Lemonade Mouth (33 page)

I guess Scott could tell I was getting pissed because he shot me a look like I should leave him alone. But I ignored him. I leaned forward, put my hand on the kid’s scrawny little shoulder and gritted my teeth. “Sit down, choirboy,” I growled at him. “You’re blocking my view.”

When the kid turned I expected to see fear in his eyes. But instead, he only looked me over and then tapped the shoulder of his buddy sitting next to him.

Now, I hadn’t noticed his friend before, but when the guy stood up I saw that he was as big as a bear. His feet were a row below me, but still he towered over me, his eyes squinting like he was ready to kick my butt.

I felt all the blood rush from my face.

What could I do? I backed down.

JANE SEISEKI:
An Electric Charge

The song kept spreading. As soon as we realized what was happening, our whole section jumped to our feet. Naomi, Seth, Wendy, Lyle, Rodney—all of us. Andrea Beckham waved her arms and sang at the top of her voice.

With a giant cardboard box wrapped around me (Andrea and I had come as a pair of dice) it wasn’t easy to climb up onto my chair but somehow I managed it. I wanted to see the stage better. By then, Lemonade Mouth had turned back around to see what was going on. It was incredible. It seemed like half the place was singing, swaying and clapping their hands. I saw Desirée try to interrupt a couple of times, but the song wouldn’t let her. It got louder and louder. After a while, all she could do was step back and chuckle.

Just behind me, Mrs. Reznik stood on her chair too, moving her arms and belting out the words like I never would have expected.

In some bright place

There may be another choice

But for now we’re here, and you I can’t replace

So in this space

I will listen closely to your voice

Someday I will scale these walls and you will see my face

It felt like there was an electrical charge in the air. As we sang out the “Back Among the Walls” part again I thought about how much had changed since that first time I’d heard Lemonade Mouth at the Bash. Back then, I’d still been stuck in the same old rut about Seth Levine. Not anymore. I’d done a lot of soul-searching since then and I realized now that he was a great guy and all, but he wasn’t right for me. Hanging out with Andrea and Rodney and seeing how sweet they were together had made a big difference. I set my sights higher now. Andrea and I had become especially close too. We talked a lot about life—and about music. As a matter of fact, we’d written a few songs together. I’d even bought an acoustic guitar and started taking lessons. These days, I had a whole new focus.

Andrea and I held up the signs we’d made. Mine said,
I’M A FREAK AND I’M PROUD
! Hers said,
LEMONADE MOUTH FOR PRESIDENT
! The song was very loud now. While some of us clapped and stomped the drumbeat, I heard others sing out Wen’s trumpet part.
Ba ba baaa—! Ba ba-ba baaa—!
It may sound weird, but if you were there you would understand. It was all pretty emotional.

No wonder the
Barking Clam
later dubbed this the Second Lemonade Mouth Miracle.

Stella and the others stood at the edge of the stage, their mouths practically hanging open in amazement. I realized that their song hadn’t been such a disaster after all. This
was
their song. Except that now we were Lemonade Mouth and those five freshmen were the audience.

It was a beautiful feeling, like I was giving back something for all they’d done for me.

MR. BRENIGAN:
Petunias

I wouldn’t have come to the competition at all except, as it happened, I was in charge of my nephews for the weekend and they absolutely insisted. At age ten and eleven, they were avid WRIZ listeners and, unfortunately, devout fans of Lemonade Mouth. My brother-in-law had already bought the tickets. There really was no getting out of it.

From where we sat high up in the nosebleed area I had a panoramic view of the whole stadium. I had a hard time believing my eyes. Or my ears. People sitting on each other’s shoulders, a sea of waving arms and singing voices. How could this have happened?

My nephews had been momentarily deflated by the unexpected failure of their heroes, but they suddenly perked up again at the impromptu swell of support. And now they were both on their feet, gleefully singing and stomping their feet to the rhythm. My own nephews.

I couldn’t have stopped them even if I tried.

I have to admit that when Stella and her friends had blown their song I didn’t feel particularly sorry for them. Not after all the trouble they’d given me, especially putting me in such an uncomfortable position with regard to the finance committee. I’d been told in no uncertain terms to put a stop to any and all student pressure concerning the Barkley deal or it would be my head. There was nothing
illegal
about the deal, of course, but no one wanted a spotlight shined on it.

Which was why it was so frustrating how every time I tried to hush those freshmen, somehow they always had their say. And came out smelling like petunias too.

By now so many voices had joined the chorus that my ears rang. The total effect of all those people singing and clapping the same song together was impressive. And loud. It was as if those kids held some spell over the place. They’d bombed miserably, but still the crowd was with them.

But even when the mass of people finally finished the song and the arena erupted into one giant, elated cheer, I felt a rising dread. I sensed it wasn’t over.

Somehow I knew what was coming next.

And then it did. Desirée Crane stepped back to the microphone yet again but once more she was overwhelmed by the will of the multitude. Somewhere, a new chorus had started up, and the other voices were only too eager to join in. Soon, even the metal supports of the stadium seemed to vibrate with it.

They chanted it over and over. My nephews squealed with pleasure. As they joined the refrain, their little round faces beamed up at me.

Oh no, I thought with a sinking heart.

Those freshmen did it again.

CHAPTER 10

Gray skies are just clouds passing over.

–Duke Ellington

MOHINI:
A Foggy Notion

Funny how things happen. The next day a reporter from the
Providence Journal
calls. She says she heard how, in the hours before the show, we were all arrested for protesting the removal of a lemonade machine. Her name is Carolyn Brussat and she wants to interview each of us. The following morning the East Bay section of the paper has a giant color shot of the five of us standing at the edge of the Civic Center stage. The headline reads:

STUDENTS HOPE DETERMINATION
CAN TURN LEMONS INTO LEMONADE

Beneath that is a full-page story all about my friends and me, the soda controversy and what happened at Catch A RI-Zing Star. In the article it hardly seems to matter that we weren’t able to stop the school from taking the lemonade machine away or that we lost Catch A RI-Zing Star—we didn’t even make it past the first round.

For a few days, WRIZ-TV keeps showing a ten-second clip of us up onstage at the contest. They repeat it over and over again for comic value. At the event it felt horrible and embarrassing, but now that I see it on TV I realize it
is
kind of funny, with Stella, Charlie, Wen and me frantically struggling with our instruments, and poor Olivia sweating it out, screeching into the microphone like an antelope in heat.

But I’m just relieved that the contest is behind us.

It’s four whole days after Catch A RI-Zing Star before I’m well enough to get out of bed, and even after I go back to school it still takes me a while to fully recover from my cold. But by the middle of March I’m feeling much better.

On a Friday afternoon I stay late talking with Mrs. Reznik about a Mozart piece she wants me to play at the May recital. After that I have a few minutes to kill on the floor of the school lobby as I wait for the late bus home. At first I figure I’ll make use of the time by reading ahead in Biology, but as I put my hand into my backpack I change my mind. Instead, I pull out a paperback that Olivia loaned me. “P. G. Wodehouse isn’t deep reading or anything,” was what she said, “but it’s fun.”

I’ve made up my mind. There’s no point in trying to be Supergirl.

I’m a few pages into it when somebody sits down next to me. By that time I’m so involved in the story that I don’t pay much attention. But I guess a part of me feels somebody watching, hovering over me, so eventually I look up.

“Hiya, Mo,” grins Scott.

I wonder only vaguely why he’s here. He and I have hardly spoken since forever. But my mind is still in a London cab with a donkey.

“Hello.”

He looks like he has something to say so I wait. “I’m an idiot,” he says finally. “I screwed everything up and I know it.”

“Then why did you break up with me?”

“I don’t know. Insanity, I guess. And that whole thing with Lynn Westerberg, well . . . that was yet another stupid mistake. I guess I’m not the sharpest guy around when it comes to figuring out what I really want.”

I’m not sure how to react. “Why are you telling me this, Scott?”

He flashes me his trademark half-smile. “Listen, I’ve been thinking. It’s been a long, crazy year, and you and me, well, we went through a rough patch, but that’s all behind us now. But I still like you, and I think you still like me. So I was wondering . . . why don’t we get back together?”

All I can do is blink at him.

Thing is, a part of me used to secretly hope for this. In my weaker moments I dreamed that Scott would come back and everything would be happy. And now here he is. But instead of feeling elated—or even amused or angry—I’m surprised at what I feel. Nothing. Nothing at all. And that’s when all at once my new reality hits me.

I don’t care about Scott anymore.

How did it happen? Exactly when over the past few months did he turn into just some guy I know? Some boy I used to like? It feels strange to realize such a gigantic tidal shift can happen without my even noticing.

Thankfully, that’s when the bus pulls up and kids begin shuffling through the glass double doors into the cold. But I don’t stand up right away. I don’t want to seem cruel.

“I’m sorry,” I say as kindly as I can. “I’m not interested.”

He looks surprised, even a little hurt. I can’t help feeling sorry for him. But there isn’t anything else to say so I gather my things and head out to the bus.

That night Naomi comes over and we all watch
Kaise Kahoon Ke Pyaar Hai,
an Amit Hingorani musical about a college student living a split life as a part-time thief. And for some reason that makes me look around and realize that I’m living a split life too. On the one hand I’m an ordinary American girl going to school with regular American friends. On the other I’m part of a Bengali family, one that goes to a Hindu temple, eats a lot of curried fish, with parents that grew up in a world completely separate from the one we live in now. I’m a two-sided coin, a walking contradiction.

Suddenly I have the urge to tell Charlie. I want to share my revelation. I know he’ll get it. With his quarter flipping and his theories about twins and balance in the universe, if anybody understands about duality and paradox it’s Charlie.

But I also know I can’t really have that conversation. Not the way I want to, anyway. Even though Charlie and I still talk, there’s been a wall between us ever since that awful morning at the clinic. My cheeks still burn whenever I think about it. Not only because of the terrible way I treated him, but also because of the emptiness I still feel whenever he and I catch each other’s glance.

The next morning before I go to school I find my dad praying in our pooja room. I stop what I’m doing. For a while I stand in the doorway, just watching and listening. I’m reminded of what Mrs. Reznik is always saying about beauty and honesty. After a minute or so I feel the urge to pray too, so I walk over and kneel down beside him.

“Baba?” I ask him later when we’re eating breakfast together. “When you told me all you want is for me to be happy, did you really mean it?”

He looks up from his paper at me, his forehead suddenly wrinkled with concern. This is the first time either of us have mentioned the argument he and I had the morning of the contest. In the days after that blow up, I happened to overhear my mom and dad on the phone a couple of times having long conversations with Selena’s parents. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, exactly, but I suspected they were looking for advice about how to deal with wild Americanized daughters. But since then I’ve been trying to be on my best behavior—and I’ve been noticing that my dad has too.

“Yes,” he says. “You know I did.”

I’m nervous to be talking about this, but I keep going. “And you trust my judgment?”

He glances over at my mother, but she suddenly seems deeply interested in her breakfast. I think they both understand what I’m getting at. When he looks back at me, that tightrope panic flickers across his eyes again. But then he looks down at his paper. He sighs. When he finally answers, his voice doesn’t sound so much eager as resigned to the inevitable.

“Yes, Monu. I trust your judgment.” From his stiff expression, I’m positive that we understand each other.

I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a giant hug.

I have the beginnings of a new idea. Not exactly a grand plan, more of a feeling really, a foggy notion. And anyway, I realize now that grand plans can change. I’m not sure of any details of my idea yet, but that’s okay. For now, a foggy notion is enough.

CHARLIE:
Forgetting to Breathe

After killing an hour or 2 downstairs with the A.V. Club I finally stepped out of the school Lobby into a surprisingly warm afternoon. The sky was cloudy but most of the recent snow had melted into puddles on the pavement there was even a bird chirping somewhere.

Don’t let the sunshine and tweety-birds fool you bro
whispered my cynical twin
it’s only 1 of those March teaser-days—an aberration that’ll end up raising your spirits and making you feel like Spring is right around the corner only to send you crashing back down to Earth with more freezing New England Winter in a day or so. 1 of nature’s cruel jokes.

I tried to ignore him. I considered whether I should take advantage of the mild weather and walk home instead of taking the bus. After so much cold it would feel good to walk outside with my coat unzipped on the other hand some of the clouds did look kind of gray and the late bus was right there waiting by the curb.

Unable to make up my mind I reached into my pocket and fingered my lucky quarter. I tossed it into the air. Heads I’d hoof it, tails I’d take the ride.

It spun as it rose and just after it started back down I snatched it into my hand. Which had pretty much healed by then. I uncurled my fingers. The familiar silver eagle holding its wings wide like a flasher.

Tails.

OK buddy. The bus it is.

The verdict was clear but somehow unsatisfying. I decided to toss the quarter again only this time I let it fall to the walkway. I bent over to inspect it. Tails again.

Come on brother get hopping or our ride’s going to leave without us!

I glanced back at the bus. Its engine revved into life. I still had time to catch it but suddenly I felt tired of listening to Aaron. Whether it was him or my own lack of confidence or even just the shifting whims of the Universe, why should I let anything make my choices for me like I’m just some powerless leaf twisting and spinning in the wind? Sure I was sorry he was dead and everything. But still.

Fair or not, my brother was gone and I was here.

And I had my own ideas.

All at once I made up my mind. I turned my back on the bus and left the quarter on the pavement. I walked away.

Goodbye Aaron Jacob. From here on in I’m going it solo.

My boots squelched through the muddy field behind the gym I couldn’t help smiling. On a day like today it wasn’t hard to picture what would of been nearly impossible to imagine only days before. The pounding of fists into leather gloves. The crack of baseball bats.

Unfortunately my premature Spring glow didn’t last. Before I even reached the main road I felt the 1st raindrop on my ear and within seconds I found myself in the middle of a sudden cold downpour.

Just my luck.

But soon I noticed her. A girl with a wide red umbrella watching me from the sidewalk. I stopped.

“What are you doing here Mo?”

“Walking.” She held her umbrella out. “Offering to keep the rain off you.”

“But you don’t live in this direction.”

She shrugged.

Whatever was left of my good mood disappeared. After all, I was still stinging from the way she’d treated me at the clinic. Since then I’d been comfortable enough around her when we were with other people but I’d avoided being alone with her. And right now it was just her and me.

Plus something about this unexpected meeting felt a little too coincidental.

“How did you know I was going to walk home today?”

“I didn’t I saw you coming across the field and decided to meet you.”

Hmmm. I wondered what she was up to. But then again, Naomi lived in this direction only a few blocks away so maybe it wasn’t so strange.