Broken Piano for President Read Online Free PDF Page A

eyes. “Plus, I think I might have done some drugs.” He’s pretty sure he didn’t, but whatever.
    “Deshler, we were gonna score together,” she says. “Were you holding out on me?”
    “No, no, somebody just gave me some at the bar last night.” He trips on the words. “Some coke, I think.”
    “You think you did coke last night. Well, that explains why we drove all over town looking for more.” The early sun hits her blonde strands and glows translucent. “I think.”
    “Yep,” he says, leatherlipped, realizing he’s balancing on a line as thin as that imaginary cocaine rail. “Sure does.”
    Malinta rolls her eyes once more, but stops midway through, caressing the window with her cheek. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. God, what a great campaign. What genius .” This is a sultry voice Dean wants more of. “I was serious back when I said I should send them my resume.”
    A billboard for Winters Olde-Tyme Hamburgers features a floating spacesuit. “SPACE BURGER has Landed!” it says. Its moon is actually a beef patty.
    Malinta whips the towel off the bloody gash and saddles a hand on Deshler’s knee. The hair around her wound is pink from water. “Now that is a campaign. Monte Cristo is just slapping a band-aid on a broken arm. But Space Burgers, that’s, that’s…” Her lower lip gets clamped by white teeth and her eyes close. “That’s legendary. I hope we can do something legendary .”
    The driver doesn’t seem to notice any of this happening. He crosses the bridge into downtown, swerving through lanes. Trees are planted along the sidewalks, but they are young and weak. The city will probably cut them down when their roots grow too large. All around are squat brick buildings, but two glass and steel skyscrapers tower much higher than the rest.
    Malinta slides her hand further up Dean’s leg. A numb excitement blazes along his body. His eyes droop. “What,” Deshler says, “is a Space Burger ?”
    “Very funny.” Malinta yanks the hand back into her lap.
    He’s suddenly lonely. Empty.
    Little speechless huffs and puffs slip out like she can’t understand what she just heard. “You know,” Malinta says, slowly, inspecting her towel’s strawberry stain. “You have a greater chance of being killed by a falling coconut than a shark attack?”
    He waits, about to tell the driver to just pull over. Running away sounds reasonable once again. “Okay.”
    “I’ve done some research. One hundred twenty people die each year from falling coconuts. Your odds of eating it are three hundred million-to-one. Those suckers drop like bowling balls.”
    Deshler pops knuckles. The limo pulls in front of a skyscraper with a huge blue and yellow awning: “Bust-A-Gut World Headquarters.”
    “But only about forty people a year are killed by sharks. Those are like, six hundred fifty million-to-one odds.”
    “Why do you research this?” He scoots away, intimidated by the focus in her eyes.
    “Point is, I don’t know what the odds of dying from having your head up your ass are,” she says, flipping hair, trying to hide the wound. “But I think you’ll show us all.” She opens the door and eases out. “I have to work. Bye.”

“Dude, don’t forget we have practice tonight,” Henry says as Deshler struggles through the door. A slice of cold wedges in behind him.
    Dean looks down at his jeans, splattered red from Malinta’s towel. He needs to change, fast. “I’m fine, really,” Deshler rumbles. “Don’t ask how I am or anything.” The greeting reminds Dean how little respect his bandmates pay. Jerks.
    “Dean, if I got worried every time you magically disappeared from a bar,” Henry blows smoke through his nose, lying on the couch. “And wander back home at noon, I’d have an ulcer.”
    “Nothing says, ‘ I care ,’ like an ulcer.”
    “Please,” Henry laughs. Dean notices an ant hill of white dust on the coffee table. A snowdrift, really. “You’re a big boy. Not