Lemonade Mouth

by Mark Peter Hughes

  But then I glanced around at the 4 faces of my friends and realized that everybody looked just as bummed out as I felt. And that’s when it occurred to me that Lemonade Mouth hadn’t been Mrs. Reznik’s or Stella’s or mine or any one person’s. It’d belonged to all of us.

  And I could tell I wasn’t the only one surprised at how bad it hurt now that it was gone.

  But soon after that a strange thing started to happen.

  All day kids I barely knew kept coming over to talk to me. It was weird. I’d been walking those hallways since the beginning of the year and apart from my friends and the occasional run-in with Ray Beech, most kids had pretty much ignored me. But not anymore. Suddenly everybody had something to say about Lemonade Mouth. Not that all of it was positive. The cooler juniors and seniors would sometimes roll their eyes when I walked by, but there were a bunch of kids who gushed about the show they’d tell me which of our songs was their favorite and ask how long I’d been playing my drums.

  And when the school paper came out, the whole front page was about us:

  LEMONADE MOUTH A SENSATION

  By Naomi Fishmeier, Scene Queen

  More than anything else, this year’s Halloween Bash will surely be remembered for the unexpectedly powerful performance of the freshman band Lemonade Mouth. Made up of Mohini Banerjee, Wen Gifford, Charlie Hirsh, Stella Penn and Olivia Whitehead, the group defies musical categorization.

  With its unlikely hodgepodge of instruments including a ukulele, an accordion and what can only be described as a bewildering wall of assorted percussion instruments from another galaxy, Lemonade Mouth is surely the weirdest, freshest new direction in music since Mozart’s mother threw out his banjo. Add to that the mournful, soul-shaking lyrics and vocals of Olivia Whitehead (who knew?) and an attitude that champions the rights of students and the sidelined against the privileged and empowered and you have the makings of a giant new musical phenomenon unlike anything this writer has ever seen.

  The article went on and on about how great we were. According to Naomi we “opened up a new and vital musical landscape” and “provided a missing voice for the struggles of the less than glorified among us, a battle cry for underdogs everywhere.” Yikes! She even had quotes from kids who said our music had “touched their souls and opened their eyes to a whole new way of looking at themselves.” Which was crazy of course. OK sure I felt like we were a good band and everything. But come on.

  The story ended by questioning why the administration shut us down just for challenging the social order of the school and for “shining a light on a shadowy, elitist decision regarding the soda machines—a subject the Barking Clam promises to investigate in full detail.” Mudslide Crush was mentioned only once. In the last paragraph.

  There was even a picture of us from when we were sitting on that bench waiting to go on. At the time, I’d been in such a state that I barely remembered anyone taking that shot but now as I stared at the black and white image I couldn’t help being surprised. We looked good. In a moody kind of way. Cool even.

  That’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Hey you’re Charlie, right? The drummer in that freshman band?”

  I turned and there was this tall swanlike girl with feathery hair and a neck that went on forever. I’d seen her around. I was pretty sure she was a junior. I almost looked behind me to see if she was speaking to somebody else. But she wasn’t. She even knew my name.

  “Uh . . . yeah?”

  She brushed a plume of hair from her eyes. “How did you learn to do that? You’re amazing! I’ve never seen anybody play like you before!”

  That woke Aaron up. Oh. My. God.

  I had to agree. In fact, I had a hard time getting my mouth to answer it was like I suddenly had shrink-wrap around my brain.

  “Your band is so . . . wild!” she gushed. “I’m a huge fan!”

  All I could think to say was “Thanks.”

  “I’m Veronica” she said.

  “I know.” It wasn’t true. Only 2 seconds earlier I had no idea what her name was but like I said I wasn’t thinking straight. Plus the way she was smiling at me was flooding my bloodstream with distracting Chemicals.

  Even weirder, a part of me felt guilty because of Mo. Which I realized was ridiculous. When I’d called Mo Sunday morning to make sure she was doing OK with the whole Scott thing, she’d sounded kind of annoyed. All of a sudden I felt like she didn’t want to talk with me anymore. Besides, she’d pretty much spelled it out on Thursday that going out with me would be like betraying her grand plan—that ridiculous road map she’d set out for her life. Even when she 1st told me about it I’d said it was kind of crazy. “A plan like that doesn’t leave much room for the unexpected, Mo” I’d said. “Don’t you ever do anything impulsive? Anything reckless just because you’re dying to know what it feels like?” But it obviously didn’t have any effect on her. The girl was not about surprises.

  I needed to give up on her and face reality. There really was balance in the world. Good with the bad. So now that Mo and I were finally friends of course she couldn’t feel the same way about me as I felt about her. Yin and yang, right? Anything else would’ve thrown off the symmetry of the Universe. Just like if people were excited about my band then it only made sense that Mr. Brenigan would have to take it away. Equilibrium.

  Earth to Charlie! Earth to Charlie! The goddess Veronica waits! Don’t just stare at her say something!

  I wanted to. I really did. But I was overwhelmed so I stood there like a moron. Eventually she said “See ya around” and left. A moment later I just raised my hand and waved.

  Holy crap! You really are hopeless, you know that?

  But it wasn’t as if I was used to beautiful girls throwing spontaneous compliments at me. This kind of thing never happened before.

  And the shockers didn’t stop there. As I sat down at the beginning of Spanish class (I arrived late as usual), Lyle casually reached over and set a little square plastic CD box in front of me.

  “What’s this?” I whispered.

  “It’s you” he said. “Surprise.”

  I took a closer look. Somebody had taken the picture of us on the bench and turned it into cover art. Over our heads was the title: “Lemonade Mouth: Live at the Bash.”

  “It’s your show” he said speaking softly and keeping his eyes on the board. “We recorded it.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes don’t you remember I told you we would?” He grinned. “And I don’t mean to brag, but the sound quality came out killer.”

  I could hardly believe it. I was looking at a Lemonade Mouth CD.

  “Wow” was all I could think to say. “Thanks.”

  But it got even weirder. “Listen, a bunch of kids already asked if they could buy them.” He shot me a guilty look. “I hope you don’t mind but I went ahead and sold 5 copies for $10 each. I figure they each cost less than a buck to make so that’s over $45 profit. But I also figure the A.V. Club should take 20% for doing the recording and packaging and distribution. That OK with you?”

  I could only blink at my friend.

  Finally I could see why the A.V. Club elected him Treasurer.

  Over the next few days kids started walking around with our music in their headphones. I would hear people humming our songs. They even knew the words. It was bizarre.

  Another big moment happened around that same time. 1 day Olivia and Wen and I were leaving the Cafeteria talking about how strange it all was when we suddenly came across Ray Beech outside the bathrooms. He was with Terry Cabeleira, this short nervous kid from the Drama Club, who had his back to the wall and looked terrified. Ray was leering down at him. But before we could push our way closer an amazing thing happened. 7 or 8 kids stepped out of the passing crowd and gathered around Ray. None of them was particularly big, but like a sudden swarm of angry bees they managed to move him to 1 side so Terry picked up his books and got away. Ray tried to push back but there were too many of them. “You
’re a freak!” he shouted as they scattered off. “You’re all freaks!”

  The 3 of us looked at each other. Other than Stella, we’d never seen anybody else even try to stand up to Ray before.

  After that, lemonade seemed to replace soda as the drink of choice. Since you couldn’t buy Mel’s at school, people must of picked it up at Bruno’s. I saw Terry Cabeleira in the hallway a few days later. When he saw me he grinned and lifted a cup into the air. “Hey Charlie!” he called out. “Look! I’m holding it high! I’m raising it up!”

  It was a strange feeling. I guess I was a celebrity, sort of. All because of a band that didn’t exist anymore.

  MOHINI:

  The Parking Lot Fleas

  After that meeting in Mr. Brenigan’s office, I feel like my whole world is falling apart. Scott’s gone and Lemonade Mouth is dead. Being banned from the talent show means I won’t even be able to play my solo, the Ode d’Espagne that I’ve been working so hard to learn.

  First period today happens to be my bass instruction with Mrs. Reznik and she’s in a bad mood. Her face is all pinched and she hardly says a word as I play. Eventually I put down my bow right in the middle. I can’t even look at her.

  “What is it?” she growls. “Why did you stop?”

  That’s when I tell her what Mr. Brenigan said. She doesn’t look particularly surprised. She coughs and it sounds even worse than usual. That’s when I realize she doesn’t look well. Her face is grayer than normal, and even her wig, if that’s what it is, seems a little off kilter. Finally, she looks at me with just a hint of sympathy. Her normally critical eyes turn unexpectedly soft.

  “Never mind about him,” she says. “The thing for you and your friends to remember is that you are artists. There will always be those who don’t appreciate the work of true visionaries. It doesn’t matter. To an artist, beauty and honesty are everything. The fact that music has the power to stir up controversy should neither direct nor impede the pure creative impulse. Be proud,” she finishes with a wink. “You played beautifully and honestly.”

  Which is a nice thing to say, but it certainly doesn’t help me feel any better when I run into the Patties and a pack of the other Mudslide Crusher girls on my way to my second period class. They’re coming in the opposite direction, talking and snickering. Their chatter quiets when they notice me. As we pass, one of them says, “Nice going, Drama Queen. Feel better now? Lynn says hi.”

  Suddenly I feel more dumped than ever.

  But that afternoon my mood takes an unexpected turn for the better and I realize that not only is word out about what happened with Mr. Brenigan, but there’s even a small faction of kids in the school who seem to think my friends and I are heroes. I realize this after a handmade sign mysteriously appears in the main first-floor hallway:

  LET LEMONADE MOUTH PLAY THE HOLIDAY SHOW!

  Of course, students aren’t allowed to post anything without permission, so the teachers pull the sign down almost as soon as it goes up. But soon another, with the same message, appears near the gym. It happens again and again. And word gets around about that too. The first day of the signs, the five of us get called to the office half an hour before my monster Trig exam. I’m not happy about having to see Mr. Brenigan again. That’s all I need—more stress.

  “What are you trying to pull here?” he demands. “What’s the purpose of these messages? Do you want to make trouble for yourselves?”

  The five of us just look at each other. “It’s not us,” Stella says. “We’re not putting them up.”

  He gives us a hard stare. “You kids are playing a dangerous game and you’re going to lose.”

  He doesn’t keep us there long, thank God, probably because he doesn’t have any proof that we did anything wrong. He lets us go with a warning. But I can tell he doesn’t believe us. To be honest, I have my doubts too. Alone in the corridor outside his office, I ask the others if it was any of them. Everyone shakes their heads. Even Stella.

  “No, I swear,” she whispers. “I honestly have no idea who’s putting those things up.”

  I study her face. She’s telling the truth.

  On the second day, even more signs appear. I start seeing them everywhere, sometimes two or three on a wall. I know it isn’t all the same person now because different signs have different writing. And there are more messages now: “Raise your voices!,” “Bring Back Mel’s—This Is Our School!” and even, “Don’t Stop the Revolution!”

  I’m in biology when Mrs. Ledlow makes an announcement over the intercom. “I wish to remind everyone that school rules limit the posting of student notices to the message board by the lobby restrooms. Any students found breaking this rule will receive disciplinary action.”

  I’m sitting at my lab bench at the time. There’s stifled laughter all around. Everyone knows what she was talking about. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that some unknown kids are fighting for my friends and me. I can’t help glancing over at Wen, who’s at a bench across the room. He’s staring back at me.

  And I can feel everybody else looking at us.

  Somebody calls out from the other end of the hallway. “Hey, Mohini!”

  I turn. Richie Benedetti and Pete Boucher are at the other end of the corridor grinning at me. I don’t know those guys very well. They’re part of a sullen crowd that mostly keeps to themselves. I sometimes see them hanging out near the busses after school. Ray Beech has a name for them: The Parking Lot Fleas. Anyway, Richie and Pete don’t look too sullen now.

  “Hold it high!” they call out in unison. “Raise it up!” They give me thumbs-up signs and then disappear around the corner.

  Everything feels different now.

  While some kids treat me like I’m a star or something, Scott acts like I don’t exist. I rarely see him in the hallways anymore and on the few times I do, he pretends I’m not there. He even ignores me in study hall, which is tough since our assigned seats are so close. All I can do is keep my nose pressed in my book and act like I don’t care. But it feels like there’s a clamp on my forehead. Sometimes it gets so bad I have to hide in a bathroom stall until the feeling passes.

  But it’s a funny thing about those headaches. After a few days, I stop getting them. In fact, it’s a surprise to me how quickly I feel better.

  It isn’t just that the Lemonade Mouth signs are a distraction. Not eating with Scott anymore means I end up spending lunches at the Freak Table more often, which I start to look forward to. I also feel more focused now. I’ve recommitted myself to my grand plan, studying harder than ever and increasing my hours at the clinic.

  Most of all, I’m relieved that the lying and sneaking around is over. I guess I never realized just how badly it was eating me up inside.

  All in all, I’m astonished how easy it is to get used to no longer being Scott’s girlfriend. It’s weird. Being with him used to mean so much to me, but now I spend my time with my new friends and Scott doesn’t feel so important. I guess I finally recognized that one of the big reasons I liked Scott was that it meant being part of the in-crowd. And now I know what that’s worth, I don’t want it anymore.

  And that’s what I’m mulling over on my way to study hall when I happen to pass the open gym doors and see two janitors setting up a ladder near the far wall. They’re about to take down another mystery sign. Tied to the metal bars high above one of the basketball nets hangs a giant bed sheet with painted purple letters.

  MY SPIRIT IS A LION THAT WILL NOT BE CAGED

  I wonder how somebody got it up there without being seen. But I can’t help smiling. The line is Olivia’s from our song “Better Places.” It’s one of my favorites.

  It’s been more than two weeks now, and the mysterious messages haven’t stopped appearing. A week ago somebody filled an entire wall in the girls’ bathroom near the cafeteria. The next morning it was the boys’ locker room. So far nobody’s been caught. Now, just before the janitors can pull the sheet down, it’s a nice feeling to see our words hanging in the
new gym high above the shiny parquet floor. It really feels like I’m still part of something. Something even bigger now than before.

  Even though I’m not sure what it is, exactly.

  Suddenly I sense movement near my ear. I spin around in a panic, because for some reason I have a flash that it might be Scott. Thankfully, it isn’t.

  It’s only Charlie.

  “You think Brenigan’s ever going to change his mind?”

  “No way,” I say. “Not a chance.”

  He smiles in that cool, sleepy-eyed way he has. “Me neither. Walk together?”

  “Sure.” I adjust my book bag on my shoulder and continue down the hall with him.

  Things have been different with Charlie, too. For starters, since the Bash I’ve found it hard not to notice how girls hover around him. To be honest, it’s annoying. Sure, all five of us are suddenly getting attention we aren’t used to, but my God!

  “How’s Veronica?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Fine I guess.”

  I study his expression, but if there’s any sign of hidden feelings I don’t catch it.

  “Just curious.” Now I feel stupid for bringing it up. In the two weeks since the Bash, Charlie and I have stopped having our regular heart to heart chats. He hardly ever seems to want to walk to class with me anymore. He’s always in a rush to see a teacher, maybe meet with Lyle or whatever. When I try to meet him at the Metal Shop he’s always gone before I get there. It’s almost as if he’s trying to avoid me. Anyway, even though we see each other in crowds, like at the Freak Table, it isn’t the same as before.