‘At the library?’ he checks, studying the poster. ‘Bridge Street Library?’
‘It needs to be off school premises,’ I explain. ‘So we can all relax and be ourselves without the teachers trying to get involved. It gives us a bit more freedom.’
‘Freedom … sure,’ he says. ‘And they won’t mind the noise?’
‘Noise? I don’t think that’ll be a problem,’ I say. ‘Miss Walker the librarian said we can use the meeting room. She’s cool with it.’
‘Great!’ he says. ‘We’ll liven the place up a bit, I guess!’
Marley is grinning at me, his face alight with enthusiasm. Those blue eyes flash with energy and, though I can see a darkness behind it, I find myself drawn in. Marley is clearly bad news, but the lost and lonely come in all guises and if he wants to come along to my misfits meeting, I am not about to argue. Let’s just say I’m starting to understand just what the Year Eight girls see in him.
‘I play guitar,’ Marley says, out of nowhere. ‘Electric-acoustic …’
‘OK … That’s nice,’ I answer politely.
‘How about you?’ he demands.
‘How about me, what?’
‘Musical instrument,’ he says. ‘What d’you play?’
‘Er … tambourine, maybe?’ I offer. ‘I’ve got one at home, but I’m actually not very musical …’
Marley rakes a hand through his tousled fringe and laughs. ‘Not musical? Ha! You’re cool, Lexie! I like your style!’
I think I might be blushing. It’s probably more of a pink glow than full-on tomato red, but still. Marley Hayes thinks I’m cool, and he likes my style. I think he’s joking, obviously, but a compliment is a compliment, right?
‘Why were you fighting just now?’ I manage to ask. ‘What happened?’
Marley tilts his chin. ‘No big deal,’ he tells me. ‘I was dating his sister until last week, but it didn’t work out. He wanted me to know he was not happy – well, I got the message. Sadly, he was bigger than me …’
‘One of the Year Elevens?’ I ask.
‘Exactly,’ Marley concedes, examining the footprint on his shirt. ‘Size elevens too, by the look of it. I seem to have a knack for finding trouble.’
‘You do,’ I agree. ‘That’s what everyone says, anyway.’
Marley frowns at me like he cannot work me out at all, and I bite my tongue hard so I don’t say anything else tactless or stupid. Talking to Mary Shelley is never this stressful.
‘Anyway,’ he is saying, ‘this group thing … great idea, Lexie. I’ll spread the word. Tell my friends. And my brother. He might be into it too.’ Marley pins the poster up on the noticeboard, in a much more obvious place than I’d put it before. ‘See you next Monday!’
He picks up his rucksack and walks away, whistling, only limping a little.
6
The Group
I tape the new sign on the meeting-room door then go inside to arrange the chairs in a circle. Miss Walker comes in with a jug of orange squash, her polka-dot 1950s dress swishing.
‘It’s a lovely idea, this,’ she says. ‘Good luck with it, Lexie. Just give me a shout if you need anything! When people start arriving, I’ll send them straight through …’
If people start arriving, I think. Suddenly, my bright idea seems a little less brilliant than it did, but I try to stay optimistic.
Happi and Bex arrive, Happi bringing fairy lights and home-made traybake. I set that out on a paper plate and plug in the fairy lights. Bex looks doubtful. She wrinkles her nose at the cake and the lights, but she won’t say anything to hurt Happi’s feelings. She won’t come right out and tell me she thinks the whole idea is stupid, either, even though I know she does.
‘Reckon anyone will come?’ she asks. ‘I mean … did anyone actually see your poster? You know what the Millford kids are like. And if they did see it, will they understand what it was actually about?’
‘Marley Hayes told me he’d come,’ I argue, ‘and bring his brother, Dylan. And mention it to his friends …’
‘The Bob Brothers?’ Bex scoffs. ‘Why would they come? Marley’s not a lost boy – he’s a liability! I think he was winding you up, Lexie … well, I hope he was!’
‘We’ll see, I guess,’ I answer, a little deflated.
‘Let’s be positive,’ Happi cuts in. ‘I mentioned it to Romy Thomas, that girl who sits on her own in the canteen. We’re in orchestra together. Plus, there’s a kid from school out there in the library right now … I bet you anything he’s here for this. He looked really nervous!’
‘OK … I’ll go and see!’
Out in the main library, I spot the boy Happi mentioned straight away – it’s the new kid in Year Eight, the scruffy, sandy-haired boy who hasn’t quite found his friendship group yet. He’s wearing a rumpled jacket and a faintly shifty look.
‘Are you here for the meeting?’ I ask.
‘No, no, just getting a few books,’ he mutters awkwardly, pulling the nearest hardback off the shelf in front of him. It’s called Surviving the Menopause, and when he spots this he flushes a kind of crimson colour. ‘Not this one,’ he says, stuffing it back on the shelf. ‘Obviously …’
‘Obviously,’ I agree. ‘You’re definitely not here for the Lost & Found meeting? It’s in that room over there. We’ve got cake. I mean, even if you’re not here for that, maybe you could just come in for a while? You’d be doing me a favour, really. I’m worried not many people will come.’
‘Well, I did see the poster,’ he admits with a shrug. ‘It looked … interesting. If I was into that sort of thing, I mean. Cake, you say?’
By five o’clock, my heart is in my boots. Apart from Happi, Bex and me, it looks like the only people attending the first meeting of the Lost & Found group are Romy Thomas, the loner girl who goes to orchestra with Happi, and Jake Cooke, the sandy-haired boy I dragged in from the library. Both are silent, gloomy, checking their mobiles and looking very uncomfortable.
‘Should we start?’ Happi asks, and when I mumble something about giving it five more minutes in case of latecomers Bex shoots me a pitying look.
I glance down at my list of ice-breaker questions to get things moving, but the questions look feeble and awkward in the cold light of day. My mouth is dry. I wish I’d never thought of this in the first place.
Suddenly there’s a rumble of raised voices and rattling, crashing, booming sounds in the library. I can hear Miss Walker squeaking something that sounds suspiciously like, ‘You can’t bring all that in here!’ but the noise gets louder and then the door bursts open and Marley Hayes strides in with a posse of kids at his heels.
‘Made it!’ he says, shaking the tousled fringe out of his eyes. ‘Not too late for the auditions, are we?’
‘Auditions?’ I echo.
And then I blink and swallow hard, because there has clearly been some kind of mistake. A mistake of epic proportions.
Marley is carrying an electric guitar. Two of the kids behind him are manhandling a full-sized drum kit, complete with cymbals and hi-hat, and behind that I’m sure I can see kids with a cello, a trumpet, a flute … and more. Much more.
The kids swarm into the meeting room, filling the space. The beautiful, popular girl with the sad eyes is there, carrying a ukelele. A tall, stringy boy in old-fashioned tortoiseshell glasses slides a bow across his cello. Marley’s brother, Dylan, sets up the drum kit and runs through an impressive and ear-splitting drum solo while half a dozen kids I have never seen before in my life sit down and start unpacking instruments and musical scores.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask Marley. ‘Who are all these people?’
Marley grins. ‘You know – the poster!’ he says. ‘I promised to spread the word, and I did! I told everyone I could think of with musical talent. I mean, I know you probably can’t take us all, but … well, we’re keen! Maybe you could give us a chance!’
I blink, baffled.
‘A chance at what?’ I ask.
Marley
rolls his eyes. ‘Well, the auditions, of course!’ he declares. ‘For the group. Like it said on the poster! What’s the name of it again? Oh yeah – the Lost & Found! Catchy!’
On the other side of the room, I see Bex hiding her head in her hands. From the way her shoulders are shaking, I can’t be sure if she’s laughing or crying, but I think it’s probably the former.
‘Um … I think there’s some mistake,’ I tell Marley. ‘The Lost & Found … it’s not that kind of group.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of group is it then?’ he wants to know. ‘More … folky? Yeah, I should have thought, you with your tambourine and all that. Well, we can adapt …’
I shake my head, and Marley’s eyes skim over Happi and Romy, both known for their violin skills. ‘Classical, maybe?’ he guesses, his eyes scanning onwards towards Bex. ‘Or … Death Metal? Thrash punk?’
I sigh. ‘It’s not a musical group at all, OK?’ I explain. ‘Not a band. Just a group. Of people. Meeting up every now and then.’
Marley stops in his tracks. ‘Not a band?’ he echoes. ‘But … the poster said … I was so sure …’
‘I told you I wasn’t musical,’ I remind him. ‘I meant it!’
‘I thought you were joking,’ he says, wide-eyed.
Dylan pulls the welcome poster off the meeting-room door and waves it at me. ‘This is painted on music paper,’ he argues. ‘It must be a band!’
Bex steps up beside me. ‘The one at school was painted on a map,’ she points out. ‘So what? This is not a hill-walking group, either. Aren’t you listening?’
Dylan frowns, and the rest of them seem equally crestfallen.
‘I don’t get it … what is this group for?’ Marley demands. ‘What does it do?’
I bite my lip. ‘It’s just … a group for anyone feeling a bit lost or out of their depth to meet up with other like-minded kids. That’s all.’
‘You just sit around … talking and eating cake?’ he checks.
‘What’s wrong with that?’
Marley looks sceptical. ‘So let’s get this straight … before we turned up, you had, what, you and four other people? Not much of a group is it?’
‘It’s a start,’ I argue.
‘Actually, I was just leaving,’ the sandy-haired boy mutters. ‘I have an urgent appointment. At the … um … dentist …’
‘I’d better be going too,’ Romy says, wiping cake crumbs from her lips. ‘Sorry, Happi, but a group where people sit around talking about gloomy stuff – well, it’s not for me. Anyhow, I told my mum I wouldn’t be long.’
Marley shakes his head. ‘You’re going to let her leave?’ he asks me. ‘This girl is seriously talented at the violin, and so is your mate Happi. I’ve heard them play. And you said yourself you play tambourine! Come on, Lexie. Face it. Your idea may have flopped, but fate sent you us instead. We all love music. We’re here to audition. Let us play!’
A cheer goes up from the newcomers, and the boy with the trumpet blows an ear-splitting fanfare. I spot Miss Walker’s anxious face peering through the glass panel of the door, her candy-pink beehive bobbing up and down. I refuse to catch her eye.
‘It’s not that kind of group,’ I repeat, hopeless now. ‘I’m sorry, but the Lost & Found is not a band. I don’t know anything at all about being in a band, or holding auditions. Sorry.’
Their smiles slide away into dismay.
‘Shame,’ Bex comments casually. ‘Marley’s right about one thing – would have been a cool name for a band.’
All eyes are on me suddenly, and the weight of their disappointment and disapproval is crushing. My patience, stretched to breaking point, finally snaps.
‘Oh, do what you like!’ I snap. ‘I don’t care any more! Whatever!’
Marley grins. ‘That’s settled then. We’re a band. Don’t worry, Lexie. You don’t have to do anything – we’ll run these auditions democratically. Everyone can have a go at playing or singing or whatever, and we can all vote for who we think is best! You stay right here, Miss Violin Girl, and you … aren’t you that new kid in Year Eight? We all know you don’t really have a dentist’s appointment, so sit down and help Lexie keep a record of who’s playing and what they’re good at!’
The sandy-haired boy sits down, grinning, and Romy just glows with pride. Everyone seems thrilled at the prospect of a Lost & Found group that involves guitars and tambourines instead of soul searching, which makes me feel a little sad. Although at least this way we still have a group, and it does include some of the kids I’ve been worrying about. And Marley himself, of course.
He winks at me, grinning, and I can feel my frosty glare begin to thaw a little.
7
The Lost & Found
Sami Tagara is just finishing a flute solo that makes my eyes prickle with tears when there is a polite knock on the meeting-room door and Miss Walker’s face peers in, nervous but smiling.
I jump to my feet. ‘Miss Walker!’ I exclaim. ‘I’m really sorry about the noise! We had a last-minute change of plan. The group has had a bit of a musical theme today. I hope we didn’t disturb you!’
‘It’s been very entertaining!’ she says, beaming. ‘Several of the regulars have commented. I’m more of a Buddy Holly fan myself, but I’m always open to new influences. I especially liked the cello piece!’
George Clark blushes a beetroot colour and tries to hide behind a curtain of mousy hair, while I thank my lucky stars that Miss Walker is an especially cool and open-minded kind of librarian.
‘I just wanted to let you know it’s almost seven,’ she says, and I blink because somehow two whole hours have flashed by without me even noticing. ‘I’ll need to lock up soon …’
Time has hurtled past in a blur of music, chat and chocolate traybakes. My misfits support group may be a non-starter, but its rapid evolution into a fledgling band has been nothing short of awesome.
‘Oh … sorry,’ I apologize again. ‘We were only supposed to be here till six, weren’t we? We got a bit carried away …’
‘Not a problem,’ the librarian insists. ‘We can easily change it to a two-hour slot. Will you be needing the room again next week?’
‘Er …’
‘Definitely,’ Marley cuts in. ‘Every Monday for the foreseeable future. Although two nights a week would be even better!’
I frown. ‘Unless the noise is going to be a problem?’
‘Not a bit,’ Miss Walker grins. ‘Libraries aren’t the silent, dusty places people imagine, you know. We have the Over-65s Bingo Club in here on a Tuesday afternoon, and they’re far rowdier than you lot! Now let me see … There’s a two-hour slot free on a Thursday evening; shall I pencil you in for that?’
‘Yes please!’ I say, and the door clicks shut again.
‘So,’ Marley says. ‘We have a lot of talent in this room … but do we have a band? How do we whittle things down to a manageable size? Free vote? Or a secret ballot – would that be better?’
I sigh. ‘I guess. It’s a shame we have to whittle it down, though. Like you say, there’s a lot of talent here.’
‘We didn’t even get to hear you play,’ Marley frowns. ‘Nor Happi, nor Romy. So the vote might not be all that fair … Happi and Romy are proper musos. Plus, the group was your idea, so you kind of have to be in it …’
Bex turns from stacking chairs. ‘Who says a band has to have four or five members anyway? Why not eight or nine or ten?’
‘Not practical,’ Marley argues. ‘Be a nightmare to organize. Bands just aren’t that big!’
‘Some are,’ Bex protests. ‘What about Arcade Fire? Or Gogol Bordello? Or So Solid Crew? When it works, it can be amazing.’
‘We’d be mad to turn people away,’ Dylan chips in. ‘We’ve got the most musically gifted kids in the school in this room right now. Why not work with it? See where it takes us?’
Marley shrugs. ‘Well, it’s your band,’ he says, his blue eyes holding mine. ‘What do you think, Lexie? Vote, or keep ever
yone?’
It’s a no-brainer, of course. The whole idea of the Lost & Found group was to bring people together, include anyone who wanted to be included. Maybe … just maybe … a band can do that even better than a support group. I glance down at my notebook. One thing’s for sure: no ice-breakers will be necessary.
‘Everybody’s in,’ I decide. ‘Like Marley said … maybe there were a few crossed wires over the poster, but it really is like fate has played a trick and thrown us together. The Lost & Found may be the most … unexpected group ever, but it’s going to be the best. I know it!’
A roar of approval erupts, finished off nicely by a euphoric trumpet blast, and Bex raises her paper cup of orange squash high in the air.
‘To the Lost & Found,’ she says. ‘The biggest and best and most awesomely brilliant band to come out of Millford. Well, the only band, actually. But still. To us!’
‘All eleven of us,’ Marley chimes in.
‘Twelve,’ I say, winking at Jake Cooke. ‘To us!’
8
I’m With the Band
Overnight, our friendship group widens. Instead of sitting in our usual huddle of three at lunchtime, we are joined by Jake Cooke, Sasha Kaminski and Romy Thomas. It’s a little awkward, but everyone smiles a lot and at least we have something to talk about. The rest of the canteen seem kind of curious too, judging by the looks and whispers we’re getting.
Jake says he’s willing to help with anything – ideas, sound, tech stuff, whatever. ‘I just want to be useful!’ he says.
Sasha wants to know what type of music we’ll be playing, and whether I’ve thought about band identity and styling. I tell her I haven’t, and scribble a note in my jotter to think about those things. It’s all a little bit overwhelming.
Romy just wants somewhere to sit that isn’t in the corner all alone, and I feel guilty that I hadn’t thought of inviting her to hang out with us before. She looks so obviously lost.
A hard-faced girl with a mouth full of chewing gum stops at our table. ‘Are you Lexie?’ she asks me. ‘You’re with the band, right? Marley said I should speak to you.’
Love from Lexie Page 3
