That’s it for now. Wen just stopped by with a new riff he wants us to work on.
Love,
Olivia
P.S.
Wen just left. You might not know it, but you and he are quite a team. He keeps pushing too. Again and again he’s been asking me what’s the matter. I don’t know how he picks up on it so easily. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone, so I’ve been doing my best to act like everything’s normal—or at least as normal as anything could be right now. Which is why I still didn’t tell him about Mom’s letter. I haven’t told anybody but you.
Daddy, please understand what I said about this. I’m trying to balance a lot of things at once here. I’m doing my best.
Dear Ted,
I want to scream. I feel like jumping up and down and pounding my fists against the walls but I won’t because it’d only make Brenda come check on me. I don’t want to talk to her right now. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’m just sitting here on my bed fuming.
So I caved in and took your advice about talking with Brenda. But guess what? It turned out you were wrong—it didn’t make things better at all. Just like I thought it would, it made things worse.
Much, much worse.
Let me set the scene for you: Brenda was washing the dishes when I walked in and showed her the letter. She took a minute to read it silently. When she was finished she didn’t say a word; she just handed it right back without looking at me. The weirdest thing was that she didn’t even seem surprised. She’d just found out that her long-lost daughter had reappeared out of nowhere after more than a decade, and yet she didn’t even bat an eye.
“So … what do you think?” I asked her quietly.
“Oh, honey,” she said after another long silence, “you don’t want to get involved in this.”
My mouth went dry. All at once it hit me that Brenda didn’t seem surprised because she wasn’t surprised. “You … already knew about her, didn’t you?” I asked, still trying to take it in. “You knew she was in Massachusetts.”
Brenda nodded. Her hands were gripping the counter now, and she had this empty expression. She still wouldn’t look at me. “She wrote me two months ago,” she said. “Olivia, your mother’s got … problems. Real problems. Health issues, among other things.”
“What health issues?”
“Well, for one thing, her kidneys aren’t working right anymore because she hasn’t been taking care of herself, but that’s nothing new. She’s never taken much care of herself, as far as I can tell. At least she’s with people now. She’s living in a halfway house.”
For a few seconds I couldn’t say anything else. I just stood there staring. Finally I managed to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
“Safe? From my own mother?”
Brenda closed her eyes. “Listen, I … I know she’s my daughter, and I’ll always love her, but believe me when I tell you that Jess isn’t like you and never was. You have a selfless heart and a bright future. I know it sounds unkind, but things might have worked out for the best when she left. There, I’ve said it. Now you can go ahead and think of me as a bad person, but one thing I’ve learned is that life isn’t always simple.”
“But, Brenda, you could have told me all of this! You could have said something two months ago!”
“I could have,” she said. “But the truth is, your mother asked me not to. She told me she wanted to write you but she wasn’t ready just yet. She begged me to give her a little more time, so I did.” At last Brenda looked at me. “Olivia, before you go and get yourself too involved with Jess, you should know that you’ll be opening up a world of trouble and grief for yourself.”
I didn’t answer. What could I say?
She eyed me like she was trying to read my mind. “But you’re not going to take my advice and stay away, are you? You’re going to go and see her.” She sighed. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s only natural for a girl to want to know her mother.”
I took a step back. And then another. She was talking as if I’d already decided what to do. To me it felt like the whole room was rocking. All I wanted was to get out of there. I backed away and ran to my room, slamming the door. That’s where I still am. I’m furious, but I don’t know who to be furious at. Brenda? My mother? You? I don’t know. There are way too many moving parts here. It’s too much to wrap my mind around.
My entire life is exploding and the only thing I understand is that I don’t understand anything.
WEN
Toddlers with a Bowl of Spaghetti
After the American Pop Sensation thing, we had a small cult following all over the country. It wasn’t huge or anything, but for the first time we had a fan base that went beyond the borders of Rhode Island. And yet, just like after the lemonade machine incident at the end of the recent school year, once again most of the media attention focused on the controversy instead of our music, with headlines like, “The Lemon That Roared” and “Rhode Island Kids Stand Up To ‘Cruel’ APS Judges.” I kept remembering how Mrs. Reznik was always reminding us that it’s the music that matters above all else. True, our performance got rave reviews in a few small music magazines and blogs. A handful of independent college radio stations even started playing our songs. But for the most part, people thought of us as a novelty story for the slower-news summer months.
I have to admit, as exciting as things were getting, that part was kind of a disappointment.
We were all at Bruno’s Pizza Planet one afternoon, for example, listening to Mo read an article from the Cleveland Chronicle. It didn’t even say that we were a band. It only referred to us as “five high school students with a penchant for civility.”
“Typical!” Stella said when Mo finished. “What did they think we were doing up there in the first place, loitering? Didn’t they notice our instruments? Didn’t they hear our song? Why didn’t they write that?”
When we mentioned this to Mr. Decker he didn’t think it was a big deal. “Don’t worry,” he told us. “Any press is good press.”
I tried to believe it, but it wasn’t easy.
Now, there’s been a lot of heated speculation about this next part, about how and why the events that followed could ever have happened in the first place. The thing to keep in mind is that we were all brand-new at this, and there was a lot of other distracting stuff happening in our lives. Even though my dad was working like a dog, his wiener business was struggling. Turns out my father was great with people, but he might have overestimated their willingness to eat wieners for lunch every day. So now he was asking for a lot more of my help. Mo was doing extra hours at her family’s store, Stella was off in her own little world with Rajeev, and Charlie was on some weird mission he’d devised for himself, spending all his free hours trying things he didn’t normally do, like baking cookies, rollerblading or building gigantic castles out of sand and shells. “There’s something missing, Wen,” he told me as he filmed a video of a cloud drifting across the sky, “something I have to figure out. How am I going to find what I need if I don’t look for it?”
Typical Charlie. I would have laughed if I didn’t think he was serious.
As for Olivia, I knew something was up with her even though she was still refusing to admit it. I felt this weird distance between us, and it was beginning to bug me. If she was mad at me, why didn’t she just say so and tell my why? Why did she have to keep herself so bottled up? I know it sounds selfish, but I didn’t understand, and I was starting to lose my patience.
So yeah, maybe we should all have seen the trouble coming, but I think we were each a little blinded by other things and ended up getting swept away in the moment. And anyhow, it wasn’t like any of us had a crystal ball.
One day the five of us gathered in Stella’s living room for yet another video link with Mr. Decker. He told us he had some big news. Chet Anders, the television talk-show host, had called him. His show, which aired late at night and was known for
its edgy, anything-goes attitude, had been featuring the clip of our appearance on APS, playing it over and over again for comic value, and it was getting such a great reception from viewers that Chet had invited us to be guests for an interview on the show.
“And that’s not the only big news,” Mr. Decker told us as the monitor filled with his cigar smoke. “Zephyr Stick, the lip balm company, wants to sponsor you. They like the band’s attitude and the image you can project for them, so they want to feature you in an upcoming ad campaign. I’m telling you, this is big. It’ll go a long way toward solidifying Lemonade Mouth’s national presence. It’ll also set you up for even more sponsorships going forward.”
I glanced around. Everybody looked stunned.
“The best part is that you kids won’t have to do anything for this. The company already saw the band photos we took a few weeks ago, and they’ve picked one they want to use. It’s all upside, guys. A no-brainer.”
Stella’s boot tapped as she brushed back a strand of her pink hair. “Wait, let me get this straight. They want to use us in an ad for lip balm? Is that really such a good idea?”
I was wondering the same thing.
“Um, this is only a question,” Charlie asked, looking just as uncertain, “but, like, whenever anyone thinks of Lemonade Mouth, do we really want them associating us with chapped lips?”
Mr. Decker chuckled and took another puff on his cigar. “Guys, guys … you gotta be more forward-thinking than that. This is the music business—the real world. I didn’t make the rules, but we have to play by them if we want to get ahead. A sponsorship means money for building the band’s future. And don’t worry. This ad is going to be young. It’ll be hip. It’ll be fresh.” He leaned back in his chair. “You kids are going to love it. Trust me.”
After the video link ended, the five of us had a long, tense discussion. On the one hand, this was starting to feel suspiciously like compromising on our ideals, and Stella wasn’t the only one who felt uneasy about that.
“We’re a band,” Mo mused aloud. “We make music. Shouldn’t that be what we’re all about?”
I admit, I might have been the one who pushed hardest for us to go ahead with the deal despite the uncertainty in my gut. “Sure,” I said, “but you heard what Mr. Decker told us about the industry and our future. What if this is our one and only chance to make it big?” I could see it on everyone’s faces that they were worried about the same thing.
It wasn’t an easy decision. In the end I think the argument that tipped the scales was that this was what Earl Decker advised us to do. This was a guy who knew the music business inside and out and had guided countless other bands to stardom. If we weren’t going to follow the instincts of the legendary Earl Decker, whose instincts were we supposed to follow?
As Olivia likes to say, nothing ever happens without a reason. It’s easy to look back now and second-guess what we did, but believe me, things can be clearer in hindsight than they were at the moment they occurred. Don’t forget that this was a whole new world for us and we were still learning. We were like toddlers playing with a bowl of spaghetti: we didn’t know what we were doing, so in a way, it shouldn’t be surprising that we ended up making a mess of things—a mess that soon landed all over us.
STELLA
Staring at the Warped Face of an Unhealthy Ideal
Now and then everybody does things they later regret. We’re only human, so it’s unavoidable that each and every one of us is going to screw up once in a while. Sometimes we’ll recognize our lapses in judgment right away. Sometimes not. Rarely in life, though, do the results of our bad decisions appear before us in the form of a forty-eight-foot-wide full-color image posted against the morning sky for all to see, making the mistake so obvious that it cannot be ignored or denied.
This was one of those rare times.
It was early on a Wednesday morning. My mom called me from the highway, waking me from a much-needed restful sleep. She was driving into Providence to meet a Brown University research student but had suddenly felt an urgent need to grab her cell and shake up my world.
“You’re not going to believe this!” her voice buzzed through the phone. Still mush-headed, I rubbed my bleary eyes and took in the numbers on the clock: 8:53 a.m. I feel there is a sacred rule that people should not be disturbed when trying to sleep in on their day off, but my mother continued, undaunted. “I was taking the ramp onto Route 114 when I looked up, and who do you think was looking back at me?”
I kept silent. I had no idea.
“You, Stella! It was you and your friends! The Zephyr Stick ad, it’s already up! It’s giant!”
Two or three full heartbeats passed before the full meaning of this made its way into my sleepy brain.
Moments later, completely awake, I stood in my socks beside my beloved new SISTA SLASH: FAMINE RELIEF NOW! poster (from Earl—he also said he’d work with a connection to set us all up with free tickets to Sista’s upcoming Take Charge megaconcert. Life was sweet!) and sent a group message to my friends. Forty minutes after that, we all met in town. I was thrilled to see Rajeev tagging along with Mo. He wanted to see the sign as much as the rest of us did. It was warm that morning, and I noticed everybody was holding a familiar green and yellow Mel’s cup. I wasn’t the only one who’d stopped at Bruno’s to pick up a lemonade.
The billboard stood next to the entrance of the highway on Wampanoag Road, not far from the Bernbaum Associates Dental building. There the six of us stood speechless, taking in the humongous image. The shot was impressive, to say the least. They’d used one of the photographs from Boston, and it must have been taken toward the end of our photo session, because we were all looking comfortable with the camera as we leaned against a brick wall. Wen had even taken off his black jacket and was holding it over his shoulder like some kind of high-powered supermodel. We weren’t frowning, exactly, but our expressions were intense. Above our heads were giant blue words:
JOIN THE REVOLUTION!
PUCKER UP WITH ZEPHYR STICK!
“Holy crap,” Rajeev said under his breath.
I couldn’t have put it better.
We practically glowed up there. Mo looked mysterious and exotic, leaning her head on Charlie’s broad shoulder, while Wen and I were like stylish super-spies. Olivia was the centerpiece, staring straight at the camera like she had a secret she wasn’t going to tell. I don’t think I’d ever imagined us looking so perfect, like flawless specimens of teenage health and coolness. But I think that’s a big part of why, as I gaped at the sign, my fist was clenching my Mel’s cup and my blood was starting to boil. We looked too perfect.
So perfect, in fact, that it wasn’t really us up there.
The image had been altered.
Olivia’s thighs were too skinny, like Barbie-doll legs. They must have been airbrushed. I’d been slimmed way down too, and there was something weird going on with my lips. They were puffy and pursed in a way that wasn’t at all like the real me. Wen’s slight acne, which I distinctly remembered he’d had during the photo shoot (the result of too many overheated hours in the wiener outfit), had been digitally cleared, and Mo’s brown eyes were now a striking green. Even Charlie’s uncontrollable mop had been altered. On the billboard his hair looked tidy—even (dare I say it?) trendy.
All of these changes were subtle, but then again, they weren’t. Not if you were familiar with what we really looked like.
“I don’t believe it,” I said, unable to hold back. “This is outrageous! They’ve changed us to look like perfect little spokesmannequins! They’ve turned us into plastic dolls!”
“Uh … I don’t know, Stella,” Wen said. “I think I look kind of hot.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wen, don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s not you up there. It’s not any of us. We don’t look like that. Sure, it might be a common practice in the advertising industry, but what kind of message does changing our appearance send?”
I looked around at the blank faces.
“Don’t you see?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm but failing miserably. “They’re using us to promote a twisted image of life just like a zillion other ads do, a world of skeletal cover girls and synthetic faces! It makes people believe they need these products because it preys on everybody’s insecurities, making real people feel like failures just because they don’t look like this warped, unrealistic ideal. Come on, guys!” I said, jabbing my finger toward the freakish glowing kids that weren’t really us. “Look at our faces! Look at Olivia’s legs! No wonder there are so many kids with self-image issues and eating disorders! Normal, healthy people don’t look like that!”
Mo’s answer was quiet and reasonable, as if she was worried I might bite someone. “Stella, the ad is already out there. I’m sure it’s in magazines all over the country. It’s done.”
“But it’s another form of oppression! A clear case of manipulation on a grand scale!”
There was a long quiet moment after that. Rajeev shifted his weight beside me, and I could hear Olivia breathing. In the distance, a dog barked.
I was sure I knew what my friends were thinking. I could imagine them saying to themselves, Oh no, here we go again. Look out! Stella’s about to unleash another of her wild ideas! Here comes more trouble! And it’s true that I was burning up over this. I wanted to tear that sign down. I wanted to make my feelings known to the world somehow. But I also felt that this time my friends were right to be frustrated with me. Sure, we’d all agreed to this together, but deep down I felt like I should have been the one to say no. I should never have allowed this deal to happen in the first place, but I guess I’d let my guard down and this was the result. And now it was too late to fix it. We were powerless to fight back. How do you take on a multibillion-dollar industry?
Puckers Up Page 11
