Hard Rock

by Ginger Rue

  Tig agreed. And this time, she wasn’t faking anything.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tig may have been looking forward to the band’s next practice, but she wasn’t looking forward to that day’s tutoring session with Will.

  Or maybe she was. Which was the problem.

  She kept telling herself she was dreading it. But if she hadn’t been looking forward to spending that time with Will, alone in the library, then why had she spritzed perfume behind her ears that morning? And wondered when she did it if her gardeny smell would last all the way until after school? Most of the time, Tig never even wore perfume at all.

  When she got to the library after school, Will wasn’t there. Tig sat down at their usual table and took a deep breath. She thought about her perfume and whether it still lingered behind her ears, but since there was no way she could smell behind her own ears, she took a paper bookmark out of the novel she was reading and rubbed it back there a few times. Then she smelled the bookmark. Very faintly, she could still detect hints of pear and raspberry, plus some other scent she couldn’t quite name. What was it? Sort of a musky, kind of . . .

  “Why are you sniffing a bookmark?” Will said, standing behind her chair.

  “What?” Tig said, jumping in her seat and quickly stuffing the bookmark back between the novel’s pages.

  Will pulled out the chair beside her. “I asked why you were sniffing a bookmark.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tig said. “I was not sniffing a bookmark!”

  Will laughed. “You were so sniffing a bookmark,” he said. “Don’t lie. I saw you!”

  Tig blushed.

  “It’s okay,” Will said. “I know why you were doing it.”

  “You do?” she asked.

  “Well, I think I do, anyway,” Will said. “Is it because you love the smell of books? Because I can totally relate. I’ve always loved the smell of books.”

  “Me too!” Tig said. And she really did. She was just so surprised that Will did too that she kind of forgot what had started the conversation in the first place.

  “You know they have scented candles that smell like old books?” he asked. “My mom has one. She’s where I get my weirdness from, I guess.”

  “Do they really?” Tig said. “That’s cool!”

  “But I do have one question,” Will said. “If you like book smell, shouldn’t you have been sniffing the book itself instead of the bookmark?”

  “Oh,” Tig said. That was a good point. “See, what I was doing . . . is . . . I wanted to see if the bookmark smelled like the book . . . you know, from having been in the book all that time.”

  “That makes sense,” Will replied.

  “Yes,” Tig said. “Yes, it does.” Thank goodness. It suddenly dawned on Tig that she’d just told another couple of lies. Was this becoming a habit with her now? Funny how one lie bred so many more. All this had started with her lie about a bad algebra grade, and now here she was, lying about sniffing a bookmark. Weird how that worked. And I used to be a pretty decent, honest person, Tig thought. Didn’t I?

  “How do you feel about area?” Will asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tig said. “I guess I like it pretty well. It gets pretty crowded on McFarland Boulevard, though. That part kind of bugs me when my mom’s trying to get me to drum lessons on time.”

  Will laughed. “I didn’t mean how do you feel about the area; I meant how confident do you feel about area, as in measurement—area, surface area, volume?”

  “Oh!” Tig said. “I knew that. I was just messing with you.”

  “Sure you were,” Will said. They both grinned. While Will began showing Tig how to find the area of a rectangle—which of course she already knew how to do—Tig shivered. “You cold?” Will asked.

  “Aren’t you?” Tig replied. “What do they do in here, hang meat?”

  “You want my hoodie?” Will unzipped his jacket and began taking it off.

  “No, I couldn’t,” Tig said. “Then you’ll be cold.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Will said. “Here. Take it.” He placed the jacket around Tig’s shoulders. She slid her arms inside and wrapped the soft cotton around her. It was still warm from his skin, and it smelled faintly like a walk in the woods on a fall day.

  Tig took a deep breath. She drank in the scent and the warmth of the jacket.

  And then she promised herself she’d find a way to end these tutoring sessions for good.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Guess what,” Tig said to Olivia at Thursday’s practice.

  “What?” Olivia asked.

  “My algebra grade is back up,” Tig said. “I’ve got a B in there right now.” Of course, Tig had had a solid B all along, but Olivia didn’t need to know that.

  “That’s awesome!” Olivia said. “Will really is a great tutor!”

  “He must be,” Tig said. “I think I’ve really turned a corner. It all makes sense now.”

  “Yay!” Olivia said.

  “So Will’s off the hook,” Tig continued. “I won’t need any more tutoring.”

  Olivia said, “Tig, are you sure? If he’s helped you this much, then maybe you should stick with it. It’s obviously having an effect on you.”

  Oh, it’s having an effect on me all right, Tig wanted to say. But not the kind you want.

  “Nah,” Tig said. “I’m golden. Besides, I can devote that time to practicing my drums!”

  “If you say so,” Olivia said. “But I’m sure Will wouldn’t mind. . . .”

  “Not necessary,” Tig said. “So, that’s settled. Tutoring’s out; practice is in!”

  Robbie jumped in. “Practice,” she said. “Yes. I’m all for practice. Aren’t you, Kyra?”

  “Huh?” Kyra said.

  “I said I’m all for practice,” Robbie repeated. “How about you?”

  “Sure,” Kyra said. “Whatever.”

  But once they got started on the new song, it soon became apparent that Kyra had not been practicing any more than usual. Or maybe even at all.

  Olivia and Tig carried their parts. Paris more than handled the bass, and Robbie and Claire both killed it.

  Once again the weak link was Kyra.

  “You took that to a whole ’nother level this time,” Paris said to Robbie.

  “I saw someone on the Internet say that open tuning makes anybody sound like Keith Richards,” Robbie said. “I’ve been wanting to try it for a while but finally decided to go for it. I’ve tried it on a few songs now, tuning the third string down or sometimes an open D.” As Robbie showed Paris what that meant, Claire and Olivia chatted with each other about their parts as well. Only Tig and Kyra were silent.

  Tig’s frustration sat in her stomach like a rock. Kyra had sworn to her that she’d practice, and now here they were, once again. Had Kyra really practiced like she’d promised? Was she just that bad a musician? Tig didn’t know which to hope for. If it was just that Kyra wasn’t practicing, it meant that she’d been lying about working harder, and that made Tig mad. If it was a genuine lack of talent, that meant that no matter what Kyra did, she was just lousy, and that made Tig sad.

  “Overall, what did everybody think of that run-through?” Robbie asked.

  “Well,” Claire said, “I did feel like something was off somewhere. I’m not sure what.”

  Oh, you’re sure, Tig thought. We’re all sure. “Kyra, you’re still having some trouble,” Tig said. She might as well be the one to say it.

  “I don’t know what else y’all expect me to do,” Kyra said.

  “Play the song correctly?” Tig offered sarcastically. She almost felt bad after she’d said it. Maybe this really was the best Kyra could do. But Tig doubted it. She knew Kyra too well. Kyra probably hadn’t followed through at all on her promise to practice more. She had never been much on follow-through with anything.

  “Let me see if I can use an analogy that might be helpful,” Robbie said to Kyra. “Let’s say that the band is a b
ody. And the lead guitar and the rhythm guitar are the hands. And this body, by the way, is right-handed, okay? So then the lead guitar is the right hand, doing most of the work, but the rhythm guitar is the left hand. And without the left hand, it’s kind of hard for the right hand to accomplish much. If you tried to write something with your right hand, you’d still need your left hand to hold the paper in place. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  “It’s not that I don’t know what the rhythm guitar is supposed to do,” Kyra said. “It’s just that it’s a new instrument for me and I’m adjusting to it.”

  “You know what?” Robbie said. “You’re totally right. It’ll be better next week.”

  Tig was surprised that Robbie let Kyra off the hook so easily. Especially since Kyra’s argument didn’t hold a lot of weight, given that Paris was also playing a completely new instrument and seemed to have no trouble adjusting to it at all. Or since Kyra had had plenty of time to adjust to the bass but had still played it so poorly that Paris had taken over.

  “Thanks, y’all,” Kyra said. “I promise I’ll have it by next practice.”

  After everyone else had left, Tig launched into Kyra yet again. “I thought we agreed that you were going to work harder!” she said.

  “Calm down, Tig. We’re just a middle-school girl band,” Kyra said.

  “And with that attitude, that’s all we’ll ever be,” Tig replied. “Kyra, if we work hard, we could really do something with this band.”

  “Like what? Get a record deal?” Kyra laughed.

  “That’s exactly the kind of remark that makes me so frustrated with you,” Tig said. “You’re always talking about positive thinking, but that’s only when there’s no work involved. You can’t just wish your way through life, waiting for things to happen for you. You have to make them happen. And the only way to make things happen is through hard work. Don’t you get it?”

  “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll practice more,” Kyra said. But Tig could tell she so didn’t get it, and the whiny tone in Kyra’s voice made her even angrier.

  “You’d better,” Tig said. “Or you’ll be out.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kyra said. “You’re always threatening to kick me out of the band. You’re not going to kick me out of the band.”

  “As I’ve already tried to explain to you, Paris is totally ready to pounce on your spot.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t stand Paris. You wouldn’t give her my spot.”

  “Not if you start trying harder,” Tig said. “But, Kyra, I can’t do this for you. I can’t want this for you. You have to want it for yourself and then do what needs to be done to get it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kyra said. Tig resented the implication that she sounded like a mother.

  “As annoying as Paris is, I don’t have to lecture her about pulling her weight,” Tig said. “You’d better get your act together.”

  “I already said I would,” Kyra said. “Sheesh! How many times do I have to promise?”

  “Stop promising and start doing,” Tig said. “Then you won’t have to promise anymore.”

  Tig held out hope that maybe this time Kyra really would follow through.

  But the next practice was no better. Tig’s berating, begging, and encouraging hadn’t made the least impression. Not even the suggestion that Paris was edging her out seemed to faze Kyra. She was still all over the place on each run-through of the song.

  Kyra’s dad picked her up at 5:35, which was slightly late. But even so, Kyra was the first to leave.

  “Weird that all y’all’s moms are late today,” Tig said to the other girls after Kyra’s car pulled away.

  “It’s actually not that weird,” Robbie said. “I asked everyone to have their moms come at six today.”

  Tig’s eyebrows knitted together. “Everyone except Kyra?”

  “Everyone except Kyra,” Robbie said.

  Tig took a deep breath.

  She knew what was coming. She had seen it coming for months, like a train in the distance.

  And now that train was coming at her full speed, and there was no time to jump off the tracks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I don’t suppose we have to explain why we called this meeting . . .,” Robbie began.

  “Meeting?” said Tig. “Or ambush?”

  “Please don’t take it that way, Tig,” said Claire. “You know we all love Kyra.”

  “Totally,” said Olivia. “I mean, she’s one of the most thoughtful people I know.”

  “That’s true. Like when she gave us all a present for Saint Patrick’s Day,” Robbie said. “Those bags of green hard candies? Remember?” Tig remembered. That was so like Kyra. She loved giving gifts. If she could’ve figured out appropriate gifts for Presidents’ Day and Martin Luther King Day, she probably would’ve done presents for those, too.

  “And she’s always the first person to call if she thinks you’re upset,” said Claire. “She’s considerate; she’s a good listener. . . .”

  “She’s always had my back,” Tig said. “She always says we’re the Bennett Mafia. She’s never let anyone run me down if she’s around to stop it.” Tig felt guilty. Sure, Kyra could be super-annoying, but she’d always been there through thick and thin. How could Tig go along with this? Even if Kyra was bringing the whole band down?

  “She’s a great friend,” Claire said.

  “Just not a great bandmate,” Tig said.

  “If we’re being honest, no, she’s not,” Olivia said. “Come on, Tig. You know we’ve all tried.”

  “I do know,” Tig said. “And I appreciate it.”

  “Anyone else would’ve been gone a long time ago,” Robbie said. “We’ve kept Kyra around all this time because she’s your cousin and our friend.”

  “As long as we’re being honest, Robbie,” Tig said. “You know you kind of can’t stand her.”

  “Look,” said Robbie. “I know I’ve been harsh here and there. But honestly, it’s not that I dislike Kyra as a person. She can be a lot of fun sometimes. It’s just that I take my music very seriously, and it makes me angry when other people don’t. I fully admit that.”

  “I hate to state the obvious,” Tig said. “But y’all know Kyra doesn’t exactly have a wide circle of friends. We’re pretty much it. I mean, yeah, she likes telling people she’s in a band . . . a lot . . . but I think she also likes being in a band with us. Even if she’s terrible at music, the band makes her part of something.”

  “No one’s saying we freeze her out,” Robbie said. “She can still hang with us even if she’s not in the band.”

  Tig sighed. “What do you think about all this, Paris?”

  Paris put her hands up in a “don’t shoot” gesture. “Hey, this is between y’all,” she said. “It’s only my third practice. And I ain’t so hot a player myself yet.”

  “I just asked what you think,” Tig said. “Can’t you just give an opinion?”

  Paris sighed. “I don’t want to make anybody mad. Y’all’ve been real nice to me, and I know Kyra’s your cousin, but from what I can tell about being in a band, you can’t have a member who doesn’t pull her weight. That dog just ain’t gonna hunt.”

  “Dog?” Claire asked. “Hunt? Is this a colloquialism I’m not familiar with?”

  “Yeah,” Tig said. “It means it’s not going to work.”

  “Oh,” Claire said. “Charming.”

  Charming my foot, Tig thought. She was already irritated, and Paris’s homespun sayings weren’t helping. Seriously! How could Robbie stand her?

  “So what do y’all want me to do?” Tig said. “As if I had to ask.”

  “You know what you have to do,” Robbie said. “You’ve known for a long time, Tig. You just don’t want to do it.”

  “Dang right she doesn’t want to do it,” Paris said. “Shoot, kicking your own cousin out of the band? Kyra’s gonna be madder’n a hornet. I don’t blame Tig for not wanting to do it.”

  “But she will do it,” Ro
bbie said. “Won’t you, Tig?”

  Tig sat on the steps to the door of the studio and put her head in her hands. “Yes,” she said. It pained her to say it. But Robbie and the rest of the girls were right. Tig had tried every way she could to make Kyra practice, but nothing had worked. She’d even directed her anger at Robbie and Paris because it had been too hard to face how angry she was with her cousin. Sure, she didn’t like Paris, and maybe it had been Robbie’s plan all along to replace Kyra with her. But could Tig really blame Robbie? Something had to be done, and Tig hadn’t had the guts to do it. This had all been going on for far too long. “I’ll do it. I’ll tell her she’s out of the band.”

  “Is there any way we can help?” Olivia asked.

  “Do you want us to be there with you when you tell her?” said Claire.

  “I don’t know,” Tig said. “I mean, on the one hand, if we were all there, it might seem less like it was all my doing. But on the other hand, I don’t want her to feel ganged up on.”

  “You’re right,” Claire said. “But know this: we will all support you. When Kyra asks us about it, we won’t put the blame on you and say we had no idea. We’ve all got your back. Right, girls?”

  Everyone agreed.

  “Why don’t you sleep on it?” Robbie suggested.

  “Sure,” Tig said. “I bet I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”

  After the girls were picked up, Tig went inside.

  “Late practice today,” her mom said.

  “Yeah,” Tig said. “About that. . . .” She told her mom everything.

  “Whoa,” said her mother. “This is not good.”

  “Neither is Kyra’s playing,” Tig replied. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Tig’s mom called into the other room, “Dave, could you come in here for a second?” When her dad came into the room, Tig’s mom gave him a brief update about the band situation. Then she said, “We can’t keep it from her anymore. We’ve got to tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” Tig asked. “Y’all are scaring me.”

  “Let’s have a seat,” Mr. Ripley said. The younger kids were in the other part of the house, and the television was on. “They’re occupied,” he said to Tig’s mom.