Lemonade Mouth (16 page)

I know that probably sounds kind of ridiculous but it was true. At least that’s how it felt as I watched the truck pull around the street corner and out of sight.

STELLA:
The Craziest Explanation Ever

Burning with indignation, I decided the next morning to go straight to the Powers That Be to demand an explanation about the purloined lemonade machine. Why was it taken away? Who made the decision without even so much as a hint ahead of time to the people who used it? We had a right to know.

Charlie came with me. The front office was unusually crowded and chaotic. One of the busses had arrived late, so there was a line of kids waiting for passes. Ahead of us in line stood three Barbie dolls who kept glancing back at us and smirking at each other. Charlie didn’t seem to even notice, but I did. As it happened, I was already feeling like twice-fried crap that morning because of a rash of pimples I’d discovered on my forehead that morning. What’s more, with a sideways glance at Charlie I noticed that he was looking even more disheveled than usual. There was a troubling eggish stain near the pocket of his half-tucked shirt, and his chaotic hair jutted out at all kinds of improbable angles as if he’d combed it with a towel. As far as the Mattel triplets, even though I didn’t know any of these perfect specimens of rosy-cheeked girlhood, their obvious disdain made me want to shrivel into a ball.

But I didn’t. Instead I gave them the iciest glare I could muster until all three of them turned white and looked away.

Eventually, most of the crowd got sorted through and then it was our turn at the counter. Mrs. Flynn, the pretty secretary with the church lady hairdo, looked overwhelmed. “Can I help you?”

I leaned on the counter. “Yes. We want to find out what happened with the lemonade machine.”

“Lemonade machine?”

“That’s right. The big yellow and green Mel’s Organic one that used to be at the top of the stairs near the A.V. room? Two guys hauled it away yesterday afternoon.”

Mrs. Flynn frowned. “There was a lemonade machine over there? Hmmm. I never even knew that.” She didn’t seem to have anything else to say.

I felt a wave of frustration. “Um . . . yeah,” I said with maybe a little more sarcasm in my voice than I meant. “Like I said, there
was
one. But now it’s gone and we’re trying to find out why. We deserve an explanation.”

That’s when Charlie, perhaps the more tactful of us, stepped in. “We were wondering why it had to be taken away and whether it’s coming back. Is there a way to find that out? We’re just curious.” He grinned sheepishly and then added. “We, uh . . . we liked that machine.”

Mrs. Flynn seemed to consider. She looked over her shoulder and spoke to the other secretary, Mrs. Silvestro, a big-haired middle-aged lady with permanent dark circles under her eyes, who was typing into a keyboard. “Faye, do you know anything about somebody taking away a lemonade machine?”

Mrs. Silvestro didn’t look up from her screen. “Uhhuh,” she said. “It was part of the deal for the scoreboard.”

“Scoreboard?” Charlie asked, his forehead wrinkling. “What do you mean? What deal?”

“To finish the gym. A soda company agreed to donate the money and all we had to do was get rid of any competing machines.”

“What?” I asked. “What does a soda company have to do with anything? And how does frozen lemonade compete with soda, anyway? That’s the craziest explanation I ever heard!”

At this, Mrs. Silvestro finally stopped typing and turned in our direction, glowering over her glasses like I was an idiot. “I don’t like your tone, young lady,” she snipped. “The money had to come from
somewhere.
Now, if you have any other questions I think you’d best bring them directly to Mrs. Ledlow or Mr. Brenigan, who aren’t here at the moment. If you have a complaint, you can ask your parents to take it up with the town finance committee. Anything else?”

By then, my face was burning. “No,” I said more quietly. “I think that’s it.” There was no point in arguing further. I wasn’t going to get any more information from this woman.

And so we left the office in silence, feeling no better than when we’d entered. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt more shaken now, even cheated. As we trudged down the corridor, my earlier indignation swelled. Charlie and I agreed—there was something wrong here, something that definitely didn’t sit right.

And I, your Sista Stella, wasn’t about to let this mystery pass without further investigation.

WEN:
A Volcanic Eruption

Thursday afternoon started off badly, then got worse.

I was already in a foul mood as I pedaled up the steep hill toward my house. That afternoon had been our last practice before the Bash, but it was a complete disaster. Mo hadn’t shown up. No note, no explanation. Charlie tried to call her but she wasn’t home. It was weird.

With no other choice, we decided to practice without her. But Stella and I kept forgetting the breaks and Olivia seemed to have a hard time remembering the words. In the end we’d cut the afternoon short. We didn’t want Olivia to strain her voice, and nothing was working out anyway. It wasn’t just Mo’s absence. I think the pressure was getting to us. It felt like there was a lot riding on this performance.

“Don’t worry,” Stella had tried to assure us. “It’s just last minute nerves. We’ve gone over these songs so many times that we could play them in our sleep.”

But judging by today, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I kept pedaling. It was a chilly, late October evening and even though it was only dinnertime, it was almost dark. At least I’d thought to pull on my winter jacket. Still, my fingers were cold. To make matters worse, before I reached the top of the hill it started to rain. I could already feel the drops splashing up to the bottom of my jeans.

After I reached my house, I had to struggle to get into the little shed where George and I stored our bikes. Somebody had planted a table right smack in the doorway, blocking my space. It wasn’t a regular table; it was ancient-looking and heavy with a flat concrete disk at the top and a metal foot-pedal. A pottery wheel, maybe? In any case, I didn’t need to be a detective to guess whose it was.

I could practically feel the heat rise in me, like a volcano about to erupt. What was Sydney doing storing her stuff in our shed? What right did she have?

I managed to shove the contraption aside just enough to make a narrow space for my bike. Then I stormed toward the house, dripping, sure I’d find Sydney inside. The woman was practically a permanent fixture. Each of the last three nights I’d come home to find her parked at our kitchen table playing backgammon with George, a plate of munchies within arm’s reach. Now I’d had enough.

But as I approached the front steps the screen door swung open and my dad stepped out, his keys in his hand. “There you are, kiddo. I thought you said you were practicing late tonight.”

“We’re not,” I said through my teeth. “Where’s Sydney?”

“In the shower.” He chuckled. “We went on a nature walk and she slipped in some mud. She’s fine, she’s just cleaning herself up.”

For a second, that threw me off. A nature walk? Since when did my father go on nature walks? Even worse, for a second I couldn’t help picturing Sydney in our bathroom, slowly peeling the muddy clothes off her body.

I quickly forced that image out of my head.

Before I could say anything else my dad said, “We ordered Thai. I’m heading out to pick it up. Keep me company?”

At first I was going to say no, but then I reconsidered. I probably wasn’t in the best state of mind to confront Sydney. In fact, I was liable to say or do something I might regret. A quick ride would give me a chance to cool down and collect my thoughts. She’d still be home when we got back. Besides, I couldn’t exactly have it out with her while she was in the shower.

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”

For the first couple of minutes of our trip neither of us said much. Against the sound of country music and the windshield wipers sloshing back and forth I fumed, trying to decide the best way to point out to my dad how wrong Sydney was for him—and for our family. It wouldn’t be easy. He didn’t seem to see it at all. Still, somebody had to tell him.

In the end, he was the first to speak. “Big day for you tomorrow.”

I grunted. I didn’t want to talk about that.

He turned down the radio a little. “I know you already said you don’t want any of us to come see you play, but if you change your mind I’d really like to stop by.”

“It’s not that kind of event, Dad.”

It was cool of him to want to go, and a part of me would have been happy to have him there. But I didn’t want to be the only kid who brought his dad to the Bash. As if he’d read my thoughts, he smiled and said, “We could hide in the back where nobody would see us.”

I didn’t answer. I had a hard time imagining my dad and George crouching under the bleachers. But he was kidding. At least I was pretty sure he was.

And then an uncomfortable question hit me. “When you say ‘we,’ who exactly do you mean? You’re not talking about bringing Sydney, too, are you?”

“Of course. She wants to see your band. We’ve all been hearing about it for weeks.”

I felt the lava rushing back into my chest. The idea that my dad would actually consider parading Sydney in front of my
school,
displaying his way-too-young-for-him girlfriend to everyone I knew—well, that was just infuriating. What was he thinking? Didn’t he have any idea about boundaries?

“Okay, Wen. Out with it. What’s the matter this time?”

So I turned to him with a hard stare. “Sydney,” I said. “That’s what the matter is. She’s taking over our lives.”

He glanced over at me but then looked back at the street, his face darkening. “Now don’t start that again. You’re being unreasonable.”

But I wasn’t about to stop. “Unreasonable? She’s always hanging around, even when you’re not there. She uses our house like her own personal art studio. And now she’s even storing her furniture in our shed! Did you know that, Dad?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, his eyes still glued to the road. “I knew that. I suggested it.”

It took me a moment to soak that in. “You did? Oh. Well, then. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. And I guess that makes it all right for her to shove everybody else’s stuff into a corner, doesn’t it?” I glared at him.