Puckers Up

by Mark Peter Hughes

  I hoped we weren’t making a mistake. For all we knew, this was about to get ugly.

  “Go ahead, Scott,” Wen whispered. “Ring the bell.”

  We waited, but Scott was just standing there staring at the doorknob like it might bite him or something. He glanced back at us, and all at once I felt awful for him. For the first time I could see in his face just how hard losing his best friend must have been on him for the past few months. I realized how much he had at stake right now.

  Mo gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “It’s okay. No matter what happens, we’re right here.”

  He nodded. “I’m warning you guys. As soon as Ray sees me he’ll probably slam the door in my face.” He took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  Moments later we heard footsteps, and then a series of clicking sounds—locks unlatching. By the number of them it must have been like Fort Knox in there. Finally the door swung open and we were looking at an all-too-familiar hulking figure, one that I associated with high school tyranny and oppression of the voiceless and powerless.

  Ray Beech.

  It would be an understatement to say that Ray appeared surprised to see Scott at his doorstep with Lemonade Mouth standing behind him. He blinked at us, looking disheveled and confused, as if he’d spent the morning with his head planted on a sofa only to find himself suddenly face to face with invaders from the planet What The Heck Is Going On Here? I thought he was going to get angry, but instead he glanced around at the junk piled on the patchy ground behind us and I’m pretty sure I saw his face turn pink. Maybe he was embarrassed at the state of his yard.

  After that, Scott and Ray leveled their gazes on each other.

  “So … I came by to see you,” Scott began, “because I’ve been trying to talk with you even though you haven’t been making it easy. It’s been too long, man.”

  Ray curled his lip a little but didn’t close the door. His voice was expressionless. “I see you brought some … friends.”

  “That’s right.”

  Another uncomfortable silence passed, and then Wen spoke up. “Ray, we … uh, we came along because we wanted to let you know that even though things haven’t always been great between you and us, we don’t see any point in carrying the hard feelings forever. If you’re up for it, we want to put all the bad stuff behind us and start over again. What do you say?”

  Ray’s jaw went even tighter. He seemed to eye us with suspicion, studying our faces one at a time. I could see he wasn’t sold on the idea of letting bygones be bygones. After all, in his mind, Scott had betrayed him and we were the cause. It occurred to me that Ray might be about to go off like a bomb blast. At the very least, I expected to be sent packing.

  But then something both bizarre and amazing happened.

  “What’s that?” Olivia asked out of nowhere.

  Everyone turned to see her pointing toward the hutch near the fence. At that very moment I saw something move on the ground just outside of the open door of the pen. Whatever it was, it was very large and very pink and it made a sudden, loud snorting sound as an entire mound of dirt seemed to roll over. My friends, I’d been feeling jittery anyway, so that unexpected blast of noise sent my stomach into my throat. I was on the verge of making a run for it. The thing lifted its giant, hairy head, and then I recognized what it was—not an attack dog, but something weirder.

  An enormous pig.

  I stared. It didn’t seem angry or anything. It was just lying there on a patch of grass. It looked like it was sunning itself. If a pig can smile lazily at a group of stunned high school musicians, this one did.

  “Holy crap!” I heard myself whisper.

  But far from seeming surprised, Scott looked thrilled. He hopped off the step and started ambling in the direction of the beast. “Bacon Sandwich!” he said. “How are you, girl?” And then back to Ray he called, “Dude, she’s trimming down! She’s looking good!”

  Olivia followed him. It’s no newsflash that the girl had a thing for animals, so I honestly think she couldn’t help herself. Still in the doorway, Ray was watching all this without a word.

  But not me. “You have a pig?” I asked, still gaping. “What is she, like … a pet?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Well, I’m never going to eat her, if that’s what you mean, Stella. Yeah, she’s a pet. So what?”

  Before long, Charlie, Mo and Wen were heading over there too. I guess their curiosity got the best of them. But I stayed put. Let’s just say that I’m not exactly a farm girl. I prefer to stay at a safe distance from anything that looks like it might want to swallow me.

  Ray must have recognized my skittishness. “She’s not going to hurt anyone,” he said, chuckling. “She’s a sweetheart. She’s as gentle as they come.”

  The next thing I knew, he stepped through the doorway and sauntered past me, following everyone. By then the others were next to the giant animal. Scott looked like he was reconnecting with an old friend. For its part, the pig seemed just as happy as he was, and pleased to be getting so much attention. It sat up and snorted cheerfully, rubbing its snout against Scott’s sleeve.

  Yuck.

  I wasn’t comfortable being the only one still waiting by the house, though, so after a moment I decided to drift closer.

  Closer, but not too close.

  For the next few minutes we gathered around what turned out to be a two-hundred-pound porker with the temperament of a lazy dog. It was like the whole confrontation thing was temporarily put on hold. Ray just stood there while Scott told the story of where the pig came from. Apparently Ray’s dad had brought her home years ago because he’d decided on a whim that it’d be fun to raise a pig for meat. But when the time came to do the deed, Ray, who was still a little kid, caused such a fuss of screaming and crying that his mom made his dad give her to him.

  “Ray’s done an amazing job with her,” Scott told us, scratching behind her ears as the pig grunted. “He’s always been great with animals. He raised rabbits and turtles and pigeons too. Bacon Sandwich here is my favorite, though. She’s the smartest hog you’ll ever meet. I’ve known her since she was a piglet. How long ago was that, Ray?”

  “Seven years,” he said quietly.

  Olivia was thrilled. She squatted right down in the dirt beside it and started petting its neck. Mo and Charlie were right there with her. I, on the other hand, was still coming to terms with the revelation that Ray Beech, the loudmouth behemoth of Opequonsett High School, had a soft spot for animals. Who knew? I secretly studied him as he stood there watching all this affection get lavished on his hoofed companion, and I swear I saw the same kind of glow you see in a proud parent when his kid does something good.

  And after a closer examination I couldn’t deny that Bacon Sandwich was kind of cute. For a pig.

  After a while Charlie, who can be a heck of a lot smarter than people give him credit for, casually turned to Ray and said, “Hey, listen, Ray, we never told you this, but all of us liked Mudslide Crush’s music and we were sorry to hear that you guys stopped playing as a band.”

  Ray didn’t answer. His face flushed again and his gaze dropped to the ground. Then I saw Mo look over at Wen, who seemed to understand. If ever there was a time to spring the big idea, this was it.

  “Yeah, so …,” Wen said, picking it up from there, “we don’t know if you’ve heard already, but we’re throwing a big picnic event this Saturday and Lemonade Mouth is going to perform. The thing is, an entire afternoon is a whole lot of time for a single band to fill with music, so we were thinking that it sure would be nice to have another band there with us. You know, to break it up a little.”

  Ray looked up. Scott did too.

  Other than the pig, everybody went quiet, waiting to hear what Ray would say. He was looking around at all of us as what we were saying finally sank in.

  His stony expression started to fade.

  WEN

  Veering from the Expected Path

  Saturday morning it drizzled on and off. T
here were a couple of panicked phone calls from the Hirshes and the Banerjees because rain hadn’t been in the forecast.

  One thing I’ll say about Sydney, she’s cool in a crisis.

  “It’s going to clear,” she assured them. “And if it doesn’t, then we’ll make the best of it. Everyone can just pack lunches and we’ll move it into the gym. No big deal. We already have the okay to do that.”

  But I wasn’t so sure moving the entire picnic into the high school would really end up being no big deal. For one thing, I doubted as many people would come. Who wants to picnic inside? Plus, my friends and I had been looking forward to playing an outdoor show.

  The other thing weighing on me was something my dad had told us the previous night. He’d called us all to the kitchen table for a family meeting.

  “Sydney and I have been spending a lot of time looking over our finances,” he’d said. “Wieners on Wheels has been a fun experiment, but it’s pretty clear that it’s not going to take off the way we need it to.”

  “So … what are you saying?” I’d asked. “It’s over? You’re not going to do it anymore?”

  He nodded. “The business just isn’t sustainable. We’re cutting our losses now before we end up getting deeper into debt than we already are. I already spoke with my old boss and he offered me my job back.”

  Sydney rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

  George kept quiet, but from his expression I could tell he understood this was a big deal. But something was bothering me. Not long ago the end of my dad’s wiener business would have been exactly what I wanted, but now it didn’t feel so good.

  “So … you’re going to be an insurance adjuster again, just like that?” I asked. “You’re going back to your old life?”

  “Not until September, when you kids are back in school. Hey, don’t look so glum, Wen. It’s fine. I’m okay with it. Actually, I’m lucky. At least I have something to fall back on. Lots of people are out of work right now.”

  Later, I couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation. My dad had said he was fine, but I was surprised at how hard the news was hitting me. Sure, I was glad my days of standing on the sidewalk dressed as finger food were ending, but I still couldn’t help feeling bad about the whole thing. Terrible, actually. My father’s new business was officially a failure. He’d worked hard trying to make a major change in his life only to have to go back to his old, unsatisfying job like a dog with his tail between his legs.

  I didn’t say so, but I had a hard time imagining how he could really be okay with that.

  It turned out Sydney was right about the weather. By eleven o’clock, when a bunch of us showed up at the high school to start setting up barbecues and sound equipment, the sky had cleared. The rain had even washed away some of the humidity, making it more comfortable in the heat.

  It was a beautiful day for a town picnic.

  By the time we’d set up the instruments, the parking lot was already starting to fill, so I could tell we were going to have a decent turnout. I was just helping Mr. Banerjee set up a bathroom direction sign when I heard Naomi Fishmeier call out to me from across the field.

  “Get ’em while you still can, Wen!” she said.

  She and Lyle were holding up hot dogs that they must have just scored from the wiener van, which was behind them. My dad had brought Penelope out for this one last event before putting her up for sale. “She should be worth something,” he’d explained to me. “Not only did I make a bunch of improvements to her as a food-service vehicle, but she could still be a good passenger van too. Who knows? We might even get some decent money for her.”

  I could only blink at him. Surely he was kidding. I tried to imagine who the heck would want to buy a rusty bright yellow van with a giant plastic hot dog welded to the roof. Is there really a market for a thing like that?

  Plus, I wasn’t going to admit it, but as surprising as it might sound, I had misgivings about getting rid of that crazy van. Penelope was so ancient and over-the-top ridiculous that in a weird way she actually had a certain kind of cool. I’d only recently come to realize that. She’d also been there for us when we’d needed her, and for that I kind of felt like she’d earned a special place with Lemonade Mouth, almost like a mascot. The five of us had joked about it, but I knew we all felt the same way.

  I waved at Naomi and gave her a thumbs-up sign. I’d downed zillions of hot dogs that summer; what was one more? I had to pay my last respects.

  Half an hour later the field was crammed with blankets and people. I guess the flyers worked, because more cars showed up than any of us had expected. Some families set up barbecues, others brought pizzas or coolers with sandwiches or whatever, and everybody settled in for what turned out to be quite a celebration. Someone had even made yellow T-shirts with a screenshot from our American Pop Sensation audition, so wherever I turned I was seeing images of my friends and me staring down those three surprised-looking judges. Since that time, after the media backlash from our audition, there’d been a noticeable shift in the tone of the show. The judges didn’t always like the acts, but it was hard to miss that their criticism was now being delivered with a tad less venom.

  I guess we felt just a little bit proud of that, and when we saw those T-shirts they kind of brought the point home. Below the screenshot of us, whoever made the shirts had added words in stark black letters:

  “STAND UP FOR RESPECT!

  LET THE WORLD SEE IT MEANS SOMETHING TO YOU!”

  —LEMONADE MOUTH

  Wow.

  And that wasn’t the only jaw dropper. Somebody else had gone to a printer and made a giant banner that now hung from one of the basketball nets. It was a blown-up image of the Howit Iz article—including a photo from our performance on After Midnight with Chet Anders. Above it in yellow and black marker somebody had written, Thank you, Lemonade Mouth! Don’t Stop the Revolution!

  When they first raised it up there, we all stared.

  None of us had expected this.

  I remember Charlie, Stella and me walking around in a daze as people kept coming up to us and saying things like “You guys rock!” or “Lemonade Mouth tells it like it is!” Word had gotten out about what happened at Take Charge, and there was a lot of sympathy about that, but to this crowd it didn’t seem to matter that we never made it big. They treated us like celebrities anyway, raising their lemonade cups and telling us we’d made the town proud.

  It was all pretty overwhelming. Sure, our parents had told us this would be a Lemonade Mouth picnic, but we never imagined that people would show us that much support and respect. I didn’t know what to say.

  One of the things that struck me most, though, was when this little shaggy-haired kid I didn’t even know came up to me with his mother and asked if I would please sign his T-shirt. He was maybe six years old or so, and super shy, but as I signed the shirt his mom explained to me that the kid was asking her for a trumpet now. He’d told her he wanted to learn to play it because he wanted to be like me.

  I didn’t even know how to answer. It was the first time anybody had ever said anything like that to me. It was a huge honor.

  The little boy waved me closer. He wanted to whisper in my ear. “Somebody told me the revolution is over. It’s not true, right?”

  “No, buddy,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him what I really thought, which was that Lemonade Mouth’s brief moment in the spotlight was probably behind us.

  Eventually my friends and I went to our instruments and the crowd settled down to hear us. I can honestly say that that afternoon was one of the most fun concerts we ever played. Ever. From the first notes of “Humanator,” our opening song, the crowd started to cheer like crazy, and as soon as the chorus kicked in, pretty much everyone was dancing. Charlie did an extended funky solo in “Ninja Earthquake,” and for “Monster Maker” Mrs. Reznik joined us onstage with a cello and harmonized with Mo’s bass. The crow
d went nuts. For an old lady, Mrs. Reznik can totally rock. Olivia had never sounded better either, and for the first time ever, she hardly seemed anxious at all. I’d never seen her so relaxed in front of a crowd. Now, I’m not saying everything was perfect from then on, or that she never got nervous in front of people again, but something had obviously happened to make her better able to deal with her feelings. And that was good.

  I can’t tell you how glad I was to see her this way, just singing and having a great time without worrying so much about everything.

  After we finished our first set Lyle made an announcement to unveil the boxes of our new, completed recordings—our second official release. We’d all chipped in to have the CDs made, and we’d decided to call the album “Pucker Up!” Sydney had designed an eye-catching cover: a simple extreme close-up on pursed yellow lips against a checkered background. When you looked closely, though, each of the dark checkers was a black-and-white image of one of our five faces.

  We were thrilled.

  Okay, so this album wasn’t going to get the Decker and Smythe national marketing treatment we’d once hoped for, but at least it was finally done. And the people at the picnic were gobbling it up.

  As Olivia and I stuffed our faces with barbecue and corn on the cob, a few kids wandered through the crowd in some of the costumes from our appearance on After Midnight with Chet Anders. They looked hilarious. It was then that I caught sight of my dad, who was busy with the hot dogs, and I couldn’t help remembering how he would soon be back to his old job again. But my thoughts didn’t linger there for too long because all of a sudden a drumbeat was pulsing through the air. Ray and Scott were at their instruments.