Drum Roll, Please

by Lisa Jenn Bigelow

  Toni joined her. “Oopsy-daisy. Somebody didn’t lace up her corner of the tent.”

  “Sure, let’s blame somebody who’s never been in the woods before, much less camped in the middle of freaking nowhere in a giant freaking canvas lunch sack. How was I supposed to know?” Olivia sounded close to tears.

  “Hey,” I said, “it wasn’t your fault. We’ll fix this, okay? What got wet?”

  Olivia grumpily poked around and discovered the only casualty was the end of her sleeping bag. She’d slept curled up, her knees tucked to her chest, so it wasn’t until this morning that she’d stretched her legs and her toes ended up in the cold, soggy spot.

  “Maybe there’s a dryer Poppy can put it in,” I said, faking confidence. “Anyway, I bet it’ll dry out by tonight.”

  We put on our rain ponchos and gathered in the fire circle to go to breakfast. It turned out several people had wet sleeping bags. “Not to worry. We’ll hang them up when the sun comes out,” Poppy said cheerfully.

  “Sure. When’ll that be?” Olivia muttered.

  “‘Tomorrow,’” Shauna said, breaking into song again, “‘tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow!’”

  “Gah,” Olivia said. “Enough, already!”

  “Buck up, women,” Blair said. “Camp doesn’t stop for rain. You’ve got band practice to go to. Everything but the beach and the meadow will be open all day. Regularly scheduled workshops will go on. And in the lodge—”

  “Movie Musical Marathon!” Shauna squealed.

  That explained the show tunes.

  “Much as it pains me, yes: Camp Rockaway’s traditional rainy-day Movie Musical Marathon. Bring your pillow to the lodge, and rot your brains as long as you like. Hot beverages will be available. We’ll be using the TV from the library, so anyone who set aside today to watch instructional videos and actually learn something useful, sorry, you’re out of luck.”

  “What’s showing?” Candace asked.

  “Camp Rock, naturally,” Blair said. “On repeat.”

  “I really, really hope she’s kidding,” said Olivia.

  I don’t know if our first staring practice helped David and me communicate any better. But the bandanna I’d tie-dyed sure did. It hadn’t completely dried by the time I picked it up after breakfast, but then, nothing was dry at this point. “Here,” I said, handing it to him as we stripped off our wet ponchos in Trolltunga. “This is for you.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I figured you’d need your bass strap for actually playing bass,” I said.

  A smile flickered across his face—what I could see of it, anyway. “Thanks.” He tied it around his head, his hair tucked behind his ears. I could see his whole smile then. It was nice.

  Donna said nothing but nodded approvingly. She didn’t stop practice once to tell us to focus and communicate. I guess we’d passed our first day’s homework. A few minutes before our session was supposed to end, though, she said, “People, we need to talk.”

  We all looked at each other. Our playing had drowned out the rain. Now I heard it tapping lightly on the roof, as well as the faint sound of drums and bass from the other cabins in the clearing. What was Donna going to say?

  “Jeez, it’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “We need to take stock and look ahead to next week. You have tomorrow off because of the field trip, which means you need to come back doubly focused on Monday. Who wants to remind me what’s one week from today?”

  “The final show,” Adeline said. “For all of camp, plus all our families.”

  “The four of you will be on stage in front of, quite literally, hundreds of people. Maybe you’re used to that. Maybe it’s your first time. Either way, you need to be ready.” Donna turned an evaluating, half-lidded stare on each of us. “We spent our first week getting used to playing together and starting to learn the music. Next week, we’ll solidify our relationship with each other, finish arranging and memorizing the songs on our set list, and work on stage skills.”

  “What’s even on our set list?” Caleb asked.

  “Brilliant question. Yes. What’s on your set list? That’s one of the things you will need to start discussing right now. You have ten minutes on that stage, counting plugging and unplugging. That can be three radio hits or one ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ It’s your call. You’ll also need to come up with a band name.”

  “What,” Adeline joked, “we can’t be anonymous?”

  “Knock yourselves out,” said Donna. “This is me, removing myself from the conversation in three, two—” She pointed her index fingers at us and backed out of the circle. She grabbed an issue of Vive Le Rock! out of her messenger bag and slid to the floor to read it.

  “So,” Adeline said.

  “So,” Caleb and I said.

  David looked at his feet. I got the feeling he wanted to take off the bandanna and let his hair cover his face again.

  “I think we should do ‘Pulse of the Maggots,’” Caleb said. “It rocks the hardest.”

  “It may rock,” Adeline said, “but we don’t. That’s our weakest. We barely know it!”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Caleb. “I’ve got that guitar solo nailed.”

  “It kills my voice every time. Not to mention I feel ridiculous playing acoustic on it.”

  “Don’t get mad at me because of your shortcomings.”

  “Please stop,” I said. “We’ve got other songs we can do.”

  “Like Taylor Swift. Great.” Caleb chirped, “‘I knew you were trouble . . .’” I waited for Donna to warn us about being respectful, but she ignored us. We were on our own.

  “Have you paid any attention to the lyrics of that song?” said Adeline. “It’s about how a dysfunctional relationship can completely destroy you. Think: the part about drowning. The part about lying on the cold, hard ground. Maybe it’s about love, but it isn’t lovey-dovey.”

  “Right,” Caleb said, rolling his eyes. “And that’s why girls—”

  “Caleb, wait,” I said. “I think Adeline’s right.”

  His eyes widened. He must not have expected me to have an opinion.

  “At first it sounds like just another happy pop song. But the lyrics are actually really angsty,” I said. “It’s like if you had, I don’t know, a piece of roadkill. You could wrap it up with a pretty bow, but it would still be a piece of roadkill.”

  Everyone stared at me like I’d teleported into Trolltunga from another planet. Then Caleb picked up his guitar. He started playing fast and hard. The song sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. David asked the question in everyone’s mind: “What is that?”

  “You don’t recognize it?” Caleb said. A wild, crooked smile came over his face, and the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. I laughed. Of everyone in the room, only Caleb had understood my roadkill metaphor. It figured.

  “What’s so funny?” said Adeline.

  “It’s still Taylor Swift,” I said. “He just changed the packaging.”

  “Gave it some improvements,” said Caleb.

  I wasn’t sure speeding up the song and adding a bunch of discordant licks and distortion were improvements. But it was different. Interesting. My bandmates stared in bewilderment and awe as Caleb snarled, “‘Trouble, trouble, trouble.’”

  “Hey,” Adeline said, “what if we did the same thing with ‘Enter Sandman’?”

  Caleb’s fingers literally screeched to a halt. “Uh, hello. It’s already a metal song.”

  “I mean taking it the opposite direction. Turning it into a pop song.”

  “No! If you want to mess with Metallica, do it on your own time. I refuse to be part of it.”

  “Okay, okay. But since it’s basically a creepy lullaby already—all that stuff about sleeping with one eye open and gripping your pillow tight—what about this?”

  Adeline picked up her guitar and began playing the chorus of “Enter Sandman” at a fraction of the usual tempo, keeping a light touch on the strings. She sang with none of th
e original’s rage. Instead her voice was a moan, a quaver, eerie and haunting. If Metallica’s version was a band of demons playing in your bedroom closet, Adeline’s was the trees scratching your bedroom windows in the middle of the night. It sent a shiver down my spine.

  “That sounded like ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’ sung by a dead person,” Caleb said.

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Adeline said smugly.

  “I like it,” I said. “David?”

  He nodded. “As long as we keep the bass line. I feel like I just got it.”

  “Of course,” said Adeline.

  “Fantastic,” Donna said, and we jumped. She rejoined our circle. “Sorry to cut you off, but we’re out of time. I liked what I heard. Listen, people. Remember one of your goals is to develop your sound as a group. This is a great beginning. Come back Monday ready to rock some new arrangements.”

  It was the most approval she’d given us all week. The four of us actually looked at each other and smiled. Adeline leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Melly? Caleb? David? We are going to kill it next week.”

  Seventeen

  The rain alternated between downpour and drizzle all morning, but it never stopped completely. My poncho didn’t cover much below the knees, so my shoes and socks got soaked all over again. After lunch, I pulled out a fresh pair of socks and discovered everything in my suitcase was clammy.

  “What do you think?” I asked Olivia. “Want to watch a movie after B-flat?”

  I’m not sure why I asked. She said exactly what I thought she’d say. “I was going to jam with Noel. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “When have I ever?”

  Olivia was too distracted to notice my sarcasm. “Thanks, Melly, you’re the best.”

  Was she even listening? What had happened to the Olivia who’d called me the second she heard my parents were getting divorced, who’d offered to come over so I wouldn’t be alone on the worst day of my life? What had happened to the friend and musical partner who’d begged Damon to put us in a band together? One week later, she barely seemed to remember I existed.

  Olivia or no Olivia, I was determined to have a good afternoon. Unfortunately, I was thinking in sunny day terms, when I could do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. David and I got staring practice out of the way quickly, but because of the rain, the stalls were swamped with campers. There wasn’t a stall with a drum set available until almost dinnertime. I should’ve signed up for one right after breakfast. I checked to see if there was a percussion workshop scheduled, but I was out of luck. There was nothing to look forward to but hours of rain—and a bunch of movies I didn’t want to watch.

  I hung in the back of the lodge long enough to get a cup of hot chocolate and see that the movie on TV was A Hard Day’s Night, a comedy starring the Beatles. They sang their way through ridiculous situations that would never happen to rock stars in real life. If I’d had a friend to watch it with, I might have found it funny. Instead, I was immediately bored.

  Where was Adeline? Not here in the lodge—I’d scanned the crowd and would’ve recognized her even in the dim light. I didn’t see Yasmina either. Maybe the two of them were hanging out somewhere together. Or maybe she’d nabbed a practice stall, even though she said she didn’t like them.

  I imagined wandering around in the rain looking for her, but that seemed sort of pathetic. What did I want from Adeline, anyway? Why was she the person, more than Shauna or Toni or even Olivia, my mind always seemed to turn to when I was feeling lonely or bored—and sometimes, too, when I wasn’t thinking of anything at all?

  Okay, she’d been nice to me. She was nice to everyone, except maybe Caleb, but I was pretty sure she was extra nice to me. She’d been there for me when I was ready to melt down. She’d seen me cry twice, for crying out loud, and hadn’t been scared off. But her being nice didn’t explain why I didn’t even have to close my eyes to conjure her bright brown eyes or her grin flashing with braces. It didn’t explain the rustling leaves in my stomach or my heart full of bees.

  The Beatles burst into “All My Loving,” and I shook my head.

  I turned from the TV, put my dripping poncho back on, and reentered the rain. It was barely sprinkling, the sky was lightening, and for a moment I was hopeful the lifeguards would reopen the beach. I could practice my diving, or maybe take out one of the little red kayaks. After all the new things I’d tried this week, I was sure I could manage one. But before I’d gone far there came another murmur of thunder. There went that idea.

  I was on my way back to the Fretboard, unsure where to go next, when I realized how stupid I’d been. I didn’t have to wonder where Adeline was. I could look for the pick with her name on it! I stood in the rain, getting soaked all over again as I searched.

  She wasn’t in the stalls or Treble Cliff. Not at the crafts cabin or the nature cabin, either. Then I caught a glimpse of “A-D-E,” and before I got to “L-I-N-E,” my wet, muddy shoes had sprouted wings. I flipped my pick and ran for the library.

  It was bigger than most of the other cabins. The front room housed instruments you could borrow and a wall of filing cabinets full of charts, organized by recording artist. There was a copy machine and a computer the counselors could use to download charts and recordings if they didn’t already have the one you wanted. On the corner of the desk were piles of staff paper and tab paper so you could write your own.

  The back room had bookcases full of books, videos, music, and the stereo equipment to play it on. Campers lounged on threadbare sofas and beanbag chairs. There was an empty spot in the corner, which I guessed was where the TV belonged.

  Adeline was nowhere to be seen.

  “Anything I can help you with?” a counselor asked, coming up behind me as I traced my fingers along the spines of the books. “Looking for a little inspiration?”

  I felt gross and wet and heavy all over again. I must have just missed Adeline. She must have been here until a couple of minutes ago, and somehow we’d crossed paths. Maybe there was more than one trail between here and the Fretboard. She could be anywhere by now.

  Go back and check her pick again, one part of me urged.

  No. You can’t chase her all over camp. That’s beyond sad. Get a life, Melly!

  “I guess I have cabin fever,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

  Armani—that was his name, I remembered—nodded. “I get it. You spend so much time cooped up at home, or at school. It doesn’t seem right for it to happen here, too. Tell you what. Why don’t you try the balcony?”

  “Balcony?” I pictured the library’s outside and realized that yes, it did have another story. But I hadn’t seen a balcony, only windows.

  “It’s in the back, facing into the trees. Not much of a view even on the best of days, unless you’re into bird-watching. But it’s a nice, quiet place to get some fresh air. We try not to advertise it to campers, since you have to cut through the attic, which is kind of a disaster area. But I can trust you not to shout it around, can’t I?”

  I nodded. Armani pointed to the door behind the staff desk. I grabbed a random book from the shelf to justify my presence in the library. It wasn’t until I was halfway up the stairs that I looked at the cover: Music Fundamentals and Functional Skills. Ugh.

  Upstairs, the roof slanted sharply on either side. The attic was crowded with boxes and filing cabinets, which I guessed were full of more charts. It smelled of old paper and wood. I crossed the room to the door at the far end. Watery gray-green light spilled through the window. Rain streamed endlessly from the eaves.

  But my whole field of vision lit up when I stepped onto the balcony and saw Adeline.

  She blinked up at me from the glider, a notebook open on her knees, pen in hand. “Hey. How did you find me?”

  I shook my head, almost too surprised to be happy. “I . . . I wasn’t looking for you. I mean, I was . . . but I gave up because I thought . . . and then I came up here to get some air.”

  “Wow,” Adeline sa
id. “Weird. Guess it was meant to be. Want to sit?”

  She gestured at the empty half of the glider. The only other seat was a mildewed deck chair. Adeline had draped her poncho over the back of it. I took off my poncho, too, and sat beside her. The glider squeaked each time it rocked forward and sighed each time it rocked back.

  Adeline eyed the book in my lap. “What, no more Sheila E.?”

  “She’s back in Treble Cliff.”

  “So you thought you’d go for a little light reading. How is it?”

  “Well, it’s . . .” I searched for an answer that wouldn’t make me sound like a dunce who didn’t even know what functional skills were. Then I remembered this was Adeline. She didn’t need a made-up answer. “I have no idea. I picked it up by accident. It looks like the most boring book ever written.”

  “I’m glad you said it,” Adeline said, “because I was sure thinking it.”

  We laughed and settled into a comfortable silence.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “The rain.”

  I didn’t answer right away. The truth was more complicated than a simple yes or no.

  She said, “Camp goes by so fast sometimes. When it rains, everything has to slow down. I get to think about the stuff that’s already happened. Catch my breath before it all starts again.”

  “I could do without the wet socks,” I said. “My feet are like giant prunes.”

  “Take them off. That’s what I did.”

  Sure enough, Adeline’s feet were bare, her brown toes flexing against the flaking green paint on the balcony. She’d tossed her shoes into the corner. I followed her example. My feet were pale and wrinkled.

  “Ugh. They look like they’ve been living underground,” I said. “Like naked mole rats.”

  “Poetic,” Adeline said, and I giggled.

  “Are you working on a song?” I asked.

  “Trying to.”

  “I’ll shut up. I’ll let you write.”

  “And you’ll read that horrible book?” Adeline said. We laughed again. “I’m ready for a break anyway. The notebook’s here in case I think of something absolutely ingenious to write.”