And it wasn’t as if our string of bad luck could get any worse, right?
Wrong.
That’s when your pensive protagonist heard the squeaking of metal wheels rolling past. Someone was pushing yet another cart full of equipment through the backstage area. The sound came closer and then stopped.
I opened my eyes, but it was too late.
A very fat, sweaty roadie was about to take the seat beside me. His butt, large enough for an IMAX double feature, was already making its ominous way downward. Before it registered in my brain what was happing, before I could even cry out, “No! Stop!” I heard an evil crunch, along with the twang of a snapping string. The guy heard it too. He immediately shot back up and spun around to look at the seat.
“Oh . . . my . . . God . . .” he said, bending over to examine the ukulele. Even the darkness couldn’t hide his blanching face. “I am so sorry.”
Wen, whose lip still looked about the size of a goose egg, was only a few feet away. “What was that?”
But I couldn’t speak. I gently picked up my instrument, the ukulele that, until now, I’d kept in perfect condition. Two of the strings were gone, and the neck hung at an unnatural angle. I gaped at the mortified klutz, the blood suddenly rising into my head. But even before I could choke any words out of my mouth, that idiot, the unwitting vehicle of cruel fate, must have realized how serious the situation was. He turned around and high-tailed it out of there, leaving his cart behind.
But I was out of time. That’s when one of the WRIZ clipboard guys appeared in the doorway. “Lemonade Mouth!” he called out. “Come with me. You guys are on in two minutes.”
The next thing I knew, he was leading us out to the stage.
CHAPTER 9
Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.
–Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
MRS. REZNIK:
Something Dreadfully Amiss
Desirée Crane, silicone enhanced and poofy-haired as ever, bounded back onto center stage. I couldn’t help laughing. The famous teen sensation wore a billowy purple strapless that didn’t suit her and a giant glittery tiara with stars and moons that wobbled at the ends of what appeared to be springs. She looked like a contestant in a beauty pageant on Mars.
Even as she theatrically waved to the cameras and the band that had just finished, all around me kids were already holding up signs and screaming for Lemonade Mouth.
“Thank you! That was wonderful!” she beamed. “Let’s hear it for Jelly Belly!”
Jelly Belly had been good but not great. The audience seemed to enjoy them but frankly, to me the band relied a little too heavily on synthetic sound and not enough on melody. But maybe I was biased.
There were quite a few Opequonsett High School students back here in the upper stands where I sat. The Civic Center was packed. This event, it seemed, brought together an eclectic mix of people. Pot-bellied bikers clad in leather, long-haired twenty-somethings in baggy pants, silver-headed grandmothers, buttoned-down men shouting into cell phones, middle-aged couples in tight tank tops, even a few families with young children. And all of them cheering alongside hordes of screaming teenagers.
But it was the Lemonade Mouth fans that stood out. I could see them sprinkled throughout the arena. It was our costumes. I have to admit, I was enjoying the attention I was getting as a Renaissance Minstrel. I’d borrowed the outfit from a friend affiliated with the Newport Shakespeare Society. I wore a red and green velvet hat, a jerkin with puffy, striped shoulders and frilled cuffs, velvet leggings and soft leather boots. I even carried a lute. Every time I moved, the bells on my ankles jangled.
So what if I was a little caught up in the spirit of it all? Since Lemonade Mouth, my school had felt like a different place. In the past few months some of the usual apathy and cynicism had been replaced with passion and a renewed energy. And the music—well it spoke for itself. It was original and exciting and somehow gave off a feeling of promise and possibility. I was a true fan.
Desirée Crane’s smiling face was gigantic on the overhead screen. Finally, she stared back into the TelePrompTer and the crowd settled down. I couldn’t help feeling butter-flies. And I wasn’t alone. At least in my section of the stadium, I could almost feel that I wasn’t the only one with sweaty palms.
Frankly, I was dying for a cigarette but I’d be damned if I was moving from my seat just then.
When Desirée spoke, her voice echoed through the sound system. “The next band is made up of five high school freshmen from Opequonsett.”
A spontaneous round of hooting and hollering drowned her out, so she paused and flashed her big, toothy grin until, a few moments later, it quieted again.
“Unknown to WRIZ’s staff only a few weeks ago,” she continued, “this group’s last-minute addition to our set list was the direct result of a passionate appeal from more than two thousand fans—” Another thunderous whoop, this time even longer than before. Desirée smiled again. “A group that has recently become one of the most intensely requested bands that Local Emissions, WRIZ’s new music show, has ever had, let’s give a warm welcome for . . .” She paused and squinted at the TelePrompTer. “. . . Lemon Mouth!”
She got the name wrong, but that didn’t stop the costumed masses from jumping to their feet. Including me. At last, it was here, Lemonade Mouth’s moment to shine. As I cheered, I couldn’t help feeling a tiny burst of pride when I recalled the small part I’d played in their story. And in that instant—and even up until a few moments later—I honestly believed that Mohini and her friends had a reasonable chance of making it to the Catch A RI-Zing Star finals. Maybe even winning the whole shebang.
Our cheering continued. I expected them to step out from behind the curtain, but it took longer than I thought it would. Soon I realized something must be wrong. Twenty or thirty seconds after they were announced, they still hadn’t walked onto the stage.
At last they appeared. Even from this distance I didn’t need the overhead screen to see that there was something dreadfully amiss. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. Charlie’s hand was wrapped in a cumbersome white bandage. And there was something wrong with Wen’s lip. And then there was Stella’s ukulele. As she plugged it into her amplifier, the entire neck momentarily teetered to one side. What on earth had happened? I watched her scramble to set it back in place. Was she trying to tune it? A ukulele with a broken neck? Was that even possible?
Uh oh, I thought.
The five of them soon took their positions and then Charlie called out the time. I held my breath.
DELILA CZERWINSKI:
The Plaintive Cry of an Injured Moose
Dina, Veronica and I came as belly dancers, with colorful skimpy outfits and bright transparent veils over our heads. We even painted each other’s eyes to look exotic and mysterious. We worked ourselves into a sweat twisting and slithering around as each of the first bands played. But when Desirée Crane finally announced Lemonade Mouth, Veronica started calling out, “Oh God oh God I love him! Oh God oh God!” By now, her early infatuation with Charlie had bloomed into all-out worship.
But the truth was, I was screaming too.
We’d been looking forward to this since we first found out that Lemonade Mouth made it into Catch A RI-Zing Star. Veronica had bagged all her classes one afternoon just so she could call into WRIZ. They were giving away tickets every half hour, and she kept hitting redial until she won. Which is why we were so close to the stage. And now we had our lemonades ready, along with a giant cardboard sign that said WE LOVE YOU, CHARLIE!
When we finally saw the band stagger out from behind the curtain, though, our screaming petered out pretty quickly. Dina shot me a puzzled glance. What was going on here? Why did they look like they’d just climbed out of a bus accident? Charlie and Wen looked beat up, and Mo had big gray suitcases under her eyes. For a second I wondered if this was some kind of onstage joke.
When they finally began, it took me a while to recognize the song. It was “Back Among the Walls,” but it didn’t sound right at all. Wen seemed to wince in pain with each sad blat that came out of his horn. Charlie whacked at his drums, but with only one hand it just wasn’t the same. Mo looked like she didn’t have enough energy to even hold her bow, let alone play it. And there was something up with Stella’s ukulele. She strummed it but the sound wasn’t right, like it was only a cheap plastic toy or something. Standing at the microphone, Olivia looked around in panic. I got the feeling this wasn’t a joke after all. Her face went red as a strawberry, but then she grabbed the microphone as if she wasn’t going to let this setback stop her. Unfortunately, when she opened her mouth to sing what came out was a God-awful screech—like a seal barking maybe, or the cry of an injured moose. If it wasn’t so horrible to see my band this way, I would have thought it was funny.
What was happening? This was not the way this was supposed to turn out. Lemonade Mouth was supposed to blow the other bands away. They weren’t supposed to suck.
My heart sank into my shoes.
We were close enough to see them start to sweat. But for a while they pressed on anyway. I guess they were determined to make it through this against all odds. But it was pointless. It didn’t work. The harder they pushed, the worse it got. The noise was hideous. Finally, even Lemonade Mouth realized they couldn’t go on. They stopped playing less than a minute after they started.
My hand rose to my mouth to stifle another gasp.
For a moment they were still. I watched them glance around at each other, their faces red and shiny. And then they stared out at us. I could see it in their desperate eyes. They knew.
It was over.
RICHIE BENEDETTI:
The Center of an Earthquake
For a moment, the entire Civic Center was quiet. Fifty-three rows back from the stage, my buddies and I sat in our seats, stunned into silence.
How could this have happened? This was Lemonade Mouth’s biggest gig so far. Look how many people showed up in costume! And I knew for an absolute fact that a lot of them weren’t even from Opequonsett High School! Everything had lined up perfectly. This was supposed to be the beginning of even bigger things. Epiphany Records. National radio airplay. Maybe even a tour.
How could they have blown it all? And so horribly?
Somehow, it didn’t seem fair.
My throat choked. And it wasn’t just because of the performance or even the recording contract. I just felt bad for those guys. As they started unplugging their instruments and backing away from the microphones, I thought what a shame it was that there were people in this audience who would never know what this band meant to so many of us. I couldn’t help remembering what my school was like back in September. Back then, Pete and I were like second-class nothings, shunned and cut off in our own lonely little world in the fringes. I didn’t feel like a Parking Lot Flea anymore. Look at the row of kids here with us: Terry, Digby, Leslie, Kate, Manny, Cynthia, all of us dressed as paper cups of Mel’s Lemonade. If it weren’t for Lemonade Mouth, Pete and I might never have hooked up with these guys. But then I looked around and realized there were people in this arena who never would understand that to us this was more than just a little high school band. To my friends and me, Lemonade Mouth was the center of an earthquake.
Desirée Crane’s face hesitantly poked around the curtain. She seemed uncertain what to do or say. I’m sure the short performance must have thrown the timing completely off. For all I knew, the next band wasn’t even ready yet. After a moment of hesitation, her shoulder appeared on the stage, and then the rest of her. A big, fake-looking smile grew on her mouth and then she started the long journey across the stage. In the quiet, the microphones picked up the clip-clop of her shoes.
Faces pale and embarrassed, Mo, Stella, Wen, Olivia and Charlie were already creeping to the back of the platform and would soon slip out of sight. I suddenly wished there was some way to help them. If only there was something I could do to show my support.
That’s when my buddy Terry Cabeleira—little nervous Terry who hardly ever spoke—stood up. For a second I thought he was just getting up to go to the bathroom or something, but he didn’t move. He just stood there. I was about to ask him what he was up to but I didn’t get the chance.
That’s when he started singing.
At first I just sat there and listened. What was he doing?
Lonely day
After the storm has come and gone
There will never be another tomorrow like today
It was “Back Among the Walls,” one of Lemonade Mouth’s slower tunes but just the same, one of our favorites. And as I listened, I started to understand. Now, I have the worst voice ever and I would normally never sing in front of anybody, but watching my band heading toward the curtain I suddenly had the urge to join Terry.
So I stood up beside him. Now there were two of us belting out the words:
In my own way
I wait for the light of dawn
I look for a sign of things to come and change to stay
I may be back among the walls
I may be back among the walls
I may be back among the walls
But I am not alone
By the end of the verse, Pete, Digby, Kate, Leslie, Cynthia and even Manny were on their feet. But in this huge stadium, even with all of us singing I wondered if our voices would even reach the stage.
RAY BEECH:
The Ultimate Insult
Believe me, it wasn’t my idea to sit through Catch A RI-Zing Star. Adding my own special twist to the previous night’s show at Bruno’s had been a blast and everything, but why did I need to see that freshman band ever again? But my buddy Scott said he was going and I didn’t have anything better to do so I said what the hell? Why not? Maybe they’ll bomb.
Okay, I admit that when I said that I was just talking. I didn’t honestly think it’d happen. But then it did—oh, and how! Their act was a complete train wreck. As far as I could see, there was no way anybody could ever overcome a humiliation like that. It was an absolute meltdown! When they finally stopped embarrassing themselves, there was this weird silence. Eventually I heard some polite applause. But I couldn’t help laughing. It was just too good!
Finally, maybe this would put a long overdue end to the cult of Lemonade Mouth!
But that was before those kids in the lemonade outfits down near the front stood up and started singing that damn song. When that happened, it seemed like everyone craned their necks to see what was going on. It wasn’t long before a couple more losers rose to their feet too. First one, then another, then another. Soon there were bigger groups getting up to sing, some in costume and some not. It started off kind of spreading out from the center, but before long they were popping up all over the arena.
I couldn’t believe this was happening.
And I couldn’t believe how many people seemed to know that stupid song!
That Desirée Crane chick reached for the microphone and opened her mouth like she was about to say something. Maybe announce the next band or maybe tell Lemonade Mouth how sorry she was about their pathetic act. Oh, wouldn’t that have been just perfect! But we’ll never know because her mouth closed up again. I guess she was waiting for the voices to settle down. She stood there smiling, probably thinking the song would just peter out.
But it didn’t. It kept growing.
I could have screamed.
And then the ultimate insult was when this string bean stood up in front of me. He was a pointy-nosed runt of a kid, probably about my age but with a neck like a straw. To have to listen to him warbling that damn tune right in front of my face—well, it was just too much to take.
I guess Scott could tell I was getting pissed because he shot me a look like I should leave him alone. But I ignored him. I leaned forward, put my hand on the kid’s scrawny little shoulder and gritted my teeth. “Sit down, choirboy,”
I growled at him. “You’re blocking my view.”
When the kid turned I expected to see fear in his eyes. But instead, he only looked me over and then tapped the shoulder of his buddy sitting next to him.
Now, I hadn’t noticed his friend before, but when the guy stood up I saw that he was as big as a bear. His feet were a row below me, but still he towered over me, his eyes squinting like he was ready to kick my butt.
I felt all the blood rush from my face.
What could I do? I backed down.
JANE SEISEKI:
An Electric Charge
The song kept spreading. As soon as we realized what was happening, our whole section jumped to our feet. Naomi, Seth, Wendy, Lyle, Rodney—all of us. Andrea Beckham waved her arms and sang at the top of her voice.
With a giant cardboard box wrapped around me (Andrea and I had come as a pair of dice) it wasn’t easy to climb up onto my chair but somehow I managed it. I wanted to see the stage better. By then, Lemonade Mouth had turned back around to see what was going on. It was incredible. It seemed like half the place was singing, swaying and clapping their hands. I saw Desirée try to interrupt a couple of times, but the song wouldn’t let her. It got louder and louder. After a while, all she could do was step back and chuckle.
Just behind me, Mrs. Reznik stood on her chair too, moving her arms and belting out the words like I never would have expected.
In some bright place
There may be another choice
But for now we’re here, and you I can’t replace
So in this space
I will listen closely to your voice
Someday I will scale these walls and you will see my face
Lemonade Mouth Page 25
