Lemonade Mouth Puckers Up (21 page)

He stepped out of the light and the curtains opened. There was Lemonade Mouth. Except for the instruments in their hands, the band was posed exactly as they appeared in the ad—the same clothes, the same expressions—while the
ad itself was projected behind them on a big screen. Seeing them this way, it was obvious that the kids in the photo and in real life were not the same.

I held my breath.

The song began with a pulsing bass line and a syncopated beat that Charlie played on a big funky-looking aluminum drum that was strapped to his side. Stella’s distorted ukulele groove oozed with cool. The effect was like a storm about to break, a riotous party on the verge of busting open. Around me I saw heads starting to bob to the rhythm. With the ad image visible over her shoulder, Olivia began to sing:

Stella came next, sweeping the audience with her gaze as she sang:

Then Mo:

Charlie and Wen’s part was a chant they did together, like a robotic chorus line, as the music increased in urgency:

Glancing around, I noticed a few mouths drop open. I think a lot of people had probably had these same secret thoughts—I know
I
sure had—but I doubt anyone ever expected to hear them expressed aloud on television, and with music that was so crazy fun and danceable that it was impossible not to want to move your feet. With each new verse the camera alternated between the ad and the real person so that the difference between them was obvious, and judging by the astonished expressions, I had the feeling that people
got
it. They understood even if they were still too stunned to react.

Now it was time to hit them with the chorus. Stella’s chords were coming faster and harder, a hurricane unleashed. Olivia stepped back up to the mike.

Wen raised his trumpet and let out a flurry of notes like a rogue merry-go-round. In the row ahead of me, a large, middle-aged woman in pearls was listening wide-eyed. She wasn’t the only one.

“Don’t buy into the lies!” Charlie and Wen called out together.

“Don’t fall for somebody else’s idea of what’s pretty or cool!” shouted Mo and Olivia.

Stella leaned into the mike, still strumming her uke to the jungle rhythm. “So maybe we’re not rail-thin!” she shouted. “Maybe we don’t have perfect hair or skin or bodies! But who decides what ‘perfect’ even
means
, anyway—to you, to me? Isn’t that
your
decision and mine? And isn’t it our little so-called imperfections that make all of us who we are? That make all of us
beautiful
?”

There was a growing clamor from the audience. Ahead and to my left a threesome of wiry, bespectacled guys in college T-shirts were craning forward in their chairs. The woman in pearls sat frozen, hanging on their every word. I’m almost sure I saw her lip quivering.

But Stella wasn’t done.

“This is the real world, folks! Look around!
This
is what actual people look like! They’re
you
! They’re
us
! Not the fake images you see in certain advertisements! And if you ask
us
, being cool shouldn’t mean having to change yourself into something you’re not!”

Boom!
A final slap from Charlie’s drum echoed through the room, and all at once the music stopped.

“Because if you ask us,” said Stella, “we’d say you guys are already looking plenty cool—
just the way you are!
”

The crowd went nuts. The woman in pearls raised her
fists in the air and gave out a war whoop. All around me, people started to cheer.

On beat, the music kicked in again, full-force, only now it unleashed an all-out, pulsing, whirling party. The woman in pearls leapt to her feet and began what looked like a victory dance, shaking her sizeable hips like there was no tomorrow. Near the front, a group of pimple-faced teenage girls joined in, whipping their long hair in wild circles. The college guys stood too, giving each other high fives. I gaped at the scene unfolding all around me. Pandemonium. Everywhere I turned, people were moving to the rhythm or pumping their fists and calling out their approval. I knew this would mean trouble for them later, but for now it was clear that Lemonade Mouth had tapped into something important, something unspoken that must have been simmering just under the surface, waiting to be expressed.

No longer did it feel like I was witnessing a television show. This was more like an explosion—the first spark of a giant new rebellion.

Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any crazier, the curtains on either side of the stage parted and I heard a bunch of people gasp. Lizzie and I were at the back of the audience, so we had a good view of the whole place.

The dancers came out in two rows, twirling and dipping and moving in formation as they filed onstage in giant foam
costumes. There were about a dozen different ones—all of them oversized puppet-people. An eight-foot-tall girl with nerdy glasses. A giant bucktoothed boy with red-button zits. A matching bikini girl and surfer dude with oversized metal braces and poufy hairdos. There was even a wooden-framed two-person outfit that looked like a human-sized magazine. On the “cover” was a real face—one of the dancers, this kid Debbie Bloom from school—but she had a fake body with puppet arms and legs as thin as pipe cleaners. It was hilarious. And all the costumed dancers were stomping and gliding and spinning around the band. Once every two measures Charlie would move from the aluminum darbuka drum he was playing to a vibraslap, making a rattling sound, and the entire crowd of foam heads would dip and slide to the left in formation. It sounded and looked … well,
amazing
. Just
amazing
. Pretty soon Lizzie and I were doing it too, along with the rest of the audience.

If the excitement had already been high before the dancers came, it was in the stratosphere now.

I admit that when I’d first heard that Lemonade Mouth wanted to add costumed dancers to their act, I’d had my doubts. But now there was no denying that it turned out to have been a stroke of genius. That kid Rajeev—what can I say? He was brilliant. A phenomenon all on his own. I’d watched how he’d coached Debbie Bloom and Terry Cabeleira and the others, just regular kids, to do all of those crazy moves together. It’d seemed impossible that it would work out, and yet somehow he’d pulled it off. The whole effect was jaw-dropping.

When the instrumental part ended Olivia picked up the chorus again:

Glancing at the pulsing scene around me, I couldn’t help thinking how different things were now, compared with just a few weeks earlier. When I’d left my old band, Mudslide Crush, because I wasn’t happy with the direction it was taking, things were pretty bad. Overnight my former band mate and best buddy, Ray, wouldn’t even give me the time of day. Look, I know a lot of people thought Ray was a jerk, but deep down I knew better than anyone that he wasn’t as bad as he came off—not all the time, anyway. I’m not making excuses for him, but with his troubled family and especially that domineering father of his, it was no wonder the kid was a little messed up. Plus, we’d been friends since nursery school, so it was hard for me to lose that.

But soon I’d started hanging out with Lizzie, this amazing girl, and I found myself with a whole new perspective on things. Lizzie made me
happy
, you know? When you’re happy I guess it’s easier to see stuff clearer. Someday I hoped Ray could be happy too, and that he’d get over his hurt pride so we could be friends again.

Despite everything, I still loved the guy.

Lizzie squeezed my arm. Chet Anders himself had joined Lemonade Mouth onstage now, laughing as he danced with a giant foam puppet of an old lady in gym shorts. Then the song ended and the audience went bonkers. I’d never experienced anything like this. I knew it was a big risk for
Lemonade Mouth to stand up to their sponsor like this on national television (even if it was just a funky late-night talk show watched only by insomniacs and college students), but for now it seemed to have paid off. The music was over but the room was still rocking, with everybody on their feet screaming and clapping and calling out to the band as the five of them just stood there blinking back at everyone. I think even they were surprised at the effect their song had. As for me, I could feel my blood rushing. I felt totally
alive
. I can’t explain it better than him.

That’s when Lizzie whispered in my ear.

“Welcome to the revolution, Scotty. You and me, we’re part of it as much as anyone else.” She squeezed my arm again. “I’m so glad you came along.”

It was a powerful moment where everything felt right. I was on my feet and cheering along with everyone else, Lizzie was at my side, and Lemonade Mouth was on top of the world with a future that all of a sudden looked brighter than ever. And weird as it sounds, considering my history with them, I was
glad
about it.

Really and honestly glad.

If only things could have stayed that good. Looking back, I think it was a surprise to all of us that they didn’t. How could anyone have been prepared for how quickly things were about to change?

We’re on the road again. Hardly an hour into the long ride home, Stella’s phone pings with a text message. It’s Mr. Decker.

Our initial reaction is silence. Even though we all knew from the beginning that Mr. Decker wasn’t going to be pleased, seeing it in glowing letters on Stella’s phone makes
it real, and all at once my mood is sinking into my shoes. I’m a little kid again. I’m in big trouble. I try to remind myself that we only did what we thought was right, but that doesn’t help much.

In hushed voices we make a decision. The conversation we need to have with Mr. Decker is far too important to have over the phone. If we’re going to figure out a better way to work with his agency, if we’re going to talk this through with him and make sure we’re all on the same page in the future, then that discussion should happen in person. So even though we arrive home late and exhausted, all five of us drag ourselves out of bed early the next morning. We’re going to Boston.

“Are you all right, Monu?” my dad asks from the front passenger seat of the Penns’ station wagon. Stella’s mom is driving. “You’re very quiet.”

“Yes, Baba. Just a little nervous.”

“Of course you are,” he says. “Do your best, that’s all. Be clear with him. Speak your mind.” And then he adds, “I know you kids want to do this yourselves, but don’t forget that Mrs. Penn and I are here if you need us.”