and gave himself up once again to the electronic hiss. More than the universe, it reminded him of the sound of wind in the trees, waves on a distant shore. And what he wouldn’t give for the accompanying smells instead of this damp stone and