by Andrea Pyros
Mortifying.
But I am actually okay on the drums, or at least I was when I was still playing. Not exactly good, and certainly not great. But I took lessons for a year after Girls! Rock! Camp! and I can still keep the beat. But then Brianna kept saying that my drumming lessons and practices were cutting in to our time to hang out together and that drums were a “boring instrument,” so I told my parents I was too busy with homework and I quit, even though I sort of didn’t want to—I didn’t think the drums were boring, and I knew Dad was bummed because he’d hoped I’d stick with it.
It had been way too long since I’d even seen a drumstick, let alone picked one up.
“Of course I remember you playing drums. ‘Enter Sandman!’” Dad made a shredding air guitar move, almost knocking over his computer. Did I mention the part about him having a beard and how his hair is going gray? I’m not sure air guitar is really right for him anymore, not that I’d ever tell him that.
“Right, well, some friends and I were talking about maybe forming a band to play at the talent show.”
“Hey, that sounds great. Anyone I know?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Well, I mean, you know Tiernan Albert.”
Did Dad know anyone I went to school with other than Brianna? Had I even invited anyone else over since, like, third grade?
Ugh. Talk about depressing.
“I always had a band going when I was your age. I loved it,” he said.
“You know, Shane, that’s one of the guys who wants to do something for the talent show, he said girl drummers are cool.”
“Women drummers are cool!” said Dad, super excited. “Meg White, Gina Schock, Moe Tucker.”
“Isn’t Moe a guy’s name?”
“This is a female Moe. Also Karen Carpenter, Sheila E., Debbi Peterson, Janet Weiss. I’m sure there are more recent names that I won’t know about because your old man is too old and out of the loop. What’s that band you all like? The Neon Knickers? Don’t they have a female on drums?”
Dad has a photographic memory. It’s amazing. He can look at a map once and never need to see it again. Greatest skill ever.
He started typing something on his computer and pulled up an old-looking music video. He pointed at it. “See?” I sat down on the couch next to him and squinted. The outfits were kind of crazy, but the drummer was awesome.
“That’s Sheila E.,” he said, nodding his head along with the music.
“I kind of feel weird about being in a band,” I said.
“Why? What’s wrong with playing music? You like music, right?”
“Yeah, I know, but like, is it too showy?”
“Showy? I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Dad did look confused.
“I don’t know. I just feel funny about it. Like I’m asking for attention.” I shrugged. I couldn’t quite even explain what I was feeling. Normally I just did stuff because Brianna was doing it and made me do it with her. I couldn’t think of the last thing I decided to do on my own.
No wonder I felt like a turtle without a shell.
Dad nodded. “Well, it’s always hard to start something new. You think about all the things that won’t work. Or that could go wrong. But it’s just music. If you don’t like playing together, you can stop. Are these nice kids?”
“Yeah, they’re totally nice, Dad. Actually, they’re all the ones who sit at the peanut-free table in the cafeteria.”
Dad didn’t intend to hurt my feelings when he asked, “What about Brianna? Won’t she be in the band too?”
But it did.
“She doesn’t like me anymore, Dad.” When I said “Dad,” my voice broke, and I started crying.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry, honey.” He put the computer down on the coffee table so he could pat me on the back, sort of awkwardly. “I’m sure that isn’t true.”
“No, it is.” I rubbed my eyes. “She doesn’t want to hang out with me at all anymore.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. It was the summer and she was in Italy and she saw Shelley there and now they’re best friends or something, and they act like I’m just the loser who follows them around.”
Dad didn’t say a word.
“And she won’t ever text me back and now they’re planning a party together,” I continued, still crying. “And they’re calling it ‘Sheliana’s Massive Halloween Party.’”
“Oh. That sounds awful,” he said, shaking his head back and forth, like someone died.
“It is!” I said.
“Sheliana is a thoroughly ridiculous name.” He said it very seriously, but I knew he was teasing me.
I cracked up a little through my tears and drippy nose. “It is sort of stupid.”
“I’m sorry, Nina. That sounds disappointing.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Have you tried to talk to Brianna?”
“Dad! I did, like twenty times!”
“Okay, okay. Good for you for trying. Sometimes things happen with friends and it’s hard to know why. I know how much Brianna means to you.”
“Not anymore,” I said.
“I’m sure that’s not the case.”
“It is! I hate her.” I rolled my eyes.
“Then go wail on the drums to get rid of all your righteous anger.” Dad pretended to do a drum solo.
He is a goof, but it made me smile.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I could try it once and if it’s the worst ever, I don’t have to go back.”
“Would you need to bring your kit to rehearse? Where are you guys thinking about doing this, anyway? School?”
“No, that new kid, Shane McCormick, says his dad has a studio in their house. They just moved here.”
“Wait, McCormick. Is his father Thomas McCormick? The Thomas McCormick?” Dad sounded all excited.
“Who?” I had no clue what he was talking about.
“Thomas McCormick. I heard a rumor that he moved up here this summer. He’s quite a well-known indie record producer. That’s incredible.” Dad looked impressed.
“I don’t know if that’s Shane’s dad. He said his dad had some music job. I’ll ask, but I’m not even sure if anyone will remember that we talked about this by tomorrow.”
They were probably all joking and they’ll drop the ball and never mention it again.
I could hope, couldn’t I?
Chapter 11
“Nina! Nina! Over here!” I heard my name being called the second I stepped in to the cafeteria the next day. I looked over to see Tiernan, Shane, Heidi, and Madison yelling and waving at me like it was some relay race and I was the person with the baton.
Not only could I hear them loud and clear, but so could everyone else in the building. As I walked past what felt like an endless row of tables, my head hanging low, I noticed Josh Ricci giving me one of his stupid smirks. I hate that guy. Mom always lectures, “Don’t say ‘hate,’” but you know, some people are just loathsome.
“Uh, hey,” I said quietly, when I got over to where Tiernan and everyone were sitting, blushing from all the attention. I’m more of a blend-in kind of girl.
“We’re talking about the talent show,” Madison said. She held up a piece of paper with a sketch on it of a big silver needle and an arm with a drop of bright red blood flying out of it. Over the picture were the words “The EpiPens” written in messy-ish lettering.
“This is if we want to make up a poster to promote us,” she continued. I forgot Madison was super artsy. Her mom, Leslie, teaches a lot of kids’ classes at our local craft store on stuff like knitting and origami. I used to beg my mom to let me take them when I was younger. I don’t really have the crafty gene though. When Leslie’s classes were over, I’d have a tiny, sloppy, off-kilter bookmark to show for my efforts and in the same time Madison would have made a cool scarf and matching gloves
that had the correct number of fingers.
“That’s really impressive, Madison,” I said. It was. The needle and the arm it was jabbing were really realistic and lifelike. It was hard to believe something that gross was drawn by the girl who wears rainbow-striped toe socks and the occasional pair of overalls to school.
I guess it’s like my grandma says, “You never know about people.”
Madison smiled at me. “Thanks!”
“It’s not very, um, attractive, is it?” said Heidi.
“Rock isn’t supposed to be pretty,” said Shane, all seriously, like he was giving a lecture.
“Guys, it’s all about the music,” Tiernan said, wildly waving his hands around, “AND THE MUSIC WILL BLOW THIS SCHOOL AWAY!!” The table next to us turned around in unison to stare. Heidi giggled.
It was unbelievable how gorgeous Heidi looked when she smiled. Maybe she wasn’t pouty, just shy, because I hadn’t caught her pouting once since I’d been sitting at her table. Also, she was, honestly, about a hundred times prettier than Shelley or any other girl I knew could ever be, but she didn’t seem to care, or even realize it. Maybe all the years sitting in the wilderness of the peanut-free table warped Heidi’s sense of reality.
“Can you guys come over after school tomorrow to practice?” Shane asked. “My dad said it’s fine, we can hang out in the basement. He isn’t having any bands over. I mean, other than us superstars, that is.”
We all looked at each other.
“Sure,” Tiernan said.
“Me too,” Heidi smiled. A world record!
“I think so,” Madison said. “I have to ask my mom because I’m supposed to help her teach her after-school beading class, but I bet she won’t mind if I skip it.”
Everyone turned to look at me.
I’d gotten amped about the band idea last night when I was with Dad. He’d gotten more gung-ho the longer we talked, and I couldn’t stop him from going in to the garage and digging through piles of old bicycles and dingy lawn junk he’s saving for a yard sale to get my equipment. He even helped me set it up in my bedroom and listened as I played—rustily—a few songs.
But now in the fluorescent cafeteria light of day, I was having a major internal debate: duck out before it could turn out to be a disaster, or go along with it because it was preferable to sitting home alone obsessing over my lack of a best friend?
“Uh,” I said, hesitating. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I have to go home to babysit my brother.” That was a lie. Jackson is allowed to be home alone in the afternoon by himself even after that time he turned on the oven to make Shrinky Dinks when no one else was around. My parents almost strangled him for that stunt. Too bad they didn’t.
Shane looked at me blankly, blinking once.
“Actually,” I added, in a big rush before I could stop myself, “I’m sure I can come too. Count me in.”
“Awesome,” Shane said. “Here, give me your cell phone.” He reached his hand out. It was all freckly. I had been wondering why Shane looked familiar. It was because he looked like a kid who should star in a movie about a kid who is always getting into trouble. I handed him my phone.
He typed quickly without even looking at the screen, talking to us the whole time. “Here—that’s my info. See you tomorrow.”
• • •
The next morning, I was already seated in homeroom when Shelley, Brianna, and Josh walked in together. Ethan was a few feet behind them. When Shelley noticed he was there, she started giggling like crazy and leaned back to purposely bump right into Ethan’s nicely tanned arm.
“Hey!” he yelled, rubbing his arm like it hurt, but he was smiling, not annoyed.
It reminded me of one of the questions from my love quiz: “If you casually touch him, how does he react?” It seemed like Ethan was more than just “intrigued” by Shelley. I didn’t realize he was even friendly with her! Gah!
“A-HEM,” said Mrs. Cook, staring at them. They took one look at her face and all raced for their seats, though I caught Shelley giving Ethan one last flirty look. Could she be any more obvious?
I felt really mad all of a sudden. Actually, not mad. Jealous. Of course the boy I thought was cute, the one I’d been thinking so much about, was the one Shelley liked too. Why couldn’t I get a crush on any other boy in the entire seventh grade? Why couldn’t she stop stealing all my people?
“Please look up to the bulletin board,” Mrs. Cook said, pointing toward the sheet of light green paper hanging up. We all turned dutifully in that direction. “It’s for the Halloween Talent Show. If you’re interested in being a part of it, you have until October fifteenth to sign up.” A few kids giggled, like it was some big joke.
Tiernan looked over at me and caught my eye. He lifted up his eyebrows, like he was asking a question. I put my face in my hands. Maybe this was a sign from the universe telling me something important about my life. I just wasn’t sure exactly what.
Thanks for the help, universe. You’re doing quite a job over here.
Chapter 12
Dad cheerfully—suspiciously cheerfully, if you ask me—drove me over to Shane’s house that afternoon. I think he was secretly trying to sneak a peek at Mr. McCormick’s studio. Jackson tagged along.
Shane’s house was huge and looked like a fancy barn. It was far back off the main road, on a bumpy dirt road with pebbles that kept dinging and popping up on our car. When we got to the front door, a man with a really giant beard answered. He looked like a lumberjack—he even had a flannel shirt on.
“Hi,” I said. “Is Shane home?”
“We’re inside!” I heard Shane yell.
“Um, bye,” I tried to duck inside but Dad tapped me on my shoulder.
“Hang on, honey,” he said. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dave Simmons. This is Nina, and my son Jackson.”
“Thomas McCormick,” said the lumberjack. “I’m Shane’s father.”
“Nina, why don’t you go through here,” Shane’s dad pointed to his left. “Then down to our basement. Shane and your other friends are all downstairs already.”
“Call me when you want me to pick you up!” Dad yelled as I walked off, then I heard him say, “So Nina says you just moved to the area.”
Sigh. I hoped he wasn’t going to try to talk to Shane’s dad about his job, or please, please, no, invite him to one of Thin Vitae’s shows.
I sped up, waving good-bye behind me without turning around, and followed the directions Shane’s dad gave me. The room I walked through had wood floors and huge windows that went from the very top of the high ceiling almost to the very bottom of the wall. It was bright even with no lights turned on.
“Shane?” I yelled when I got to an open door.
“Here!” he called back.
I walked down super-thick carpeted stairs. On the walls were framed photos of record albums I’d never heard of with little black and white signs on them. Thomas McCormick’s name was on all of them too. He seemed like a big deal, just like Dad had said.
Everyone else was already there. Tiernan, guitar strapped over his white turtleneck sweater; Madison, holding her flute and frowning; Heidi, sitting on the floor, her legs crossed, biting her fingernails; Shane, fiddling around with the knobs on a speaker. I sat down next to Heidi.
“How’s it going?” I whispered to her.
“Fine. Except Madison’s mad because Shane made fun of her idea of a flute solo.”
“Bands don’t do flute solos!” Shane said to Heidi while giving Madison a grumpy look.
“Why not? You can make any instrument sound rocky,” Madison said back to him.
“Rock-y? Whatever.” Shane turned to me. “Hey, Nina. Come check out the drum kit. It’s my Dad’s spare one.”
I went over and sat down at the drums, picking up a pair of drumsticks on the floor. The drum heads were brand-new, and when I trie
d them out, the sound was crisp and sharp. I got excited in spite of myself.
“Hey, this is a great set, Shane!” I said. He gave me the Shane head nod in reply.
“Maybe we should practice something we all know, to get warmed up,” Madison suggested.
“Like what?” Tiernan said. “We sang ‘This Land Is Your Land’ last year in music until it was coming out of our noses. Maybe that?”
“Uh, no,” said Shane, shaking his head. “Pass. And never speak of that song in my presence again.”
“‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’?” said Madison. “I definitely know my way around that one.”
“‘When Doves Cry’?” I suggested. “‘Rock Lobster’?” Madison looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about.
“‘Twist and Shout’?” said Heidi.
“Good one,” said Tiernan. “A classic.” We all nodded. And stood there. None of us did anything.
“Nina—count it off,” Shane said.
“Oh, yeah, right,” I said, half laughing, lifting up my sticks over my head. “I forgot about that. Okay, everybody.”
Click-click-click-click.
I’d had the fantasy in my head of us being incredible, of playing together as one from the get-go. Dad talks about bands that together were greater than any one of the individual members, who sounded destined to play only with each other.
The reality was nowhere close. We were…horrible. Ear-bruising. The only one of us who didn’t sound flat-out crazy bad was Heidi, who managed, against impossible odds, to actually keep a tune. Sort of.
“Hold it!” yelled Madison after about a minute. “Hold on!”
We all stopped. I could hardly have been the only person there grateful that she put an end to our misery.
