“Hey, guys!” I call out, squeezing through until I’m standing between Chris and some dude from my science class. “So Heart Grenade’s about to go on.”
They all glance at me, and then Chris continues whatever he’d been saying when I spoke up. I frown.
“There he is!” someone yells, and I turn to see Leif behind me. He’s dancing with Abby.
“Okay, guys, over here!” another voice calls.
I turn around just in time to see—who else?—that yearbook photographer. His attention isn’t on me, though. Maybe I can just creep away without anyone noticing.
“No, you, too,” the photographer guy yells as I take what I think is a very subtle step backward. So much for sneaking away.
“Uh, no thanks,” I say, realizing that jerks probably wouldn’t even say thanks. They’d just say something like No, man in a gruff voice and walk off. Nobody stops a jerk from doing what he wants. I have to keep practicing my jerkiness to make sure I have it down when Mariah’s around.
“Okay, everyone,” Vice Principal Stanwick says through a microphone onstage, cutting into all the chitchat. It takes a minute or two, but eventually the roar dies down. “Heart Grenade is going on in a couple of minutes.”
Cheers all around. Mr. Stanwick holds his hand up to silence everyone.
“Just a reminder that we’re on live TV,” he says. “Your parents will be watching, along with everyone else. Let’s show them what a great student body Lynnfield Middle School has. The DJ is going to play one more song, and then when I give the signal, everyone move toward the stage so we can get a shot with a crowd in front of it.”
I move farther away from the group of guys. I have no idea where I’m going. Even if I plan to continue acting like a jerk, I do want to see Heart Grenade perform. I just don’t want Mariah to know I’m watching.
The bleachers. They’re partly dark, and nobody’s really paying attention to the few people scattered over there. I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I walk over.
I’m settled on the bleachers when I realize the chaperones are hanging out just a few rows above me. That includes my mom, who spots me right away and clomps over.
“How’s it goin’?” she asks, trying for a casual voice but sounding high-pitched and uncomfortable instead.
“Fine. Just resting for a minute.”
I don’t want to get into everything that’s happened with Mariah. I usually don’t discuss personal business with my mom. Honestly, I don’t even want to be making small talk with her, but she’s my mom. At least nobody’s paying attention to us right now anyway.
“You know what you should do?” she asks.
She’s scanning the dance floor. People are making a halfhearted attempt to dance while waiting for the band. They’re mostly bouncing up and down a little while they talk.
“Ask a girl to dance,” she says. “Any girl. I think that might help with your problem.”
My mom thinks I have a problem. No, scratch that; my mom knows I have a problem. Moms have that weird psychic ability. And since she’s aware of my crush on Mariah, it likely didn’t take much for her to figure out what that problem is.
I look over and see Leif still dancing with Abby. They seem to be all flirty, and I know if Mariah sees them she will be furious. So will Tess, probably.
My mom is right. I should be talking to another girl . . . maybe even dancing with one. That way, when the band goes on, Mariah will see me out here with someone else. Maybe she’ll finally be interested . . . or even jealous.
I search the gym for someone who might possibly dance with me. My eyes come to rest on a girl from Advanced Algebra named Amanda. She seems nice—the kind of girl who won’t laugh in my face.
Now is the time to do something besides wait for Mariah. Now is the time for me to get out there.
My heart races as I head toward the dance floor. I’m not sure what makes me more nervous—the idea of asking someone to dance or the thought of Mariah catching us out here. I make my way toward her, trying my best to get past my nerves, and prepare to ask a girl to dance for the first time ever.
ASHLYN { 10:02 P.M. }
I DON’T KNOW HOW IT’S possible for sixteen blisters to form in the span of walking across one soccer field and one tennis court in damp suede boots, but my heels are as raw as the skin on the back of my neck (hey, thanks, pricker bush!) when we finally reach the back door of the gym. But it will all be worth it because WE ARE HERE! I tug hard on the handle.
Of course it’s locked.
So much for sneaking in and beautifying myself in the locker room before showing my face to any of my classmates.
If it weren’t for my soggy butt and my seventeen blisters (seriously, I think they’re multiplying by the second), I might even consider just turning around and going back to the Terzettis’, because what’s even the point of sneaking into a dance when you won’t be able to fully enjoy it on account of the twigs in your hair and the chipped edges on your manicure and feet that hurt worse than when you wax between your eyebrows?
But you know what? If I can’t be happy tonight, then Ellie definitely shouldn’t be, since this whole situation is entirely her fault to begin with. It might even be worth risking a few unflattering shots on Instagram just to march in there and toss Kevin aside and dump the Brats on her, even if I don’t get to have the full dance experience myself.
“What are we doing?” whines Charity. “Aren’t we going around to the main door?”
“Yeah. I’m cold,” Hope chimes in.
“You’re cold? You’re cold? I’m the one who had my cheeks on ice in a frigid creek tonight—and I don’t mean the cheeks on my face, either!”
They crack up.
I really can’t wait to be rid of these two.
I grab their arms and hobble-march us around the side of the building to the front entrance. Ugh, and now my wet socks are all bunched up in my boots. There’s a reason I don’t do the outdoors!
In the roundabout driveway of the courtyard is a black van with KACT-TV on the side and all kinds of weird satellite dishes on its roof. EEK! I totally forgot about the live broadcast thing! They’d better have the lights dimmed inside, because showing up on Instagram is one thing; looking like this on TV is a whole other matter. I have big plans for my television debut, and those include runway appearances on Model Marathon and/or guest judging gigs on Superstar! This . . . does not even come close to hitting the list.
“Daddy’s truck!” Hope breaks free and races across the courtyard to the propped-open doors leading to the gym.
“What is she talking about?” I ask, tightening my grip on Charity. She slips clear of me and runs off after her sister, turning to yell back, “Our dad works for the TV station!”
Um. What?
What? What? WHAT?
Mrs. Terzetti did say her husband had to work tonight, but why wouldn’t she have told me he was working at MY dance?
Further note: Why wouldn’t she have told me her husband was “in the biz,” as they say? I would have been a teensy tiny bit more invested in all this babysitting stuff if I’d known there were Hollywood-style perks to be had! Maybe it’s not too late. It’s entirely possible Mr. Terzetti was just waiting for a good excuse to replace his lawn mower, right? This changes everything!
I break into a run myself (hello, blisters eighteen, nineteen, and twenty).
“Brats! I—I mean, adorable, sweet girls! Wait! You can’t . . .”
JADE { 10:03 P.M. }
It’s go time.
GENEVIEVE { 10:03 P.M. }
IT’S GO TIME.
My body is with the rest of the band, huddled behind the curtain, waiting for Ms. Huff’s cue to go out onstage. But I don’t even feel like I’m inside of it anymore. I certainly don’t have any control over it. A rushing sound fills my head, like I’m holding an enormous seashell over each ear. My breathing is ragged and shallow, and I can barely feel my legs. I reach out for something to steady myself, but all the
other girls are behind me, and there’s nothing to grab on to.
Someone shakes my shoulder hard, and I come back to myself enough to notice that Ms. Huff is frantically waving us forward.
“Genevieve!” Tess hisses behind me. “Go!”
Instinct takes over, and suddenly my feet are moving me up the wooden steps and through the break in the curtain. Everyone starts screaming as soon as they see us, and my instinct is to curl up in a ball on the floor as the noise breaks over me like a wave. But I remember the instructions the camera guy gave us, and I force myself to squint into the blazing lights and find the X of hot pink tape on the floor where I’m supposed to stand.
She got up onstage and totally forgot all the words to her song, says Shanti’s voice inside my head. It was like someone erased her brain.
My little brother threw up during his school play.
My mom always gets really dizzy when she’s nervous.
I’m pretty sure I’m not breathing at all, and sparks wink to life in my peripheral vision.
I make myself look past the glare of the lights, past the staring, alien eyes of the cameras, and into the front row of kids, where Sydney said she’d be. Even though she hasn’t been the greatest friend tonight, seeing her familiar smile will still make me feel better. Everyone’s cheering and reaching out toward the stage like they’re at a real concert, but Sydney’s not there. I look one more row back, and one more, and one more, but I can’t find her anywhere.
The video guy starts counting down on his fingers, and then he points at the vice principal, who is standing on the floor in front of the stage. Mr. Stanwick’s voice sounds like it’s underwater as he says, “Live from Lynnfield Middle School, I give you Heart Grenade, making their television debut!”
Vaguely, from miles behind me, I hear Tess shout, “One! Two! One, two, three, four!”
The band launches into the first riff of “Hear Us Roar,” but even through the blasting amplifiers, Faith’s bass sounds far away. Everything is moving too fast and too slowly at the same time.
Three bars left. Then two. Then one. And there’s my cue.
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Tess and Faith falter for a minute, and then they circle back and start playing the intro again. I know everyone’s waiting for me, counting on me. The band. The audience. The camera guy. Dad and Papa, sitting on the couch back home. My choir director, who definitely won’t want me to sing a solo anymore after she sees this. I’m letting them all down.
I’m sorry, I think to everyone. I’m so sorry.
My cue comes around again, and I try harder to join in this time. I really do. But there’s an iron band around my lungs, and my vocal cords don’t seem to exist at all anymore, and the sparks are dancing across my entire field of vision now.
I pray for a tornado or a tidal wave to hit the gym. Or for an earthquake to open up a giant rift in the middle of the floor. Or for the ceiling to collapse. Not in a way that would hurt anyone. I just need something, anything, to make all of this stop so I can pull myself together.
And that’s when all the lights go out.
{ 10:05 P.M. }
GENEVIEVE
Did I just make that happen . . . WITH MY MIND?
ELLIE
Really? I honestly didn’t think this night could get any darker.
RYAN
Wow. Just wow. I’m standing next to this sweet, cute girl, and all I can do is stare at the dark blob I know is Mariah. I can’t even see her anymore, but I can’t look away.
ASHLYN
Brats? Brats! Oh God, I hate the dark! Oww! Hey! Who just pulled my hair? Do you even know who you’re messing with?
TESS
If the power doesn’t come back on right this second, I am going to murder the electric company for messing up our big break! Someone is going to answer for this.
CARMEN
Noooooooooooooooooo! What happened to the webpage? Why is it black? Did Heart Grenade just break the Internet!?!
JADE
Success! On to phase three!
JADE { 10:06 P.M. }
I’M BACK IN THE LOCKER room. AGAIN. I couldn’t risk grabbing the refills of soap until I was sure no one would see me with them. According to my calculations, I have about three minutes to get the supplies and run them to the gym, where my fumbling accomplice is supposed to be waiting to help me.
As absentminded as he is, he’s actually a genius. No really, he is. And apparently he pays close attention to what his dad does—#ElectricianFTW. Not only did he manage to figure out how to cut the power (I didn’t even ask—too complicated for me), he also came up with a plan to delay the generator (even more complicated, so I hear).
That wooden platform will be more like a slippery ice rink than a stage once I’m done with it. But the delay will only last so long, so if I don’t hurry, the generator will kick the lights back on and it’ll be too late to sneak in there unnoticed.
I set the timer on my phone and push the little icon to turn on the flashlight app. I scan the rows of lockers to find the right one. Number forty-three, there you are. I open it up and reach my hand in to grab the backpack, but I can’t find it. I point the beam of light into the locker. It’s empty.
“What? Where is it?” I say out loud. I check my phone. A little over two minutes left. Grrr.
“Looking for this?”
I whip my flashlight in the direction of the voice. A girl in an old-fashioned dress holds up the backpack full of the soap refills that I really, really need right now.
“Who are you?” I ask, as if it matters. “That’s my stuff.” I reach for the bag, but Little Miss Old-Fashioned pulls it away.
“I’m the girl who’s not going to let you get away with this despicable plan of yours,” she says, her voice a little shaky. She points at the fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling. “And I’m assuming the lights were ‘phase two’?”
I take a step forward. “Oh honey, you did not just do air quotes like phase two wasn’t a brilliant plan.”
“I sure did.” She’s obviously trying to sound tough, but her wet-noodle posture and lip-biting give her away. She clutches the bag, and one of the soap refills hangs out the unzipped side, about to take a nosedive onto the tile floor.
“You seriously think you can stop me?” I laugh and point the beam of light directly into her face. She closes her eyes briefly, but not long enough to give me the opening I need to snatch the supplies back.
Little Miss Old-Fashioned grips the bag tighter. “I’m sorry,” she says. “But I can’t let you do this.”
“Here’s the thing.” She stiffens when I take another step toward her. “You might be the one with the supplies I need, but I’m the one with the flashlight.”
I push the off icon, making the locker room pitch-black again, and feel for my pocket to slip the phone back in. I reach forward to grab the backpack. I literally do not have time for this wannabe superhero and her tough-girl act. I manage to grip part of the bag, but the girl pulls back. The sound of the zipper is pretty clear as the front of the backpack separates from the back and I lose my balance. When the soap refills clunk to the floor, we both dive for them and smack shoulders as we land hard. There’s a loud POP, and the soap oozes beneath us, my hand covered in it. I fumble around and grab as many of the refills as I can. I manage to push myself back up despite my shoe sliding out from under me a couple of times.
I hurry toward the door, feeling my way along the smooth tile walls as my feet slide side to side like I’m ice-skating. One of the refills has sprouted a leak, and the soap runs in a steady stream down my arm. If I’m going to have any chance at all of pulling this off, I have to get to that stage at lightning speed.
“You won’t get away with this,” yells the girl, her voice coming closer. And before I can take another step, she’s tugging at my leg, the soap on her hands soaking through my tights.
“Get off of me!” I hiss, shaking my leg to try to lose her. Bu
t Little Miss is determined, I’ll give her that. She’s gripping on tightly as she slithers across the floor, keeping pace with me. As I reach for the door, she pushes herself up and grabs for the soap. I have to use both arms to ward her off.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “But I am officially foiling your plan.”
“No, you’re not,” I say, tugging at the refills. If this nitwit doesn’t let go, the whole night will be for nothing!
“Yes. I. AM!” she says even more forcefully as she tugs right back, sending soap flying everywhere.
And when the lights surge back on, brightening the whole room and giving away who I am, I have no choice but to agree.
Well, sort of.
“Give me one sec,” I say to the girl, who shoots me a look that says she most certainly will not. But I manage to grab my phone and get a message off anyway.
Stuck in locker room. Let phase 4 loose!
ELLIE { 10:09 P.M. }
I SQUINT, ADJUSTING MY EYES to the light. The girl actually looks a little afraid, which almost makes me laugh. I don’t think anyone’s ever been scared of me before. I use it to my advantage, though, and glare at her, doing my best Ashlyn impression. It must work, because after a few seconds, she holds her hands up.
“Fine. I surrender.”
“Really?” I look at her sideways.
“Yes, really,” she says. “My supplies are ruined and the lights are back on.”
“Well. I’m glad to see you changed your mind.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“I didn’t change my mind,” she says. “There’s just no point now.” The girl sinks down on the bench. “Besides, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. My accomplice isn’t all that skilled in sabotage.” Her voice isn’t confident anymore, and I actually feel sorry for her. I know what it’s like to want something so much that you can’t think straight. That’s the entire reason I’m here tonight, after all.
Best. Night. Ever. Page 14
