Lemonade Mouth

by Mark Peter Hughes

  With this family, was it any wonder I’d hacked off my hair?

  As Mom nodded in time to Clea’s droning voice and Leonard stuffed his face, my thoughts crept back to the conversation with Mrs. Reznik.

  Revolutionary. That was how the old lady described the music those kids and I had made in detention. It was a ridiculous word to use, of course. It was just a stupid commercial played on weird instruments. But still, the word had been turning around in my head all day. And even though at first I’d been appalled by the thought of doing the talent show, I now found myself toying with the idea. After all, playing that dumb song had probably been the most fun I’d had since arriving in this godforsaken part of the country. And it wasn’t as if I had anything else to look forward to in my life at the moment.

  Eventually, Clea put her monologue on pause so she could go to the bathroom. After a minute or so of silence my mother said, “What about you, Stella? Anything special going on at school?”

  I was surprised at the question. It was the first time all week that my mom had expressed an interest in my life. But then again, I hardly ever saw her anymore now that she was busy being the big-shot biochemistry boss. Back in Arizona we used to do things together, just the two of us. We’d ride the Rio Salado bike path or go out to coffee and chat. Now everything was different. “Support me in this, Stella,” she’d said as we’d packed our bags. “The timing might not be ideal, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime, a chance for me to do something I really believe in.” But now that she’d dumped me into a new state and left me to fend for myself in an unfamiliar school, where was her support for me?

  Just as I was about to open my mouth to answer the question, my mom’s cell went off. “Sorry,” she said, checking the screen, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “It’s the lab. I have to take this.” She put the receiver to her ear.

  It was while watching my mother listen to the phone that I had a revelation. I may have chopped back my locks, but there was still something very, very wrong with my life. And if anybody was going to fix it, it wasn’t my family. I was on my own.

  For some reason a question occurred to me: What would Sista Slash do? Surely that outspoken crusader for human rights, personal dignity and self-reliance wouldn’t take this wholesale relegation to the backseat of life without a fight.

  And that’s when I made my decision.

  Revolutionary. It meant causing a shift or change in the status quo. And that was exactly what I needed right then.

  After my mom finally folded her phone shut I said, “Mother, in answer to your question, as a matter of fact there is something special going on at school. Or at least there’s about to be.” For dramatic effect, I speared an asparagus with my fork and brought it thoughtfully to my mouth.

  “And? So what is it?”

  Everybody was looking at me now. I let them wait. “I’m going to join a revolution.”

  My mom looked puzzled. Tim and Andy glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. After a long quiet moment, Leonard, his mouth still full of dead tuna, said, “Well, good for you, Stella.”

  I got the distinct impression that they all thought I was nuts. But just as I was about to explain about the band, Clea appeared at her chair again. Even before she sat down she plunged right back into her story and everyone’s attention returned to her as if there hadn’t been any break at all.

  On the outside, I kept calm. On the inside, I felt like the fish on Leonard’s plate.

  MOHINI:

  Mysteries and Moonbeams

  Thursday afternoon I find another mysterious note, this one tucked between the strings of my bass, a folded piece of neon-yellow paper with my name on it.

  FLUKE OR DESTINY?

  WHICHEVER IT WAS, WE NEED TO TALK.

  COME TO BRUNO’S PIZZA PLANET TODAY

  AFTER SCHOOL.

  —S

  “Weird,” says Naomi. “It’s from Scott?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “Doesn’t look like his handwriting.”

  “No? So who’s ‘S’ then? And what’s this about fluke or destiny?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I can practically hear Naomi’s imagination whirring into overdrive. “Hmmm . . .” she says. “A mystery. Okay, let’s consider the possibilities. Sarah Obinsky? Sabina Boch? How about Seth Levine. Maybe he likes you and thinks you’re destined to be together?”

  “Seth Levine does not like me,” I say, fighting a smile. Seth is the senior class president. He doesn’t even know I exist.

  “How can you act so nonchalant about this? Somebody sent you a secret message and you have no idea what it means or who it’s from. Aren’t you intrigued?”

  I nod. Of course I am. I just can’t figure it out.

  “So are you going to show up to Bruno’s?” Bruno’s Pizza Planet is a popular hangout a block from the high school.

  “I’m not sure,” I say, still staring at the message. And that’s when an idea hits me. “You don’t think . . . ‘S’ could be Stella Penn, do you?”

  Naomi’s forehead wrinkles. “Stella? I don’t know. Anything’s possible, I guess.”

  I hope not. I don’t think I want anything to do with that giant, scowling girl. With her freaky hair, towering height and that bizarre jacket she always wears around the school, she blends in about as well as a chainsaw in a chamber orchestra. Even worse, she seems like some kind of political fanatic.

  “That’s all I’d need. What if Stella has some crazy idea like maybe we should play that song until they stop killing whales or something?” I crumple up the note and shove it into my pocket. “That’s it, I’ve decided. It’s too weird. I’m not going.”

  But of course I do go. Even though I have Trig homework, even though I ought to be doing the pre-lab questions for Biology tomorrow, and even though I’ve been planning to go to the library to research the Battle of Brandywine Creek (I’m doing a four-page extra-credit essay for Mr. Dewonka), I’m too curious to keep away. After my last class ends I stay late to talk with Mr. Prichard because my Social Studies presentation is coming up at the end of next week and I’m completely flipping out about it. But after that I hurry over to Bruno’s. Five minutes later I’m rushing through the front door.

  For midafternoon, the place is pretty busy. I scan row after row of tables that look like flying saucers, more than half of them full. With a star-painted sky, giant papier-maché craters and aliens and weird lights that glow in ghostly neon, Bruno’s is decorated to feel like you’re eating in outer space. Even the little stage area where Bruno sometimes features local musicians—mostly acoustic guitarists playing quiet, eerie chords—is decked out to look like the moon. Bruno’s Pizza Planet is a junk food joint with extraterrestrial ambitions.

  It takes me a moment to spot anybody I know, but then, under the Milky Way, I see her waving me over.

  S for Stella. Mystery solved.

  I almost spin around and head back outside, not only because I figure that anything to do with Stella Penn means trouble but also because sitting with her at the circular booth in the corner are all the other kids from detention.

  But Stella calls to me before I get a chance. “Mo!” she shouts across the room. “We’re all signed up!”

  I’m not sure what she means, but her piercing screech temporarily halts the conversations at the other space ships.

  “For the talent show!” Stella calls, as if it should have been obvious. That’s when I notice that there’s something different about her appearance today. Then I realize what it is. Her short, spiky hair is no longer black. It’s green. I also notice the Patties sitting at a booth at the opposite end of the room. Patty Norris and Patty Keane are juniors, Ray Beech and Dean Eagler’s girlfriends. They turn and I’m sure they see me but they don’t say hi, even after I wave. It bothers me but I don’t let it show.

  I approach Stella’s table as calmly as I can, like meeting up with this unlikely crew is something I do all the time. Sitting next to Stella on one
end of the rounded bench is Wen. He’s nodding his head and I’m wondering if he’s in on this with her. Aware that the Patties are probably watching me, I set my backpack by the table but I don’t sit.

  “But, Stella,” I say. “We already talked about this. It’s not going to happen.”

  “Sure it is. I wrote our names down on the sheet. It’s official.” She takes a sip from a paper cup of what looks like frozen lemonade. “That’s why I asked everyone to come here today. Mrs. Reznik is right. If we’re going to win, we have a lot of work to do.”

  I’m not sure how to react. She’s obviously out of her mind.

  I glance around the table. Wen is still smiling, but it’s kind of a nervous smile. Charlie is eyeing Stella uneasily as if her head might start spinning at any moment. Olivia just stares at the table like she’s imagining she’s somewhere else.

  Stella curls her lip at all the silent faces. “Look, this is our cosmic shot at immortality. The winner of the talent show wins respect, right? Don’t you want that?”

  For a few seconds nobody answers. “Well okay, maybe . . . ,” Charlie says finally, as if he’s worried that this green-haired oddity might bite him, “but even if that’s true—and I’m not saying it is or it isn’t—we won’t win. We’re not polished enough.”

  “No problem,” says Stella. “All we need is a little experience. Which is why I also signed us up for the Halloween Bash.”

  This is getting weirder and weirder. “But . . . how did you pull that off?” he asks. “How did you get anybody to even consider us for the Bash?”

  She grins. “It’s amazing what a vice principal will agree to if he thinks his biggest problem student is finally working on something productive. Why don’t you sit?” She levels her gaze at me and points to the empty seat. “Join us.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I do as I’m told. When I’m seated I notice the Patties aren’t there anymore. Their stuff is gone too. They must have packed up and left. “Let me get this straight,” I say. “You lied to Mr. Brenigan and now he thinks we’re some kind of rock band or something?”

  “To quote Sista Slash, ‘To make good stuff happen, you sometimes gotta finesse your way around the system.’ ” I can see it in her face now. She is completely serious.

  “But Stella,” says Charlie quietly, “playing rubber bands and banging on desks in detention isn’t exactly the same thing as having a band. Other than Mrs. Reznik, nobody thinks we can actually perform in front of an audience, right?”

  “I’m not saying we should play rubber bands and bang on a desk. We’ll use our real instruments. You have real drums, right?”

  I turn to him. To tell the truth, I have no idea if he does or not. But he nods.

  “Okay then,” she says as if she just proved a point, “so why shouldn’t you play them in front of an audience?”

  That’s when I jump in again. “For starters,” I say, looking around the table for support, “what would we play? The smile song over and over?”

  Nobody says anything. Finally, Wen shifts in his seat and opens his mouth for the first time. “I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t such a crazy thought. We could learn other songs, right?”

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Are Charlie and I the only sane people at the table? “Hold on, Wen. You actually think this is a good idea? How can we possibly come up with enough music to perform at the Bash? Halloween is less than a month away! I, for one, don’t have a lot of time to spare right now. I’m taking eight courses this semester!”

  “I’m just saying it’s an interesting thought,” Wen says. “That’s all.”

  Stella doesn’t seem fazed by anything we’ve said. She picks at a scab on her elbow. “Sure, we’ll learn plenty of other songs. I have a bunch of ideas. I was talking with Mrs. Reznik about this. We’re not going to be just some throwaway pop band. We won’t play any trash. No Desirée Crane–type sellout crap for us, only music that makes a difference. Our stuff will need to be”—she pauses for a moment, deep in thought—“important. Know what I mean?”

  I don’t, but Wen nods.

  Olivia still hasn’t said a word. I look over at her, wondering what she’s thinking. Trying to interpret her expressionless face, though, is like trying to read a blank wall.

  I realize I’m biting my nails again so I stop myself.

  But then it hits me. In all the excitement, I forgot the most obvious reason in the world why we can’t do this. The details of the Bash aren’t public knowledge yet, but I happen to have inside information. “Wait a minute. Hold on. How can we play the Halloween Bash when I know for a fact that this year’s band has already been chosen, and it’s going to be Mudslide Crush, same as last year?”

  I turn to Charlie to get his reaction. My guess is he’ll recognize this as an injection of indisputable reality into this otherwise crazy conversation. But he looks away. His face reddens and he suddenly seems focused on a satellite hanging on the wall.

  Across from me, though, Stella hardly bats an eye. “Mudslide Crush is going to play at the Bash. But Mr. Brenigan agreed that we will too. We’re splitting the night.” She grins again. “We play first.”

  I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t think of what to say. I’m amazed.

  Suddenly I’m looking at Stella in a new light. In her short time at our school I’ve seen her stalking the hallways, always alone, a supersized girl with an attitude as big as New England. She’s always seemed like trouble, maybe even a little unstable—definitely a person to avoid. And yet, sitting with her now I can’t help admiring her confidence. She really thinks we can pull this off. And the more I listen to her, the more I wonder.

  Plus, I have to admit that the idea of sharing a stage with Scott and his friends wasn’t completely unappealing.

  “But I just can’t,” says a quiet, scratchy voice to my right. “For one thing, my voice isn’t very strong. It doesn’t take much straining for me to go hoarse.”

  “But you wouldn’t have to strain, Olivia,” says Wen. “We’ll get microphones.”

  Olivia doesn’t seem convinced. “I’ll freeze up. I already told you, I get nervous. I’m not a real singer.”

  “Listen, Stella,” Wen says, looking a little less optimistic than before, “maybe this idea just isn’t realistic. We shouldn’t do it unless all five of us are in.”

  Stella sits back in her chair, looking thoughtful. For a long time, nobody speaks.

  “Okay,” she says finally. “So like Mrs. Reznik said, it’s not going to be easy. But tell me this, guys”—she scans our faces—“aren’t you tired of living on the sidelines?”

  No one answers. Stella looks directly at me but how am I supposed to answer a question like that?

  “What’s the biggest problem with our school? I’ll tell you. It’s that most kids don’t step up. Why is it okay that only a chosen few are seen as important and everybody else is a nobody? Why do we accept the way things are? Are we afraid to make our own decisions?” She looks around the table. “I don’t know about you, but after I’m gone I don’t want to be remembered as just another face in the yearbook, another kid that people vaguely recall passing in the corridor.” She presses her big hands on the table. “Don’t you want to show the jocks, the popular kids, everybody you know, that you’re not somebody to overlook, that you’re exceptional? Aren’t you guys tired of being nobodies?”

  I think for sure somebody’s going to protest but no one does.

  Stella leans forward. “Look, Wen and I are in. Who’s with us?”

  I glance around. I realize that the near impossibility of getting our act together in only about three weeks actually excites me.

  Even so, I’m still surprised when, after a long, painful silence, I hear my own voice say, “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

  Everyone turns to me. I feel my face heat up. I know I’m probably making a terrible mistake so I quickly add, “But only if everyone else agrees. And I’m only committing to one practice, that’s all. Aft
er that, if it feels like it’s going to work out I’ll keep going, but if it doesn’t I’m out.”

  Wen is obviously surprised. Stella is beaming. After a moment Wen spins to his left. “Come on, Olivia. You can do this. I know you can. Say you’ll give it a try.”

  Olivia looks up and takes a deep breath. For just an instant too long, her eyes linger on Wen. It’s subtle, but I notice. And I recognize that look. “Okay,” she says, practically whispering. “If everyone else wants to do this, I’ll try. But I can’t make any promises.”

  Now all eyes are on Charlie. After a while he says, “Looks like it’s up to me then.” He laughs, but it’s an uneasy kind of laugh. “On the one hand, I’ve always wanted to be in a real band. But on the other hand, I think this might just be the stupidest idea I ever heard.” He laughs again, but everyone is still waiting. “Hey, guys, I don’t know what to say. I’m the worst in the world at making decisions.” Then an idea seems to come to him and I watch him reach into his pocket. “Tell you what,” he says, pulling out something and holding it up. It’s a quarter. “Let’s do it this way. Heads we go for it. Tails we don’t.”

  And believe it or not, that’s how it happens. Charlie tosses the coin and we all watch it spin in the air. I hold my breath. By the time it lands in the center of the table all five of us are leaning forward, practically craning our necks to see what it says.

  George Washington.

  Everybody’s in.

  CHAPTER 3

  Following the light of the sun, we left the Old World.

  —Christopher Columbus

  WEN:

  The Weirdest Music Ever Heard

  One of the misconceptions about Lemonade Mouth is that we were a natural fit, like the individual parts of a five-piece puzzle. Not true. As a matter of fact, the way I remember our first practice we didn’t even get along.