Lemonade Mouth Puckers Up (22 page)

I nod. I know they’re there for us and I’m grateful, but my friends and I feel like this is
our
problem and we should try to fix it ourselves. I force a smile. I don’t want him to see how terrified I am that everything is about to fall apart. Charlie, Olivia and Wen are staring out the windows like zombies. Stella’s silent too, but her knee bounces up and down with nervous energy.

We arrive in Boston a few minutes early. To kill time we each grab a Mel’s from the little convenience store across the street, which turns out to be a good thing, because the feel of the familiar green and yellow paper cup in my hands
seems to calm me a little. The pretty girl at the desk buzzes Mr. Decker that we’re here. After a pause she tells us we can take seats in the lobby, and once again we’re waiting in that giant room with rock legends staring down at us like gods. Mr. Decker makes us wait for what feels like forever.

Not a good sign.

At last we’re called in to see him. Mr. Decker is standing at his giant panoramic window with a view of Boston Harbor behind him. He’s silent as we enter, and his arms are crossed. I’ve never seen him wearing glasses before. Black frames with a line of silver across the top, they give him the vibe of an aging hippie professor. He looks tired. He gestures for us to take a seat around the oak table, but he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t join us at the table either.

“So …,” Stella begins, breaking the weird silence. “We … uh … got your message, Mr. Decker. We came here in person because we want to talk this through, face to face.”

“We know you’re not happy,” Charlie adds. “We totally get that.”

“You
get
that?” Mr. Decker repeats quietly. He wrinkles his brow as if weighing the idea in his mind. “No, I really
don’t
think you get it, Charlie. That performance you guys put on last night? That little circus act? To me it didn’t look at
all
like you understood what we’re trying to do here.” He scratches his beard. “Gotta be honest, this isn’t good. Not good at all. The one silver lining is that you didn’t disparage the product
itself
. I’m thankful for that, at least. It leaves an opening for us. You’re lucky. I believe I might still be able to manage this situation.”

I’m staring at my Mel’s cup, which is almost empty now. I keep my expression blank, but inside, I’m relieved. I thought Mr. Decker wasn’t going to want to represent us anymore,
but if he’s talking about managing the situation it means he isn’t about to drop us. Despite everything, I can’t squelch the part of me that wants Lemonade Mouth to be huge, that wants our music out in the world for everyone to hear. I know we all feel that way, even Olivia. She might not like the spotlight, but I know she wants our music to be heard, and we all know that Mr. Decker is still the best shot we’ve got.

To my left, at the far edge of my vision, I see Mrs. Penn shift in her seat. Instead of sitting at the table, she and my dad took chairs by the door. “
Manage
this situation?” she asks. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“As it happens, I have a good relationship with the Zephyr Stick people. Their CEO and I sometimes play golf together. This morning I left a message with her office and we’re scheduled to talk later today. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I think I can smooth things over.
This
time. Going forward, though, you kids need to
stick to the game plan
. We spoke about this already, as you recall, but it seems that wasn’t enough, so from now on we need a new rule: no more changes without talking to me
first
.”

I don’t move or look up. Mr. Decker isn’t yelling, exactly, but his words are strained and it’s clear we’ve pushed him close to his limit.

“But we tried to talk to you, Mr. Decker,” Wen says, his voice low. “Don’t you remember? We called you but you wouldn’t—”

“This isn’t amateur night, guys,” Mr. Decker continues as if he doesn’t hear. He’s pacing the length of the table now. “This is the big leagues, don’t forget that. Everything we do follows a careful strategy. We’re creating a
brand
—an image that positions Lemonade Mouth in the music marketplace. You’re nerdy-cool. You’re the outsider kids. You wear great
clothes. Do you think it’s
easy
to make a new product take hold in the minds of consumers? Do you think it happens by
luck
? No, it happens only because we’ve
thought things through
.” He jabs his finger into the air. “It happens only when everybody sticks to the
same message
.”

There’s a battle going on inside me. I want to speak up and defend what we did, but I also know that Mr. Decker is right, in a way. He
is
the expert at this. And as long as he’s still willing to work with us, maybe I’m better off keeping my mouth shut before I make things worse. We’ve already made our point. Why push him further?

In the end, though, I can’t stop myself. I can’t sit back without opening up my big mouth.

“Okay, we get it, but shouldn’t Lemonade Mouth’s message come from us? The band?” Everyone turns to me. I can almost feel the heat in Mr. Decker’s gaze. I don’t mean for my words to go quieter after that, they just do. “I mean, it’s not like we’re really a product, right? Like a pair of sneakers or something?”

Mr. Decker is gaping at me like I’m the Queen of the Clueless. “Of course a band is a product,” he says. “From a marketing perspective, Lemonade Mouth is
exactly
like a pair of sneakers, or a bar of soap, or a roll of toilet paper, or”—his eyes fall on our Mel’s cups—“or even that lemonade slush you kids like. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I didn’t make up the rules, I just know what they are and that we all need to play by them. And this means not doing anything
stupid
.” He slaps the table. “It means never again publicly questioning the actions of our
sponsor
. After all, they’re the people with the
checkbooks
!”

I stay quiet. I want to shrink into my chair.

“Look,” he says, breaking the tension with a sigh,
“there’s a disconnect here and we need to resolve it.” He removes his glasses, rubs his eyes and at last takes a seat at the table across from us. He folds his hands. “I know this is still a learning experience for you kids. I get that. If I didn’t see real potential here I might’ve dropped you as clients for what you did, but instead I’m going to give this one more shot. If you want to keep working with me, you gotta promise you’ll play by the rules. That’s all I ask. No more surprises. No more childish stunts. Believe me, I know how to get Lemonade Mouth where we all want it to be. Bestselling albums. Stadiums filled with fans. You guys want these things, right? Well, I’ve mapped out a course that can make it all happen for you. All
you
have to do is stick to my map.”

I’m still staring at the tabletop. What Mr. Decker is asking for doesn’t sound like a lot, I guess, considering where he can take us, and yet, I don’t know, it still feels unsatisfying somehow. Part of me thinks I should be happy. We made our big statement on television last night and it looks like we’re getting away without having to pay too big a price for it. Promising Mr. Decker we’ll follow his map should be no big deal, right?

So what’s the problem?

Why do I still feel bad about it?

I’m surprised when it’s Olivia who opens her mouth next, but as soon as she does I’m once again grateful that she’s one of us. More than anybody else I know, she has a knack for finding the right words. Her soft, gravelly voice cuts through the quiet.

“But Mr. Decker,” she says, “what if we don’t
like
your map?”

His expression darkens. His hands are still folded on the table, but as I watch, the knuckles grow whiter.

“
Like
it?” he asks. “Olivia, I’ve been doing this for decades. Do you think you and your friends know better than
I
do how to position a band in this market? I’ve been turning nobodies into stars since long before you were born.”

His face is red. I’ve never seen him so irritated. It’s obvious that Mr. Decker isn’t accustomed to having his judgment questioned by a bunch of kids. My father promised not to interfere unless he had to, but I guess this is too much for him. His words are polite enough, but I know my dad and I can tell when he’s on the verge of losing his temper.

“There must be some misunderstanding, Mr. Decker. Surely you wouldn’t ask Lemonade Mouth—a group of
children—
to do something they don’t believe in?”

“Let me make this clear, then,” he says, leveling his gaze at Baba. “Let me outline the obvious so there can’t be any misunderstanding. If it weren’t for Decker and Smythe, Lemonade Mouth would still be playing at local clam festivals. We’ve been honing their image. We’ve been positioning them for the media. We own everything from the new recordings right down to their new signature clothes.” He sits back in his chair and eyes us. “Face it, we can ask Lemonade Mouth to do anything we want. We
own
Lemonade Mouth.”

At first I think maybe I didn’t hear him right, but I see in his face that he’s serious.

Can it be true? Is it possible?

All at once the atmosphere in the room changes. My heart is going a mile a minute. This is the legendary Earl Decker? This is how things work in the big leagues? I look around at my friends and see the same confusion and panic I’m feeling. If Decker and Smythe own Lemonade Mouth, what does that mean for us? What do we do about it? My dad and Mrs. Penn both look ready to boil over. They’re
about to take over for us, I’m positive of this. They’re getting ready to tell Mr. Decker what he can do with his map and his new signature clothes.

But they don’t get a chance.

Just as my father opens his mouth, just as Mrs. Penn starts to raise an angry finger toward Mr. Decker, Stella holds up her hand to both of them as if to say,
I got this
.

For a heartbeat the whole world is frozen in place.

My dad and Mrs. Penn hesitate. Stella glares at Mr. Decker, who’s surveying this whole scene from across the table. Something about Stella’s manner must be impressive to my dad and Mrs. Penn, though, or maybe it’s just that she startled them, but whatever it is, they both back down, sinking once again into their seats. Everyone’s focused on Stella now. Her jaw is set. There’s a steely look in her eyes and it’s fixed like a death ray on Mr. Decker.

I hold my breath. I have no idea what’s about to happen.

Like a statesman, Stella rises from her chair. “Let
me
make this clear,
Earl
. Let me outline it so there can be no misunderstanding.” She leans across the table, her palms pressed to the oak. “
Nobody
owns Lemonade Mouth.”

“I beg to differ, Stella. A contract is a contract. Unless you guys are okay with fading back into insignificance and obscurity with no hope that anyone else will ever pick you up in the future, your course is already set.”

Stella looks around at us. It’s then that I have this sudden sick feeling because I realize what’s about to happen, but there’s no other choice. It’s what we
must
do.

Stella is the first of us to turn our backs to him. She doesn’t shout or pound the table or anything, she just calmly picks up her empty cup and starts for the door. The rest of us do the same.

“Uh … where are you guys going?” Mr. Decker sounds different now. Not quite as sure.

We stop and turn back toward him. “Didn’t somebody once tell us
we’re
the pilots of our own destiny?” Charlie says. “We’re charting a different course now.”

I nod. “We’re out of here.”

“Oh, I get it,” he says, his lips going pale. “So it’s back to changing the world again? ‘Don’t Stop the Revolution’ and all that crap? Well, before you saunter out that door,
children
, think carefully about what you’re doing. The days when bands could thumb their noses at the system and ignore business realities are long over. Once you leave this office there’s no coming back. You’ll be scratched from the Too Shy to Cry tour. Your new recordings will never see the light of day. You’ll disappear from the magazines, vanish from the spotlight, and no other promoter or record company will touch you. If you walk out on me, then by the end of the summer Lemonade Mouth will already be a fading memory.”

Stella’s voice is steady, but I think I hear a hint of sadness. “I used to admire you, Earl,” she says. “You’re fired. Goodbye.”

From their expressions I think even my dad and Mrs. Penn are taken by surprise. We’re not done yet, though—not quite. Before we walk out the door all five of us glance at each other, and then we raise our Mel’s cups, almost as if we planned it. It’s a last revolutionary salute, our one final act of defiance toward the great Earl Decker.

It doesn’t change anything, but it feels good.

We hold them high. We raise them up.

Now, I need to say this: It isn’t like we’re natural-born rebels. We’re not. We haven’t been looking for trouble. Until
moments ago we were hoping things could still work out with Decker and Smythe. Now each of us knows all too well that by walking out we’re closing the door not only on Earl Decker, but on our own dreams. It’s not a good feeling, but we can’t change what we believe in and we won’t pretend to. Not for anything.

I’m sure Mr. Decker is gaping at our backs as we walk through his door and out of his office.