by Ginger Rue
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“And that, kiddos, is a little thing the Greeks liked to call ‘hubris.’” Leave it to Robbie to have an intellectual take on Tig’s complete screwup.
“I know,” Tig said. “I don’t know what got into me. I can’t believe I got pulled into their smack talk. They totally set me up. They knew I wouldn’t be able to back down and that my big mouth would get me in trouble.”
“Get you in trouble?” Claire said. “Tig, I don’t know if I can do this! You know I have terrible stage fright! You said we were going to ease me into this lead singer business.”
“You were great at my aunt’s party,” Tig said.
“But you never said anything about getting up in front of all our classmates in a mere two weeks!”
“It’s not you I’m worried about, Claire,” said Tig. “I know you don’t know it, but you could rock Madison Square Garden if you felt like it. I’m worried about the rest of the band.”
“You knew I’d be in Florida,” said Robbie.
“I know,” Tig said again. “It’s like I told you, I let them trap me. I couldn’t back down. Are you mad?”
“Kinda,” Robbie said. “But I’ll get over it.”
“Robbie, please don’t be mad,” Tig said. “I would never purposely not want you to play with us. You know that.”
“I do know that,” Robbie said. “You shot your mouth off. Been there. I’d probably be more upset if I thought you could actually pull this off without me. I mean, not to sound arrogant, but you kind of need me.”
“We totally need you!” Tig said. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“I can do it,” Olivia said. “I’m in town that weekend.”
“I’m not worried about you either,” said Tig. “You can play anything. You’ve been at this a little longer than Kyra and I have.”
“So we’ll learn a few songs!” Kyra said. “Pick some easy ones. We can do it! Hey, most rock stars are on tons of dope all the time, right? If they can play stoned, I’m sure we can play sober.”
“Kyra, we can barely play at all!” Tig reminded her. “Unless you’ve suddenly mastered those fills with the sixteenth notes on ‘Plush’ and just forgotten to tell me.” Then she turned on Will. “And you! Why’d you have to butt in, Mr. Helpful?”
Will looked hurt.
“It’s not Will’s fault,” Olivia said.
Tig shook her head. “You’re right. Sorry, Will. You were just trying to help. Totally not your fault.”
“I thought the whole point of starting this band was that it was supposed to be an all-girl band,” said Robbie.
“That was the original idea,” Tig said. “And that’s what I still want, ultimately.”
“Looks like you’re going to have to make an exception. At least for one performance,” Robbie said. “So, Will, how good are you on the guitar?”
“Just barely decent,” Will replied. “The only song I know the whole way through is that One Nothing song, ‘Gotcha.’”
“I love that song!” Claire said. “Their lead singer is brilliant!”
“I may or may not have had a huge crush on her at some point,” Will said. “She’s so cool. And so beautiful.”
Huh. That was interesting. Will had told Tig once that he thought she looked like the lead singer of One Nothing. But she didn’t know at the time that Will thought the singer was beautiful.
“Yes, she is,” said Robbie. “Good voice. Not quite as growly as somebody else I know, though.”
“Oh my gosh!” Kyra said. “Claire, your voice would be perfect on that song!”
“Think you could learn it in time for the party, Ripley?” Robbie asked.
“I don’t know,” Tig said. “That song’s pretty fast.”
“That’s true,” Robbie said. “But then again, you always play everything too fast anyway.”
“You’ve got a point,” Tig said. Whenever she got excited about getting the coordination down, she always played faster. “I don’t know. I’d have to look at it.”
“Will, you’re sure you can handle that song on guitar?” asked Robbie.
“I’m not sure. I used to be able to do it pretty well, but it’s been a while since I practiced. I guess I could get it all down again in a couple of weeks if I practiced every day.”
“I could help you,” Robbie said. “And Olivia’s golden with the keyboard. Get her the sheet music, and she can play anything. Claire, what do you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I do love that song, but . . .”
“You can do it,” Robbie said. “So, really, it depends on Kyra and Tig.”
“What if we said yes?” Tig said. “We still don’t have a set. That’s just one song.”
“So you play just one song,” Robbie said. “Tell them that because your regular guitarist is out of town, this is just a preview. And don’t, under any circumstances, admit that this is the only song you guys can play! One song played well would shut them up. If you can pull it off. Can you?”
They all looked at Kyra and Tig.
Then the two of them looked at each other.
Tig could feel the hopefulness of everyone else at the table. She didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. “Positive thinking?” she said to Kyra.
Kyra responded with an enthusiastic hug.
“So I guess we’re all in,” Tig said.
“I’ll try,” Claire said. “But honestly, I can’t make any promises.”
“She’s in,” Robbie said. “Just blindfold her so she can’t see the audience. She’ll nail it.”
“It’s not just that,” Claire said. “I don’t know—I mean, I still hardly know anyone here, and now I’m supposed to sing in front of a bunch of strangers? I already told you that I like singing, but I don’t feel comfortable performing. I’m not sure I’m cut out to front a rock band. Maybe it’s not my thing.”
Tig wondered if Haley had been talking to Claire about not being lumped in with Tig’s crowd. She wanted to ask but dared not.
“So make it your thing,” Robbie said. “At least give it a try.”
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Claire said, but she didn’t sound thrilled.
“Wish I could be there to throw it in Regan’s face,” Robbie said. “But you guys will have to throw it in her face without me.”
As Tig picked over her turkey sandwich, she thought of a quote she’d learned in social studies:
“Eat, drink, and be merry . . . for tomorrow we die.”
In her mind, she changed tomorrow to in two weeks.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lee was, to say the least, dubious about Tig’s new project.
“That’s not an easy song,” Lee said. “You might want to get a little more experience under your belt before you try to tackle something that ambitious.”
“I kind of don’t have a choice,” Tig said. “It’s the only song my substitute guitarist knows, and to be honest, I’m trying to win over my lead singer. She’s so awesome, and I’m afraid she’s going to leave us if I don’t give her a song she can’t resist.”
Lee made a face that was at once both a smile and a grimace. “You certainly are learning pretty quickly what it’s like to have a band.”
Tig felt a little relieved to know that all bands—even ones that weren’t led by a novice—had similar problems. “So, can you teach it to me?”
“I can try,” Lee said.
Band practice was set for four o’clock daily at Tig’s house, except for weekends, when they’d try to get together after lunch and work as long as possible. On this particular weekday afternoon, however, Robbie had taken the day to work on her science project, since she wasn’t playing the party.
“Maybe we should’ve picked a different song,” Tig said. “This open and closed hi-hat groove during the bridge is really hard. Not to mention some of these drum fills during the chorus and at the end of the breakdown.”
“Why can’t we just play ‘S
weet Home’?” Kyra asked.
“Because Will doesn’t know that one,” Tig said. “He said it took him all summer to learn the One Nothing song, so we’re lucky he knows this one. Guitar isn’t his thing. No offense, Will.”
“None taken.”
“It’s really sweet of you to help us out like this, Will,” said Olivia.
“No prob.” Will hardly looked up from his guitar. He was fiddling with the knobs at the end, tightening the strings or something; Tig wasn’t sure what.
“We really do owe you,” Tig added.
Will looked up at her and grinned. “I’ll collect one of these days.”
“Let’s run through it again from the top,” Tig said.
Kyra let out a whine. “I’m tired!”
Tig gritted her teeth. This was just like Kyra—all bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm one minute, and then losing interest as soon as the initial excitement waned. “Get un-tired,” Tig said.
“I’m feeling a bit winded myself,” Claire said. Tig had noticed that Claire hadn’t said much all during practice. She seemed distant.
“It’s almost time to go,” Will said.
“We need longer practices if we’re going to get this right,” Tig replied.
“Sorry, slave driver. A boy’s got to do his homework. You finish that science project yet?”
“Almost.” Tig was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t even started. It was the big nine-weeks project that had been assigned at the beginning of the term, an exploration that involved the five steps of the scientific method, complete with research and a technical report, photographs of the student involved in the exploration, and an interactive computer demonstration to present to the class. It wasn’t exactly a project one could scribble out the period before it was due. Tig should have started on it weeks ago, but she’d thought she had plenty of time. And she would have, if it hadn’t been for the performance at Kyra’s party coming at her out of nowhere.
“What’s your topic?” Will asked.
“No time to discuss science,” Tig said before leading the count-off.
The song they played sounded not at all like the One Nothing song, or even a song at all. More like a bunch of instruments clanging on top of one another. Tig hoped it was just the acoustics in the studio, or how loud the drums sounded from her vantage point, or that the cymbals that had come with her reasonably priced drum kit were cheap and awful (good cymbals had to be bought separately and cost more than a hundred dollars apiece). But Tig doubted that cymbal quality or acoustics were the band’s real problem.
They were able to run through the song only once more before five o’clock came, along with the band’s mothers and their minivans.
“One hour a day isn’t going to cut it,” Tig told Will. “We are going to look like complete losers.”
“Pretty much,” Will agreed.
Tig studied Will a moment. “So why are you doing this?” she asked. “This isn’t your problem. Don’t you care that you’re going to be completely humiliated? What in the world would possess you to jump on board the Titanic with us?”
Will laughed. “Well, it’s not like I have such a cool reputation to protect.”
Olivia had just finished packing up her keyboard. “Will, you’re the best.”
“Hey, when you’re right, you’re right,” he said. Tig half expected cartoon stars and hearts to dance around Olivia’s face as she gazed at Will.
Once everyone had gone home, Tig should have gone inside to work on her science project. And her worksheet for English. And her homework pages for math.
But she stayed with her drums until her mom called her in for supper.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Tuesday before the party, Claire was absent at school.
Tig tried not to panic, but her mind immediately jumped to catastrophe mode. What if Claire was sick?
She’d seemed a bit run-down at practice over the weekend, and even more so on Monday. Claire had still sung great, but she’d looked pale (even for her alabaster complexion) and had had to sit down between run-throughs.
Tig sneaked her phone out in the bathroom stall between first and second period and texted, U okay? Where R U?
Doc office, Claire replied.
???
Don’t know yet.
Tig grabbed Kyra’s arm in the hallway. “This is bad, this is bad, this is bad.”
“What?” Kyra said. “What’s wrong with you? Are you all right?”
“Maybe,” Tig replied. “Maybe I’m all right. For now. But Claire isn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Claire is, right this very minute, at the doctor’s office. She’s sick.”
“I’m sure she’ll live,” Kyra said. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”
Tig couldn’t believe her cousin. “Yes, I’m sure it’s not life-threatening, but need I remind you that your party is in three days? And that we have to play this party and sound at least halfway decent? We need Claire for that. Without Claire, we’re sunk!”
“Don’t get yourself all worked up. She’s probably fine.”
Maybe Kyra was right. Tig wanted her to be right. No, she needed her to be right.
But she doubted it.
Something inside told Tig that the gig situation was about to go from bad to worse.
As soon as school was out for the day and she could check her phone again, Tig found a text from Claire waiting for her:
Mono.
Needless to say, Claire wouldn’t make practice that day. Or any day before Kyra’s party.
Robbie had skipped many of the practices lately since a) she wasn’t playing the gig and b) she was so far ahead of Tig and Kyra in skill that they needed about half a dozen practices to catch up with her anyway. But since she would be leaving on Thursday for her great-grandmother’s party, she’d come to offer whatever help she could before she went out of town and left Tig and the others to falter.
“Maybe she’ll be well by Friday,” Kyra offered.
“It’s mono,” Tig said, burying her face in her hands. “Mono hangs on for, like, ever.”
“Or at least long enough to keep her from singing at the gig,” Robbie said. “You don’t suppose Claire got sick—you know, conveniently—so she would have an excuse not to perform at the party?”
“Of course not,” Tig said. “Claire wouldn’t do that. Besides, you saw her these past few days. She’s looked like microwaved death on a plate.”
“I’m just saying, her timing certainly is perfect if she doesn’t want Regan and Haley to know she’s in our band.”
“Maybe we should all get mono,” Tig said. “And with any luck, I’ll die a quick death from mine.”
“If you catch it, let me know,” Will said. “Maybe you can give it to me.”
“You’re just going to have to cancel,” Robbie said. “Musicians cancel shows all the time for illnesses and whatnot. It happens. Like, remember a couple of years ago when Rod Stewart was supposed to play the amphitheater? My mom and all her friends had tickets, and then he canceled because he needed ‘vocal rest’ or something. But they all understood and everybody moved on.”
“Yeah, but nobody went around saying that Rod Stewart canceled because he can’t really sing,” Tig said. “That was one show out of a zillion. He’s proven himself for decades. This is our first performance.”
“Technically, it isn’t Pandora’s Box’s first performance,” Robbie said. “Your aunt’s party was.”
“But that was just for old people,” Tig replied. “Nobody our age saw us. It might as well have not even happened. We can’t cancel. We have to show Regan we’re a real band.”
“Well, if you’re not going to cancel,” Robbie said, “one of you jokers has got to sing lead.”
They all looked at one another.
“Tell you what,” Tig said. “Let’s run through once without vocals; then we’ll make a decision.” Tig wanted to benefit from Robbie’s help with the musi
c before she worried about the singing.
They ran through the song once. When she could look up from what she was playing, Tig watched Robbie. The look on her face was a mixture of pity and pain.
“Is it as bad as I thought?” Tig asked when they were finished with the song.
“Only if you thought it was, like, bubonic plague bad,” Robbie said.
Tig cringed. “I was afraid of that. I’ve been telling myself it’s because I can’t hear it right because I’m back behind the drums.”
“Kyra, you’ve got to pick up some momentum on the chorus,” Robbie said. “And, Tig, you’re dragging, too. Will, let me show you a couple of things with the intro. You’ve got to stick it pretty hard there if you want to give the song the energy it needs.”
While Robbie worked with Will, Tig and Kyra worked on the bass and drums together. Then they ran through once more all together, but it wasn’t much better.
“Not much else you can do at this point but keep trying,” Robbie said. “If you can lay some strong vocals over it, that might help. Who’s game?”
Robbie “auditioned” all three girls by making them sing the lead a cappella. Olivia was too soprano; Kyra hit too many wrong notes; and Tig was passable but lacked the force and volume to really carry it.
“Will, let’s hear you,” Robbie said.
“Huh?”
“Let’s hear you on the vocals,” Robbie repeated. “Whatcha got?”
“Oh, no way,” Will said. “It’s all I can do to play the right notes on the guitar. I can’t do that and sing at the same time.”
“Will’s doing more than we should ask of him already,” Tig said.
“Thanks, Tig,” Will said.
“Besides, I’ve heard you sing, and you’re not that good.”
“Ouch!”
“Just saying . . . fifth-grade graduation when we sang ‘Climb Every Mountain’? It wasn’t pretty.”
“I can live with that,” said Will.
“Tig, it’s up to you, then,” Robbie said.
“Fine,” Tig said. “Mic me.”
Robbie set the audio up so Tig’s voice rang out over the drums.
“Telling anyone who will listen . . .” Tig sang.
