VIP: I'm With the Band

by Jen Calonita

  “How could you tell people I made up that escalator story?” Zander asked.

  “Why do you guys go crazy over this stuff?” Kyle chimed in, and then the three of them were throwing insults at each other and yelling, and Zander was threatening to walk out again, and I screamed, “STOP!”

  Zander sat right back down, and the three of them looked at me. They actually seemed frightened. Maybe I could channel my alter ego, Mac Attack, after all.

  “Thank you,” I said more calmly. I looked at Scarlet and Iris, who encouraged me to go on. Jilly appeared at my side. “The reason we lied to get you in the same room is we don’t want to see you guys break up.” None of them looked convinced. “You three belong together like Nutella and frozen bananas.” They still weren’t moved. “You’ve come so far. Do you really want to back out now?” No answer.

  Scarlet sighed. Iris looked teary. Jilly pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips, and I knew what she was thinking: We weren’t going to get anywhere. Briggs hadn’t. My mom hadn’t. We weren’t going to, either. And that made me mad.

  “You know what? Fine! Break up! See if we care. Another band will be along in five minutes to take your place.” For the first time they looked up at me. “You’ll never get a major album. You’ll never be on late-night TV. You’ll never headline your own tour. You can all go back to doing what you were doing before you became Perfect Storm, because Lemon Ade is not going to hire any of you to be her opening act on your own.”

  Okay, I didn’t know that for sure, but I needed to say something that would scare them. I thought of what alter-ego Mac would say (before she went off to fight crime) and decided to go with my gut.

  “Jilly has spent the last year on the road with you guys, and her dad has spent longer than that putting your group together,” I reminded them. “People have spent a lot of time and money on you three because they believe you can be stars. Now you’re all about to throw it away because of some stupid fight about Bubble Guppies and Tigger?” Kyle winced. “Scarlet, Iris, and I have loved you guys from the first time we heard you sing. We’ve spent hours tweeting you, liking your YouTube posts, requesting you on the radio, and telling everyone we know what a great band you are. There are thousands of other girls out there who adore you, too.” I looked at my friends. “Real friends know how to put each other first. You guys need to do the same in your group. Perfect Storm doesn’t work if you’re not all in it.”

  The room was quiet for a moment. Housekeeping actually knocked on the door.

  “Do not disturb,” Mikey G. said gruffly.

  The boys didn’t move. Heath played with his T-shirt. I noticed he wasn’t wearing his tattoo sleeves. Zander stared at the ceiling. Kyle looked pained. Iris was visibly teary. I guess the only one my speech had made an impact on was her.

  Then Heath turned to Zander. “Dude, no one is saying you should stop being the face of the band. The girls like your hair too much for that to happen.” Zander kind of smiled. “We’re just asking you to share the spotlight sometimes.”

  “You guys don’t get it,” Zander said. “All I have is my voice and my hair. Kyle writes and plays the guitar. You play the guitar and the drums. I’m just a puppet with a microphone.”

  “So what?” Heath said. “A lot of stars out there can’t do anything but sing.” He paused. “And you do so much more than that. If it weren’t for you, the band wouldn’t have half the followers we have. You’re a social-media god. The girls love you.”

  “That they do.” Zander winked at us. We all groaned.

  Heath and Zander looked at Kyle. “I didn’t have a problem with either of you wankers,” Kyle said, and the three of them laughed. “All I want to do is sing with you guys and write. I don’t care who sings the lead on my songs.”

  “I’m cool with that,” Zander said. “I guess I can give up the spotlight sometimes, too.”

  “And I won’t tease you guys so much,” Heath said, and fist-bumped them both.

  “So you guys promise not to fight over this silly PS contest?” Jilly asked, speaking in a voice she probably uses with her brother. “Let my dad pick the winner, and just stay out of it. Tell the label publicists you like all the entries—except that stupid Sabrina one. I mean, a poster for a school dance compared to a charity concert or building a house? Lame.”

  I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. The laugh came out all nervous and sounded like a sick sea lion. I could have sworn I saw Kyle look my way, but I pretended not to notice.

  “Deal,” they all agreed. Then they stood up and hugged.

  Jilly sounded chipper. “I’ll tell Daddy and Piper the good news. Perfect Storm is back!”

  “Were we ever really gone?” Kyle asked the other two as they started to leave. Mikey G. stopped blocking the door. “You guys want to go get some grub and talk tunes?”

  “Sounds good,” Heath said, and the three of them walked out.

  Jilly threw her arm around me. “You saved PS! Daddy is going to love you.”

  I watched the three boys disappear into the hallway. They were talking a mile a minute. “It was a group effort,” I told her, but secretly I was pretty pleased with myself.

  PS was going to make it another day, and I had had something to do with it!

  Wednesday, March 23

  LOCATION: Los Angeles, California

  I did not win a key to Los Angeles as Mac Attack did in my comic. I tried not to be disappointed. When Mom showed up, I asked her if anyone in the press had mentioned me single-handedly saving the band. She just laughed.

  “Mac,” she said, holding me close and stroking my hair like she did when I was little and there was a thunderstorm. We were sitting on the couch in our room while my friends continued to snooze. We had been up pretty late celebrating with ice cream again last night. “Rule number one about pop stars—the only person they ever credit is themselves.” I didn’t say anything. It was a bit of a bummer. “But don’t you worry—Briggs and I know what you and the girls did, and maybe someday they’ll write songs about you.” She winked. “In fact, I think one of them already did.”

  My cheeks flushed. Did Mom know I had a crush on Kyle? Or did she think I still liked Zander?

  Mom slapped her thigh. “I forgot to ask you. Did you see that a Sabrina from New York made the finalists? Is that your friend?”

  It was time to fess up. I told Mom how I had written Zander the poem and drawn the picture before I knew I had any chance of actually meeting him. I had used my middle name because I was afraid she would be mad that I was asking a boy to the dance (the no-dating-till-high-school thing). I’d had no idea we’d wind up on the road with Perfect Storm and my poster would wind up being chosen as a finalist in a PS contest. Now that I knew the guys, Zander felt more like a friend, Heath more like a brother, and… well, I left Kyle out of it. I started to get a bit hysterical and choked up at the end when I told Mom how I didn’t want the guys to know Sabrina was me. Mom listened without interrupting—her tour manager training made her good at that—and then she hugged me tighter.

  “One question: You’re sure you don’t want to go to your dance with Zander anymore?”

  I shook my head slowly. “Zander would make a fun brother—well, not as fun as Heath—but as far as a husband I could live on a Caribbean island with and sell my art? No. Way.”

  Mom laughed. “I knew you were a smart girl. And you’re right—there is no dating till high school. You’re way too young,” she said sharply, “but there is no reason why you can’t have an escort to your first middle school dance.”

  “Really?” I said softly. I had worried for nothing. My mom really was cool.

  “Is there someone you do want to go to the dance with?” Mom pried.

  Kyle. I wanted to go with Kyle.

  I wasn’t ready to admit that out loud yet.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Well, either way you’re in luck. Family members of personnel who work for the band are not allowed to en
ter the contest, so that means you’re off the hook. I’ll tell Briggs that I got a call from Sabrina’s mom, and she wants her daughter to pull out of the contest,” Mom said. “I’ll cite security reasons or something like that.” She patted my hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

  I hugged her. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Publicity has already spun a reason behind the band’s spat—lack of sleep, they were just joking, et cetera—and they prepared a press statement about them staying on Lemon Ade’s tour and announcing the contest winner on Z100. Things are looking up again.” Mom smiled. “Can you believe that soon we’ll be home for a few days? And just in time for your dance, too.”

  Home. Suddenly I missed it. My bed, my PS posters. Cody the dog barking next door. It would be good to be home for a few days. Wait. Just a few days? “You mean we’re going back out on tour?”

  Mom laughed. “Yes, we’re part of the band for the foreseeable future. Are you up for road life and tutoring with Krissy and the boys’ shenanigans?”

  “Definitely!” I jumped up and prepared to wake Iris and Scarlet. I felt a hundred pounds lighter, which would make me zero pounds, but that’s beside the point.

  “Oh, and Mac?” Mom’s voice was suddenly sterner. “Try to find a way to celebrate today without ordering another ice-cream sundae bar, okay? Room service adds up quick.”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay.” The truth was I didn’t need ice cream to be happy. I didn’t need to wake Iris and Scarlet at the moment, either. Let them sleep. I’d run and find Jilly for now.

  I rushed out of the room and ran smack into Kyle.

  I went down flat like a pancake.

  “Are you okay?” Kyle helped me up. I felt slightly stunned, and not just because Kyle had on jeans and a red hoodie and looked like a guy who belonged on a magazine cover (which I guess he was). “You are kind of klutzy.”

  “I am,” I said with a nervous laugh.

  “Well, I was coming to give you this.” Kyle held out a sheet of paper. “I’m sorry it’s taken forever for me to finish it. I’ve been a little sidetracked.”

  I looked down at the paper. “The Story of a Girl,” by Kyle Beyer. It was a song. A song Kyle wrote for me!

  “Don’t read it in front of me,” Kyle said quickly. “You’ll give me a serious case of the collywobbles.” I looked at him strangely. “You’ll make me nervous,” he translated.

  “Oh, okay,” I said, feeling very collywobbles myself.

  “Catch you later,” Kyle said, and began walking down the hall.

  Who was he kidding? There was no way I was waiting till he was gone to read the lyrics.

  “The Story of a Girl,” by Kyle Beyer

  See her standing there in her messed-up kicks,

  Looking like she’s got the whole world to fix,

  With a smile that feels like a million watts

  And a laugh that makes me want to rock.

  Oh!… She’s a superhero in training,

  I’ll be forever waiting.

  (Chorus)

  This is the story of a girl,

  A girl who makes you want to whirl,

  A girl who makes you feel like you’re miles from shore

  And you don’t want for anything more.

  This is the story of a girl.

  This song was about ME? Did Kyle maybe, sort of, possibly, kind of have a crush on me, too? If he did, then he’d definitely…

  “Kyle!” I yelled down the hall. When he didn’t turn right away, I ran after him.

  He turned around. “You read the lyrics already, didn’t you?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes, and there’s something I have to ask you.”

  Friday, April 15

  LOCATION: HOME! Long Island, New York, it’s a heck of a town!

  “How are you doing, Brookside Middle School!” the DJ yelled into his mic.

  He got a lackluster cheer in return. He was clearly no Lemon Ade or PS.

  Okay, sure, the school dance was held in the school gym, which still smelled slightly like twice-worn socks, the food was soggy heroes and bright red punch that could ruin your dress with one splash, and the decorations were some balloons and paper stars hanging from the basketball nets around the court, but to me it was the most beautiful gym in the world.

  Kyle Beyer had agreed to go to my middle school dance with me!

  Yep, I had been brave in that hotel hallway. I channeled my inner Mac Attack without a nail file or a velvet rope to climb down a building with and blurted out the words to Kyle that I had been holding in for so long:

  “Dance, me, go, school, with, music, tie, cute in suit?” The words came out garbled, and I laughed loud like a hyena.

  Kyle blinked.

  I tried again. “What I meant to say was, if you weren’t busy, and you were in New York when this was happening, would you, could you, maybe want to go to my school dance with me?”

  Kyle broke into a grin. “I’ve never been to a school dance before. Sounds brilliant.”

  And now, a few weeks later, here we were. No one dresses too fancy for these things, but Mom had still gotten me a new dress while we were on the road that was as blue as Captain America’s suit (I considered that good luck), and Kyle was wearing jeans with a suit jacket and a skinny tie because that was very pop star of him.

  “Do you think we ought to try to dance because we’re at a dance?” Kyle asked me. We had been standing on the side of the gym talking to fans and Iris, Scarlet, and Jilly since we arrived an hour earlier. Iris and Scarlet had decided the middle school date curse was a bunch of garbage and had instead gone solo—technically. They had brought Jilly, so really they were a trio.

  I laughed nervously. “Yeah, but this is a slow song.”

  “So?” Kyle said.

  Jilly, Iris, and Scarlet looked like they were trying to catch flies. I nearly bit my tongue. “Okay,” I said, and walked with him out to the middle of the dance floor. Mikey G. followed so people would give us some room. Kyle had quite the group of followers.

  Kyle ran a hand through his hair and sort of laughed. “Okay, I don’t have a clue what we do next! I’ve never really slow-danced with a girl before.”

  “Me neither,” I said, blushing. “I mean, maybe we just…” I placed Kyle’s hands around my waist. I put my hands on his shoulders and felt a little loopy. I’d seen people do this in movies, but this was awkward in real life! I giggled nervously as we started to sway.

  “Dance teacher, comic-book creator, and band-breakup stopper,” Kyle said. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mackenzie Lowell?”

  “Nope.” I was blushing so hard I couldn’t think of anything better to say, not when Kyle was this close and staring at me.

  “Did you hear we picked the contest winner on Z100 today?” Kyle asked.

  PS had been on the morning show with Elvis Duran that day. Mom said it was a huge hit (I, unfortunately, had to go to actual school, which was the downside of being back in New York for a few days). Apparently, some girl even fainted outside the studio and had to be taken away in an ambulance! This week alone Perfect Storm’s Twitter followers had topped one million, and their YouTube channel subscribers were even higher. Mom said it hadn’t been officially announced yet, but it looked like Perfect Storm was getting their own headlining tour, and guess who gets to go on the road with them for it? ME!

  “We’re going with the girl from Habitat for Humanity.”

  “I really liked that one,” I said. “That girl deserved to win.”

  “It’s a shame about that Sabrina entry, though,” Kyle said, and for some reason his face looked a little funny. “Too bad her mom made her pull out of the contest. Zander really wanted her to win so he could go to that dance with her. Her drawing of the group was aces, wasn’t it?”

  Did Kyle know I was Sabrina? Had he figured out I drew that picture? I could hear a swishing sound in my ears. Was that a new song playing or my heart thumping in my chest? I wasn’t going to tell Kyle if he wasn’t goi
ng to ask me. “Yeah, her drawing was aces,” I said carefully, stealing Kyle’s favorite phrase, “but maybe she decided she wanted her drawing to be aces for someone else.” I was starting to ramble. “Maybe she sent that poster in before she knew there was a contest. Before she knew enough about Perfect Storm to figure out who she really wanted to take to her school dance. Maybe she realized who she really liked was you.”

  I was breathing heavily. Kyle and I just looked at each other. We had stopped swaying and were just standing in the middle of the dance floor.

  “You think so?” Kyle asked quietly.

  “Maybe.” I felt my heartbeat slow down again. “People change their minds.”

  Kyle grinned. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Hey, you two!” Heath yelled from the stage. “Could you stop dancing so we could perform some songs? The natives are getting a little restless.”

  “Will you excuse me?” Kyle asked politely.

  “Of course,” I said, and watched Kyle run off to join the guys onstage.

  Yep. Perfect Storm had agreed to perform at the Brookside Middle School dance. Briggs thought it would be great with the local press, and publicity agreed. I think it also gave Mom an excuse to keep an eye on me, but at least she hadn’t come over and actually tried to dance with us yet.

  “What were you two just talking about?” Iris asked when she and Scarlet ran over. I heard Kyle tuning up his guitar onstage.

  “How are you doing, Brookside Middle School?” Zander shouted, and my classmates screamed (much louder than they had for the DJ).

  “He didn’t try to kiss you, did he?” Scarlet sounded frantic. “When he was standing so close like that, I was sure he was going to try to kiss you!”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t sure I even wanted Kyle to kiss me. Right now, at least. I mean, I was only twelve, and I had a comic book to finish and album covers to design and the rest of seventh grade to worry about. And Kyle was a soon-to-be international pop star.