by Ginger Rue
When the song was over, the girls stared at one another in silence for a moment. “Were we really just as good as I think we were?” Tig asked.
“Woo!” Robbie shouted, throwing a fist in the air. “It’s good to be back!”
Not to say that there weren’t a few kinks to work out. Kyra took pointers from Robbie without complaint, and they mic’d everyone but Tig to do backup vocals. Even as well as things were going, she was still a little spooked about trying to sing when the weight of keeping the tempo for the whole band rested on her shoulders. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of Kyra’s party. Better safe than sorry.
The next few run-throughs were even better. The vocal accompaniment on the chorus gave their cover more depth.
“We sound good!” Kyra said.
“I know,” Olivia agreed. “But it needs something.”
“Olivia’s right,” Tig said. “Technically, we’ve got this. I mean, sure, we’ve flubbed a few notes here and there, but for our first group practice, I’m beyond stoked. Another week and a half of practice and we’ll have it. But like Olivia said, something is missing.”
“What, Tig?” Claire asked. “What do we need?”
“Showmanship,” Tig said.
Robbie nodded.
“One more time from the top,” Tig said. “As soon as I set this up.” She went to the door of the studio and turned her phone to record, propping it up so she could video all of them at once. Then she made her way back behind her drum kit and counted off.
After the song was over, the girls crowded around Tig and watched the video. They looked wooden. Claire was gripping the microphone as if she were hanging on for dear life. Tig could barely be seen, but she knew a close-up would reveal her counting with her mouth as she played. Kyra and Olivia stood there like cutouts. The only one who seemed to be having any fun at all was Robbie, but even she seemed inhibited. “I don’t want to be the only one rocking out,” she said.
“Regan actually did us a favor today,” Tig told the girls.
“By insulting us and calling us losers?” Kyra asked.
“Yes, in fact,” Tig said. “Kyra and Robbie were making the same point about image. But when Regan said it, I guess it made me think about how harshly people judge a band based on things that have nothing to do with the music. I’ve been so worried about our sound that I hadn’t even given a second thought to how we look. Even though Regan was just trying to be mean, she was right when she said the only one of us who looks the part is Robbie. Y’all bring your wallets with you?”
They had.
“How much money do you have?” Tig asked.
Olivia had a collection of gift cards from her last birthday, and Claire and Kyra had three weeks’ worth of allowance apiece.
“Good. I’ve saved up a pretty good stash myself.
Let’s break for tonight and head to the mall,” Tig said.
“For what?” Olivia asked.
Tig smiled. “Operation rock star, baby!”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Tig’s mom dropped the girls off at the indoor mall, giving them firm instructions to stick together at all times and meet her at the entrance by the department store’s shoe department at nine p.m. on the dot.
“Come with me,” Tig said to her bandmates.
The girls followed her through the mall, stopping every few stores to try on clothes and accessories. Robbie found Kyra a white leather vest and cuff earrings with spikes and a stack of neon bracelets. “Do this with your hair,” Robbie told her as Kyra checked herself out in the mirror at the accessories store. Robbie pulled Kyra’s hair back into a big middle poof.
“Seriously?” Kyra asked.
“Do you want to look like a rock star or don’t you?”
“Okay, then,” Kyra said.
They finished off her look with leopard shorts, black tights, and ridiculously tall black suede wedges.
For Olivia, they decided on purple jeans and purple heels, a shiny charcoal gray top, and a black fake leather biker jacket.
“Two down,” Robbie said. “Two to go.”
Getting Claire to give up matching scarves and cardigans took some convincing, but they finally settled on a maroon A-line velvet miniskirt with black tights, a white blouse, and a black blazer. Robbie made it rock with combat boots.
“When in doubt, go with combat boots,” she said. “We’ll mess up that red hair a little bit and maybe go with a cat eye.”
“Oh my,” Claire said. “This is different, isn’t it?”
“Last but not least,” Robbie said to Tig. She took her arm and began pulling her toward a clothing store.
“First things first,” Tig said.
Tig took the girls to a salon.
“I am not cutting my hair!” Olivia said. “My tennis coach can’t make me, and neither can you!”
“No way,” Tig said. “Your hair’s so long, it’s already a statement. We’ll put a knit cap or a fedora on you or—I don’t know—maybe a cool headband, and you’ll be perfect. So you’ve got the long hair, Robbie’s is black and razored, Claire’s is red, and Kyra’s will be poofed. So the only one left without a look is mousy, little, shoulder-length me.”
“But I have a feeling that’s about to change,” Robbie said.
“You guys go grab some ice cream or something,” Tig said. “I’ll text you when I’m done.” Tig gave her name to the girl at the counter. There was no wait.
“But, Tig, your mom said for us to stick together,” Olivia said.
“Rock ‘n’ roll is all about rebellion,” Tig said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll text you.”
“Tig, these mall places are hit-or-miss,” Robbie said. “What if they don’t do a good job?”
“Then it’ll just look all the more rock ‘n’ roll, won’t it? Besides, I can’t afford anywhere fancy. I have a coupon for this place.”
Tig finally convinced her friends to head to the food court without her.
“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” she told them. “With any luck, you won’t even recognize me.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Two hours, three color processes, and one dramatic cut later, Tig was all done. She’d even had just enough time to stop in a shoe store on the way to meet the girls at the food court. They were still sitting outside the ice-cream place.
“What do you think?” Tig asked.
No one said anything for a full thirty seconds.
“Tig?” Kyra finally said. “Is that you?”
“I approve,” said Robbie. “One hundred percent.”
It was drastic, to say the least. The cut was angled so that it was shorter in the back and longer in the front, and one side was even a little longer than the other. The bottom was choppy, almost as if it had been cut with very large pinking shears. And the color . . . well, Tig was mousy no more. The roots were black, and black lowlights had been worked throughout, but most of her hair was peroxided to a white blond. Here and there, she had hot-pink highlights. To make herself almost unrecognizable, Tig had stopped by the accessories shop and picked up some fake glasses.
The oddest part about it?
Tig looked good.
“That actually really works for your skin tone,” Claire said. “I don’t know how, and I wouldn’t have ever imagined it, but it works.”
“You look . . . hot!” Olivia said.
“Really?” Tig asked. “Me? Hot?”
“Smokin’!” Kyra said.
“Kyra,” Tig said. “What do you think my mom’s going to say?”
“She’s probably going to kill you,” Kyra said. “But then, you knew that.”
“We’re about to find out,” Robbie said. “It’s almost nine. Better head out.”
When Tig’s mom pulled up in the van, her mouth dropped. “What did you do?”
“I got my hair did!” Tig said, trying to sound jovial. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve lost your mind! Let me see you!” Her mother turned T
ig toward the crummy lighting in the center of the van’s ceiling. “What is this?”
“You’ll get used to it, Mom,” Tig said.
“I don’t understand,” her mother replied. “Why?”
“Because, Mom,” Tig said, “I’m a rock star.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Tig’s dad stared at her so much as she sat at the breakfast table the next morning, he nearly burned the Belgian waffles.
“Tell me the truth,” he said. “Did you pierce anything?”
“No, Dad.”
“Promise? Not your belly button or—Let me see your tongue.”
“Dad,” Tig said. “I promise.”
“And no tattoos?”
Robbie scoffed. “Tattoos are so last year.”
“Well, at least there’s that,” her dad replied. “So, how does this work? Do you have to pick out clothes now that don’t clash with your hair?”
Tig hadn’t considered it. “I don’t know. Do I, Robbie?”
“Clash away,” Robbie said. “It’s all rock ’n’ roll.”
“I suppose there are worse things,” Tig’s dad said. “But when your grandmother sees you, I don’t know you.”
“Fair enough,” Tig said. “Hey, Dad . . .”
“Yes?”
Tig walked up to where he stood by the waffle iron and whispered so Robbie couldn’t hear. “It’s not really that bad, is it? I mean, do I look . . . ugly?”
Tig’s dad hugged her and kissed the top of her peroxided head. “You couldn’t be ugly if you tried,” he said. “You’d be pretty even with no hair at all. But don’t shave your head, okay? I don’t think your mother could take it.”
“You look so weird!” her little brother said when he came into the kitchen. “Are you a Power Ranger?”
“Yes,” Tig said. “Yes, I am.”
He ran to tell their sister the good news.
After the waffles, Tig and Robbie went back to Tig’s room to wake the other girls. “Tig!” Robbie said, stopping suddenly. “I just realized that we didn’t get an outfit for you last night.”
“Covered,” Tig said. She took Robbie to her closet, where she pulled out a black tutu with a hot pink hem. “I wore this in my last ballet recital, back in fifth grade,” she said. “I figure, we pair it with ripped black leggings and a black rocker tee and these beauties I picked up last night.” Tig pulled out of the shopping bag the combat boots she’d bought on her way to meet the girls at the food court. “Like you said, you can’t go wrong with combat boots.”
“These are spectacular,” Robbie said, running her hand along the faux leather. “You are coming along nicely.”
After the other girls had breakfast, the band practiced for a couple of hours before their parents picked them up. They sounded better and better with each run-through. Robbie worked on “choreography,” teaching Kyra to hold her head to the side and at one point to play with her back up against Robbie’s. Olivia could do only so much while playing the keyboard, but she worked on making a fierce face when she joined in to sing backup on the chorus. Claire took instruction on how to do a little hop of sorts before she began singing and how to put her arms up every now and then to get the crowd—not that there would be a real crowd, but still—pumped. She felt ridiculous, but Robbie told her she’d feel less so the more she practiced.
“Own the stage,” Robbie told them. “Own it.”
Since Tig was already moving both arms and legs as fast as possible, she worked on trying not to do an overbite, which she often did without realizing it. Maybe she’d work on learning how to twirl the sticks before or after the song—something to add a little flavor.
They watched a clip of the real band playing “Submission” to see if they could get any ideas, but Johnny Rotten, their lead singer, cussed a lot and ranted about British politics, so there wasn’t much they could use.
“We need to make it our own anyway,” Tig said. “How about every day next week we practice for one hour after school? I don’t think my mom will go for any more than that.”
The girls agreed. When practice was over, one by one, the girls said good-bye. Claire was the last to leave. As she got in the car, she said, “See you at school.”
Oh yeah. School.
Tig had been so focused on making the video, she forgot she had to go to school. With this new hair.
That should be interesting.
Chapter Fifty
Walking into the gym that Monday morning wasn’t easy. Of course people stared. But Tig noticed that no one laughed. At least there was that.
“That’s not helping,” Regan said when Tig walked by the Bot Spot. “What? Did you just decide to embrace the ugly? Go all the way with it?”
“No, I just wanted to see if I could look worse than you, but no matter what I try, it’s just not possible.” Something about the hair emboldened Tig. She felt now that she looked the part of the tough chick she wanted to be.
When it was time for class and everyone was packed in the hallways, Tig heard a man’s voice say, “Whoa!” and then an arm stretched out in front of her like a bar, forcing her to stop. It was Coach Cook.
“What is going on here?” Coach Cook wasn’t even her teacher. Was he going to hassle her?
“Just something new,” Tig said somewhat nervously. She lowered her voice. “See, I’m in this band—”
“You’re in a band?” Coach replied. “What do you play?”
“Drums,” Tig said.
“Cool.” He pointed to himself. “Guitar.”
“No way!”
“Way!” Coach Cook smiled. “My hair used to be down to here!” He drew an imaginary line with his finger across his bicep.
“Get out!”
“Hair is all part of the package,” Coach said. “I dig it. Rock on.”
Tig walked away, smiling. She almost ran straight into Will.
“Excuse me. Have we met?” Will asked. “You sort of look like a girl named Anti-gone.”
“Go ahead,” Tig said. “Take your shots about my hair.”
“And the glasses?”
“And the glasses.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I got nothing,” Will said. “I think you look great.”
Tig was so surprised, she barely knew what to say. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Will said. “But what else is new? I’ve always thought that.” Will gently nudged her toward the door of the computer lab, which was still locked, so that they were standing alone in a little nook while the sea of students flowed past. “I know I’ve given you a hard time sometimes . . . teased you about stuff . . . but it’s only because I think you’re fun to spar with.”
This was about to go somewhere. Tig could feel it.
She felt her heart flip a little at the way Will’s blue eyes shone when he smiled at her. She remembered how helpful he’d been about teaching her drum fills at lunch the past couple of months. She thought about how great he had been to crash and burn with them at Kyra’s party, how he’d continued to sit with them at lunch even when he could’ve easily blamed the whole mess on “girl musicians” and distanced himself from her and the rest of the band in order to hang on to some shred of dignity. But he hadn’t. He’d stuck by them. And now he was being sweet, somehow sensing that Tig’s whole self-image was at the moment tied into how people would react to her new hair, and he was making her feel good about herself. Because the bottom line was, Will Mason was a great guy. Total boyfriend material.
And Olivia had known it all along.
Tig had to make him understand how she felt.
“Remember what you said a while back, about how girl bands can’t work?” she asked.
“I didn’t mean that, Tig,” Will said. “I was just messing with you. Trying to get a rise out of you.”
“You said that girls couldn’t be true friends because they’re inherently suspicious of and jealous of one another. Always competing.”
“Tig, I was just—”
�
��You made a good point, Will,” Tig said. “Girls shouldn’t be like that. Friends should have their friends’ backs. And that’s why I want you to really consider how wonderful Olivia is.”
“Olivia?”
“Yes. It’s no secret how she feels about you,” Tig said. “Olivia is a terrific girl. And one of my best friends.”
“Oh. I think I get what you’re saying here.” Will looked at the floor.
“And I’m really glad you’re one of my best friends, too,” Tig said.
Will looked up. “I’ll always be your friend, Tig,” he said. “No matter what.”
“So you’ll think about Olivia?”
“I’ll work on that,” Will said. “Just as soon as I’m able to stop thinking about someone else.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Someone was definitely thinking about Olivia. But it wasn’t the someone Tig had in mind.
“My parents don’t want me to do the video,” Olivia announced at practice that day. “They don’t like the idea of their daughter performing a song by the S-e-x Pistols.”
“You do realize we can all spell, don’t you?” Robbie asked.
Olivia blushed. “Sorry. My mom won’t say that word in front of me. The whole thing makes her very nervous. She wants to know if we can pick another song.”
“But we can’t,” Tig said. “The ad team picked the song because it goes along with the theme of the submarine pants.”
“I told my mom that,” Olivia said. “She suggested we do the Beatles’ ‘Yellow Submarine’ instead.”
“The video is in four days!” Tig said. “We can’t learn a whole new song in four days!”
“I already have the sheet music,” Olivia said.
“Well,” Robbie said, “I can play almost the entire Beatles catalog.”
