by Ginger Rue
“She’s not that different.”
“Oh really?” Tig said. “Since when do you twirl a baton or milk goats?”
“Who cares? She’s her own person. She’s cool. Are we going to invite her to join the band?”
“She isn’t exactly a seasoned musician,” Tig replied.
“Neither were you when you started the band, and you’ve only been drumming for, like, a year. Paris doesn’t exactly shred the ax, but she has some basic knowledge of guitar.” Then she added, with a snide tone, “And she plays bass way better than your cousin after only ten minutes of instruction . . . so you know, there’s that.”
“Does every conversation have to circle back to Kyra?” Tig asked. “I know she’s a problem. I’m keenly aware, okay?”
“I’m just saying, I don’t think Paris is any more of a liability for Pandora’s Box than Kyra is.”
Tig sighed. “Probably not.”
“Does that mean we can ask her to join?”
“I think we need to ask the other girls, don’t you?”
“Sure, no problem. I don’t mind asking them.”
Tig hated the self-assuredness in Robbie’s voice because she knew that Robbie was certain Olivia and Claire would be on board with her. What was worse, she knew that Robbie was most likely right.
“Fine. We’ll bring it up at lunch.”
“I look forward to it.”
It wasn’t exactly a fight, but it marked the first time Robbie and Tig had ever had a weird tension between them. Tig didn’t like it. Robbie had always been the one person who got her, the one person who was always on the same page with her. Tig blamed Paris for this rift. But she also worried that if she continued to be negative about Paris, the rift with Robbie would only grow. As much as she disliked the idea of vying with Paris for the top spot on Robbie’s friends list, she didn’t want to lose Robbie as a friend altogether. Ugh. Of all the summer camps in the world, and of all the weeks to choose from each summer, why did Paris have to wind up at the same camp at the same time with Tig’s coolest friend? And why did Robbie even like Paris anyway? That was the part that Tig still couldn’t get her head around.
Later that day at the lunch table, Robbie wasted no time bringing up Paris to the other girls. “How much do you guys love Paris?” she asked.
“She’s a doll,” Olivia said.
“So sweet,” Claire agreed. “I used my new soap this morning. Feel the back of my hand. It’s like silk!” Everyone took turns touching Claire’s indeed silky hand. Even Tig had no choice but to grudgingly agree that its softness rivaled that of a baby’s butt.
“I think she’d be a great addition to the band,” Robbie said. “What do you say?”
“Sure,” Claire said.
“Sounds great,” said Olivia.
Kyra and Tig said nothing. Everyone looked at them. “Kyra? Tig?” Robbie asked.
“It’s Tig’s band,” Kyra said. “I think it should be her decision.”
Tig was torn between being glad Kyra wasn’t endorsing Paris and being mad that she left her to be the heavy. “I mean, she’s great and all,” Tig forced herself to say. “But she’s a novice and we barely know her. That’s all I’m saying.”
“As I pointed out to Tig earlier,” Robbie said, “Tig was a novice herself last year when she started the band. I say we give Paris a chance. Does anyone disagree with me?”
No one said anything.
“Then we have a consensus,” Robbie said. “Tig, is it okay with you if I give Paris the good news, or would you rather extend a personal invitation as the band’s leader?”
Tig forced a smile. “Oh, I’ll let you do the honors. Tell her we are all really excited to have her,” she lied.
She hoped Robbie couldn’t tell she was being fake.
“Hey, Tig,” Will cut in. “I need to talk to you about Tuesday’s tutoring.”
“Sure, what about it?” Tig said, strangely relieved. She’d been dreading their next tutoring session, but at least someone had changed the subject from Paris.
“My mom has a meeting out of town that afternoon,” Will said. “She wanted me to ask if your mom could drive me home after we finish.”
“Oh yeah, okay,” Tig said. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. I mean, it’s the least I can do, for all your help with algebra and everything.”
“So, Tig,” Olivia said, “tell the truth.”
Tig immediately turned red. “Tell the truth? Tell the truth about what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not hiding anything.”
Olivia laughed. “Boy, are you ever on edge!” she said. “I guess your algebra grade really does have you rattled! All I was going to say was: tell the truth. . . . Is my boyfriend the best tutor ever, or what?”
Tig laughed nervously. “Oh,” she said. “Right. I mean, yes. Will—your boyfriend—he’s just the best.”
Chapter Eleven
When Tuesday afternoon rolled back around, Tig found herself popping a mint before she went to the library. Then she inwardly chastised herself for having done so. It doesn’t matter if you have minty fresh breath because a) Will is not your boyfriend; he’s Olivia’s, and b) You’re going to sit so far away from him that you could gnaw on some garlic and he’d never know it, she told herself. And yet, somehow, her hands managed to find their way to her hair and fluff the roots before she went into the library and found Will at their table.
“Oh, hey!” Will said. His eyes sparkled so much and his voice sounded so . . . not exactly surprised—but maybe . . . unexpectedly pleased?—that it almost felt like a chance meeting instead of a scheduled one.
Tig put her backpack onto the chair opposite Will’s.
“Why’re you sitting over there?” Will asked.
“Why wouldn’t I sit over here?”
“No reason. I just kind of thought, you know, it might be easier to show you how to work problems if you sat on the same side as me, so you could see my paper and stuff.”
“Oh,” Tig said. “Right.” That was completely logical.
When Tig sat down next to Will, he asked, “Do you have any more mints?”
Tig blushed. So much for gnawing garlic. “Sure,” she said, handing him the roll of wintergreen breath mints.
“Ooh, I love these things,” Will said. “My favorite flavor.”
“Mine too,” Tig said.
“Did you know that if you sit in a dark closet and bite down on one of these with your mouth kind of open, you can see sparks fly?” Will asked.
“No way!”
“It’s true, I promise,” he said. “I’ll have to show you sometime.” Then he blushed. “Not that we’d be, like, together in a dark closet, but . . .”
Tig couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like you’re a kidnapper or something.” Will laughed too. Then Tig added, “And don’t worry. I’m not going to even ask what you were doing sitting in a dark closet with a roll of wintergreen mints when you made this interesting discovery.”
Will put his hand over his face. Then he said, “Don’t you keep up with your Internet mythology? I had no choice but to try it.”
They laughed a little bit more and then found themselves staring at each other in silence. Tig looked away and cleared her throat. “So, algebra . . .,” she said.
Tig allowed Will to teach her all about congruence, similarity, and transformations, even though she could have done the problems they worked in her sleep. Playing dumb was excruciating for Tig; she hated being the damsel in distress. But it was her stupid lie about not understanding algebra that had gotten her into this mess in the first place, so she had to go along. She was relieved to get her mom’s text message that she was waiting outside. “Time to go,” said Tig.
“I appreciate your mom giving me a lift home,” Will said.
“No problem,” Tig said. Thank goodness the van was so roomy. Tig wasn’t sure how much longer she could sit so close to Will and tell herself she felt nothing. As if the who
le pretending not to understand algebra hadn’t been torture enough.
When they got to the van, Tig’s mom had about a dozen shoe boxes sitting on the front passenger seat. Behind that, her little brother and little sister were surrounded by equipment from their soccer team, and behind them were bags upon bags of groceries. “Sorry, you two, but you’re going to have to crawl into the very back,” Mrs. Ripley said. “After I drop Will off, I’ve got to get these two to practice, then drop you and the groceries at the house while I run these shoes to the repair shop to get rubber taps put on the heels.” Mrs. Ripley let out a big breath and blew her bangs off her eyes.
First Tig, then Will, climbed into the very back two-seater bench. Will fastened his seat belt, but Tig couldn’t get hers to work. “Mom,” Tig said, “it’s doing that thing again.”
Mrs. Ripley sighed. “You know how that one sticks,” she said. “You just have to give it a good jerk and then it will catch.”
“I’ve given it a good jerk,” Tig said. “It’s busted.”
“Will, could you help her out, please?” Mrs. Ripley said.
“Sure,” Will said. He unfastened his seat belt and turned around to face Tig. Then he leaned over her, so close, they were almost touching, and began to tug on the top part of the seat belt that hung from the side of the van. “I think I almost got it,” he said. “Almost.” When he said the second almost, he made a sudden pulling movement, and his mouth brushed against Tig’s head. Even though her hair was covering it, and even though it was only for maybe a half second, she could feel Will’s bottom lip ever so slightly skim the top of her ear. She immediately flushed.
“Got it,” Will said.
“Oh, thank you, Will,” said Mrs. Ripley.
“Yeah, thanks,” said Tig.
Will smiled. He looked a little flushed himself. “My pleasure,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
At the next practice, Paris once again brought her rent-to-own guitar. “I wasn’t sure if y’all wanted me to do guitar or bass,” she said. “So I practiced both parts.”
The girls ran through “It’s Only Rock ’n Roll” twice—the first time with Kyra on bass and Paris on guitar, and the second time with Kyra on guitar and Paris on bass. Paris messed up a couple of times on both instruments, but not as much as Kyra.
“I guess it’s up to Kyra which one she wants to play,” Tig said.
“Why’s it up to Kyra?” asked Robbie.
“Seniority,” Tig replied. “Kyra’s been in the band longer.”
“She certainly has,” said Robbie. Her tone wasn’t lost on Tig. Without saying the words, her voice said, Kyra’s been in the band a full year and still stinks, whereas Paris just started and is already better than she is. So why are we rewarding Kyra for never practicing?
“I don’t care either way,” said Kyra.
That’s exactly the problem, Tig thought. She doesn’t care. If she cared, she’d practice and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
“In that case,” Robbie said, “I think we should let Paris choose.”
“Well, if Kyra’s sure she doesn’t mind,” Paris said.
“She just said she doesn’t care,” Robbie said. “So which instrument would you rather play on this song?”
“To be honest, I kind of enjoy the bass on this one,” Paris said.
“Works for me,” Robbie said. “Everybody okay with that?”
The girls agreed this was fine with them, and the rest of the practice went off without much trouble, except for when Kyra flubbed her eighth notes on rhythm guitar.
Kyra was the last one left with Tig after all the other girls had been picked up from practice.
“You see what she just did, don’t you?” Tig asked.
“What who just did?”
“Paris,” Tig replied. “She just stole your instrument.”
“She didn’t steal my instrument,” Kyra said. “I told her I didn’t care if she played bass on this song.”
“You really think that’s all it’s going to be—this one song? Kyra, how can you be so naïve?”
“What are you even talking about?”
“Don’t you see? Little Miss If It’s All Right with Kyra, I Just Love the Bass tricked you into swapping instruments with her!”
“I still don’t see how it’s a trick,” Kyra said.
“How could you not see it? Don’t tell me you’re taken in by her sugar-sweetness too? Mark my words: Paris knows exactly what she’s doing. Don’t you see it, Kyra? We don’t have to have a rhythm guitarist, but we do have to have a bass player. She takes over on bass and it’s hello, Paris, good-bye, Kyra.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kyra said. “Do you think Robbie put her up to it?”
The suggestion kicked Tig right in the stomach. She hadn’t considered that Robbie might have been the mastermind behind it. But now that Kyra said it, of course it made perfect sense. “Do you think so?” Tig asked.
“I hadn’t thought of it until now,” Kyra said. “I didn’t realize Paris was trying to take my place in the band, but now that you point it out . . . and it’s no secret that Robbie’s been wanting to get rid of me for some time. Do you think this was all Robbie’s plan? Do you think she brought Paris in to replace me?”
Tig hated to think so, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. Robbie had been growing increasingly frustrated with Kyra, and now that Kyra mentioned it, Paris’s “coincidental” shift to the bass didn’t seem so coincidental.
“Paris picked up that bass line in ten minutes last practice,” Tig recalled. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Either Paris really is a quick study, or Robbie had already been teaching her the bass part beforehand.”
Wow. Now that she’d said it out loud, Tig could hardly believe it. It was bad enough to think that Robbie liked Paris better than her, but the thought of Robbie conspiring with Paris to manipulate her way into the band almost made Tig sick.
Could the person Tig thought was her BFF actually be a snake in the grass?
“Call your folks and ask if you can stay for supper,” Tig said. “Let’s just hang out awhile.” All the frustration Tig had felt toward Kyra the past several months seemed to fade away for the moment. Feeling betrayed by Robbie made Tig want to cling to her cousin. “We’re not going to let them do this. Kyra, you’re going to have to start kicking butt on the bass. You can’t go down without a fight.”
“Oh, trust me. I won’t,” Kyra said.
Tig felt reinvigorated. “We started this band, and we’re going to show Paris and Robbie who’s in charge around here.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was awkward at school the next couple of days around Robbie. Tig tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, that she wasn’t aware of what Robbie was up to. But Robbie could always tell when Tig was upset.
“What is with you lately?” Robbie asked at lunch.
“Nothing,” Tig replied. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“For starters, you haven’t made a joke in two days, and you always make jokes,” Robbie said. “And you don’t initiate conversation. When I talk to you, you answer, but it’s like it’s the bare minimum to be polite or something, not like you’re really into it.”
“I don’t know,” Tig said. “I certainly didn’t realize I wasn’t acting like myself.”
“There it is again,” said Robbie.
“What?”
“That weird formality in the way you talk. Since when do you say ‘certainly’?”
Tig faked a laugh. “I think you’re imagining things.”
Robbie shrugged. “Whatever you say, Ripley.”
It was a relief when the other girls got to the table. “Tig,” Olivia said, “did you ask your mom if we could push practice back a half hour this Thursday? Coach says we won’t get back till five.”
“Yep,” Tig said. “She was fine with it.”
“That’s actually better for me,” Kyra said. “Mom’s
out of town, so Dad’s going to have to leave work a little early to get me there.”
“Is Paris going to make it?” Claire said to Robbie.
“Of course,” Robbie replied. “She wouldn’t miss it. She’s completely amped about it.” Robbie laughed. “See what I did there? Amped? Paris is amped? Get it? Our bass player is amped.”
Claire and Olivia laughed, so Tig and Kyra joined in, trying to sound genuine. Then Tig realized what she was laughing at.
“Did you just call Paris our bass player?” Tig asked. She tried to sound nonconfrontational, but she felt plenty confrontational.
“You know what I mean,” Robbie said. “She’s the bass player for the new song.”
“Oh,” said Tig coldly.
“Wait a minute,” Robbie said. “Is that what this is all about?”
“What what is all about?” Tig said.
“That’s why you’ve been acting so weird,” Robbie said. “You’re ticked that Paris’s playing bass on ‘It’s Only Rock ’n Roll.’”
“I’m not ticked about anything,” Tig lied. “I was just asking for clarification. That’s all.”
“You all were witnesses,” Robbie said, gesturing to Olivia and Claire. “Kyra said she didn’t care if Paris played bass on that song. Am I wrong?”
“That is what Kyra said,” Olivia replied.
“Do you mind, Kyra?” Claire asked. “Were you just being polite?”
“It’s fine,” Kyra said.
“See, Ripley?” Robbie said. “Kyra said it’s fine. Nobody’s taking anybody’s instrument, okay? Are we all cool?”
“Cool as the other side of the pillow,” Tig said.
“Awesome,” Robbie said. “Whew. That was starting to bug me.”
“And you’ll be glad to know that Kyra is determined to nail the rhythm guitar on the new song, so we should be humming right along come Thursday,” said Tig.
“Is that right?” Robbie said. “So, Kyra, you’ve been logging the ol’ practice hours, huh?”
“Totes,” Kyra said.
“Heck, yeah,” Robbie said. “I can hardly wait for Thursday!”
