Lemonade Mouth (7 page)

“This place is a mess.”

“Not for long. We’re getting ready to organize.” Lyle climbed another rung so I steadied the ladder for him and he pulled a cardboard box off the shelf. “What are
you
doing down here Charlie?”

With my free hand I showed him the note from Mrs. Reznik. He read it. “Good luck. People get lost down here and never come back.”

Yuk yuk.

The announcements ended and I continued down the hallway. It was cluttered with filing cabinets and unused furniture. 1 of the lights was out and another blinked unsteadily. The doors on either side of the corridor led to other little rooms set aside for the school’s less glamorous clubs: the Chess Club, the Debate Team, the French Club, even the school newspaper. It was creepy. I wondered what Mrs. Reznik did to get banished down here. Overhead somebody was banging on the floor. Probably something to do with the construction of the team locker rooms. Bang. A couple seconds of silence. Bang. A couple more seconds. Bang. The Music Room was at the end of the corridor near the Loading Dock. The noise stopped just as I got to the door. Mrs. Reznik was sitting at her desk hacking away. She always seemed to have this nasty cough. It was kind of gross to listen to. But when she stopped she noticed me standing in the doorway and narrowed her eyes.

“Charlie you’re late.”

“Yeah” I said. “Sorry.”

I would of asked what this was all about but she pointed her finger and said “Have a seat” and to my surprise when I stepped into the room I saw a row of chairs in front of the desk and in them sat Wen Gifford, Olivia Whitehead, Stella Penn and Mo Banerjee. The kids from detention. All at once I realized we were probably about to get chewed out for breaking the detention rules. Mrs. Reznik hacked some more but I barely heard. I was fighting back a full-body blush and trying to think of something charming to say to Mo.

That’s when the voice came into my head again.

Get a grip bro. You’re killing me. You keep going like this and you’ll never get a date.
See, in my twisted imagination Aaron was the cool, smooth one, except, since he was dead, he was stuck living vicariously through me. And I was constantly letting him down.
Just because you have a secret thing for this girl doesn’t mean you have to act like an idiot around her.

He was right. I needed to control my natural impulse to make an ass out of myself. Still, it was hard to forget the rumor Lyle passed on to me when I’d called him the previous night. That Mo was supposedly going out now with Scott Pickett of all people. After that conversation I’d attacked my drums for 2 hours straight.

Relax, man. Be cool. For me.

OK. Enough pressure. I got it.

I forced myself to walk in as casually as I could. The other kids looked as confused as I felt. Wen nodded to me we weren’t exactly friends but we knew each other. I nodded back but didn’t sit near him. Yesterday I’d heard somebody call him “Woody the Horndog” and it didn’t seem like a good idea to associate myself with that kind of bad PR. As I took the chair nearest the door I couldn’t help noticing Mo’s hair. It was tied back today, revealing her small, perfect ears.

Even though it was 1st thing in the morning Mrs. Reznik had another cup of Mel’s on her desk. “I’m glad you finally made it Charlie. I was just talking with the others about the music you made yesterday afternoon. And I’m wondering what the 5 of you are planning to do next.”

She stared at me like I was supposed to have the foggiest idea what she was talking about. Her eyes locked on mine and she kept waiting for an answer until eventually I said “Uh . . . what do you mean?”

“Well surely you’re not going to let it all go to waste are you? That would be like throwing away a windfall! Some musicians spend their entire lives searching for artistic synergy like I witnessed yesterday. Many never find it. Do you know what kismet is?”

I shook my head.

“Divine circumstance. It’s not every day that life just drops into your lap. You 5 have been sent a gift. A band like yours is like a flower demanding the opportunity to bloom.”

Huh? She wanted us to bloom?

Eventually Wen spoke up. “But . . . we’re not a band.”

“Of course you are. You heard yourselves. Didn’t you sense something?”

She looked at me again. I was beginning to feel pretty uncomfortable. The truth was I
did
know what she was talking about. I
had
sensed something when we’d played. It felt good. Natural, kind of. But that didn’t mean we should quit school and plan a national tour or anything.

“Well . . . maybe we played well together” Wen admitted “but we were just goofing around.”

She jabbed her finger onto her desk. “There. So it wasn’t only me. Now you need to get serious you need to start practicing.” She sat back in her chair and looked around at each of us. “That’s why I asked everyone here this morning. You have a lot of work to do if you’re going to win the talent show and I’m not going to help if you’re not planning to
win.
”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Was she kidding?

I scanned the faces. Stella was glaring at her desk. Mo chewed on her pinky nail. Wen eyed Mrs. Reznik as if her head might start spinning at any moment. And that strange Olivia girl just picked nervously at the frayed edges of the ancient-looking backpack she held on her lap. It was a tattered pinkish thing with a Scooby-Doo decal. It looked embarrassingly like she might of stolen it from some defenseless 3rd grader.

Suddenly the banging started up again. Only this time it was so loud it sounded like somebody hammering their way through the ceiling. Mrs. Reznik scowled up at the graying tiles. We sat there listening for a few seconds. When it didn’t stop she stood and walked over to a filing cabinet and grabbed a broom from behind it. Then to my amazement she started whacking the broom handle against a metal pipe that ran up from the floor.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
I could hardly believe what I was seeing. As she swung her arm over and over again she glared at the ceiling.

Eventually the banging stopped and so did she. In the quiet that followed she set the broom gently back in its place and then took her seat again all dignified.

“They must be tearing something down directly above us. Either that or they’re trying to drive us all out of our minds. Can you imagine allowing such a racket above a
music
classroom? Have you ever heard of anything so
uncivilized
?”

The 5 of us just sat there. That proved it. This old lady was certifiably nuts.

“Anyway” she said smiling again “what do you say about the talent show?”

I pretended to examine the top of my desk. The whole idea of playing at the talent show with these guys was ridiculous. Mrs. Reznik’s wig was obviously on too tight. Did she honestly expect us to get up in front of the whole school and play kazoos and rubber bands? We’d get laughed off the stage. OK sure I often daydreamed about playing dance music, maybe bringing out the timbales like Tito. But this would never be the polished salsa combo I pictured. Even if we didn’t end up making ourselves look like complete morons, I was sure I’d somehow embarrass myself in front of Mo.

There was no way I wanted any part of this stupid idea.

But I kept my mouth shut. Why should I be the 1st to tell the old lady she was a total moonbat?

It was Stella who finally broke the silence. She wasn’t even looking at Mrs. Reznik. She stared at her knuckles like she was studying them. “I . . . uh . . . I don’t think so. I’m not much of a joiner.”

Mrs. Reznik frowned.

Mo was next. “I’m sorry too I think it’s a really, uh, interesting idea and everything but I can’t. I have a crazy schedule right now Mrs. Reznik I’m taking two extra courses and volunteering at the clinic. Not to mention working at my family’s store. So I honestly don’t have the time to squeeze in a single extra thing.”

Not too busy for Scott though
Aaron taunted silently.

A moment later I felt the old lady’s intense eyes on me again. What was I supposed to say? In the end all I came up with was “Yeah I’m really busy too” but even as I said it I realized how pathetic I sounded. I could of kicked myself. Why didn’t I dream up something better? Mo looked at me like I was an idiot.

“And Olivia?”

Olivia’s face went pink. She seemed like a strange girl. I’d seen her walking alone in the hallways, her hands gripping the strap of her backpack as she crept around like some frightened ghost past rows and rows of lockers. She kept to herself and never seemed to say a word. It occurred to me that as low as I was on the social totem pole she was even lower.

It was a long time before she finally answered. But when she did her voice was deep and gravelly and so quiet I almost had to strain to hear her. “The problem is I’m not a real singer. And I’m not comfortable onstage. The biggest audience I’ve ever performed for was at home.” She seemed to have more to say but she looked too anxious to go on. Her face got so red that I wondered if she was going to burst it was almost painful to watch. Finally she said “But singing to thirteen cats isn’t the same as singing to a gymnasium full of people. I can’t do that I get nervous.”

Wen and I looked at each other.
Thirteen
cats? She
sings
to them?

“Oh but Olivia” Mrs. Reznik said in a gentle voice “everybody gets nervous onstage. You’ll get over it.”

“No you don’t understand. Once when I was in the 4th grade musical I threw up all over the other kids. I was only in the chorus.”

I tried to picture the 5 of us onstage, Scooby-Doo Girl vomiting all over Stella’s ukulele.

Mrs. Reznik frowned again. “What about when you sang in detention?”

Olivia took so long to respond that I wasn’t sure she’d even heard the question. Eventually she looked up from the frayed edges of her bag. “That was . . . different. I can’t sing in a band.”

After that everyone went quiet.

Until Wen said “Well I guess that counts me out too after all we can’t exactly bloom if it’s only me.” I think he meant that to be funny but Mrs. Reznik gave him a withering glance and he looked down.

Mrs. Reznik didn’t say anything right away. While everybody sat in yet another awkward silence she took a long thoughtful sip of her lemonade slush. To tell the truth I couldn’t wait for the bell to ring so I could get the hell out of there.

“Reaching for greatness is never easy” she said finally. “And I understand that we all have our own obstacles to overcome. Still I can’t help thinking that you’re missing the point. This is a challenge worth taking. Something
happened
yesterday, something special. Call it luck call it celestial alignment, whatever you wish. Whatever it was, who knows when
or if
it’ll happen to any of you ever again. And I’m sure each of you knows what I’m talking about. You heard yourselves.”

My foot tapped nervously. I wouldn’t of admitted it to anyone but part of me felt like maybe there was something to what she was saying. Glancing around the room though I wasn’t so sure. Did I really want to associate myself with Olivia Whitehead the silent nutjob? Or Wendel Gifford who’d publicly shamed himself into social exile? Or Stella Penn the she-warrior with a fondness for starting riots in school assemblies? Not that I was exactly Mr. Popularity or anything, but that only made the problem worse. Except for Mo, we had to be the most hopeless bunch of high school rejects ever.

Sure, I always wanted to be in a band. But not this one.

“Wait a minute Mrs. Reznik” Wen said out of the blue. “Didn’t Mudslide Crush win the talent show last year? Don’t you think they’ll enter it again this time?”

“I
know
they’re going to” Mo said. “Scott told me.”

And there it was. Scott told Mo stuff. This didn’t exactly
prove
what Lyle said about them but it was pretty good evidence.

“So we
can’t
win” said Wen. “Mudslide Crush is really REALLY good. They have a huge following. Even if we did pull something together and competed, we wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance.”

Mrs. Reznik waved her hand like she didn’t buy a word of it. “Nonsense. Look, I’ve been surrounded with music and musicians my entire life and believe me I can tell an ensemble onto something revolutionary from one that’s merely competent.”

I couldn’t believe she said that. Merely competent? Mudslide Crush? She was talking about a band that everybody practically bowed down to. They had a huge following.

Mrs. Reznik set down her empty cup. “Consider this. Music is a manifestation of ourselves. Of our unique voices, whether as individuals or groups. Think about that. Your collective voice is 1-of-a-kind. It’s so strong, so extraordinarily honest. How can you stifle it? Don’t you want to stand up and show everybody who you are?” She leaned forward. “Aren’t you tired of letting others carry the day? Aren’t you ready to be
heard
?”

I couldn’t figure this lady out.

“Think about it” she said. And then in a voice that sounded like she was trying to be diplomatic she added “Mudslide Crush is
fine. You 5,
on the other hand, should aim higher. You could be”—she squinted her eyes like she was searching for the word—“
stupendous.
You’re going to shake things up around here. I have a feeling about this.”