Face the Music

by Brian Weisfeld

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  Copyright Page

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  To Mom, for everything

  —Brian

  For my radical girls, Stella and Valentina

  —Nicole

  1

  Jumbo marshmallows.

  Where were the jumbo marshmallows?

  Harriet knelt on her kitchen floor, peering into the depths of the snack cupboard. Her long, dark pigtails grazed the floor as she squinted into the back of the shelves. No marshmallows.

  “If I were a jumbo marshmallow, where would I be?” she said to herself as she closed the cabinet and got to her feet. She dusted off the knees of her emerald-green leggings. These always reminded her of The Wizard of Oz, which is why she’d paired the leggings with her red gingham farm-girl shirt and a denim miniskirt.

  When picking out clothes, most people try to match colors or patterns. Harriet preferred to match themes. On some days, like today, the theme was subtle; on other days, it was so obvious, her outfits resembled costumes. Harriet liked it this way. Clothes should add drama and excitement. Otherwise, what was the point?

  “Marshmallows!” she called. “Come out, come out wherever you are!”

  Harriet hated silence; whenever she encountered quiet, she broke it. Luckily, her home was rarely quiet—and rarely empty. With a mom whose hair salon was in the basement, an artist dad whose studio was in the garage, and three older brothers—members of a rock band—someone was always around. Today, though, her parents were grocery shopping, her brothers were at a horror movie, and Harriet had stayed home since neither activity held any interest for her. Marshmallows, on the other hand, were of great interest.

  Harriet opened the cabinet that held the pots and pans—no luck—and then the one with all the plates and bowls. She did find something wonderful there, but it wasn’t the bag of marshmallows. Curled into a salad bowl was her brothers’ pet skink, Zappa, sleeping soundly. The pink stretchy headband Harriet had placed over the reptile’s head had slipped and was covering her eyes like a sleeping mask.

  “Zappa bo bappa,” Harriet cooed. She lifted the reptile out of the bowl and cradled her in her arms. Zappa opened her eyes and clambered onto Harriet’s shoulder. She clamped her tiny claws onto Harriet’s shirt and promptly resumed sleeping.

  Harriet was just adjusting the headband on Zappa’s head when she heard a knock at the door. She was thrilled. If there was one thing Harriet liked more than visitors, it was surprise visitors.

  “Coming!” she bellowed, and skipped to the door, clutching Zappa so the skink didn’t fall. She looked through the peephole and found her friends Amelia, Didi, and Resa standing on the front steps.

  “Hiiiiii!” she cried, flinging open the door.

  Resa and Amelia were facing each other, in the middle of a heated debate.

  “You’re joking, right?” Resa was saying. “The carbon fiber racket is so much better than the aluminum! End of discussion.”

  Amelia shook her head in wonder. “I don’t know why I thought taking tennis lessons with you might be stressful.”

  “Come in!” Harriet squealed. “I’m so glad to seeeeeeeee you!”

  She clapped her hands, which made Zappa pick up her head and look around before deciding it was nothing worth waking up for. Didi, who’d been standing on the top step, startled at the sight of Zappa’s moving, and she would have bolted if Harriet hadn’t grabbed her hand just then.

  “Don’t worry, Didi,” said Harriet as she pulled her inside. “I’ll keep Zappa out of your hair.” She raised her eyebrows way up and nodded quickly. “Get it? Out of your … hair? Because of how Zappa got tangled in your hair last time?”

  “Uh, yeah, I remember,” said Didi nervously. Her long, wavy hair, the color of chestnuts, hung loose around her shoulders and down her back. She gathered it together and shoved it inside her sweatshirt, then pulled the hood up and cinched it closed.

  Harriet knew Didi didn’t like skinks. Not just skinks, actually, but all reptiles. Not just reptiles, actually, but most animals. Harriet could not fathom this. It was like not liking ice cream or birthdays. Harriet adored animals. Especially the scaly little sucker attached to her shoulder.

  “I’m so glad you all are here!” Harriet exclaimed as she led the girls into the small, bright kitchen. “I have been bored out of my gourd! And I can’t find the jumbo marshmallows anywhere!” She opened the fridge and peered inside.

  “You keep your marshmallows in the fridge?” asked Amelia. She tucked her pale blond hair behind her ears in a gesture that had become such a force of habit she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

  “No,” said Harriet, “but things end up in weird places in this house. Once, I found my hairbrush in here, in the fruit drawer.” She closed the fridge and began to search the broom closet.

  Resa followed behind her. “We come with exciting news! Harriet, you are not going to believe what we just read in the newspaper.”

  “Was it a headline that said, ‘Marshmallow thief arrested’?” asked Harriet, closing the closet door.

  “Uh, no,” replied Resa. “It’s about your favorite—Harriet, watch out!”

  Harriet had clambered onto the kitchen counter and was pulling herself up to standing so she could peek over the top of the cabinets.

  Instinctively, Resa put her hands up behind Harriet, spotting her. “You’re gonna fall!”

  Harriet raised herself up on tiptoe and peeked over the top of the cabinet. “Aha!” Something was there, though it was hard to tell what from a quick glimpse. Steadying herself with one hand, she reached out with the other and closed her fingers around … something.

  “Bingo!” she exclaimed as she pulled it down. It wasn’t the bag of marshmallows, but it was something she’d been looking for.

  “Oh, curling iron, how I’ve missed you!” Harriet said.

  She turned to show the girls the treasure she’d uncovered, but the sudden movement threw her off balance. She took a step back and would have fallen off the counter if Resa’s hands hadn’t been there to shove her back into place. In the hubbub, the curling iron flew out of her hands, hitting Amelia in the arm. Amelia’s shriek startled Zappa, and the skink made a run for it, darting down Harriet’s body, then down Resa’s body, and then onto the kitchen floor.

  “Nooooo!” Didi screamed. “Not again!”

  She scrambled onto the kitchen table, knocking off books and papers and cereal boxes. She crossed her arms in an X in front of her face, as if she were warding off vampires.

  But Zappa wasn’t interested in Didi. Instead, she darted over to the thirsty-looking ficus in the corner and dragged something out from behind it with her mouth.

  Resa walked over to investigate.

  “Looks like Zappa solved the mystery of the missing marshmallows.” Resa pulled the bag of jumbo confections from Zappa’s mouth. The skink paused for a moment, considering her next move, then padded out of the kitchen.<
br />
  “Hallelujah!” Harriet exclaimed. She jumped down from the counter with a thud.

  “Not so fast!” Resa ordered, holding the marshmallows high above her head. “You’ll get these after you listen to our news! Now, sit!”

  Harriet lifted her brother’s calculus textbook off the nearest chair and sat. She pantomimed zipping her mouth shut.

  “You too, Didi,” Resa added. “The skink’s gone.”

  Didi squinted open her eyes. “Aren’t there more around here?” she asked.

  “Yes, but all the other skinks are in cages,” said Harriet. “Only Zappa gets to roam free.”

  Didi carefully climbed off the table but kept her hood pulled tight over her hair.

  “So,” said Resa. She drum-rolled her toes, clad in Converse per usual—yellow this time. “We were reading the paper, and there was an article about a big Battle of the Bands that’s happening at the high school at the end of this month.”

  “And get this!” Amelia broke in. “The winner of the Battle of the Bands—”

  “Gets to be on American Supahstars!” Resa announced.

  Resa, Didi, and Amelia all watched Harriet’s face, bracing themselves for an explosion of joy. Harriet went off like a firecracker over the smallest thing, and this, right here, was genuinely big news.

  But Harriet said nothing. Her face was blank and expressionless.

  Harriet’s face was never blank and expressionless. It was always crowded with feelings—loud, intense, impossible-to-ignore feelings. So Resa tried again.

  “The winner,” Resa repeated, “is going to be on American Supahstars!”

  “Yeah,” Harriet said. “I read that this morning, too.”

  Didi pushed her tortoiseshell eyeglasses up her nose. “We thought your brothers might want to enter the Battle of the Bands.”

  “Right,” Harriet replied, nodding.

  “We’re talking about American Supahstars,” Resa said, utterly perplexed. “Your favorite show? The one judged by Connor Mackelvoe, who you’ve written at least six fan letters to … Okay, I’m sorry, why are you not freaking out?”

  It was true. Harriet loved American Supahstars. They all did, though Resa protested she only watched because it was so bad it was good, and Amelia swore she just liked hearing the inventive insults that Connor Mackelvoe hurled at contestants. But Harriet was the show’s biggest fan. And here she was not saying a word about the very real possibility that her brothers might appear on it.

  Harriet knew she’d have to tell the girls the bad news about her brothers’ band, but she really didn’t want to. “Can I have the marshmallows now?” she asked. Still puzzled, Resa handed them over, and Harriet set about constructing a little marshmallow pyramid on the table in front of her.

  She sighed heavily. “You’re totally right. It would be super cool for my brothers and a dream come true for me. But the band can’t be on American Supahstars.”

  “Why not?” asked Didi.

  “Because there is no band anymore,” Harriet said. She placed a pillowy marshmallow on the very top of the pyramid she’d built.

  “The Skinks broke up,” she continued. “And it’s all my fault.”

  2

  “The Skinks broke up?” Didi repeated. She was peering out from her cinched-tight hood.

  “Wait,” said Resa, taking a seat next to Harriet. “I thought your brothers had a whole bunch of different bands—the Rancid Skinks and the Rambling Skinks and … others I don’t remember.”

  “They stopped doing those and decided to get really serious about classic rock,” said Harriet. “They’ve been the Radical Skinks for a while.”

  “Got it,” said Amelia, sitting down on the other side of Harriet. “So the Radical Skinks broke up?”

  Harriet started constructing another marshmallow pyramid on the table, this one in front of Didi. “Well, the band’s not playing together anymore, but it’s not because they hate each other.” She cast her eyes downward. “It’s me they hate. I broke Larry’s guitar.”

  Harriet didn’t often feel sad. Angry, yes, frustrated, sure, excited, restless, curious—all the time. But not usually sad. Now, however, she was heavy and low-down, feeling a lump form in her throat. Few things felt as bad as when her brothers were all mad at her.

  “What happened?” asked Resa.

  “It was an accident! I was chasing Zappa around the living room because she had a chocolate bar in her mouth, and skinks cannot eat chocolate. It’s like skink kryptonite or whatever.” Harriet began making a marshmallow pyramid in front of Resa. “So I didn’t see Larry’s guitar lying there, and I ran right over it. There was a craaaaack sound…” Harriet paused for dramatic effect. “And that was the end of Herbert.”

  “Herbert?” Didi asked.

  Harriet nodded. “That was the guitar’s name.”

  “Larry named his guitar?” asked Amelia.

  Harriet furrowed her eyebrows. “Of course. Doesn’t everybody?”

  Resa opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it.

  “It took Larry almost a year to save up enough to buy Herbert,” said Harriet. She finished Resa’s pyramid and started constructing one in front of Amelia. “By the time he saves up enough for a new guitar, Sam will be graduating and off to college. The band’s done for. And it’s all my fault.”

  “So I guess that means no American Supahstars,” said Amelia, sighing.

  “No to American Supahstars.” Harriet shook her head sadly. “But yes to the chipmunk challenge. Ready, everybody? Begin!”

  The girls had no idea what the chipmunk challenge was, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. They watched as Harriet tucked one, two, then three marshmallows into her right cheek, making it bulge like an overstuffed suitcase. She repeated the process with her left cheek. She tried to smile, but her cheeks were stretched taut and wouldn’t budge.

  Amelia could cram only two marshmallows into each of her cheeks. Didi, still nervous about Zappa and not a fan of choking hazards, opted for a single marshmallow on each side. Resa, though, fueled by her competitive zeal, easily stuffed three marshmallows into each cheek and then, while all the girls watched, readied to jam a fourth marshmallow in as well.

  Didi shook her head and grabbed it out of Resa’s hand, shoving it back into the bag. Even soft, pillowy marshmallows could be dangerous if you weren’t careful.

  Harriet clapped enthusiastically for Resa. Then she started chewing.

  There was a moment of silence as all four girls set about the difficult task of consuming a huge number of jumbo marshmallows, all at once.

  “Owmushduh agetacos?” Resa asked, her mouth full.

  Didi swallowed, then said, “Sorry, we don’t speak Marshmallow.”

  Resa made a big show of chewing, and chewing, and chewing, then said, “How much does a new guitar cost?”

  “Five hundred?” ventured Harriet. “A thousand?” She picked up the curling iron from where it had landed on the table and squeezed it with her hand to open and close its clamp. It looked like the jaws of a shiny metal animal.

  “Try one hundred and twenty-five dollars,” said Amelia, showing them the results of a quick internet search on her phone.

  “We made more than that selling lemonade,” remembered Resa. She had a definite glint in her eye. Harriet had only just started to get to know Resa, but Didi, who’d been Resa’s best friend since kindergarten, knew exactly what that glint meant.

  Resa was getting an idea. And when Resa had an idea, nothing would stop her until that idea had been fully realized.

  “You want to run another lemonade stand?” asked Didi. “To raise money for the Skinks?”

  “Nah,” said Resa. She readjusted her yellow stretchy headband around her curls. “Lemonade’s great and all, but that’s small potatoes. I’m thinking of something bigger.”

  “Big potatoes!” cried Harriet. “I love it.” She leaned over her chair to plug the curling iron into the outlet in the wall.

  “I
’m thinking of something like this,” Resa explained, picking up a men’s T-shirt that was lying across the back of a kitchen chair. It was black with the words PASTA APOCALYPSE on it and a guitar dripping blood onto a plate of spaghetti.

  The girls looked at her, completely lost.

  “Are we talking about big potatoes or killer spaghetti? And also, have I entered the Twilight Zone?” Amelia asked.

  “Merch!” announced Resa. “What better way to raise money for the Radical Skinks than to sell Radical Skinks merchandise? And who better to do it than the Startup Squad?”

  Amelia was biting her lip as she considered. “Merch? You mean, like, Skinks T-shirts?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean!” said Resa. “Maybe hats, too. The possibilities are endless.”

  Amelia was nodding. “That actually could work.”

  Resa raised her eyebrows. “Actually?”

  “It’s a great idea,” said Didi. “After all, the Skinks totally saved us when we had our lemonade stand. That concert they put together was amazing.”

  “And remember how many Skinks fans showed up?” Amelia said. “We were turning people away.”

  “The Radical Skinks don’t just have fans,” Harriet said. She clamped the curling iron onto the end of her pigtail and rolled it upward in one deft motion. “The Radical Skinks have megafans. They have fanatics.”

  “So … how would it work?” asked Amelia. She was a fan of big ideas only if they had a lot of small details to hold them up and make them solid. “We’d sell the merch and give the profits to the Radical Skinks for a new guitar? How would we sell it? Where? When?”

  Resa frowned. Sometimes Amelia’s attention to detail felt like a pin popping her high-flying schemes.

  But Harriet didn’t mind. The questions got her thinking. “Another show!” she exclaimed. She released her hair from the curling iron, revealing a perfectly corkscrewed lock. “We’ll plan a concert at the park. This time, I’ll get the right permits—trust me, I learned that the hard way. At the show, we’ll sell the merch! That way, not only will the T-shirts make money, but they’ll also create buzz!”