My Year of Epic Rock (5 page)

Dinner was fine. But I couldn't bring myself to be the life of the party, or even polite.

After Jackson and I cleared the table, we were excused and I went to go sit in my giant beanbag chair and wait for my parents to come in to lecture me about my admittedly not-so-fabulous behavior. I felt too guilty and distracted to start on my homework. Instead, I turned up my music loud enough to drown out any footsteps coming down the hall and took a
Does
He
Like
You
Back
or
What?
quiz in a magazine I'd bought over the summer and forgotten about.

I thought about Ethan while I was answering each quiz question, like “What did he do on your birthday?” (Nada.) and “When's the last time he complimented you?” (Seven years ago, when he told me my Dora pj's were colorful.)

I added up my score. The quiz results said, “He's Intrigued.”

That sounded like a big “denied” to me, because the other two results you could get could were, “He's So In Love” and “He Can't Get Enough of You.” “Intrigued” was for sure the worst of the three. You'd think the magazine writer would have just admitted, “He's Kind of Meh on You so Maybe You Should Move On,
Loser
.”

Intrigued, schmintrigued.

There wasn't a peep from either of my parents, not even after I saw Dr. Mehta's car drive off over an hour later.

At bedtime, I stepped out of my room to wash up as quietly as I could, hoping to get through the rest of the night without a lecture, but Mom was in the hallway. It was like she'd been waiting for me. Her hair was wet and she was in her fuzzy robe that has blue and pink cupcakes all over it.

“Do you feel like your behavior tonight was mature?” Mom said.

“Mom, I know! I'm sorry!” I yelled it though, which made me sound not as sorry as I should have sounded, even though she was right.

“When we have a guest here, I expect good manners.” With that, Mom turned and went into her bedroom without waiting to hear what I had to say.

I went to bed feeling awful. And also, of course, hungry. That'll show me not to get up from the table before I'm full.

That off-my-game mood stayed with me for the whole next morning too. I pretty much moped, not walked, to school, ignoring Jackson as he went on and on
and
on
about how awesome Dr. Mehta was.

As I was walking on the side pathway up to Woodgrove, I saw Jody getting dropped off by her dad. She mouthed, “WAIT!” and gestured at me to wait for her to get out of the car so we could walk in together.

“Are Brianna and Shelley having a huge party for the whole grade?” she asked as soon as she caught up to me. “That sounds so cool. Do you know who's going?” Jody flipped open the front pocket on her purple zebra print messenger bag and took out a lip gloss.

Her question totally took me by surprise. I had no clue Brianna and Shelley made their official party announcement. I wondered where Jody heard about it.

“I don't know,” I admitted. “I guess, well, I don't know much about it.”

“Actually, I overheard them talking about it. I figured you'd have more of the details.”

“I'm not really hanging out as much with Brianna these days,” I replied. “You know I'm…she's…everyone is so busy with everything.” Even though it was noisy, with tons of other kids racing by us and yelling, it felt like the whole school must have heard me say that out loud.

“Oh.” Jody looked at me and seemed curious but didn't say anything else. I was sure she was dying to ask me about Brianna, since of course she'd noticed what was going on, but didn't want to seem like the hugest gossip.

When we walked in, Brianna and Shelley were already there, talking to each other. They had on matching dark skinny jeans and fuzzy boots and hoodies, Shelley's a pure, snow white with not even a speck of dust or dirt on it; Brianna's was yellow. Their hair even matched—straight and shiny, each of them sporting a thin braid on one side of their heads. They'd both dyed a streak of their hair purple. They had taken time to coordinate outfits, like Brianna and I used to do.

They both looked really good.

Glancing down at my now-awkward-looking black capris and long-sleeved red tee, I felt less like a seventh grader, and more like my little cousin Beth who refuses to leave the house unless she matches her sparkly socks to her sparkly shirt and sparkly headband. I was definitely not by any stretch sophisticated. Or elegant.

“Do you want to go sit down?” I asked Jody, motioning to the bench near where Brianna and Shelley were sitting.

They looked both of us over as we got closer, and I saw Jody adjusting her shirt, tugging it down over her jeans, and flipping her hair back with her hand. Maybe she felt babyish too. Shelley and Brianna both said hi, but Brianna didn't shuffle over to make room for us to squeeze in next to her, so I stood awkwardly instead, watching the second hand on the big wall clock tick along until first period started, trying to focus on what Jody was saying instead of worrying about what I was missing.

Feeling so stupid and hanger-on-y was why when I got to the cafeteria for lunch later that same day, I'd already made myself a promise that I'd sit anywhere besides at Brianna and Shelley's table. Even eating alone was looking like a better alternative.

Almost.

When I got inside, I wasn't sure what my plan was, but then I saw Tiernan and everyone else at the peanut-free table. I walked over and stood there shyly until they noticed me.

“Yo, Nina.” Tiernan slid his tray over to make room for me, and I sat down between him and Madison.

“Hey,” I said. “Hi, Madison.”

“Nina, wait, you're allergic to eggs, right? Hang on.” Madison took out a wipe from her backpack and cleaned off the table where she'd been sitting. “Mayo,” she explained. I noticed that each of her fingernails was painted in a different mega-bright Day-Glo color, which matched the rubber bands holding her braids.

“Oh, thanks. You didn't have to do that,” I said, putting my brown bag down on the shiny, still-wet table. I was surprised. No one ever remembers what I'm allergic to in the first place, and the few that do wouldn't even realize mayonnaise has eggs. They're all like, “Oh, wait, you can't have this?” or “But I thought you couldn't drink milk,” or “Can you eat chicken?” “Don't you wish you could have an omelet? That's sooooo sad that you can't.”

It's annoying.

“I don't mind,” she said. “Not a big deal.”

“What's going on?” I asked, to no one person in particular.

“We're talking about doing something for the Halloween Talent Show,” said Shane. “I say it would be cool. At my old school, everyone got into our talent show. It was huge, and there were judges there who worked at record labels and everything.”

Heidi laughed and made a face. “That's New York City though. There's no way it's going to be a big deal here, Shane. Usually it's really small and a lot of people don't even go.”

“So what?” Shane shrugged. “We could make it major.”

Just then I heard a scream of “No way!” I turned to see Shelley giving Brianna a big hug—and they were both laughing super loud. My stomach felt funny again.

“We should start a band and name it The EpiPens,” I said, turning away from Bri, acting like I didn't care about what she was doing or thinking. “I mean, half of us have to carry them around anyway. Might as well make a joke out of the stupid things.”

Bringing my EpiPen with me everywhere I went was like having a stupid pimple that never went away! Besides, like I was going to have the guts to stab myself with a giant needle in the leg if I ate something I was allergic to anyway. Wouldn't I be too busy barfing or fainting or something else awful to be my own doctor?

“Dude, yes! Awesome idea!” Shane said, putting down his weird drink box so hard some of it splashed back out onto his retro band T-shirt. “Who's with us? Who here can play an instrument anyway?”

“Me,” said Tiernan. “The guitar.”

Madison was laughing. “Does the flute count?”

“Oh, you know it,” said Shane. “Heidi, what can you play?”

“Nothing, really,” said Heidi, picking at a slice of orange.

“That's not true,” Tiernan said. “You have an awesome voice. You're the only one in music class who can actually sing. Poor Mrs. Urbano probably wishes she had earplugs when she has to listen to the rest of us try to belt out ‘Let It Be.'”

“That's not true,” said Heidi.

“I swear, I have seen the giant Tylenol bottle she keeps tucked in her desk drawer for all those headaches she gets from our voices. But the point is that you have a great voice.”

“Thanks,” said Heidi, and amazingly, she smiled a huge happy smile at Tiernan.
Whoa, that was a first!

Tiernan smiled back and rolled his hand in a little circle and did a mock bow over it, like something old-fashioned he'd seen in a movie that involved people who jousted.

“Nina, what can you play?” Shane already had a notebook out and was writing down all our names on it.

“The drums, but I'm not all that—”

“A girl drummer? Yes!” Shane pumped his hand. “That is money in the bank!”

“I'm not all that great,” I finished.

“Who cares? Girl. Drummers. Rock. That's some serious cred.”

“Cred with who, exactly?” said Madison, looking dubious.

“Everyone. Just ask anyone in the biz. Ladies on drums are
in
.”

“Okay, guys, wait. I'm not so sure about this after all,” I said, hunching over so my chin was almost level with the table.

“Why not?” said Tiernan. “Shane's right. It'll be fun. Why should the talent show blow anyway? Is there a town law that only the untalented must apply?”

“Come on, Nina, if I'm going to play the flute in front of the whole school I need moral support. At least you can hide behind your drums,” Madison said.

“We could get T-shirts that say
The
EpiPens
on them,” said Shane. “We could write a song that's called ‘The EpiPen Blues,' or maybe ‘Anaphylaxis Anarchy.' Whoa, wait, whoa. Hang on. Listen. What if we got EpiPen to sponsor us and send us on tour?”

“Dude, dream on,” said Tiernan.

“Yeah, let's actually practice first,” said Heidi. “I doubt anyone is going to sponsor us, anyway.”

“Except the ear plug company,” I added. “Or the soundproofing people.”

Shane ignored us both. “Okay, Heidi, vocals. Tiernan, guitar. Nina, drums. Flute courtesy of Madison. And yours truly on keyboard. I can ask my dad about us practicing in his studio too.” Shane put his pen down.

“Your dad has his own studio? Where?” Madison asked.

“It's in our basement,” Shane said. “He had it built when we moved up here so he wouldn't have to go back and forth to the city all the time for work. He's in the industry.”

“What industry?” Heidi asked.

“What industry?
The
industry! Music. Obviously,” Shane answered, surprise in his voice.

“I still have to think about it,” I said. “I'm kind of rusty on the drums.” What I didn't say to them was the truth: I wasn't sure if I was ready to be labeled as a complete and total dork, which is no doubt what would happen if we signed up for the talent show, or if I could truly handle everyone in the school—especially Shelley and Brianna—laughing at me if we bombed.

“Hi, Nina,” said Dad, not turning around. He was sitting on the couch typing on his laptop when I got home that day.

“Hi, Dad.” I gave him a wave and kept walking toward the kitchen. Then I turned back again.

“Um, Dad?” I said, sitting down next to him.

“Mmm?” He sounded like he wasn't totally listening, which is what he does when he's in front of the computer working.

“Remember how I used to play the drums?”

Dad turned to me when he heard that. Nothing gets him to stop researching monarch butterflies, which is his job, faster than talking about music. He's even in a cover band with a few other people from the ecology department at the college he teaches at. They call themselves Thin Vitae, a name that for some reason cracks up every adult. Me? Not so much.

Anyway, they “jam” (yes, seriously, that's what he calls it) once a week to oldies music in their faculty lounge. They even play the annual student/teacher picnic. And Dad was so gung-ho that I share his love of music that when I was ten, he signed me up for two weeks of
Girls! Rock! Camp!
in New York City where Grandma lives. He convinced me to go, even though I was intimidated by the whole idea, but after the two weeks of being bossed around, big time, by a woman with long hair and a grumpy attitude and a series of faded T-shirts who said she played backup on a bunch of alt-country albums, I could at least keep a beat.

It was actually fun.

Dad was beyond ecstatic. I thought he was going to pass out when we had the concert for the parents on our last day and we played Metallica's “Enter Sandman.” I think I saw him get teared up after the show when everyone was having juice in those tiny paper cups that always get all soggy. He made all the other professors he works with watch the video of my big drum debut and showed it to any college student unlucky enough to enter his office for months afterward.

Mortifying.

But I am actually okay on the drums, or at least I was when I was still playing. Not exactly good, and certainly not great. But I took lessons for a year after
Girls! Rock! Camp!
and I can still keep the beat. But then Brianna kept saying that my drumming lessons and practices were cutting in to our time to hang out together and that drums were a “boring instrument,” so I told my parents I was too busy with homework and I quit, even though I sort of didn't want to—I didn't think the drums were boring, and I knew Dad was bummed because he'd hoped I'd stick with it.

It had been way too long since I'd even seen a drumstick, let alone picked one up.

“Of course I remember you playing drums. ‘Enter Sandman!'” Dad made a shredding air guitar move, almost knocking over his computer. Did I mention the part about him having a beard and how his hair is going gray? I'm not sure air guitar is really right for him anymore, not that I'd ever tell him that.

“Right, well, some friends and I were talking about maybe forming a band to play at the talent show.”

“Hey, that sounds great. Anyone I know?”

“Um, I'm not sure. Well, I mean, you know Tiernan Albert.”

Did Dad know anyone I went to school with other than Brianna? Had I even invited anyone else over since, like, third grade?

Ugh.
Talk about depressing.

“I always had a band going when I was your age. I loved it,” he said.

“You know, Shane, that's one of the guys who wants to do something for the talent show, he said girl drummers are cool.”

“Women drummers
are
cool!” said Dad, super excited. “Meg White, Gina Schock, Moe Tucker.”

“Isn't Moe a guy's name?”

“This is a female Moe. Also Karen Carpenter, Sheila E., Debbi Peterson, Janet Weiss. I'm sure there are more recent names that I won't know about because your old man is too old and out of the loop. What's that band you all like? The Neon Knickers? Don't they have a female on drums?”

Dad has a photographic memory. It's amazing. He can look at a map once and never need to see it again. Greatest skill ever.

He started typing something on his computer and pulled up an old-looking music video. He pointed at it. “See?” I sat down on the couch next to him and squinted. The outfits were kind of crazy, but the drummer was awesome.

“That's Sheila E.,” he said, nodding his head along with the music.

“I kind of feel weird about being in a band,” I said.

“Why? What's wrong with playing music? You like music, right?”

“Yeah, I know, but like, is it too showy?”

“Showy? I don't really know what you mean by that.” Dad did look confused.

“I don't know. I just feel funny about it. Like I'm asking for attention.” I shrugged. I couldn't quite even explain what I was feeling. Normally I just did stuff because Brianna was doing it and made me do it with her. I couldn't think of the last thing I decided to do on my own.

No wonder I felt like a turtle without a shell.

Dad nodded. “Well, it's always hard to start something new. You think about all the things that won't work. Or that could go wrong. But it's just music. If you don't like playing together, you can stop. Are these nice kids?”

“Yeah, they're totally nice, Dad. Actually, they're all the ones who sit at the peanut-free table in the cafeteria.”

Dad didn't intend to hurt my feelings when he asked, “What about Brianna? Won't she be in the band too?”

But it did.

“She doesn't like me anymore, Dad.” When I said “Dad,” my voice broke, and I started crying.

“Hey, hey, don't cry, honey.” He put the computer down on the coffee table so he could pat me on the back, sort of awkwardly. “I'm sure that isn't true.”

“No, it is.” I rubbed my eyes. “She doesn't want to hang out with me at all anymore.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know. It was the summer and she was in Italy and she saw Shelley there and now they're best friends or something, and they act like I'm just the loser who follows them around.”

Dad didn't say a word.

“And she won't ever text me back and now they're planning a party together,” I continued, still crying. “And they're calling it ‘Sheliana's Massive Halloween Party.'”

“Oh. That sounds awful,” he said, shaking his head back and forth, like someone died.

“It is!” I said.

“Sheliana is a thoroughly ridiculous name.” He said it very seriously, but I knew he was teasing me.

I cracked up a little through my tears and drippy nose. “It is sort of stupid.”

“I'm sorry, Nina. That sounds disappointing.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Have you tried to talk to Brianna?”

“Dad! I did, like twenty times!”

“Okay, okay. Good for you for trying. Sometimes things happen with friends and it's hard to know why. I know how much Brianna means to you.”

“Not anymore,” I said.

“I'm sure that's not the case.”

“It is! I hate her.” I rolled my eyes.

“Then go wail on the drums to get rid of all your righteous anger.” Dad pretended to do a drum solo.

He is a goof, but it made me smile.

“Yeah, maybe you're right. I could try it once and if it's the worst ever, I don't have to go back.”

“Would you need to bring your kit to rehearse? Where are you guys thinking about doing this, anyway? School?”

“No, that new kid, Shane McCormick, says his dad has a studio in their house. They just moved here.”

“Wait, McCormick. Is his father Thomas McCormick?
The
Thomas McCormick?” Dad sounded all excited.

“Who?” I had no clue what he was talking about.

“Thomas McCormick. I heard a rumor that he moved up here this summer. He's quite a well-known indie record producer. That's incredible.” Dad looked impressed.

“I don't know if that's Shane's dad. He said his dad had some music job. I'll ask, but I'm not even sure if anyone will remember that we talked about this by tomorrow.”

They were probably all joking and they'll drop the ball and never mention it again.

I could hope, couldn't I?