Chapter Text
“How could you?!?” his mother wailed.
“You know those weren’t federation-approved steps, and don’t you dare try to tell me otherwise!” Chip seethed.
“This was supposed to be your year, son,” his father said, shaking his head with disappointment.
If Rudy hadn’t already reached his daily limit of expressing himself physically by dancing earlier he surely would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he turned them all out and let his gaze slip to the band packing up on the stage.
Most of the members of the band at smaller competitions were local musicians or retirees who wanted some entertainment, but this time there had been a boy about Rudy’s age. And there he was now, his guitar in its case and sheet music in his bag, he was now working on folding his chair and putting away his music stand.
Mike Webster. Rudy mentally cataloged everything he knew about him. They went to the same high school. They were in the same grade. He played guitar (obviously). He was Jeffrey’s dance partner, Vicky,’s older brother. He drove an old, navy blue VW. He wore the kind of big, round glasses that had gone out of style about five years earlier. His long, blond hair could use a trim. He was practical and always drove exactly the speed limit. He was a talented musician. He’d never had a girlfriend. And when chaos had erupted earlier, he had laughed.
“MILLER!” Chip shrieked, cutting through Rudy’s thoughts.
Rudy looked back toward the group of disapproving adults.
“What was I saying just now?” his mother asked, her arms crossed.
Rudy didn’t answer.
“I told you he wasn’t listening!” Chip said, triumphantly.
Rudy’s father rolled his eyes, and Rudy nearly smirked.
“Look,” his mother said patiently, “all we want is for you to be successful, and we’re worried that you’re not taking this nearly as seriously as you should be.”
“We just want you to think of your future,” his father added.
“Don’t you want to win?” Chip asked.
Rudy looked Chip in the eye. “I don’t care about winning,” he said and walked out.