Battle of the Bands Page 2

  There are two long periods of classes to get through before we can gather in Cia’s garage after school, but once we’re there, it’s celebration time.

  “Were we awesome or what?” Kel says.

  “You were awesome!” Amy tells him. Then, of course, she has to plaster her big lips on his.

  “It was cool,” Cia murmurs. “Way cool.”

  Amy comes up for air and sneers, “Yeah, but no thanks to you, Cia! You screwed up.”

  “Whoa,” I say. “What are you talking about?”

  “She was off right from the start. She couldn’t wait to be first, like always. Lucky for her, nobody noticed. But I did.”

  “Hey,” Kel mumbles. “That’s not what happened.”

  Amy draws away from Kel and plants her hands on her hips. “Damn right that’s what happened, Kel! Why are you defending her?”

  “Amy,” I say. But before I can explain, she cuts in.

  “Cia’s your biggest weakness you know. She isn’t good enough. If The Lunar Ticks are ever going to be great, you’re going to have to ditch her and you know it.”

  Cia sucks in a breath and spits back, “What do you know? You’re just a dumb groupie bitch.”

  Amy’s hand snakes out like she’s going to hit Cia, but Kel catches her arm. I’ve never seen him so red in the face before. He glares at Amy and growls, “Stop it!”

  “What do you mean?” Amy squawks. “You’re not going to let her get away with that, are you? You know I’m right. I’ve told you tons of times before, she’s no good.”

  A muffled little noise comes out of Cia’s throat and then she’s gone, slamming through the door into the house.

  “Amy,” Kel says very quietly, “get out.” “What?” Amy’s eyes narrow to slits.

  “What did you say, Kel?”

  “I said get out. I’ve had it with you. We’re through.”

  Amy grabs hold of his sleeve and tries to get her mouth near his face, but he pushes her away. “I mean it, Amy. Screw off.”

  “But, Kel!” she wails.

  And Kel strides away, goes through the door Cia took. He slams it so hard that Cia’s cymbals shiver out a chime from their stand.

  Amy looks at me, and I guess she doesn’t find what she’s hoping for in my face. She gives a little sniff, goes over to the door, kicks it and screams, “Bastard!” Then she spins around, marches past me again and she’s gone.

  This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for celebrating our win today, but all things considered, I don’t think it turned out too bad.

  Chapter Five

  Things seem okay with Cia. I don’t know what Kel said to her, but when we meet for our next practice she grabs her sticks and starts drumming the way she always has—totally excellent. I have to admit that when it comes to sheer skill on an instrument, Cia is the best in our group. I watch her for a minute. Sometimes you get so comfortable with a person you don’t really look at them anymore. They’re just there. Cia isn’t what I’d call pretty or cute, but she is sharp. She has a certain style of her own that goes beyond punk. Maybe it’s the way her big brown eyes study the world and don’t get hard or bored. Or maybe it’s that grace she has in her body, probably from drumming. I think the job of keeping the beat has worked its way right inside her. She’s not my type for a girlfriend, but I really care about her.

  “What are you staring at?” she snaps. She’s still a tough chick.

  “You,” I say. “You’re damn good, you know.”

  “Shut up,” she says, but she’s smiling.

  “All right,” I say. “Game on.” And we go. And go. No Amy delays, no smokes, no Mrs. Stanton kicking us out. It’s amazing. We push on and sweat starts running down my back and still we play. The tips of my fingers are numb when we reach a point that feels like a wall. I lean into my guitar, feel Kel practically vibrating beside me, look across to see Cia biting down on her lip. A feedback loop I’ve never heard before comes sliding out of the amp and we all snap our heads up, meet each other’s surprised faces, keep going. We’re all grinning like fiends now, and then there’s one more riff, a low line of bass from Kel, a fade-out roll from Cia and we’re done.

  Silence. No, not quite. There’s us breathing like we just ran a mile. It’s as if we’re all afraid to speak and break the spell. What we just did was magic.

  Kel’s the first to comment. He puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles, sharp and loud.

  “Too right,” I say and slap him on the shoulder.

  “Cool,” Cia adds.

  “You know what?” I ask. I don’t wait for an answer. “We’re going to win that battle next week. We’re finally gonna be on our way.”

  Cia wrinkles her nose. “You think?”

  “Yeah, I think.”

  “What about Indigo Daze?” Kel asks.

  “They’ll be there.”

  “Don’t worry about them. They’re not going to beat us this time.”

  Kel shakes his head. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Cuz I am,” I say quietly. “If we can play like this...”

  “You don’t think this was a fluke?”

  “Kel, my man, you have to believe me. Tell you what, though. I happen to know that Indigo Daze is playing in their school battle tomorrow. Want to go check them out?”

  “How are we going to do that? “ Cia asks.

  “We go to their school at lunchtime and we just mingle with the crowd and that’s it. Simple.”

  Cia looks doubtful. “We’ll miss class. If I get caught skipping again, my mom will ground me for life.”

  “So we won’t miss class, okay? I’ll get us a ride and we’ll leave the minute lunch starts and be back by the time lunch is over. It’s only five minutes away by car.”

  “Who’s going to give us a ride?” Kel asks.

  “Don. I figure he still owes us. He won’t mind driving.”

  Kel grins, but Cia keeps frowning. “Isn’t there some rule about how many passengers he can take with a new license?”

  “Yeah, but it’s a short drive, and a couple of us can lie down in the backseat or something. It’ll be okay.”

  And it is okay, at first. Don says no problem, he’ll take us. Next day we go in his car, and we’re at the other school in time for the first band’s opening number. We spread out, try to act like we belong. A couple of kids give us sideways looks, but nobody asks us what we’re doing there.

  Me, I don’t even pay attention to the other bands. They’re bad. What I do is try to catch sight of Rowan. What is it about that girl? I should be cold toward her because she’s like the enemy, but for some reason I just wish I could talk to her. I think I see her once. There’s this flash of silky black hair on the far side of the gym and I crane my neck. But no. Suddenly I get a strange prickle down the back of my neck and I turn, and there she is.

  Rowan is looking at me with that same little half smile she wore in the music store and there’s this jolt in my gut. She knows who I am, I can tell. This time I try to smile back. I feel like a little kid who’s been caught doing some dumbass thing like passing a note in class. A note that says, “You’re cute,” or something really lame like that.

  She tilts her head to one side and I think she’s going to say something, but then the crowd starts this chant, “Raynor! Indigo! Raynor!” Rowan looks startled, but then she’s gone, slipping away like water through fingers.

  Raynor? What does that mean? And why does it sound so familiar? I don’t have time to figure it out, not totally, because there she is on stage. Her guitar is hugged close to her body and, damn, I’m jealous of a guitar! The crowd is still chanting, “Raynor! Indigo! Raynor!” When Rowan puts up her hand and everyone cheers, I get it. They’re calling her Raynor. Duh. That’s her last name. So she’s Rowan Raynor. Something else about that still bugs me, but when she lays into her guitar, a Gibson Firebird, and the sound comes alive, I forget about that. I just listen.

  That girl can play. Her fingers dance over the strings
so swift and easy I’m hit with an image of leaves in the wind. It looks so natural, so right. And then she starts to sing and her voice is like a comet flying, burning its way across the galaxy. Burning its way into me. I’m so into her color that I barely catch the words. Color? Yeah, the sound is like gold and purple, intense. She’s singing about loss and goodbye and I feel sad, so sad I might start crying. How can she do that to me? I swallow and look around and everyone is caught in her fire. Some girls, guys too, have tears on their cheeks.

  When the song ends I think it’s time to get out of there. This was too much, too disturbing on every level. But then Rowan is singing again and there’s no way I’m leaving. I barely notice when Cia and Kel come up and start pulling me away. I’m outside, blinking in the sunshine, before I come back to the present.

  “Hurry up, Jay! We’re going to be late!”

  “Huh?”

  “Man, what’s the matter with you? You look like you’re high. You haven’t been smoking up, have you?”

  “What? No. What are you talking about?”

  “Forget it. Let’s just get in the car.”

  So we get in the car and we’re almost back to our school when we get pulled over by a cop.

  Chapter Six

  The cop is wearing one of those rock-hard faces as he asks for Don’s driver’s license. Don is shaking and stuttering. We forgot about hiding in the backseat.

  “You are aware that your novice license allows only one non-family passenger, are you not?” The cop’s tone is nasty.

  “Yessir. I am. I guess I forgot. It was just a short drive, doing a favor for my friends here...”

  “Too bad your friends aren’t doing you any favors.” The cop shakes his head like he’s disgusted.

  “It’s my fault,” I blurt, but he cuts me off.

  “Was I talking to you, mister?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I didn’t think so. Now you kids just sit right there. I’ve got some writing to do.” He pulls out a pad of paper, slowly finds a pen and clicks it open. Then he fumbles around trying to open up the pad, rubs his hand along his jaw, stares off into space. We all slump down in our seats. We are so busted. This, plus there is no way we’re going to be back at school on time.

  When the cop is finally done writing, he informs Don that his license will be suspended for one month. The details about that will be sent by mail. Then he tells the rest of us to get out of the car. “Have a nice walk,” he says.

  Kel, Cia and I get out of the car. Don has his head down on the steering wheel. “Man,” I say, “I’m really sorry. Really sorry, Don.”

  Don doesn’t look up. He mumbles something I can’t hear. I look at the cop, who has his arms folded across his chest, watching. “Please, officer. It was my idea. I asked him to do it and it was just a five-minute ride for...a school project.”

  The cop says nothing.

  “It’s not like he was speeding or anything. Don’s a good driver, really careful. And I swear we won’t ever do this again.”

  Still the cop says nothing. I feel like such a jerk. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” I plead.

  He laughs. Then, “Maybe there is something you can do. You seem sincere about this, and I’m in a good mood. How about you sing me a song and I’ll let your buddy off with a warning.”

  He doesn’t think I’ll do it, I can tell. He figures maybe I’ll just get mad and mouth him off or I’ll slink away. But there’s no way I’m going to let Don down, not if I can help it. I straighten my shoulders and take a breath.

  Cia hisses, “Don’t sing ‘You’re Dead’!”

  She has a point. So what, then? And the next thing I know I’m singing, “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round...” The cop bursts out laughing. Kel, Cia and Don are all staring at me like I’ve lost it. I can’t believe I’m doing this either, but I am. I get through the first verse, go into another one about the driver on the bus going up and down, and the cop starts waving his hands.

  “Okay, okay. Enough.” He turns to Don and says, “Would you mind handing me that notice?”

  Don is grinning like a guy who just got away from a firing squad. When he gets the ticket back, he holds it up to show us. Written in large letters across the paper is the word “Warning.”

  “Thanks, man,” I say to the cop.

  “Yeah, thanks a lot, officer, sir,” Don says.

  The cop gives him one more stare down. “It won’t happen again, right?”

  Don says, “Uh-uh, no way.” And the cop gets back in his patrol car and that’s that.

  The other three turn and look at me.

  “What?” I say.

  “The Wheels on the Bus?” Kel snorts. Then they’re all laughing.

  “So I couldn’t think of anything and then a bus drove by...” They aren’t listening. They just laugh harder. “Forget it,” I tell them and start walking toward the school.

  Kel and Cia follow behind, singing “The Wheels on the Bus” the whole way back.

  Not that our troubles are over. We’re late, and Cia’s teacher is one of those who won’t let anyone into class after the bell. Cia doesn’t manage to be the one to answer the phone call to her house later that afternoon. Her mom gets the automated message. “Your son or daughter had one or more unexplained absences from school today. If you were not aware of this absence, please discuss this with your son or daughter.”

  So Mrs. Stanton discusses it by grounding Cia for two weeks.

  “What are we going to do?” Cia moans.

  “I don’t know. Do you think your mom would listen to me if I talked to her?”

  “I doubt it. But you can try. Maybe you could sing ‘The Wheels—’”

  “Shut up,” I say. “That’s not going to happen again. Ever.”

  “So what then? We’re going to miss the battle?”

  There is no way I want to miss the battle. Not this time. “You don’t think you could sneak out?”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” she says. “I’m going to sneak out with a drum set.”

  “Okay. I guess I’ll talk to your mom.”

  I bring Kel along for support, but he turns out to be pretty useless. He just sits on the couch in the Stantons’ living room with his long limbs folded up in odd angles and says nothing.

  “Hi, Mrs. Stanton.” I pause and clear my throat. She’s watching me like an ostrich. I once met this ostrich at a zoo, and it had a real mean stare. There were signs on the pen, Warning! I Bite. Trust me, you don’t want to mess with an ostrich, but right now I have to. I say, “You know we’ve been working really hard to get ready for our next show.”

  Adults always like talking about hard work.

  “If you call making a bunch of noise hard work, then I guess you’ve done that,” she says.

  Clearly, that line isn’t going to do it. “Well, we really appreciate you letting us use your garage for practice.”

  Gratitude is good, right? They like that.

  Mrs. Stanton rolls her eyes. “It’s about time you kids showed some gratitude.”

  Wow, she’s really tough. Cia must have got that from her.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. We are very thankful.” Can I suck up, or what?

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t be smoking down there.”

  I blink a couple of times to make sure I don’t look at Cia. “Well, Mrs. Stanton, I can promise you, we won’t ever smoke in your garage again.” Now I look at Cia. She sticks her tongue out.

  Mrs. Stanton sniffs. “You’re saying you promise?”

  “Yes. For sure. We promise.”

  “Good. I’m going to hold you to it.”

  I think I’ve made some progress here. “No worries, Mrs. Stanton. The thing is, we were wondering if you might let Cia off her grounding for the night of the contest. Please. Just for that one night. It’s really important.”

  Mrs. Stanton narrows her eyes. If we were in a Western movie right now, I’d be diving for cover. “Hmph. If it was so impo
rtant, maybe Alicia should have thought of that before she cut class again.”

  “The thing is, that was a mistake. Sort of an accident. Cia wasn’t trying to cut class, she was just a little late. And it was my fault. We got held up at lunchtime...”

  “You got held up? What are you talking about?”

  “I mean we were delayed. We were in this situation.” I’m talking really fast now. “It’s not important. But what I was thinking was maybe we could do something else to make it up.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, like maybe we could clean your garage for you.”

  I hear Cia and Kel gasp. I ignore them. I didn’t warn them about this. It just came to me, in the moment.

  Mrs. Stanton has a gleam in her eye. “You’re willing to clean the garage? Really clean it?”

  “You bet. We’ll do a real good job.”

  She grins and looks at each of us, one by one. “It’s a deal. You know, I might have let her off in exchange for weeding the flower bed. I do understand how much you kids want to win that contest.”

  Man.

  Chapter Seven

  “You and your big mouth, Jay.” Cia isn’t happy with me.

  “Too right,” Kel grunts. He’s wrestling with a large hunk of plywood. We have to move it so we can get at the fifty cans of old paint we’re supposed to haul away.

  “What about the battle?” I ask. “We get to go, don’t we?”

  They don’t say anything, not out loud. But Cia mutters stuff like, “Whatever. Could have been weeds. Way easier than this.”

  I ignore her. I have something else to think about while I operate a broom. I had this dream last night and I can’t shake it. It was all mixed up, the way dreams are, but the part I remember most clearly is that I was a midget. Maybe a dwarf. Anyway, I was small but not a kid, and I was talking to a giant guitar. Then the guitar morphed into a skeleton and started laughing and chanting, “Raynor, Raynor.” I woke up sweating and hardly slept again for the rest of the night.