Mimi, who had probably listened to “Dream of Me” a zillion times since Saturday, was singing along at the top of her lungs. She knew every word by heart. Lark did, too, but she wasn’t exactly in a sing-along mood.
Suddenly, Alessandra Drake was at Lark’s side. “You know them?” she demanded.
“Um . . . well . . .” Lark had to blink against the glare of Lady Drake’s tiara.
“Oh, she doesn’t just know them,” Mimi interjected smugly. “She lives with them.”
“You live with them?” Alessandra said incredulously.
“You live with them?” Teddy repeated.
But whereas Alessandra’s tone had been one of complete and utter disbelief, Teddy hadn’t sounded as if he doubted it at all. If anything he sounded a little . . . jealous, as if he didn’t particularly like the thought of these three guys being around Lark twenty-four/seven. This sent a shiver up her spine, and for a moment Lark forgot her anger at Donna for springing this very unwelcome surprise on her.
“Lark’s mother is their manager,” Mimi explained. “So they’re living in Lark’s house, which means she gets to eat all her meals with them and even rehearse with them. And I’m sort of the unofficial in-house videographer, so I do, too. And they even asked us to be their backup dancers.” The unspoken Take that, Alessandra seemed to sizzle in the air.
The song had reached the chorus, and kids were singing along. When “Dream of Me” ended, the whole gym erupted into raucous applause. All except Teddy and Lark, who clapped politely.
And then, Alessandra Drake—tiara and all—turned to Lark with the broadest, chummiest smile Lark had ever seen.
“O-M-G,” she gushed, placing her hand on Lark’s arm as if they’d been best friends since birth. “You totally should invite me over to your house so I can meet them.”
Mimi let out a snort. “Fat chance,” she grumbled, but in the tumult of cheering and screaming, the comment went unheard. In the next second, Alessandra had dashed off to join the starstruck mob.
“Was it my imagination,” said Mimi dryly, “or was she actually drooling?”
But Lark wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Her stomach had begun to roil again as her mother returned to the stage. What next? A PowerPoint presentation of my baby pictures?
“So, what do you think, kids?” her mother asked. “Have we got a hit on our hands?”
The crowd roared, then roared even louder when Max made a dazzling show of twirling his drumsticks. He looked like some old-time western gunslinger spinning his pistols before a shoot-out. Lark’s mom allowed the thunderous ovation to go on for another full minute, then motioned for the crowd to settle down.
“Does anyone have any questions for the boys?” she asked.
Hands shot up all over the room.
“What are your names?” a girl shouted. “Starting with the cute one.”
As if on cue, all three boys spoke their names in unison, inciting more laughter.
“How long are you staying in LA?” asked another girl.
“As long as you’ll have us,” replied Max with a grin.
This response was met with shrieks and giggles. Lark thought she saw Emma DiGiorgio’s knees buckle.
Now Principal Hardy returned to the stage with a slight frown. “Remember, boys and girls, this is the International Fair, so your questions are supposed to be about life in England. The culture, the politics, the lifestyle, the people . . .”
Alessandra’s hand shot up. “I have a question about the people.”
“Yes, Alessandra?” the principal prompted.
“Are all the people in England as gorgeous and talented as you three?”
Another stern look from Principal Hardy steered the interview in the appropriate direction. The boys were asked about English food, whether they liked soccer, and whether or not London Bridge really was, in fact, falling down.
Then, after Abbey Road performed “Promises to Keep,” Principal Hardy thanked them for their surprise appearance and the boys left the stage to more screaming and cheering. Lark’s mom couldn’t have looked happier.
For Lark, on the other hand, it was going to be a very long day.
When the International Fair ended, Lark’s mother was waiting for her by the gym doors.
“Wasn’t that wonderful?” Donna gushed. “Your friends loved them, and performing for the school will really help the boys’ wholesome image.”
“My friends?” hissed Lark. “I’ve never even spoken to half these people, but suddenly, everyone is coming up to me, asking me for my phone number and wondering if we can hang out sometime.”
“Even better,” said Donna. “I got some free focus testing, and you’re meeting new people.”
“People who never gave me a second look before, but now want to use me to meet pop stars,” Lark spat.
Donna looked genuinely confused and Lark realized with a jolt that she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with her mother regarding her social standing at school.
“Forget it,” Lark muttered. “I just wish you’d asked me if I was okay with this stupid concert-slash-focus group.”
The joy in her mother’s face had vanished. “I’m sorry, honey. You were the one who gave me the idea. I thought you’d be pleased. I honestly never meant to make you uncomfortable.” She made a tenuous attempt at a smile. “How about I sign you out early and you and I and the boys can go for a late lunch?”
“No, thank you,” said Lark, her voice cold. “I can’t miss an entire afternoon of classes. In fact, I’ll be home later than usual today because I’m meeting someone after school to—” She was about to say rehearse but thought better of it. “To study,” she said. “And if you’re wondering, it has nothing to do with your surprise performance. It was arranged last week.”
“Lark—”
But Lark wasn’t finished yet. “You know what’s funny?” she barreled on. “The whole time we’ve been here, you’ve been too busy to take part in my school stuff. You’ve never once showed your face in this building! Not for a parent-teacher meeting, not for the wrapping paper fund-raiser, not even when I got that stupid ribbon in my English class for winning the poetry contest! But the minute there was a chance for you to do something in your interest, you just couldn’t get here fast enough!”
Donna sighed. “I wish you could understand that I’m doing all of this for us, Lark. For our future.”
Deep down, Lark did understand, but that didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes and storming off down the hall.
For the rest of the day, she was ambushed by kids desperate for information about Abbey Road. Her seventh-grade classmates asked for autographed pictures and free music downloads. The eighth graders were bolder; they wanted to know if she could get them concert tickets complete with backstage passes. One girl actually invited herself to sleep over at Lark’s house! Lark intended to say no, but she was so shocked that she couldn’t even formulate a reply. For all she knew, the eighth grader was going to show up on their doorstep that very night, holding a sleeping bag and expecting a slumber party!
When the last class bell blared, Lark thought she might actually cry with relief.
And then she remembered . . . she was meeting Teddy! Things suddenly seemed a whole lot brighter.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Lark had to force herself not to run all the way to the music room. When she arrived, she was thrilled to see through the narrow window in the door that Teddy was already there, as though he, too, couldn’t wait to start working together. As she quietly pushed the door open, she heard piano music and Teddy’s voice filling the space.
Now who was in danger of swooning?
His eyes were closed and he was singing a ballad that Lark didn’t recognize. The lyrics were sad and yet hopeful at the same time.
When he finished, she stepped into the practice room. “That was incredible.”
Teddy looked up from the piano keys, startled.
“Oh, hey,” he sa
id, slightly flustered. “I was just warming up.”
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Lark apologized, closing the door behind her. “But really, that sounded amazing.”
“Thanks. It’s one of the songs I’m considering for the talent show.” He paused, then added, “I wrote it myself.”
Lark couldn’t believe what he’d just said. “So you don’t just sing; you write and play the piano, too?”
“Been taking lessons since I was five,” said Teddy, playing a few ominous chords.
Lark gave him a quizzical look. “Not to sound ungrateful for the invitation, but what do you need me for?”
“Because,” said Teddy, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half grin. “In the world of middle-school talent shows, guitar is much cooler than piano.”
Lark wasn’t sure she agreed. Plenty of cool musicians—country and rock ’n’ roll alike—played the piano. But she wasn’t about to talk herself out of an afternoon in Teddy’s company. So she crossed the room and took the best available acoustic guitar off its stand. Then she fished a pick out of the old, chipped coffee mug Mr. Saunders kept on top of the upright piano. The mug was emblazoned with the words, If Music Be the Food of Love . . . Let’s Eat!
“I think your song is great. What’s it called?”
“‘Midnight,’” he replied. “And it’s not great. Not yet, anyway. But if your songwriting is as good as Mr. Saunders says it is, I was hoping you could help me get it there.”
“Sure,” said Lark. “I’d love to.”
Teddy gave her an appreciative smile that had her gripping the neck of the guitar. If the instrument were human, she’d be strangling it.
He reached for the sheet music. “I’ve only got the one copy, but—”
“That’s okay,” said Lark. Perching herself on a stool across from Teddy, Lark positioned the guitar over her thighs. “Gimme a sec,” she said, arranging her fingers on the frets.
Just as Teddy had done, she closed her eyes and began to play the song she’d just heard him perform. Most people called this “playing by ear,” but Lark never liked that description. For her, music used more than just her sense of hearing. Lark actually visualized the music. She called it “hearing with her eyes” and it came as naturally to her as breathing. For a long time she believed all musicians perceived music in shapes, colors, and textures as well as sounds, but when she asked her father about it, he promised her that this was something unique. Lark had tried to describe it to Mimi once, explaining that it was as if all her senses came together to become a brand-new sense that allowed her to experience a song with every atom of her being. Sometimes she’d even swear she could smell and taste it.
Mimi, an artist herself, had found this fascinating. Lark was just relieved her friend hadn’t alerted the nearest mental institution to come with a straitjacket and lock her away.
She let her fingers take over, translating the musical vision from her mind to the guitar. “Okay, so . . . D, and then G, and then E minor . . .” She strummed and heard the rich fullness of the chords and knew she was dead on.
“Unbelievable,” said Teddy, shaking his head in awe. “You got it. Just like that.”
Lark felt her cheeks turn pink. “Well, it was pretty easy, it’s very repetitive. Not in a bad way—it’s catchy.”
She took a few minutes to practice and when she was comfortable with the whole song, they tried it together.
From the minute her fingers touched the strings and Teddy’s voice broke into song, magic happened. The music and lyrics seemed to intertwine and become something else, something singular and new and entirely theirs.
When Teddy came to the refrain, something in his expression changed. His eyes widened in surprise and he looked very pleased. Lark smiled back at him and kept playing.
Before she knew it, Teddy was singing the last lyric and as he held the note, it seemed to tremble in the air. Lark thought there was something peculiar about the timbre of it, as if there were some sort of echo.
“You were perfect,” she said.
“Thanks. So were you. Really.” Teddy reached for two bottles of water on the windowsill and handed one to Lark. “But I thought you said you didn’t want to sing.”
Lark blinked, confused. “I don’t.”
“Hmm . . .” Teddy smiled. “Well, you did.”
“What?” Lark nearly choked on her water. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did. Well, not all of it. Just the chorus. It sounded incredible. We harmonized.”
“We did?” Lark was flat-out astounded. That explained why he’d looked so surprised when he first sang the chorus and why the last word of the song had that depth she’d thought she’d only imagined. She’d been singing!
Not just in front of Teddy Reese. With Teddy Reese.
“Please let me talk you into doing that for the talent show,” he said, screwing the plastic cap back onto his water bottle. “Even if you only want to sing the chorus, that would be amazing.”
Lark opened her mouth to say no, but his eyes were so hopeful and his smile was so sweet. He could probably have asked her to smash that guitar over her own head right that very minute and she’d have had a hard time refusing. When she didn’t answer, he shrugged.
“Just think about it,” he said. “I don’t want to pressure you. But seriously . . . we sounded great. It was like . . .”
“Magic.” The word was out before Lark could stop herself. Again, she felt her face flushing.
“Yeah,” said Teddy. “Exactly. Magic.”
It was quiet for a moment. Lark’s heart was pounding so hard, she wondered if he could hear it. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” she said at last, her voice barely a whisper.
“You’re the best,” said Teddy.
They spent the next several minutes tweaking the song. At first, Lark was hesitant to criticize Teddy’s work, but he assured her he wanted her input. So she made a few small suggestions for changes to the melody and chorus, which Teddy enthusiastically accepted. Then she helped him improve the lyrics a bit. It felt as if they’d been writing songs together forever.
“Well,” said Teddy, with a reluctant glance at the clock. “I guess we’d better get going. My mom’s probably waiting outside school.”
But for some reason, he didn’t move an inch.
“Me too,” said Lark at last. But she didn’t make any attempt to leave, either.
There was a knock on the door and Mr. Saunders poked his head in. “How are things going?”
“Great,” said Teddy. “We had an awesome rehearsal.”
“Something told me you would,” said the music teacher with a wink. “I really hate to rush you two, but I’ve got an oboe lesson scheduled in five minutes.”
“We’re all done for today,” said Teddy, reaching for his backpack. “Can we use the space again tomorrow?”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Saunders, settling himself on the piano bench. “See you then.”
It was a minute before Lark realized this was her cue to exit. Teddy was already at the door. Was he actually waiting for her? That would be too much to hope for. And if he was, the thought of making conversation from the music wing all the way to the driveway where the late bus would be waiting was simply too terrifying to even consider.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, sliding off the stool and taking her time crossing the room to the guitar stands.
“Oh. Okay.” Teddy sounded a little disappointed as he opened the door. “Well, see ya tomorrow.” A second later he was gone.
“Don’t you need to catch the late bus, Miss Campbell?” Mr. Saunders asked, checking his watch.
“Yes, sir,” Lark said, picking up her backpack. With a wave to her music teacher, Lark sprinted off to catch her bus.
Lark hurried into the house. She couldn’t wait to Skype Mimi and tell her all about rehearsing with Teddy.
She was halfway up the stairs when she heard piano music coming from the living room.
T
he melody was terrific. And familiar. In fact, it was very familiar.
Lark spun on her heel, flew down the steps, and stomped into the living room, just in time to hear her mother gushing with delight.
“Aidan, it’s wonderful!” Donna cried. “You’ve completely nailed it. This is the new song we’ve been waiting for. I think we can definitely make this one of the tracks on Abbey Road’s first album.”
“What’s going on?” Lark demanded, her eyes shooting across the room to lock on Aidan’s.
“Lark,” said her mother, “Aidan was just playing me ‘Missing You.’ It’s his new song.”
“Was he?” Lark seethed. “And how exactly is he defining it as ‘his’?”
“As in he wrote the song himself, of course.” Donna beamed at Aidan, who was seated at the piano. “Go ahead,” she said. “Play your song for Lark.”
Without even flinching, Aidan swiveled around and played the song—“Homesick”—he’d stolen from Lark’s songwriting journal.
He’d made a few subtle changes here and there, to create a pop-ier sound, but there was no doubt that Aidan was performing her song and claiming it as his own!
Lark’s head was spinning. How dare he? Along with her fury came a crushing sense of mortification, as she realized that “Homesick” wasn’t the only thing he would have found in her journal. All her secret poems about Teddy were written down in there, along with her silly little “Lark and Teddy” doodles.
When he finished playing, Aidan turned to Lark. His expression was infuriatingly composed. His dark eyes gleamed, almost as if he were challenging her to say something.
Did he really think she wouldn’t? Was he so arrogant that he actually thought he could get away with this?
She swallowed hard, struggling to find her voice, her whole body shaking with anger. It was as if Aidan had stolen away not only the words to her song, but every other word she’d ever known as well. Because suddenly, she couldn’t manage to formulate a single sound, let alone an accusation. She simply stood there, overwhelmed with fury and completely mute.
“I know!” her mom said, mistaking Lark’s silence for awe. “It leaves you speechless, doesn’t it? Since Aidan and Ollie couldn’t seem to agree on anything, I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t have enough material for an album. But it seems Aidan works better on his own. He’s saved the day with this gem of a song!”
Girl vs. Boy Band Page 10
