Band on the Run

by Cary Fagan

  “Good. So we can both wear rubber boots. How about hats? I have two matching hats at home. Hold on, I’ll go and get them. And my rubber boots too!”

  Fly moved fast. He was probably afraid that Wolfie would change her mind and lock the door. And Wolfie did think about it. Did she really want to lose her whole Saturday?

  But Wolfie didn’t lock the door. Instead, she went to the mudroom and found her rubber boots. She wondered to herself why she was being so cooperative. Did she like having company? Did she want to be in the talent show? She had to admit that drumming was fun. She just didn’t want to admit it to Fly.

  She clomped back into the living room in her boots. Fly must have been sure that Wolfie would lock the door because he climbed back in through the window. His yellow rubber boots came through first and the rest of him followed.

  He was wearing a white T-shirt and overalls, just like Wolfie.

  “You’ve got your boots on!” he said in surprise. “Great! Here are the hats.”

  Fly held them out. Wolfie frowned. The hats were made of felt. One was blue and the other green, and they were both covered in polka dots.

  They were also pointy.

  “Aren’t those clown hats?” she asked.

  “Yup. Great, aren’t they? Here, put the green one on.”

  Wolfie didn’t see any point in arguing now, even if they were going to look ridiculous. She put on the hat. Well, if there was one thing that Wolfie didn’t care about, it was how she looked to other people.

  Fly made her stand beside him in front of the full-length mirror in the hall. There they were in their rubber boots and pointy clown hats.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” said Fly. “Nobody else is going to look like us.”

  “That’s for sure,” Wolfie agreed. “You know, the talent show isn’t until this evening. Maybe you could go home for a while.”

  “Are you kidding? We’ve got to practice. Better yet, we’ve got to practice in front of an audience.”

  “But we don’t have an audience.”

  “Wolfie, Wolfie, when are you going to start using your imagination?”

  “I’m not sure that I have one.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Stuffing

  “All we have to do is make a pretend audience,” said Fly. “What if we used our stuffies? You do have some stuffed animals, right?”

  Wolfie hesitated. She didn’t understand this love for stuffed animals that other kids had. She saw kids talk to their stuffed animals, and play with them, and cuddle them. Stuffed animals were just material and stuffing! They weren’t real.

  But she did have one stuffed animal. Uncle Bob had given it to her when she was little. It was a rabbit that Uncle Bob had named Fluffy because of its soft fur. And then one day, Wolfie had decided to put Fluffy in the bathtub to see if it would float. Fluffy did float, but after that its fur was never fluffy again.

  She went to her room and found Fluffy under the bed. She came back to the living room and showed it to Fly.

  “That’s it? Just one?”

  “How many do we need?”

  Fly shook his head. “I have lots of them. We need a big audience. I’ll go get them.”

  And Fly was off again. Wolfie tried to shout that he could just use the door. But Fly didn’t hear. A few minutes later, a stuffed zebra came flying through the window. Then a bear, a snake, a lion, a turtle, a dog, a monkey, another bear and a lot more. Last through the window came Fly, polka-dot hat first.

  “Okay,” he said, straightening his pointed hat. “Let’s arrange the stuffies on the sofa. You can help.”

  Wolfie picked up a zebra and dropped it on the sofa. “No, not like that,” Fly said. He picked up the zebra and made it look as if it were sitting. Then he put a cat behind it. “We can have two rows,” he said.

  Together they lined up the animals. They stepped back to take a look.

  “Not bad,” said Fly.

  “But where is the stage?” Wolfie asked.

  “Right here in front.”

  “Don’t we need a spotlight?”

  “Hey, good idea!” Fly said. “You’re getting the hang of it. We can use that standing lamp. Just aim the light in front of the animals.”

  “And we can close the curtains so the rest of the room is dark.”

  “Wolfie,” said Fly. “You are impressing me. Turn off the light. Okay, let’s set up your drums. Then we can go outside the living room, and after our name is announced, we can rush onto the stage.”

  “I guess you are the announcer too,” said Wolfie.

  “Naturally.”

  Wolfie put the drums in front of the animals, arranging the garbage can, the pot and the cymbal. She kept the wooden spoons in her hand. Then they both went out of the room.

  “Now,” said Fly, “here is the important thing. We have to really believe that we’re about to step onto a big stage. We have to believe that rows and rows of people are waiting to see us play.”

  “How do I do that?” asked Wolfie.

  Fly started to say something but stopped. He thought a minute and then shook his head. “I don’t know! You just have to try. Are you ready?”

  “No,” said Wolfie.

  “Here we go!”

  CHAPTER 6

  Ladies and Gentlemen…

  Wolfie stood just behind Fly in the darkened doorway. She tried to make herself believe she was about to step onto a real stage in a real theater. But how could you imagine what wasn’t real? She closed her eyes.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said a booming voice, “give it up for your favorite band, Wolfie and Fly!”

  How strange, thought Wolfie. The voice didn’t sound like Fly at all. She could tell he was stepping through the doorway, so she opened her eyes a little to follow.

  She heard clapping.

  She heard cheering.

  She heard people chanting their names.

  “Wolfie and Fly, Wolfie and Fly…”

  Wolfie bumped into Fly. She opened her eyes all the way so she could get to her drums.

  “Look!” cried Fly. “It’s a full house!”

  Wolfie looked. And saw that she was on a big stage with colored spotlights shining down on them. And out front were rows and rows of…people? Yes, hundreds of them, all cheering for her and Fly. How could that be? Where were the stuffed animals? Where was her living room?

  Fly stepped up to a microphone on a stand. “Hello, fans!” he shouted. The crowd roared louder. “It’s great to see you all. And now we’re going to play our latest single. Are you ready, Wolfie?”

  How could she be ready? But she nodded anyway. She saw that there was a stool behind her drums and sat down. But what had happened to her drums? Where were the garbage can, the pot and the pot-lid cymbal? Here instead was a real drum kit, with a big bass drum and two smaller drums on stands and three real cymbals.

  She looked over at Fly. He wasn’t holding his little plastic guitar anymore. He had an electric guitar plugged into a huge amplifier! But he didn’t look confused. He was acting as if all this was perfectly normal.

  “Okay, Wolfie,” he cried. “Hit it!”

  What else could Wolfie do? She raised her wooden spoons—only they had become real drumsticks—and she banged them together, one two three four! Then she hit the drums while Fly stroked a big power chord on the guitar and leaned toward the microphone.

  This is my song; it isn’t yours.

  I’ve made it up; my mom adores—

  It!

  Wolfie kept up the beat, stepping on the bass drum pedal, banging the smaller drums, making quick hits on the cymbals. Fly sang the next verses.

  Here is the tune; here are the words.

  My brother thinks it’s for the birds—

  Blah!

  It’ll make me cool, this song of mine

  Because it proves I’m good at rhyme—

  See?

  The people in the crowd began to do the wave, standing up one after another and ra
ising their arms in the air. Then they held up their cell phones to make hundreds of lights shining in the dark.

  And now I’m out of things to say,

  So I’ll sing my song in the exact same way!

  They started the song from the beginning again. But this time the audience sang along, their voices filling the concert hall. It was an amazing sound.

  When the fourth verse was over, Fly shouted out, “Drum solo!”

  Drum solo? Wolfie had never done a drum solo in her life. She hadn’t even played drums until a half hour ago. But it seemed that when she was with Fly she could do things that she had never done before. So she took a breath and began to hit the small drums in double-time, every so often striking a cymbal or banging the bass drum. She moved from one drum to another, the sticks flying in her hands, and then came down on two cymbals with a tremendous crash.

  People hooted and clapped and stamped their feet. Fly began the final verse.

  But every song does need an end,

  And the rules of songs I will not bend—

  The end!

  The electric guitar wailed one last time. Wolfie hit one last drum. The audience went wild. They cheered and whistled and waved their hands.

  “We’re a hit, Wolfie, we’re a hit!” cried Fly.

  “I guess we really are.”

  “Come on, we have to take a bow.”

  Fly urged her to stand up. And then they bowed together. “This is so great,” said Fly. “It’s too bad we don’t have another song. We could do an encore.”

  At that moment a girl climbed onto the stage. She was older than them and had long hair and wore lipstick. She skipped toward Fly, bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Aw, gee.” Fly blushed.

  “Ugh,” Wolfie said, making a face.

  But the girl wasn’t the only one to come up. Wolfie saw a boy climbing onto the stage, followed by another boy and a girl. And behind them more people pushed forward.

  “Ah, Fly,” said Wolfie.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it usual for the audience to start climbing onto the stage?”

  They both stared. The crowd was moving quickly across the stage toward them. They were shouting, “Wolfie and Fly! Wolfie and Fly! We love you! We want your autograph! Wolfie and Fly!”

  The people in front had almost reached them. “We’re going to be trampled by our own fans!” said Fly. “We have to get out of here! Wait, grab the instruments!”

  Grab the instruments? That was easy for Fly to say. He already had the electric guitar in his hands. But how could Wolfie pick up a whole drum set? She grabbed the two smaller drums and a cymbal.

  Then they ran. Off the stage, past the back curtain and down a corridor. Wolfie could see a door marked Exit. She looked back. The fans were right behind them.

  “Don’t stop!” cried Fly. “Keep going!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Up, Up and Away

  Wolfie and Fly ran out the exit. They reached the sidewalk and kept running. When Wolfie looked behind her, she didn’t see anyone. “It looks like the coast is clear,” she gasped.

  “We better keep going,” Fly said. They slowed down a little. Wolfie was afraid she might drop a drum. They went around a corner and stopped. A man was standing in front of a van with a microphone in one hand and a TV camera on his shoulder.

  “There you are!” the man said. “I’m Kurt Kavetsky from FAB News. Would you mind if I interviewed you? After all, our viewers are huge fans of Wolfie and Fly.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Fly said. He licked his palm and then ran his hand through his hair.

  Wolfie whispered, “Don’t you think we should keep going?”

  “Oh, Wolfie, you really don’t understand anything about being in a famous band. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “Excellent,” said the man, holding out his microphone. Wolfie looked at him. Kurt Kavetsky looked strangely familiar. Why, he looked a little bit like her uncle Bob! Wolfie remembered the pirate they had encountered in their submarine adventure. He had looked like Uncle Bob too. But this reporter was bald and had a little mustache. Also, he talked in a high voice.

  “So tell our viewers what it’s like to be so famous,” said the man.

  “We’re really just like ordinary people,” said Fly. “Of course, we’re super talented and have a million friends. And we’re very, very rich. But otherwise we’re just the same as everybody else.”

  “Fantastic!” said the man. “And where do you get the ideas for those amazing songs?”

  “Well, Kurt,” Fly went on. “It’s hard to know where true inspiration comes from. It’s a gift, really. I guess that’s what makes us so special.”

  “And you, Wolfie,” said the man. “Our viewers would love to know how you became such a great drummer.”

  “I don’t know,” Wolfie said.

  “You’re too modest,” he said. “I have one last question. What kind of toast do you like?”

  “Toast?”

  “Oh, look! I see your fans have caught up with you.”

  Wolfie and Fly both turned to look. They saw the mob of fans coming up the road.

  “Wolfie and Fly! Wolfie and Fly! We love you! We want souvenirs! We want your shirt! We want your shoes! We want your pants!”

  “Run!” Fly cried. They went around the van and hurried down the street. The cymbal kept banging against Wolfie’s knee as she ran. Ahead she could see a small green park.

  “Let’s go there!” she shouted. They ran toward it. But as she got closer, Wolfie saw something that made her jaw drop.

  A helicopter.

  It was sitting in the middle of the park. The big rotor blade went slowly around as the engine purred. As they got closer, she could see words painted on the side: Wolfie and Fly.

  “I didn’t know we had a helicopter,” Fly said. “Cool! Let’s get inside.”

  Wolfie looked behind her. The mob of fans was still coming. So she ran to the helicopter, opened the door, and threw the drums and cymbal into the back. She climbed in. The seat looked an awful lot like her kitchen chair at home.

  Fly got in on the other side. “We better strap ourselves in. Do you know how to fly this thing?” He sounded a little nervous.

  “Well, I read a book about it.”

  “That’ll have to be good enough. You better get a move on. Look!”

  Wolfie looked through the side window. The fans were almost on them! The engine was already running. She put her hand on the lever to her left. She put her other hand on the stick between her knees. She placed her feet on the pedals.

  “Hold on,” she said, gritting her teeth.

  She pulled the lever. The main rotor blade sped up, making a great whirring sound. The helicopter shook as they rose. They got about ten feet off the ground. They tilted to one side and then the other as she worked the controls. When she looked out, she could see the fans jumping up, trying to grab the underside of the helicopter.

  “Can you get this thing to go any higher?” Fly asked.

  Wolfie moved the levers. The helicopter rose up and forward, picking up speed. The whirring blades became so noisy they had to shout to be heard.

  “Boy, that was close,” Fly yelled.

  Wolfie looked down and saw the houses and buildings and roads and playgrounds. “This is a very interesting view,” she shouted. “You can see the layout of the town. It’s like looking at a big map.”

  Fly said something, but the noise drowned him out.

  “I can’t hear you!” Wolfie yelled.

  “I said, I wonder what that flashing red light on the dashboard is.”

  Wolfie looked at the dashboard. There was a light flashing. The light was just above a dial. The needle on the dial pointed to the word empty.

  “Fascinating,” Wolfie shouted. “It looks like we’re out of gas. Did you know that helicopters can’t glide the way airplanes can? They don’t have wings. They just go straight down.”

  “I don’t like
the sound of that,” Fly yelled.

  At that moment the engine sputtered and died. They could feel the vibrations from the rotor blade slowing down.

  “This is not good,” shouted Fly.

  “You don’t have to shout anymore,” Wolfie said. “I can hear you fine.”

  The helicopter went down.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Show

  Crash!

  Thump!

  Bang!

  Wolfie felt herself thrown backward in her seat. She had her eyes shut tight. She was afraid to open them.

  “Wolfie? Are you okay?”

  She opened her eyes. For a moment she couldn’t understand where she was, even though everything looked familiar. There were cupboards, a counter, a stove, a sink and a refrigerator. How strange, she thought. It looked like her own kitchen.

  She was sitting in a chair, only the chair was tipped backward onto the floor. It wasn’t a helicopter seat. It was her usual kitchen chair. And when she looked over, she saw Fly in the chair beside her. He had tipped backward too. But Fly’s eyes were still closed.

  “You can open your eyes,” she said.

  He blinked and looked around. Then he smiled. “We’re in your kitchen! Cool.”

  Just then, Wolfie heard the front door open. “Oh, Renata!” called her mom. “Look what we have!”

  Her mom and dad came into the kitchen. “What are you doing lying backward on the floor?” asked her dad.

  “It’s a really good view from here,” said Fly.

  “Look, Renata,” said her mom. She held up a painting in a frame. The painting was of a toaster. The toaster had wings on it like a bird and was flying through the air.

  “Did Uncle Bob paint that?” Wolfie asked.