Face the Music

by Brian Weisfeld

  “Okay,” said Lucy. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best.”

  “And,” Amelia continued, “we really can’t pay the full amount up front. Could we put down a deposit? And pay the rest when the T-shirts arrive? That’ll give us enough time to get together the money from preorders.”

  “You girls have really thought this through,” said Lucy with admiration.

  “We learned it the hard way,” Harriet said.

  “So all that’s left is timing,” said Lucy. “When do you need them by?”

  “Umm, next Saturday?” Harriet ventured.

  Amelia gave her an encouraging look.

  “Next Saturday!” Harriet said more confidently.

  “That’s five business days again.” Lucy grimaced. “Gonna be tight.”

  She turned on her cell phone and started typing in a phone number.

  “You girls browse for a bit. Spoil Rambo. I’ll make some calls and see what I can do for you.”

  Amelia walked over to the earring display, near where the high schooler was still reading.

  “Hey,” said the girl, letting the book rest on her lap, “you two are selling Radical Skinks T-shirts at the Battle of the Bands?”

  “Uhh, yeah,” replied Amelia. “That’s the plan.”

  “Same T-shirts as last time?” asked the girl.

  “No,” replied Amelia. “A brand-new design this time.”

  “Good,” said the girl. “Those last ones looked like—”

  “We know, we know,” said Harriet.

  “Why don’t you make the shirts blue?” asked the girl. “I mean, blue is the Skinks’ official color. Because of the skink tongues and everything.”

  “Ahhhhhhhh!” Harriet let forth a groan, then hit herself in her forehead.

  “Is she all right?” the girl asked Amelia.

  “Oh yeah, she does this,” said Amelia.

  “Blue! Of course!” exclaimed Harriet. “It’s like Radical Skinks trivia 101. How could we forget?”

  The girl gave a little shrug and resumed reading. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  18

  When the girls reconvened that night at Harriet’s house, they had tons of good news to share. They sat around Harriet’s kitchen table, crunching on carrot sticks.

  “You girls need vitamins!” Harriet’s mom had said as she placed a plate of carrot sticks in the middle of the table. “I can tell by looking at your hair.”

  Then Mrs. Nguyen excused herself to see about dinner, and the girls swapped stories from their day.

  Amelia explained that Lucy had spoken to a new vendor, who had agreed to give the girls the T-shirts at twelve dollars apiece, and—even better news—they needed only a 50 percent deposit to place the order.

  “The other half’s due when the shirts are delivered, which gives us plenty of time to collect preorders,” explained Amelia. “It’s totally perfect. There’s only one catch—the shirts have to be one size fits all.”

  Resa considered as she bit into a carrot stick. “That’s okay,” she concluded. “In fact, it’s easier for us. No switching sizes.”

  “I think we should sell them for $19.50,” said Amelia. “We’ll make almost eight dollars on each shirt.”

  “Maybe we should round up to twenty dollars,” suggested Didi. She was wearing Zappa-armor, a baseball cap with a hoodie pulled up over it, and she kept glancing over at Harriet’s lap to make sure Zappa was still slumbering there. “To keep it simple.”

  Resa shook her head. “If we keep the price in the teens, it looks a lot lower, which’ll make people want to buy. Plus, a lot of people will just tell us to keep the change, so we’ll make twenty dollars on a lot of the sales.”

  “Exaaaaactly,” said Amelia. She broke a carrot stick in half with a satisfying snap! Then she popped one half in her mouth.

  “Did you order baseball caps?” asked Didi.

  “No,” said Harriet. “They didn’t have any. But they did have…” She unzipped her sweater to reveal no fewer than six buttons of varying sizes pinned to her yellow tunic.

  “‘Vote for Liptiz’?” asked Resa, reading one button and then another. “‘Be bold—eat cabbage!’?”

  “Yeah, Lucy had lots of samples, so she said I could have some,” said Harriet. “This one’s my favorite!” She pointed to a large lime-green button by her shoulder.

  “‘Big Guts!’” read Didi. “‘Get stuffed.’”

  Resa winced. “What is Big Guts?”

  “Beats me!” Harriet laughed. “A restaurant? A taxidermist?”

  “Whatever it is,” said Didi, shuddering, “I’m staying faaaaaar away.”

  “We can do buttons instead of hats,” said Amelia. “We’ll make way more profit anyway. They’ll cost us fifty cents apiece, and we can charge two dollars, maybe even $2.50.”

  “That’s more than double,” said Resa.

  “It’s more than triple,” Amelia corrected. “And if people can’t—or don’t—want to spend twenty dollars for a T-shirt, they can buy buttons. Or they can buy both.”

  “Buttons are also good advertising for the Radical Skinks,” said Resa. “Because people can leave the buttons on their backpacks or jackets, where everyone can see the band name.”

  “We should have them right up front on the table, so customers can just grab them and buy them before they even have a chance to think about it,” suggested Harriet. “Like how they always have candy bars by the register at the supermarket.”

  “An impulse buy,” said Resa.

  “Right!” agreed Harriet. “You buy them without thinking because they look so good. And they’re only a dollar, and before you know it, you’re sinking your teeth into a luscious, creamy, chocolaty—”

  “Here,” interrupted Didi, handing her a carrot. “Eat this. You seem hungry.”

  “Did someone say hungry?” sang Mrs. Nguyen, sailing into the room. “Dinner’s in five minutes!” She turned to Harriet and noticed the carrot stick, untouched, in her hand. “Eat that carrot! You need Vitamin D … or C … or whatever’s in carrots.”

  Harriet obliged with a tiny nibble, though she wore a look of extreme disgust on her face. She gulped loudly, and Mrs. Nguyen, satisfied, returned to the living room.

  “Blegh!” Harriet said as soon as her mother had left the room. “Raw vegetables are the worst. There’s nothing to mask their revolting flavor.”

  “Lucy’s in the store tomorrow morning,” said Amelia. “So if we get her the design by noon, she’ll send it to the vendor, and they should be able to get us the shirts by Friday afternoon.”

  “I already came up with three options for new logos,” said Didi. “But I need to know what color the T-shirt is going to be before I add color.”

  “Blue!” said Harriet. “Because…” She picked up Zappa and held the carrot about an inch in front of her face; the skink darted her blue tongue out to lick it.

  “Good girl!” said Harriet, placing Zappa, and the carrot stick, on her lap.

  Didi scooted her chair back reflexively. Reptiles were always her kryptonite, but especially when their tongues were visible. She took a big breath and refocused on the subject at hand. “What shade of blue do we want the T-shirts to be?” she asked. “Azure? Cerulean? Indigo?”

  “How about whatever you call this?” Amelia opened up a photo on her phone and showed it to Didi. “It’s the only blue the vendor offers.”

  “Okay, midnight blue, got it,” said Didi. “I’ll add color to my logo ideas after dinner. I brought my sketchbook.”

  “We have good news, too,” said Resa. She drum-rolled her toes and looked at the girls expectantly.

  “Well?” asked Amelia. “What’s the good news?”

  Resa drum-rolled her toes again.

  “You know you’re supposed to follow that with a big announcement, right?” asked Amelia. “That’s how a drumroll works.”

  Resa rolled her eyes. “The drumroll is the news! We got Sam a loaner snare drum! And Lar
ry can keep the guitar one more week. The boys are at Music Mania now, picking up the drum.”

  “Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” yelled Harriet.

  Zappa looked up suddenly from her carrot, causing Didi to yell, “Grab the skink!” Harriet clamped a hand down on Zappa’s back, keeping her in place.

  Harriet beamed. “We’ve got a good system now, Di.”

  Didi didn’t look so sure.

  “So what’d you have to give to that shark Mo?” asked Amelia suspiciously.

  Resa shrugged. “Not much. Just four shout-outs a day on social media; a promise to buy the drum and the guitar at her shop; a free T-shirt; and, if the Radical Skinks win the Battle of the Bands, they have to thank Music Mania on national television.”

  Amelia whistled. “At least you didn’t have to give her your firstborn child.”

  Resa tilted her chin down at Amelia. “What can I tell you? She’s tough, that Mo. She knows she’s got all the cards. We’re at her mercy.”

  “What about an amp?” asked Harriet.

  Resa shook her head. “No go. But the boys have a friend who’s good with electronics, and she was able to fix the cord—for the time being. It’ll hold up for one more show.”

  There was a knock at the door, followed by Mrs. Nguyen’s yelling, “I’ve got it!” A minute later, a delicious aroma wafted into the room.

  Harriet inhaled deeply. “Smells like—”

  “Dinner!” announced Mrs. Nguyen as she walked in, two boxes of pizza stacked in her hands.

  Harriet squealed in excitement. “One of the best things about pizza,” she said, opening the first box, “is that it gets the gross taste of carrots out of your mouth.”

  19

  Joe and Sam posted Didi’s three logo options later that night, and within an hour there was a clear winner.

  Option two won by a landslide: simple block letters, all in very pale blue, spelling the band name, with the I in SKINKS made into a stand holding a retro microphone.

  Sam said it was classy.

  Joe said it was classic.

  Larry said it reminded him of a Sandy Warhol painting.

  The girls were just glad to have a clear consensus so that they could show customers a picture when they took preorders.

  The easiest time to take preorders was right after dismissal in front of the high school, but they couldn’t wait that long; they needed cash in hand to give Lucy half of the order amount by Monday morning.

  Lucky for them, the high school was putting on a production of the school play, The Music Man, on Sunday afternoon, and that event drew a big crowd. Harriet and Didi dragged a card table to the corner of the high school, about a half hour before the play started.

  With Harriet’s mouth behind a megaphone and Didi’s design mounted on a sign, they rustled up just enough orders Sunday to give Lucy her deposit.

  Didi was in charge of taking down information for preorders this time. She came equipped with her laptop so that she could enter the names directly into a spreadsheet, which she could keep alphabetized and back up on the cloud. There was no chance it would be lost or damaged.

  It was a tight operation. Harriet got people interested, especially friends of her brothers, and then she sent them over to Didi to pay. A few people griped about how terrible the last T-shirts were and asked if the Radical Skinks had broken their curse, but Harriet didn’t take any of it personally. She just deflected the tension with a joke about how they’d gotten a counterhex, so all was good now.

  She was able to keep up her good humor all week, and by the end of it, most of the unhappy fans were willing to give the Radical Skinks—and their T-shirts—another try.

  * * *

  On Friday at lunch, Harriet called Lucy to see if the T-shirt order had arrived.

  “Sorry, sweet pea, not yet,” said Lucy regretfully. “But it’s still early. Check back after school.”

  “There goes my social studies quiz,” said Harriet to the girls when she hung up. “I can’t possibly focus on Mesopotamia! All I’m thinking about is that if we don’t get the shirts tonight, we won’t have anything to sell tomorrow at the Battle of the Bands!”

  “Harriet,” said Didi sternly, “you have got to calm down.”

  “Do fifty jumping jacks,” suggested Resa. “That’s what I do when I need to clear my head. Works like a charm.”

  Harriet, who wasn’t much of an athlete, could manage only eleven, but it helped. She made it through social studies and math, and by the time she got out of music class, she was feeling optimistic again.

  After school, Resa and Amelia had tennis lessons, so Didi and Harriet rushed to Small Joys, where Lucy told them if they wanted to pick up their order, they’d have to work for it.

  “See that stack?” Lucy gestured at a tall pile of boxes by the front door. “They all just got delivered. You open them for me, I bet you’ll find your order.”

  “Box cutter!” barked Harriet, her palm open in front of her like a surgeon in need of a scalpel.

  They sliced open what felt like a dozen boxes with no luck and were beginning to despair by the time they came to the bottom box in the pile.

  Didi slid the X-Acto knife through the packing tape on top, pulled open the box, and saw heaps of midnight blue fabric. “Jackpot!” she called to Harriet, who’d gotten distracted by a box of hair accessories she’d opened.

  As Harriet ran over, Didi unfolded a T-shirt and held it at arm’s length.

  Harriet screeched so loudly it was a wonder the windows in the shop didn’t shatter.

  “It’s utter perfection!” exclaimed Harriet. “A masterpiece! You’re a genius!” She threw her arms around Didi’s slight shoulders and squeezed so hard Didi couldn’t breathe.

  “Satisfied customers,” said Lucy from behind the counter, with Rambo in her arms. “My favorite kind.”

  20

  The Battle of the Bands was scheduled for noon Saturday at the high school auditorium, but audience members started lining up by eleven o’clock. There had been a regular Battle of the Bands at the high school for as long as Harriet could remember, and while it was always pretty popular, it never drew a crowd this big. Everyone had heard about the destiny of this year’s winner, and everybody in town—young, old, and in-between—wanted to be there to witness the competition.

  “Do you think Connor Mackelvoe’s gonna be here?” asked Didi, bubbling over with excitement.

  The girls had arrived with all their stuff a full hour early and had been allowed into the auditorium only when they explained they were staff. “We handle the Radical Skinks’ merchandise,” Harriet had said with pride, and magically they were waved through.

  Each of the six bands performing was allowed one merch table in the back of the auditorium. They’d been warned they could sell before the show only, not after, and absolutely no voice-amplifying devices were allowed.

  “Meaning?” Harriet had asked the concert organizer who was explaining the rules.

  “Meaning you can put that megaphone away,” she’d said. “If I catch you on it, I’m shutting down your operation.”

  Amelia had grabbed the megaphone out of Harriet’s hands. “Won’t be a problem!” she promised.

  Now all four girls stood in a line behind the merch table, ready, willing, and able to make merch history. They all wore a bona fide Radical Skinks tee, one size fits all. The shirt was a little big on Harriet and Resa, the smallest girls in the group, so Resa had cut the extra fabric off the bottom of hers, folding it into a headband to keep her curls out of her face. Harriet, inspired by Amelia, had tied her too-big shirt into a knot at her hip.

  Didi had her laptop all fired up and her master list in alphabetical order. She’d printed out a stack of copies of her list, in case she lost power, but had instructed the girls to keep their hands off her list. “Don’t forget; I’m queen of this counter,” she said. “Now follow me.”

  She led the girls directly in front of the table and gestured to the two signs sh
e’d hung on opposite ends of the rectangular table. One sign read PREORDERS and another read BUY NOW.

  “Two lines!” Didi announced. “One for people who already paid and one for people who want to buy now. I’m in charge of preorders, and Amelia is in charge of buy now.”

  “Got it, Captain,” said Harriet with a little salute.

  “So if your name is not Didi or Amelia,” said Didi, giving Resa and Harriet a hard stare, “you should not lay a finger on the T-shirts.”

  “What about buttons?” asked a voice from behind Didi.

  It was Val. For once, she was not wearing sequins, just a plain old black hoodie with black sweats.

  “Val,” said Resa, instantly annoyed, “we don’t have time for pestering.”

  “It’s a real question,” said Val. “Who’s in charge of buttons?”

  “I didn’t think of that…” said Didi.

  “I can help,” Val chimed in. “If you want.”

  “No,” Resa answered quickly. “We’re all set.”

  “You weren’t all set last time,” said Val with a shrug. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Really?” said Resa. “The way you helped last week when you conned Harriet into getting autographs for your T-shirt so you could sell it for double what you paid?”

  Val blinked fast, looking surprised.

  “Yeah, we know all about your schemes,” said Harriet, crossing her arms.

  “It wasn’t a scheme,” said Val. “I didn’t lie or anything. And I didn’t steal any of your customers, because you weren’t even offering autographed T-shirts. I provided a service you didn’t have. You should be thanking me.”

  “You don’t even like the Radical Skinks!” protested Harriet. “You just want to make a buck!”

  “I’m not in it for the money!” said Val, anger flashing in her green eyes.

  “Then why are you all up in our business?” asked Resa.

  “I think it’s cool, all right?” Val said with a scowl. “I love this kind of thing, but you all never even think of asking me to help.”