“Olivia? You in there?” I knew the voice. It was Stella Penn.
“I’m here,” Olivia groaned. Then there was this completely revolting dry-heave sound like she was some kind of sea otter or something.
Then I heard Stella say, “Please leave!” Obviously, she was talking to Leslie Dern and Kate Bates, who I’d been eavesdropping on until Olivia showed up.
It didn’t take them long to scurry away.
After the door swung shut again I heard Stella step closer. She waited a few seconds and then asked Olivia if she was okay. “Yeah,” Olivia’s voice said. “I mean I’m not going to die or anything.”
“Can I open the door?”
Long pause. “Okay.”
There was more shuffling from the hallway and then a guy’s voice called in. “She here?”
“Yep,” said Stella. “She threw up. But she looks fine and says she’s okay.”
I heard some whispering and then the guy said, “We’re coming in.”
I nearly freaked but I kept quiet. From the footsteps I realized that two people, not just one, had joined Stella and Olivia.
“How you doing, Olivia?” I recognized this voice, too. Charlie Hirsh.
Olivia took a while to answer. “I can’t go out there.”
After a moment Stella said, “Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
That’s when the door opened again and somebody else tried to come in. Whoever it was, Stella took care of it. “We’re in here!”
“But I have to use the bathroom!”
“Use the one by the cafeteria! Can’t you see we’re having a conversation?”
Whoever it was, they went away.
I quietly pulled up my legs. Thank God I’d come as Marilyn Monroe. If I’d worn a scarecrow costume, my original idea, the leaves probably would have crackled and given me away. I didn’t want to miss this.
“But you can do it,” said somebody else, another guy. “I know you can. We rehearsed everything. We’re good. Your voice is great. Besides, you and I put everything we have into writing this music. And the words you wrote, they’re wonderful.”
Olivia took a deep breath. I thought she was going to spew again but she didn’t. “I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to let you down, any of you. But I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
“Won’t you tell us why?”
“I’m just . . . I don’t know. I’m scared.”
There was a long silence before anybody spoke. It was so quiet I could hear the sound of water dripping from one of the faucets. Finally Wen said, “I know what you mean. I’m scared too.”
“Me too,” Charlie said.
Stella didn’t say anything right away. Something was happening out in the gym. I heard the crowd suddenly cheer and then Mr. Brenigan said something through the microphone but I couldn’t make it out. A moment later the audience screamed even louder and the music started up. I recognized the opening guitar chords. It was Mudslide Crush.
That’s when Stella finally spoke.
“Please, you can’t quit,” she said in a voice quieter than I’d ever heard coming from her mouth. “This is really important to me. I haven’t told any of you this but the truth is, everything I do I screw up. My mother thinks I’m out of control and I need to make this work to prove to myself that I’m not a complete idiot.” In the space underneath the door, two spike-buckled combat boots (who else’s could they be but Stella’s?) moved even closer to Olivia’s stall. “I’m scared too, but please, Olivia, don’t back out now.”
SETH LEVINE:
Waiting for a Mudslide
This year would be my last Bash, and I intended to make it a great one.
Through almost the entire Mudslide Crush set I danced with Wendy Davis, who came as a witch, and Jane Seiseki, who’d sewn up a sheet, a string and a big piece of cardboard to look like a giant teabag. Me, I was Abraham Lincoln. We were laughing and working up a sweat, but after a while my beard itched and my ears were pounding so I decided to get some fresh air. On my way out I ran into Kyle Reeves and a bunch of the Student Council crowd getting rowdy at the back of the gym. Somebody offered me a Jell-O shot. After that I needed to hit the john so I slipped out the double doors. A few kids milling around in the main foyer gave me high fives and shouted things like “Abe! Dude!” or “Way to go, Mr. Prez!” It was a laugh.
Anyway, while I was on my way to the john I stumbled across a handful of kids speaking in hushed tones at the entrance to that little hallway near the janitor’s equipment room. There’s a bench in that hallway, and over their shoulders I could see it. There sat five glum-faced kids, none of them talking—just staring into space. The whole scene struck me as weird.
“What’s going on?” I asked one of the guys at the front of the hallway.
“Lemonade Mouth,” he said quietly, like it was a funeral.
Curious, I looked over his shoulder again. I didn’t know any of them by name at the time, but I’d heard about this band, of course. Some of my friends were disappointed because a bunch of freshmen were going to cut into the Mudslide Crush show. They made a big deal out of it. In my opinion, it was all kind of ridiculous. Mudslide Crush had played the Halloween Bash the previous two years. Their songs were okay and all, but I thought they all sounded the same after a while. I was glad to have some variety this year.
But then earlier tonight somebody told me the freshman band had backed out at the last minute.
Now, I asked the guy, “They gonna play?”
“I think so. They’re waiting for Mudslide Crush’s set to end.”
That’s when Azra Quimby, a freshman I knew from the student council, pushed past me with her friend Floey Packer, that girl who takes pictures for the school paper. Azra smiled at me but then she followed her friend down the hallway. That’s when Floey took a shot of them. You know the one—I think everyone does: the five of them sitting on that bench looking intense, their faces drawn and pale. Stella is the only one looking at the camera. I think she did that on purpose, making her eyes all wide and kind of crazy for dramatic effect. Everyone else is staring in different directions, like they’re deep in thought. The truth was—and I know this because I was there—they were just waiting for the other band to finish so they could have their turn to play.
Right after that I heard everyone in the gym cheer as Mudslide Crush ended their last song. Then I heard Dean Eagler say something like, “We’ll be right back after a short break. Oh, that is, unless the other band finally got their act together. Which is kind of unlikely, don’t you think?”
The laughter echoed all the way down the corridor.
AZRA QUIMBY:
The Crowd Goes Quiet
Everybody heard what Dean said. I glanced over at Floey and she looked mad. She didn’t like Dean. Ever since he’d treated her like dirt at a party about a year before she’d kept away from him.
I touched Wen’s arm and whispered in his ear. “You all right?” I had to admit, I felt bad for him. Plus, I’d already been feeling guilty for giving him the cold shoulder for so long. Even though things had changed between us, there was a time when he and Floey and I used to be inseparable.
He grinned. “Fine. Perfectly relaxed.”
But I could tell he was lying.
Stella had insisted that everybody in the band stay backstage until Lyle came back and gave them the signal. That would mean everything was all set for them to come out. When he did, they all stood up and went to the door nearest the platform. Just before opening it, Stella stopped.
“Everybody ready?”
Nobody spoke, but they all nodded.
Then they pushed through the double doors and walked over to the stage. It was a strange moment. As soon as the kids in the audience saw them, the whole place went quiet.
MRS. REZNIK:
A Bloodthirsty Medieval Mob
About to Witness a Hanging
The show didn’t start off well.
The five of them walked out an
d I still couldn’t help wondering why none one of them had thought to wear a costume. It never even occurred to me to remind them, I just assumed they would. The impression they gave was that they hadn’t put any thought into this being a Halloween event and had shown up in whatever they happened to have on, which for most of them meant T-shirts and jeans.
Olivia Whitehead approached the microphone like a frightened deer. She stood frozen while the others played the opening bars of their first song. She clearly missed her cue, and then the others had to stop playing to start the song over again.
“Pitiful,” I heard some little twerp whisper. If I’d seen who’d said it I would have given them a piece of my mind, I can assure you.
Olivia was obviously terrified. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the girl, especially after all the trouble I knew she’d already had in her young life.
I braced myself. From the beginning I’d set expectations high. Maybe too high. Mohini was a gifted bassist, of course, when she applied herself. And after overhearing the music they’d made at my detention a few weeks earlier I really believed they had something unusual going for them. When some of the students started pressuring Elliott Brenigan about his decision to give these freshmen a chance I’d stood by him—and them. But now here they were, all five looking scared and unsure.
I have to admit, I was secretly concerned.
I crossed my fingers. From a group of juniors standing near me I heard whispering and laughter. There was an anticipatory feeling in the room, like a bloodthirsty medieval mob about to witness a hanging. I was aware that there was a contingent of students looking for any reason they could find to make the lives of these kids miserable.
But that’s when Olivia took a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together. Then her voice rang out full and strong and seemed to emanate from the depths of her soul. After that, the atmosphere changed.
JANE SEISEKI:
Exactly How She Felt
I was confused and hurt and thinking about going home. Why did Seth leave me stranded on the dance floor right in the middle of a song? Why didn’t he come back? He just walked away. He didn’t even tell me where he was going. Was I nothing to him? I’d thought tonight would finally be our night, but obviously I was wrong. Why did I do this to myself? When would I listen to Wendy and accept that he just didn’t like me the way I liked him? Nobody ever does.
And then Lemonade Mouth came out, looking all geeky and cool with their weird instruments and their serious faces. The music was slow and strange and beautiful. Everybody went quiet. It was like they cast a spell over the room. I found myself swaying back and forth. And then that fat girl opened her mouth and floored me. I leaned forward to catch every word:
I hear people say . . .
These are the best days of our lives
But they don’t know, they don’t know
I like to think . . .
That when we’re older we’ll laugh so hard
That today’s tears will fade like old photographs
I’m not the same since I met you
I’m not the same since I met you
I suddenly felt my throat tighten up. These were my exact feelings, emotions I’d been having for a long time but never talked to anybody about. She was speaking for me. It sounds weird, I know, but even that first time I heard the song it made me feel like I wasn’t alone. And that voice! How could a sound so grizzled and worldly come from such a chubby, innocent-looking face? Who were these guys? I’d seen the girl with the buzz cut and the long plaid shirt skulking around the hallways—she was kind of hard to forget, but I didn’t even recognize the others.
From the first time you swept past, I knew . . .
You changed my life but I don’t dare tell you
And now I feel your breath in every breeze
Your whisper in the rustle of the leaves
I’m not the same since I met you
I’m not the same since I met you
My breath caught in my throat again. I closed my eyes and thought of Seth. I knew exactly how she felt.
ANDREA BECKHAM:
Slow Dance
Before they came out I was alone at the side of the gym. Rodney, my best friend, had spent most of the Mudslide Crush set trying to get me to dance but I wouldn’t.
“This is a good one, Andrea,” he’d say, grabbing my hand at the beginning of just about every song. “Come on, let’s go!”
“No,” I kept insisting. “But you go ahead if you want to.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked finally. “Don’t you want to have fun?”
I shrugged and smiled, but inside I was annoyed at him for even asking a question like that. He of all people should understand that I wouldn’t feel comfortable in front of all these kids. What was I supposed to do? But I was here, wasn’t I? I’d converted my wheelchair into a throne by wrapping the back and armrests with gold paper. A red velvet cape and a paper crown later and voilà! I was a queen. Just because I didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself rolling around bumping into people on the dance floor didn’t mean I don’t like to have a good time.
Rodney looked disappointed. Finally he squeezed my hand one last time and left me to join the others in front of the stage, which is why for the final few Mudslide Crush songs I sat alone and watched him dance. Even though a part of me burned to get out there and join him, another part wouldn’t let me. Instead I smiled, occasionally waved, and did my best to hide the fact that sitting by myself was making me feel like crap.
But then Lemonade Mouth played.
Their music gripped me in a way I can’t even describe. It was like five space aliens had taken over the stage. I was mesmerized. And from the moment they appeared I felt a connection. I knew Wen Gifford and Charlie Hirsh—these guys weren’t part of any in-crowd, they were outsiders like me. And yet there they were onstage making this weird, emotional music that, even from the very first notes, stirred something inside me. And everybody I could see seemed as awestruck as I was.
That night was the first time I ever heard “Skinny Nancy.” Now I have the poster on my wall where I see it every morning when I wake up. It’s a black-and-white shot of the five of them alone on a beach. Olivia Whitehead is the closest to the camera and her face takes up the biggest part of the picture. She’s sitting in the sand and facing the ocean, eyes closed, her hair blowing across her face. She looks so peaceful. At the bottom of the poster in thick yellow letters is a quote from that song:
Enjoy this moment, my lovely one.
—LEMONADE MOUTH
Oh, and that night I did. “Skinny Nancy” was my first-ever slow dance.
That night changed everything.
SCOTT PICKETT:
A Bolt Out of the Blue
I couldn’t take my eyes off Mo, nodding in time and looking so intense as she gripped her bass. Lemonade Mouth was a bolt out of the blue. First they grabbed everybody’s attention with a couple of slower tunes with killer hooks, and then they kicked it up with four or five rockers that got the place on its feet. I hated to admit it even to myself, but those freshmen were good. Looking around at everyone’s faces, I could tell I wasn’t the only one who was surprised. Kids rushed to get closer to the stage, others climbed onto each other’s shoulders. At these dances there are always a few hanging out in the lobby where the music isn’t so loud, but now people crowded back into the gym to check out what the fuss was about.
The music was a storm, and not like anything I was used to hearing. One minute they sounded kind of classical (even the ukulele, if you can imagine it), other times it felt like straight-ahead rock but with a Latin beat. Still other times the music was just weird and wild. That kid on the trumpet could play. And Olivia—that girl had a voice on her. It was crazy. That messed-up freak who looked like a drowned rat—who would have guessed? There was one slower song with a chorus that went something like, “I’m Back Among the Walls.” Amazing. Made me shiver.
Worst of all, I couldn’t h
elp being impressed by Charlie Hirsh and his crazy jumble of drums. He seemed to know each one up and down and he worked them like a master, his long, spiraling hair flying in all directions. As a drummer myself, it was a little humbling.
The first hint of worry flashed through my mind. I’d thought the Holiday Talent Show was going to be a cakewalk for Mudslide Crush. Now I wasn’t so sure.
It was during that “Singing a New Song” tune that I felt a pull at my shirt. “What do you say, Scotty. Want to find a dark corner somewhere?” Lynn had been hanging off me and clutching at my arm all night. It was like she couldn’t bear to be separated. Which, to be honest, reminded me of why I’d broken up with her the first time.
But before I could answer, Ray, who was dressed as a giant rubber ducky—complete with a beak, a sailor’s hat and webbed feet—caught my eye. Standing there in his yellow suit he rolled his eyes at me and then stuck his fingers in his ears. A bunch of my friends slouched along the wall nearby. Dean, Patty and a crowd of the hardest-core Mudslide Crushers were glaring up at the stage.
And that’s when my competitive streak kicked back in. What was the matter with me? Okay, so these freshmen were good, but my buddies and I were better. We were the headliners around here, not them. I grinned back at Ray and stuck my finger in my mouth like I wanted to barf. Halfway across the gym from each other, we both laughed.
“Come on, babe,” Lynn said. “Let’s go. . . .”
Unfortunately, right over Lynn’s shoulder I had a clear shot of Mo, her eyebrows pulled together in concentration. All at once I had a harder time caring whether or not Mudslide Crush was better than Lemonade Mouth. And I didn’t want to go. I couldn’t stop looking at Mo. I suddenly realized that if Ray hadn’t kept telling me I could do better, I probably would still have been with her. She wasn’t like the girls I usually dated, quiet and agreeable but clingy. Mo was a lot of fun and she spoke her mind. We had long discussions and whenever we disagreed it was okay to say so. I liked that about her. Mo was special.
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