by Ginger Rue
“You’ve got a little star quality happening, did you know that?” Tig said. “I think you’re actually starting to like being up on stage.”
“Like you said,” Claire replied, “why worry when you can enjoy?”
Tig agreed. She was looking forward to the gig too—and she was determined not to worry about what could go wrong.
Chapter Forty-Two
At Thursday’s practice, all the girls were on time, except for Kyra.
“I told her she could come late if she wanted,” Tig explained. “She’s performing just that one song, so all she has to do is run through ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ with us just to make sure she’s fresh on it for the gig.”
“That worked out nicely,” Robbie said. “I’m glad she was cool about it.”
“I think she’s come to grips with the fact that she’s not cut out to be a musician,” Tig said.
“It doesn’t hurt that she’s so into this Milo guy,” Olivia said. “Did you know that she’s started watching foreign films? With subtitles and everything? Milo’s a film buff.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” said Robbie. “Just float it away from the band.”
Tig laughed. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“I think you get my meaning anyway.”
Of course, they all knew what Robbie meant. Paris was a welcome change from Kyra on the bass. She practiced daily on her own and knew all the new songs for the gig. She was practically flawless.
After the girls had run through the set list once and were about to start the second run-through, Kyra showed up.
She wasn’t alone.
“Everybody, this is Milo,” Kyra said. A nice-looking dark-haired boy in a button-down shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots waved an awkward hello.
Tig was struck by the boots. Of all the things she’d heard about Milo—the brilliance in math, the philosophical conversations, the interest in foreign films—cowboy boots had just never entered her mind when she’d pictured him.
“Hi, Milo,” Tig said. The other girls also said hello.
Milo didn’t have much to say until after the girls, minus Paris and plus Kyra, played “Sweet Home Alabama.” Then he had a lot to say.
A lot a lot.
“Southern rock isn’t my preferred genre of music, of course . . .,” he began. “But one does have to admire this particular anthem, given its backstory.”
“What backstory?” Tig asked. That was a mistake.
“Didn’t you know?” Milo asked. “Of course you didn’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have asked.” Milo laughed. Tig hoped he was laughing at his lame joke instead of at her ignorance. Milo continued. “You see, this song was in response to a tune called ‘Southern Man’ by the artist Neil Young. Young, one might argue, being an artist of more subtlety and nuance, of course . . . but nevertheless, the Lynyrd Skynyrd fellows apparently took umbrage at Young’s critique of Southern society. Although I suppose that is actually debatable, as both the Skynyrd members and Young always maintained there was no real animosity between them. Nevertheless, this song was quite a clever riposte, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” Tig said. “I don’t know what a riposte is.”
Milo laughed. Again, Tig didn’t think he meant it insultingly. He seemed genuinely amused. “Forgive me!” he said. “Perhaps that’s not a readily familiar word.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Kyra. “I bet Robbie knows what it means. Don’t you, Robbie?”
“Well, yeah,” Robbie said.
“Tell us,” Kyra said.
“I don’t want to show off,” Robbie said. “You tell them, Milo.”
Again, Milo laughed. “It’s a fencing term,” he said. “A quick thrust following a lunge. Do any of you fence?”
“Um, no,” Tig said. “Do you?”
“Oh, indeed,” Milo said. “I enjoy it immensely. I must admit, though, I lack the hand-eye coordination and natural athletic prowess to be particularly good at it, but I do enjoy trying.” He then launched into a ten-minute explanation of the art of fencing and its history.
When the girls thought they could take not one more second of Milo’s tutorial, Robbie finally interrupted him. “That’s very interesting. But we have to get back to practice.”
“Yes, of course,” Milo said. “You must forgive me. I tend to prattle on at times.”
“You don’t prattle,” Kyra said. “We all thought that was really interesting, just like Robbie said!” Kyra’s goo-goo eyes showed that she was being completely honest. Claire and Tig looked at each other and stifled a laugh.
“I think we’re good on ‘Sweet Home,’” Tig said, almost afraid to mention the song title again for fear that Milo would remember something else about its history that he hadn’t shared. “Kyra, if you and Milo want to go in the house so you can talk, we understand. It’s hard to have a conversation over our playing.”
Kyra seized the opportunity to have Milo somewhat to herself, and took his arm as they left the studio. On her way out, she looked over her shoulder and gave the girls a big openmouthed smile as if to say, Isn’t he so great? The girls smiled and nodded in response, giving the thumbs-up or “okay” hand signals.
Once Kyra and Milo were inside the house, Robbie finally spoke. “Girls, this proves it.”
“Proves what?” Tig asked.
“It’s true what they say. There really is someone for everyone.”
The girls laughed. “When they first walked in, I was impressed,” Olivia said. “He’s kind of cute.”
“I thought so too,” said Claire.
“And then he started talking,” Tig said. The girls giggled. “Sorry. That was unkind.”
“But accurate,” said Robbie.
“Now y’all see what I meant about Milo,” Paris said. “He’s nice and real smart, but sometimes I just don’t believe his cornbread’s all the way done.”
“You have a lot of sayings about cornbread,” Robbie said.
“Hey,” Paris said. “Cornbread is life!”
“You’re making me hungry,” said Olivia.
Robbie smirked. “Shocker!”
“Back to Kyra,” Claire said. “The important thing is that Milo likes her and she likes him. Did you see the way he looked at her? He’s definitely smitten.”
“I wish Will looked at me that way,” Olivia said. “But he doesn’t. Do y’all think he likes someone else?”
All the girls groaned.
“Well, do you?” Olivia asked.
“‘For Your Love,’ from the top,” Tig said, counting off with her sticks.
She kicked the bass drum with a little more intensity than on the last run-through, wondering what girls who didn’t play the drums did to work out their frustrations.
Chapter Forty-Three
The night of BD’s class reunion came.
The girls set up at the country club about an hour before the guests arrived.
“Swanky digs,” Robbie said.
“Haven’t you been here before?” Tig asked. Lots of people had wedding receptions at the country club. Tig’s parents had dragged her to a few of them.
“Yeah,” said Robbie. “But playing here feels different than showing up for a holiday party some professor friend of my parents is hosting. Performing here feels way cool.”
“Performing anywhere feels pretty exciting to me,” said Paris.
“Oh yeah!” said Tig. “I almost forgot that this is Paris’s first gig!”
“I hope I don’t mess y’all up,” Paris said.
“Don’t even worry about that,” said Tig. “This is our first gig with an actual set list. Up until now, we’ve played one song and that’s it. We did that video last year for the university’s advertising students, and then we played a song at my aunt Kate’s surprise party.”
“And half a song at my birthday party,” said Kyra.
“That doesn’t count!” said Tig. “If we could all just stop talking about that, maybe I could forget i
t ever happened!”
The girls laughed.
“If we ever become famous, you know that video is going to go viral,” said Robbie. “I’m so glad I wasn’t there.”
“If you had been, it wouldn’t have gone down that way,” Tig said. “But hey, water under the bridge, ladies. Water. Under. The. Bridge.”
“Tig’s right,” said Olivia. “We don’t need to be thinking about our past disaster. We need to have our minds on tonight and blowing the crowd away!”
“Yes,” said Robbie. “By all means, let’s blow away a bunch of octogenarians.”
“They’re not in their eighties yet,” Tig said.
“Close enough,” said Robbie.
“I’m just glad to have an audience at all,” said Claire.
“Look at Shy Girl over here,” said Robbie. “Life outside the shell kind of rocks, huh?”
Claire blushed. “What can I say? I’m loosening up.”
“You got that right,” said Tig. She surveyed their stage outfits. She wore shorts and an eyelet top with wedges, but she had to make sure the heels weren’t so high that she couldn’t work the hi-hat and bass pedals. Claire wore a simple, long, black dress with white sneakers. Olivia had chosen a demure pink top with a lace collar and little bow but paired it with a sequined skirt. Robbie’s emerald-green silk jacket was paired with large dangling leather-and-metal earrings. Paris kept her clothes simple with a white, sleeveless shirt and jeans, keeping the focus on her high, tight ponytail and bright purple and blue eye shadow. Kyra, apparently deciding to make her last time onstage memorable, wore an embroidered strapless dress.
“Y’all, this is going to be a great night. Claire’s over her stage fright, Olivia’s got great keyboard arrangements, Robbie’s . . . well, still Robbie . . . and Paris, I’ve got to hand it to you, you are solid on the bass. “You’ve worked really hard, and it’s paid off. We are a pretty decent band, if I do say so myself.”
“Don’t forget our fearless leader and kick-butt drummer,” said Robbie.
Tig smiled and took a bow. Kyra cleared her throat.
“Oh, and let’s not forget our special guest performer,” Tig said. “Kyra . . . way to play ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’”
Kyra laughed. “Hey, it’s only taken me over a year to get it down.” Then she got serious. “But thanks for letting me play tonight. I know you kind of had no choice, but after the way I acted, I’m lucky y’all are even speaking to me. I want you all to know I realize now that I’m not a good bass player, and you were right to have Paris replace me.”
Tig suddenly felt guilty. “Kyra,” she said, “there’s something we should tell you.”
“What?” asked Kyra.
“I know you’re only fine with this because Regan told you to be,” Tig said. “But you should know that Regan talked to you about it because she was trying to do me a favor.”
“I know that,” said Kyra.
“You do?” asked Tig.
“Yeah,” said Kyra. “Trust me: I felt like an idiot for the way I’d acted before Regan said a word to me. I would’ve apologized anyway . . . eventually.”
“There’s one other thing,” said Tig.
“If it’s about Milo, I know about that, too,” said Kyra.
“You do?” said Paris.
“Of course,” said Kyra. “Right after I act like a jerk at band practice, you introduce me to this totally hot guy? I knew you were trying to get my mind off my parents’ divorce . . . and the band.”
“And you’re not mad?” asked Claire.
“Mad?” said Kyra. “If I’d known that all I had to do to be set up with a guy like Milo was be a brat, I’d have done it a long time ago! I should be a brat more often!”
“You’re sure you’re not mad?” Tig asked.
“No way!” said Kyra. “And Milo’s been great for me. He understood how I felt about not being good at music because he got cut from the football team. But look how amazing he is at so many other things! He kind of made me realize that not being talented at one thing doesn’t mean I’m worthless. And seriously, I have been so happy not having to think about the bass! I don’t know how y’all do it. Playing music is hard. You all seem to enjoy it so much, but I’m just not cut out for it. It felt like brain surgery. All those different notes and keys and chords . . . ugh! You can have it!”
“The band’s not the same without you, though,” Robbie said. Everyone stared at her in disbelief. “It’s way better now.” Robbie burst out laughing, and Kyra joined her.
“Shut up!” Kyra said, still laughing.
Soon the guests began to arrive, and before the girls knew it, BD was at Claire’s mic, introducing them. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Pandora’s Box!” The crowd responded with applause and cheers as the girls launched into “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.”
It was adorable, really, watching all those old people try to dance. Tig kept waiting for one of them to twist wrong and then scream out, Ahhh! My lumbago!, and for the paramedics to have to be called, but it never happened. Tig wasn’t really sure what lumbago actually was, but she’d heard the word in commercials for old people’s medicines, and figured it had something to do with aging.
One of the couples really knew how to cut a rug. Tig wasn’t sure what their dances were called, but the couple knew all the steps and put on a real show, especially on “Twist and Shout.” They did the sort of dance moves that had long since fallen out of fashion, with the partners matching each other step for step and the man twirling the lady every so often. Tig sort of wished she could dance like that; it looked fun.
When they got to “Sweet Home Alabama” and Kyra subbed in for Paris, Norman Allen shouted, “That’s my girl!” That song, along with all the others, was flawless. The girls kept getting more and more relaxed and playing even better with each song until before they knew it, their hour was up.
After their set was over, the girls hung around and had a glass of punch while taking in the scene. Old records played over the sound system, and the reunion crowd continued to dance. BD and Mimi sat at the table with Tig and the girls. There was a bar, and some of the old people were getting a little tipsy. It was kind of hilarious. One of the old men was making the rounds with the ladies, asking them to dance and putting his arm around them.
“Who’s that old guy who keeps macking on the women?” Tig asked her grandparents.
After Tig had defined the word macking, BD replied, “Oh, that’s Wayne Collins. He’s a widower. He’s been chasing the widows around all weekend. He hasn’t changed a bit. Girl crazy in high school, too.”
Tig wondered if people really stayed the same when they got older. She tried to picture herself and her friends. Would Robbie have a purple streak in her gray hair? Would Kyra still be following Regan and the Bots around? Would the Pandora’s Box girls still play together in a band?
As Tig was trying to picture herself on the drums as an old lady, Norman Allen approached their table. “Why, young’un, you’ve grown like a weed since I last saw you!” he said to Tig. Tig smiled politely as he told her what height she had been at their last encounter a few years ago. “Good thing you look like your grandmother instead of this old guy,” he said. BD laughed good-naturedly and agreed with him, but Tig thought it was kind of rude.
“I bet you didn’t know that your grandmother and I were sweethearts back in high school,” Mr. Allen said.
Tig pretended to be surprised. “Can’t say that I did.”
“Yes,” he said. He got closer, and Tig could smell that he had taken advantage of the bar. “She was pretty crazy about me, but so was this other one.” He squared his shoulders proudly and gestured toward the area where his wife was sitting. “Had to cut one of ’em loose. Ain’t that right, Donna?” he said to Tig’s grandmother.
“Of course, Norman,” she said. She and Tig’s grandfather looked at each other and grinned.
Mr. Allen laughed, slapped BD on the back, and stumbled back over to his wife, who, in
Tig’s mind, seemed way too good for him.
“Why’d you let him do that, Mimi?” Tig asked. “That’s not how it happened at all! You dumped him!”
Mimi waved her hand. “For heaven’s sake, that was fifty-something years ago. What difference does it make?”
“But it’s not true!” Tig said.
“Oh, honey, if Norman needs to believe all that to keep his dignity, who am I to take that away from him?”
Tig let her grandmother’s words sink in. Was that what it was like to be old? To not care anymore about what other people thought and said? To have the confidence to live your own life without feeling the need to change other people or set them straight?
Tig decided that, gray hair and wrinkles and lumbago aside, getting old must not be all that bad.
Chapter Forty-Four
“I was kind of expecting cash, but this is better,” Robbie said, holding up the check that night at Tig’s house.
“Three hundred and twenty-five dollars,” Tig said. “I’m glad it’s a check too. That way we can make color copies of it and frame them or put them in scrapbooks or something.”
“You have a scrapbook?” Claire asked.
“No,” Tig said. “But I might start one, just for this.”
“That was nice of them to give us a tip,” said Robbie.
“I think Kyra would agree with that,” said Claire. The girls had decided to give Kyra the extra twenty-five dollars, and she hadn’t refused. Even so, Kyra hadn’t come along with the rest of the girls to put equipment away at the studio. She’d gone home right after the gig so she could Internet chat with Milo.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want to stay over?” Tig asked.
“I appreciate the offer,” Paris said, “but I’ve got that 4-H show bright and early tomorrow morning. I think Betsy has a good chance at a blue ribbon. And Lola and Baby might place too. They’re all clipped, with a pretty little swish at the tail, and I trimmed their hooves yesterday.”
“You trimmed their hooves without me?” Robbie said.
Robbie’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Paris. “I couldn’t wait forever,” she replied. She lightly kicked Robbie behind one knee to throw her off-balance.
