The Music of What Happens

by Bill Konigsberg

The exterior is dirty and faded white, and it says Coq Au Vinny across the top in bloodred Comic Sans lettering, which looks a little amateurish.

The kid is just — striking? It’s a weird word but I don’t know what else to call him.

I was like, dude, how in the world did you manage to bring human lactation into your oral report? If I ever said anything half that creative, half that unusual, my best friends would divorce my ass. How can a guy be so comfortable with being weird?

“Coq au Vinny. Um. ‘We do Italian things with chicken.’ ”

“Italian things, eh?” He raises his eyebrows twice in quick succession.

“Man. That shit be Italian, yo,” I deadpan,

People are terrible.

“We’re gonna be fine. I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

Please don’t. Please don’t pull me more into this. I’m just trying to be a good dude.

“Am I serious,” she deadpans. “Have you seen me in action? I’m a YouTube viral video waiting to happen. This is clearly not happening with me in charge.”

I’d be like a superhero, really. In a world where a family’s last hope is a food truck with a limited menu, Max Morrison isn’t just a Good Samaritan, he’s a Great one. He’ll save the day, as he always does. And a superhero not working at State Farm, so. Yeah.

How hard can this be? To save a food truck?

Should I learn to sell my body? That one makes me laugh. Yeah, right. Like anyone’s buying this.

“Do you know how I know you’re gay?” Betts asks as he jerks his controller to make Ezekiel Elliott juke past a defender on the big screen in front of us. “It’s because you had gay sex with a gay guy last night.”

“What was his name? This some Grindr hookup and shit? Pitch or catch?” Betts laughs like crazy

Betts says. “My obdulla oblongata is bigger than yours. I promise.” I snort. “Medulla oblongata.

“I have my own life, Pam,” I monotone. “Not everything is about you, Pam.”

“You make sure your Nazi son stays away from my boy.”

“I hate you both so much,” I say. “Like truly, utterly hate you to my innermost self.”

a yellow hoodie with a photo of Jesus,

“Hate crime!” “Against a cisgender white girl with blond hair,”

convinced Mom to take me to all the Goodwill stores in the area and we bought all the most depraved stuff — her word,

Is there like an Uber app for chefs, and did you pick him because he’s hot?”

“It” shall be described only as a marital aid here, because I do not think I can bear to go into specifics on this particular aid to my nonexistent marriage.

I did wash it, thank you very much,

“Did you know that biologically speaking, the rectum is cleaner than the mouth?” I roll my eyes. “What boy told you that, and what did you let him do to you?”

I grimace for just a nanosecond ’til I catch myself. Then I smile until I feel better. I mean, there are terrible, racist-ass people out there. But also good people. Who am I gonna focus on?

“No, really,” he says. “I thrive on it.” “I’ve never cooked anything that’s on the menu.” “I cook,” he says. “And I like challenges.”

“You’re crazy.” He scratches his neck. “Good pep talk, boss.”

At this point, I’m thinking maybe death would be okay. Every time he says something about the truck, it punches me in the gut. Because this was my dad’s pride and joy.

He’s a good-looking guy, no question. All bluster and confidence while I’m whatever the opposite of that is. Apologies and embarrassment. Awkwardness and sorrow. First dead in a zombie apocalypse.

Jordan might be seriously adorable, but he’s also clueless, and the least grateful person I’ve ever met.

high-definition station that’s just a fireplace. Ever since she got our new 4K television, she’s all up on this fireplace thing,

Me

“I can … talk,” I say. She gives me that toothy mom smile. “You can, but you don’t,” she says.

Dad’s name is Ryan Morrison. He likes beer, fast cars, and TV shows where people get hit in the balls. Mentally he’s about twelve.

“So Max is …” “Cute?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

my heart feels like it could burst because seeing Mom like Mom again is everything.

The “Big in Japan” song itself is just overflowing with cultural appropriation that would get the guys flogged in 2019 but apparently was all the rage thirty years ago.

smile despite myself. It’s not normal to be pissed, and at the exact same time think there’s something freakin’ adorable about this dude getting all angry. I don’t know why. It just is.

“Oh Gods of the food truck,” he says. “Get the fuck out.”

“You have made me lose five pounds in pure water weight,” he says. “These are pounds I cannot afford to lose.”

Did you know that Coq Au Vinny almost definitely gave somebody the shits on its first few days out and about, because I, the cook, was unaware of at least ten rules? I know that now.

have to look away, because he’s the kind of adorable that doesn’t know it’s adorable. That’s the best kind.

“Well, going forward we will kill no people,”

Then he shows me this Randy Rainbow guy. It’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen and it’s kinda hilarious in a very non-Amigos way.

“So are you?” “Yep.” “Oh. Okay. Didn’t know that.” I have to look away, because something about the cutest of skinny white boys acknowledging my gayness for the first time is … a lot.

I’m thinking about Max. Who is, apparently, gay. This is new information.

So now I have a gay … something, and he is so far out of my league that we may as well live on different planets.

“You need exercise,” I say, and she just looks at me like, Bitch, you are aware I don’t speak English, right?

Two boys on a food truck. It’s like a great trashy male-male erotica novel. ‘Pump me full of diesel fuel, Max.’ ”