Puckers Up

by Mark Peter Hughes

  CHARLIE

  The First Step on the Road to the Big Time

  FADE IN:

  OPENING SHOT: A crowded elevator with mirrors for walls. The camera pans across the five anxious faces of WEN, STELLA, MO, OLIVIA and CHARLIE—the members of Lemonade Mouth. Standing behind each is a parent (okay, so in Olivia’s case it’s BRENDA, her grandmother), all of them looking fidgety and unsure what to expect.

  MRS. REZNIK is there too—a short, elderly bulldog of a music teacher with a suspiciously wiglike mountain of chocolate brown hair. Tiny though she is, she stands protectively in front of the kids like a warrior ready for anything. (Ever see that movie Battle Axe Trolls? Well, the way she was gripping her handbag, it kind of reminded me of that. She came along to make sure nobody tried to take advantage of us. I remember looking at her steely-eyed expression and thinking it was a good thing she was on our side. I’m a big guy, but I’d be scared if I ever had to face her in combat.)

  INTERIOR. ELEVATOR—LATE AFTERNOON

  CLOSE-UP ON: A finger pressing the button for the twenty-second floor. The elevator doors shut. Nobody speaks. The lights show that the elevator is rising. Mo tugs at her long dark hair and bites her nails. Charlie taps his fingers nervously.

  Finally breaking the silence is …

  WEN

  So … this is it. We’re about to meet the world-famous Earl Decker.

  STELLA

  (staring straight ahead, scared stiff)

  Casual is the approach we need to take, guys. When we see Earl, try not to look starstruck. Pretend we have meetings like this every day.

  MO

  (a sideways glance shared with Olivia)

  Uh, and how are we supposed to pretend that, Stella?

  STELLA

  I don’t know! Just … relax! All I’m saying is, everybody stay calm!

  Nobody says anything else as the lit numbers continue to rise floor by floor. Finally the band arrives at the twenty-second floor. As the elevator door opens, Charlie’s thoughts drift back to his recent summer activities and the ordinary existence he’s been living—an ordinary existence that might just be on the brink of change …

  Okay, flashbacks are tricky and I haven’t read the chapter on how to do them right yet, so I’m just going to tell you how the summer started off for me.

  I admit it. Up until the Decker and Smythe thing began, I was bored out of my skull.

  Sure, making those new recordings with my friends was like a dream, but other than that my life was complete Dullsville. While everybody else had summer jobs and other stuff that kept them way busy all the time, all I had was a school paper I needed to finish typing to avoid a failing grade in English Comp. Nothing like summertime homework to start vacation off with a smile. After that I still didn’t have much else to do, so I spent a lot of the early part of the summer flopping around at home. I hung out in my room playing computer games. I watched a lot of TV. I made videos where I pretended to interview my mom’s plants. Stuff like that. Mostly, though, I waited around for Mo to finish her shift at the store or whatever. She always had something. On recording days I would wander over to Lyle’s house early and hang out with him and Naomi while they set up around Lyle’s laptop. It meant watching those two pretend not to flirt with each other, but it was better than staring at a screen.

  What I’m saying is, nobody was gladder than me when Decker and Smythe added a jolt of excitement to the summer.

  For weeks I’d been telling my friends that all Lemonade Mouth needed was one big break. An opening-act slot on a tour with a famous band, maybe. Some kind of national exposure. Anything that could have led to a real record contract. (Notice, Naomi, how I used “have” instead of “of.” See? I was listening to you and Mr. Levesque. Not that I plan on driving myself nuts trying to get everything perfect. I don’t care what anyone says—there’s no point in losing sleep over a few commas.)

  And then along came this meeting at Decker and Smythe like a lucky lightning bolt out of the sky. Here it was, our big chance! True, the lady who gave us the card never made any promises. She never said Earl Decker was for sure going to give us a contract or anything, but still, he wanted to talk with us, so it seemed at least possible, right? I figured all we had to do was avoid blowing this meeting.

  By the time we got there the five of us were all so anxious that I wondered how we were even going to get through it. We had to wait in the squishy chairs in the Decker and Smythe lobby. It was a gigantic, echoing space. The walls were plastered with enormous posters, huge black-and-white images of rock-and-roll superstars looming over us like gods gazing at ants. As we looked up at them I noticed Olivia start curling into a ball in her chair, and Stella’s whole head looked like it might pop.

  Fortunately Mr. Decker kept us waiting only a couple of minutes.

  He came out to greet us personally. Now, I’d been expecting him to be this cranky, cigar-chomping bundle of energy, because that’s how everyone thinks of him, but when we actually met him he was the nicest, most relaxed guy. He had a big smiling face with silver hair and a short, scruffy beard. He was a little shorter than I imagined, maybe, and definitely older, but this was Earl Decker, the real deal. He had a diamond earring and an expensive-looking watch, but he wore them with sandals and faded jeans. It wasn’t hard to picture him hanging out with the world’s most famous hippie musicians back in the day. A moment later he was leading us down a hallway into his office.

  INTERIOR. MR. DECKER’S OFFICE—LATE AFTERNOON

  Lemonade Mouth and their small entourage shuffle nervously behind EARL DECKER. His office is impressive and cluttered with rock-and-roll memorabilia: Gold records on the walls. A collection of signed guitars. More pictures of still more rock idols, many posing next to a younger, even hairier Earl Decker. Noticing their obvious interest, Mr. Decker takes his time showing his visitors around and answering their questions.

  CLOSE-UP ON: Charlie, staring wide-eyed at a pair of gold drumsticks in a frame with the label DANNY DANGEROUS, SHEA STADIUM 1992.

  CHARLIE

  (a whisper, unsure whether it’s polite to ask)

  Are these … real?

  MR. DECKER

  (joining Charlie in the close-up, both of them gazing now)

  Don’t be too impressed with things, Charlie. It’s only stuff, that’s all. Danny Dangerous was still a teenager at the time, not that much older than you are now. I remember the day he first wandered into this office. A cocky kid, but a real talent, there’s no denying it.

  (a regretful sigh, and then …)

  Hey, everyone, why don’t we all take a seat?

  At Mr. Decker’s gesture, the group settles around a long, imposing table, still adjusting to the reality of being in the presence of this legendary rock promoter. Mr. Decker looks around at the faces. He folds his hands in front of him.

  MR. DECKER

  I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to meet you kids in person. I gotta be honest, I’m a huge fan. I watched that video clip, the one from that Catch A RI-Zing Star thing, over and over again. Wow. Powerful stuff. I listened to your CD too.

  (holds it up as evidence)

  Fabulous. Freaky and fun but with a solid emotional core. Plus, it’s danceable. I’m not hearing anything else quite like it out there right now. Do you know, when one of my assistants first told me about you guys I actually laughed? No kidding, I really did. I didn’t think it was possible that a bunch of kids playing oddball instruments like yours could really work. “What do you mean?” I asked. “A trumpet and a ukulele? A standup bass? An accordion and set of timbales?” I couldn’t imagine how those things could possibly sound right together! But man, was I ever wrong.

  REVERSE ON: Lemonade Mouth blinking back across the table at him. Wen, Charlie and Mo sit stiffly in their chairs. Olivia is hunched and rocking slightly with her arms crossed. Stella looks like she’s holding her breath.

  STELLA

  (painfully quiet)

  Th-thank you, Mr. Decker
.

  CLOSE-UP ON …

  STELLA’S MOM

  (also uncomfortable)

  I know we all appreciate your interest in Lemonade Mouth, Mr. Decker, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not intrigued that you’ve asked to see my daughter and her friends, but I must admit I’m not at all clear what’s going on. Why exactly are we here?

  MR. DECKER

  (long thoughtful breath, still scanning the faces)

  I asked you here because this is what I do. Now, I’m not a doctor or a rocket scientist. I don’t know how to write a bestselling novel or find a cure for cancer. What I do know is the music industry. My entire job is to recognize talented musicians and make them the biggest stars they can possibly be. And believe me, I know something special when I find it.

  He rises to his feet and strolls across the room, pausing near each band member as he addresses them one by one.

  MR. DECKER (CONT’D)

  I invited you here because of Olivia’s big, soulful voice, and Mohini’s swooping basslines. I wanted to meet you guys because of the unbelievable note bends Wen can do with his trumpet and because of the raw power I hear when Stella attacks her uke. And Charlie—with that big percussion set you play, all the crazy wild-man stuff you do up there? I’ve seen it, you know. Like I said, I watched the videos over and over. Ever heard of Keith Moon? Tito Puente? Tim Spooner?

  Charlie is so transfixed that when he nods, his head barely moves.

  MR. DECKER (CONT’D)

  And the biggest credit of all? Well, I gotta give that nod to you, Jeannine.

  (gestures to Mrs. Reznik)

  I’ve done my homework. I read how all this started, how you were the one who recognized this thing from the very beginning.

  Mrs. Reznik is silent but she’s obviously flattered at the recognition. Mr. Decker is right. There would never have been a Lemonade Mouth if it weren’t for her.

  MR. DECKER (CONT’D)

  I’ve been around the musical block a couple of times, and I can tell you this: You kids are the right musicians at the right time. You have the look, the sound and even a message. Those Lemonade Mouth stories in the papers? This whole “don’t stop the revolution” and “underdogs of the world unite” thing? People eat that stuff up. It’s no wonder you’ve already started to make a name for yourselves. That doesn’t just happen out of nowhere. Listen to the voice of experience. I know.

  (back at his chair now, leaning on the table)

  Bottom line: I invited you here because I think my agency can do exciting things for you. You made a good start in a small, hometown kind of way, but now that little wave is about to crest, and if you don’t get a boost it’s going to peter out and wash away. What a waste that would be. But I can help it grow. Right now is the time to act. Photo shoots, television exposure, an autumn tour with a big-name lineup. Oh, and all-new recordings, of course.

  WEN

  (just now remembering …)

  Oh, uh … we’re already on top of that.…

  (reaches into his pocket to pull out a freshly burned CD, sets it on the table in front of Mr. Decker)

  These are still rough, but we’ve been working with our friend Lyle on a whole album of new stuff.

  MR. DECKER

  Oh, no, no. I’m sure your friend Lyle has done some fine work, but I’m not talking about little homemade recordings here.

  (gently pushes the CD back toward Wen)

  It’s time for you guys to start thinking bigger. With me you’ll start fresh. You’ll record in the best studios on the planet with the top producers and sound engineers in the world. But it’s up to you. You’re the pilots of your own destiny. So what do you say? Are you guys ready to go for it? Are you ready to sign with me and take that first step on the road to becoming a musical revolution unlike any the industry has seen in years?

  (sitting forward in his chair, hands folded again)

  Are you ready for the big time?

  A breathless silence. For a few seconds nobody speaks.

  Cut to …

  EXTERIOR. SIDEWALK OF A BUSY BOSTON STREET—LATE AFTERNOON

  With their guardians trailing behind them, the five kids exit the revolving doors of the imposing building. Their meeting now over, they stop to stare at one another’s astonished faces as traffic rushes nearby.

  CHARLIE

  (stunned)

  What just happened?

  Stella shakes her head, too overcome to speak. Olivia opens her mouth to answer but closes it again. In the end it’s Mo who says what all of them can hardly believe:

  MO

  We just signed with one of the biggest rock agents in the world. Lemonade Mouth is going national.

  The camera slowly backs away as we hear Charlie’s VOICE-OVER …

  CHARLIE (V.O.)

  As the five of us stood blinking in the sunlight on that busy Boston afternoon, the path to our dreams seemed clear. But as we now realize, in life things often go wrong, and the future rarely happens the way you think it will.

  Those who expect moments of change to be comfortable and free of conflict have not learned their history.

  —Joan Wallach Scott

  STELLA

  A Whirlwind of Activity

  As you might imagine, it was a heady time for our little band of newly minted stars-to-be. Our days with the Decker and Smythe talent agency started with a whirlwind of activity.

  “First we’ll need to do something about your look,” Mr. Decker observed, scratching his beard as he eyed us in our scraggly jeans, shorts and T-shirts. He arranged to meet us in Boston again, this time at a chichi clothing boutique on Newbury Street, where we were fitted for new clothes—a band uniform of sorts. A skinny, leather-clad fashion consultant named Blade led the project. For three hours, while our parents looked on, Blade handed out one outfit after another, a dizzying array of hats, boots, beads, ties, ripped jeans, shirts, skirts and various other items of potential rock-and-roll attire, some more bizarre than others, instructing us to try them on.

  I was hesitant at first. As a member of a band of rock-and-roll rebels, I’d always thought of our unadorned look as part of our defiant aura. This was the great Earl Decker, though, a guy known for his antiestablishment roots. He’d introduced the world to the Rebellion Hellions and Mutiny! Mutiny!, two of the most trailblazing protest rock acts ever, so it made sense to trust that he knew a thing or two about what he was doing.

  “Think of the great bands of history,” he explained. “The Beatles kicked off Beatlemania with their mop-top haircuts and collarless suits. The grunge bands of the nineties wore plaid flannel shirts and unkempt hair for an image that rejected corporate culture. Appearance has always been a calculated part of the road to success, and it’s no less important today.”

  As uncertain about this as I’d been, by the end of the afternoon I was amazed at how great we looked. Blade and Mr. Decker had settled on a few different outfits, but this main one was based in black. Mo looked stunning in a pleated black blouse and a ruffled skirt, and Charlie’s outfit, a white oxford, a collarless button-down trench coat and a cool-looking Middle-Eastern cap like an oversized beanie, somehow gave him a serene, monklike vibe despite his feather duster of unruly, frizzed-out hair. Wen was in a dark business suit with an orange tie and a fedora. Along with his black-framed glasses, he was like some kind of sci-fi detective from Planet Cool. And Olivia—well, she looked adorable. Blade had decked her out in a pink 1920s flapper hat with a simple drop-waist dress that ruffled at the bottom. I would never have guessed it, but it totally suited her. She blushed as all of us gaped at her reflection. I noticed that Wen, in particular, couldn’t stop looking at her.

  And me? I’ll admit I was psyched about my new duds. Now, I never claimed to be a waif—I’m six feet tall in my socks—but I’m not a muscled warrior type either. And yet the girl grinning back at me from the mirror was somehow both intimidating and attractive in a sleek black and green GI jacket, butt-kicker boots and a wide, metallic b
elt that hung at an angle like something out of a futuristic western. Even my mom, who didn’t always agree with my fashion taste, was impressed. The girl in the reflection looked to me like someone who might step off the dance floor at any moment just to wrestle somebody to the ground.

  I was thrilled.

  The five of us stood staring at ourselves in the wall-length mirror. Charlie broke the silence. “I had no idea we could look this … this …”

  “Me neither,” Wen said.

  I knew exactly what they meant. Together we coordinated in a weird, almost dangerous way. We looked like a party—the coolest party ever.

  Even more, we looked like a band.

  “This works,” Mr. Decker announced. “It’s stylish but still a little nerdy and off-kilter, and that’s a good thing. It plays to your strengths. This’ll be a fine starting point for us.”

  In no time he had us posing for pictures. We needed promotional shots for the media, he told us. He wanted to start building buzz right away.

  Imagine the scene: our five heroes blinking under the bright lights with cameras clicking from all directions. It felt bizarre at first, and Olivia seemed especially uncomfortable, but the photographer, an Italian lady named Marta, was super nice and kept everything casual. Her assistant surprised us with a tray of Mel’s Lemonade from a machine she’d discovered at a funky little convenience store across the street. It felt like destiny. I guess it made all of us feel more at home too, because after that even Olivia seemed to relax a little. Marta told us where to stand and whether we should lift our chins or whatever, and after a while we started having fun with it, running around with umbrellas or striking poses around old crates or whatever props they set out for us. It was all just a big laugh. After the studio shots, Mr. Decker piled us into his stretch limousine and we drove around Boston. It was our first-ever limo ride, and I thought my heart might burst. Every now and then Mr. Decker told the driver to stop and we all piled out to pose for an outside shot.