Girl vs. Boy Band (6 page)

Her face turned even pinker. “Teddy doesn't know I'm alive,” she lamented.

“Well, I bet he'll take notice when everyone finds out you're living with the world's next super-hot boy band,” Mimi observed. “Little advice? When that info goes public, you might want to leave out the part about the zit cream.”

Lark laughed. “Yeah. Good call.”

Mimi took another spoonful of pudding. “In other news, have you heard there's going to be a school-wide talent show next month?” She pulled a flyer announcing the contest out of her backpack and slapped it onto the table. “I was thinking maybe . . .”

She trailed off, shoveling more pudding into her mouth, but Lark knew a stalling tactic when she saw one. A feeling of dread welled up in her stomach, mingling with the gooey knot of undigested grilled cheese. “You were thinking maybe . . . 
what
?”

“That I could enter one of my music videos,” Mimi blurted. “And by that, I mean one of
your
videos.
Our
videos. I know it's not a traditional talent show act, but filmmaking is a talent and I'd love to be recognized for what I do. Nobody at this whole school knows I'm an aspiring director. It would be nice to get some props for a change.”

Lark was seized by a grip of panic. “I totally get that, Meems, and I hate to have to be the one to point this out, but
you
being recognized means
I
have to be recognized, too. You know how I feel about singing in public.”

“I know, I know,” said Mimi. “I've heard the story a million times, all about poor little nine-year-old Lark Campbell, who was picked to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the Nashville Fourth of July parade. But when she marched up to the stage in her adorable red, white, and blue sundress and opened her mouth to sing, she only got as far as ‘the dawn's early light' before her head started spinning and she passed out. And she hasn't sung in public again since.”

Automatically, Lark's thumb went to her forehead to trace the nearly invisible scar above her left eyebrow. “It was humiliating. I needed four stitches.”

“It was three years ago!” Mimi put down the pudding cup and took both of Lark's hands in hers. “Please, Lark. If you let me use one of my . . . your . . . 
our
videos, it wouldn't be like singing in front of a live audience. You wouldn't even have to be in the audience, although it would be cool if you were. Won't you just please think about it? Please?”

Lark looked around the lunchroom, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have her schoolmates hear her sing one of her original songs. The jocks, the cheerleaders, the cool kids, the fashionistas, the brainiacs . . . what would they think of her? Would they judge her?

Um . . . 
yeah
, they would. This was middle school—of course they would judge her!

But what if they actually
liked
her sound? Maybe they'd say, “Wow, we didn't know the new girl was so talented.” Maybe Alessandra Drake—the best-dressed and most popular girl in seventh grade—would even ask where Lark got those cool, hand-tooled western boots she wore in every single video Mimi shot. Maybe Teddy Reese would think she had the sweetest voice he'd ever heard.

Or maybe they would they all laugh and call her a bumpkin for singing country music. Sure, country-pop was more mainstream than ever before, but she was an outsider, a Southern girl from Tennessee who idolized Dolly Parton and Kenny Chesney.

“I'll think about it, Meems,” she said at last. “I swear, I'll think about it, but I can't make any promises, okay?”

Mimi nodded, then gave Lark a serious look. “It's not just for me, you know. You're such an awesome singer. You owe it to yourself to let the whole world in on the secret.”

“Thanks,” said Lark, her eyes darting to where Teddy was getting up to return his lunch tray. “I'll see what I can do.”

When the bell rang, she told Mimi she'd see her later, in history class, then dumped the remaining ninety-five percent of her lunch into the trash and headed to the music room. It was time for her absolute favorite part of the day.

When Lark had first enrolled at school, she'd been placed in the standard music appreciation course, but it had quickly become clear that she could easily be teaching such a class. When she'd refused to join concert choir or chorus instead, her advisor had suggested a special independent study in songwriting. Lark had been delighted by the opportunity; now three times a week she got to enjoy fifty-five private, uninterrupted minutes in the school's rehearsal room, strumming away on a guitar and composing original lyrics . . . all for class credit!

The rehearsal space was only a short walk from the cafeteria, and Lark always had to resist the urge to run there. Today she was especially eager to start writing; seeing Teddy Reese with Alessandra had filled her with envy, and she knew from experience how that could translate into moody lyrics fueled by genuine middle-school angst. But when she turned the corner toward the music room, she stopped dead.

Leaning against the door of her assigned rehearsal space—looking way too adorable for his own good—was Teddy Reese.

Lark wondered if she was having some weird reaction to the cafeteria food that was causing her to hallucinate.

No. Teddy Reese really was standing there, propped casually against the music room door. And from the way he was smiling, it was pretty clear he'd been waiting for her.

It was all Lark could do to keep from turning and bolting back the way she'd come.

“Hey,” said Teddy.

“Uh . . . hey.”

“You're Lark Campbell, right?”

Lark nodded.

“I'm Teddy Reese.”

She managed to stop herself before blurting out an enthusiastic,
I know! Believe me, I know!
“Hi.”

“I was wondering if I could ask you a favor,” said Teddy.

Anything. Anything at all. Just name it.
“Sure.”

“Well, I take private voice lessons from Mr. Saunders after school some days.”

“Really? From the choir teacher? Um, I mean, that sounds fun.”

So Teddy Reese was a singer! If he'd been attractive before, he was downright irresistible now. Lark's heart swelled to think that she and this amazing boy actually had something in common.

“So . . . have you heard about the talent show?”

Lark nodded.

“Cool. See, I'm hoping to sing in it. Not sure what song yet, but I'm definitely going to sign up.” He crooked a grin at her. “Mr. Saunders mentioned that you're an awesome guitarist and I was wondering if you were planning to perform in the show.”

“No.” Lark shook her head emphatically. “I don't think I can risk another head injury.” The moment she said it, she wanted to kick herself. “Uh, I mean . . . I wasn't planning on it.”

“That's too bad.” When Teddy pushed away from the door and took a step toward her, Lark bit back a gasp. “Is there any way I could get you to consider it?” he asked.

For a second Lark was afraid this might be some kind of cruel joke, but Teddy's eyes seemed too kind for that. “W-what are you asking, exactly?”

Teddy's grin broadened into a smile. “I really like your accent. Where are you from?”

“Just outside Nashville,” said Lark. “Tennessee,” she added.

“Yeah.” Teddy laughed. “I know where Nashville is.”

“Oh, right. Of course. Sorry.” Lark wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. Had she really just pointed out the location of one of the most famous cities in America? Now he probably thought she was some kind of idiot.

“Anyway,” Teddy continued, “I was thinking maybe you could play backup for me in the show. Nothing too complicated, although from what Saunders says, I'm sure you could handle it. But I was just hoping for a little acoustic accompaniment.”

Accompaniment.
To Lark, that was suddenly the most beautiful word in the English language. “Me?” she whispered. “Play backup . . . for you?”

“Who better?” said Teddy.

“Pretty much anyone,” Lark answered honestly.

“What do you mean?”

Lark took a deep breath. “I mean that unless there are going to be paramedics standing by, you probably don't want me onstage with you. I suffer from horrible stage fright. Singing in public is my biggest fear.”

Teddy looked genuinely disappointed. “I was really hoping you and I could work together.”

Why did he have to be so dang sweet? And why did she have to be such a wimp? Why couldn't she just find the courage to stand onstage and do what she knew she did so well? “I'm real sorry, but I just don't think—”

“Wait,” Teddy interrupted. “You said ‘singing' in public, right?”

“Yes,” said Lark. “Singing in front of an audience sort of makes me . . . well, faint.”

“Okay, but I'm talking about playing guitar. Just playing. No backup vocals at all. You wouldn't even have to hum.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Are you afraid to play guitar in public?”

Lark thought about it and realized she had no idea. She'd never tried it. After that Fourth of July fiasco, she'd never allowed herself to set foot on another stage. So maybe she
could
play her guitar in public without winding up in the ER.

“I've never actually given it a shot,” she admitted.

“So how about this: let's meet here on Monday after school and give it a try. By then I'll know what song I want to sing, and we can start goofing around with it. Just the two of us.” He gave her a teasing smile. “And if that doesn't result in severe head trauma, maybe we can invite Mr. Saunders to sit in and watch, and you can see how that feels.”

Lark couldn't believe how considerate he was being. The idea of performing still petrified her, but it was also clear that she didn't have it in her to refuse him this favor even if she wanted to. Not with his grin radiating excitement!

“Okay,” said Lark, smiling back. “We can try.”

Teddy pulled a pen and a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. Lark recognized it as the talent show flyer Mimi had shown her at lunch. She had to catch her breath when Teddy printed their names side by side on the line labeled, Name(s) of Performer(s):

Teddy Reese and Lark Campbell.

She blushed, thinking of how many times she'd doodled those two names in the margins of her songwriting journal—of course when she wrote them there, they were usually enclosed inside a big heart. She'd even written a song or two about how much she liked Teddy.

“I really appreciate this, Lark,” said Teddy, tucking the flyer back into his pocket. “So . . . I guess I should let you get on with your practicing.”

“Okay.”

“See ya.”

“Bye.” Lark watched as he headed down the hall, forcing herself to remember every nuance of what she was feeling, in the hopes that she might be able to put it all to music. Sensations becoming melodies, feelings becoming lyrics, heartbeats becoming rhythms. For her, it was the most natural thing in the world.

At the end of the hallway, Teddy turned back to smile at her. “So I'll see you on Monday?”

“Yes . . . Monday. Definitely.”

“Excellent. It's a date.”

The words echoed after him as he turned the corner.
It's a date.
That's what he'd said.
It's a date.

Lark burst into the music room, aware of a joyful sound filling the space . . . a lilting ripple of laughter. It took her a moment to realize the musical sound was actually coming from her . . .

So maybe she hadn't completely given up giggling after all!

CHAPTER

FIVE

Lark was so wrapped up in the song she was writing (not to mention her amazement at having had an entire conversation with her crush) that she didn't even hear the class bell announcing the end of fifth period. This resulted in her running halfway across school and skidding into sixth-period history four and a half minutes late.

“Thirty more seconds and that would have been a detention, Ms. Campbell,” the teacher pronounced impatiently.

“Sorry, Mr. Corbin,” Lark murmured, hurrying to her seat.

“Oh, it's not her fault she was late, Mr. Corbin,” came a sweet voice from the seat behind her.

Lark turned and saw to her shock that it was Alessandra who'd spoken up on her behalf.

“And why is that, Ms. Drake?” the teacher asked.

“Well, she probably had to stop to rope a runaway calf on her way through the gymnasium,” Alessandra said innocently, shooting a look at Lark's cowboy boots. “I mean, why else would anyone wear those hideous things?”

The whole class, with the exception of Jessica Ferris, Duncan Breslow, and of course Mimi, broke into hysterical laughter.

Lark lowered her head, wishing she could become invisible.