Page 92 of Playworld

“Because you’re a douche bag,” I said.

“Because I’m…” He let the earphone spring back.

Melle Mel, right on time

And Taurus the bull is my zodiac sign

And I’m Mr. Ness and I’m ready to go

And I go by the sign of Scorpio

He popped and locked, did a bit of the Robot, and then slid the earphones around his neck. “Matt and I cut a single.” He held up the cassette. “Want to hear?” He slid the tape into our deck. A drum machine started up. Next, Oren and Matt alternated raps:

We’re the White Boys

We’re white as can be

Hey yo, my name O-reo

And I’m M-A-double T.

“That’s great,” I said over the song, “if you’re retarded.”

“You’re just jealous of our talent.”

“An Oreo isn’t as white as can be.”

“Fair,” Oren conceded.

“How about Matty Matt instead?”

“How about,” Oren said, “you join the group. You could be DJ McGriff.”

“Why the ‘Mc’?”

“Because you’re fast, like McDonald’s.”

The phone rang. Mom immediately picked up. Then she shouted, “Griffin, it’s for you.”

It was Amanda.

“I know this is last minute, but are you busy later?” she asked. Her voice was so bright and ringing it was close to shrill. When I told her I was free, she said, “My father’s in town and wanted to take me to dinner. He said I could bring someone.”

“Sure,” I said, and punched the sky. “What time?”

“Can you be here by six thirty? It’s probably a fancy place.” When I told her yes, she said, “Great,” and then gave me her address. “I’ll see you soon.”

When I hung up, Oren said, “You should come record with us tonight.”

“Can’t,” I said. “Got a date.”

“With who?”

“You don’t know her.”

“Maybe she lives in Canada,” Oren said. He produced the forty-five of Grandmaster Flash’s “Freedom,” touched the needle to the vinyl, and when the kazoos kicked in, he started dancing, so I joined him until the end of the track, because it was the only way to deal with my nervous excitement.

Later, I was leaving just as Mom was setting the table.