Generation Misfits

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  No, that’s your dream, Millie wanted to shout.

  She picked up her flute off her bed, pressing her fingers against the keys anxiously. “I need to practice. And I still have homework to do.”

  Scott smiled. “Okay. Dinner’s in an hour, all right?”

  When he closed the door, Millie held her flute to her lips but couldn’t stop shaking long enough to take a breath. She could barely remember a time when she didn’t hate the flute, though she knew it existed somewhere in her memory. Flute used to be fun—before her parents got ahold of it and replaced fun with pressure. Now she felt like she was a failure for anything other than perfection. And she hated that part the most—that they’d taken something she liked and turned it into darkness.

  When Millie was sure her dad’s footsteps were far enough away, she set her flute on her bed, pulled the flyer from beneath the textbook, and got back to work on something that replaced that darkness with light.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Zuki was already sitting at the lunch table when Millie arrived in the cafeteria. She pulled the straps of her backpack anxiously before wading through the crowd and letting herself flop into one of the empty chairs beside her friend.

  She’d been sent on a mission and she’d failed miserably.

  Zuki looked up, wide-eyed. “I’m out of flyers. Are you out of flyers? I think I put too many in the Science hall. Not to stereotype, but I feel like the Science hall isn’t the best place to waste our resources. I put six up near the choir rooms, but I totally forgot about the dance lockers. Dance majors love auditions, right? But I need more flyers. Do you have any? Did I ask that?” Her laughter hiccupped like her words were moving too fast for her to handle. “I’m so excited I can hardly think!”

  Millie forced a grim smile before unzipping her bag and revealing the stack of flyers she still hadn’t put up. She’d wanted to. But every time she found a good spot it felt like there were a hundred people around. And even though logically she knew she wasn’t doing anything wrong, the fear that she might be was overwhelming.

  “I tried, but—” Millie clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t know how to explain such an irrational fear. Especially when Zuki was so unafraid in comparison. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m better at making flyers than sharing them.”

  She could see Zuki’s brain going into overdrive. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes were tick-tocking back and forth like an erratic clock. Millie braced for disappointment, but a few seconds later, Zuki’s smile reappeared.

  “Don’t worry about it! I need more flyers anyway. We can hang these ones together after school, if you want?” she offered, scooping up the papers and tucking them into her own binder.

  Millie made a face. “I have a flute lesson after school.” She decided to leave out the part where her parents would never let her stay after school to hang up flyers. To them, it would be as silly as standing in a three-hour line just to try something like a cronut or brown sugar boba tea—a complete waste of time. They didn’t understand trends or hobbies.

  Music didn’t count as a hobby, though. To Jane and Scott Nakakura, music was as necessary as oxygen.

  To Millie, hobbies weren’t supposed to be necessary; they were supposed to be fun.

  “That’s okay,” Zuki said, undeterred. “I can do it myself. But you can come to the auditions, right? I don’t want to judge on my own. I need your help!”

  “As long as it’s during the J-Club meeting, I can definitely be there,” Millie said. “But … do you really think people will turn up?”

  “For sure! These flyers look amazing,” Zuki said enthusiastically.

  Millie couldn’t help but feel a little proud. It was nice to be good at something—especially something Millie wanted to be good at.

  “Just think.” Zuki’s gaze danced around the cafeteria. “On Thursday, some of the people in this room might be in our club. In our band. How cool is that?”

  Millie wished she had Zuki’s impenetrable excitement. Sometimes Millie was afraid to be really happy, just in case it got taken away from her. But Zuki was never afraid to feel joy. She wasn’t afraid to shine.

  They still hadn’t talked about why Zuki had disappeared for a whole weekend, but maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Because Millie had her friend back.

  And next Thursday, the rest of the school would finally get to see how special Zuki was, too.

  * * *

  Millie and Zuki turned up prepared, ten minutes early, with notebooks and pens in case they wanted to jot down notes. They pushed all the chairs to the side of the orchestra room to make an audition space and made sure their backpacks were hidden beside the instrument lockers. (Zuki said it would look more professional if they didn’t have their bags out.)

  And then they waited. And waited. And waited.

  As the minutes passed, their giddy excitement disappeared, replaced by something horribly uncomfortable. Millie could feel it in the pit of her stomach, like a monster made of darkness that vacuumed up all the light around it. It made her jittery and squeamish, and when she looked up at the clock for what felt like the millionth time, she realized there were only a few more minutes left before the late bell would ring.

  It had been over an hour. Nobody had turned up for the J-Club auditions. Not a single person in the entire school.

  Millie was disappointed, but she was more worried about Zuki. She’d made the flyers, but this was Zuki’s idea. Her brainchild. And Millie knew how precious ideas could be, and how awful it was when they didn’t go to plan.

  Zuki continued to stare at the door, completely unreadable.

  Millie’s shoulders sank. At least they could share the burden of rejection together, though something told her Zuki would take it much harder. And a bigger part of her worried Zuki might fall off the radar again and forget to be her friend.

  Millie opened her mouth to point out the time but stopped short when the door was yanked open abruptly.

  Startled, Millie looked up and found Luna Acevedo standing in the doorway. Her curly hair was pinned up in a tight, constricting bun, and she was wearing a turquoise dance leotard and a pair of baggy sweatpants.

  “I’m so sorry,” Luna said, her breathing uneven. “Our dance rehearsal ran late—I got here as fast as I could.” When neither Millie or Zuki responded, she frowned, reached into the bag hanging from her left shoulder, and pulled out one of the flyers. “Am I in the wrong place? For the J-Club audition?”

  Millie blinked. Luna Acevedo, one of the most popular girls in school, listened to J-Pop?

  She glanced at Zuki, who looked as if a bolt of electricity had just gone through her. Zuki sat up straight, placed her elbows on the table in front of her, and flashed a welcoming smile.

  “That’s right. Did you bring your own music?” Zuki’s voice was melodic and steady, like she’d sat through a hundred auditions in the past hour and this was just more of the same.

  Millie didn’t know how to do that—how to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t.

  Luna smiled briefly and stuffed the flyer back into her bag. “I hope it’s okay if I play the music off my phone.”

  Zuki nodded patiently, an air of maturity in her posture. Millie felt like a wilted daisy next to a blossoming rose. She’d had no idea Zuki was such a good actor.

  Luna made her way to the side of the room to set up her phone. “Do you want me to introduce myself first, or should I just start?”

  Zuki hesitated and there was a slight crack in her composure as she reached for the notebook and pen beside her. She flipped to a new blank page for no reason other than to make it seem like the last one was full. “What’s your name?”

  Millie’s cheeks turned red. Zuki had a good poker face, but was she taking it too far? Why on earth was she pretending not to know who Luna Acevedo was?

  But if Luna thought it was strange, she didn’t react. “My name is Luna Acevedo. I’m a dance major, and I’m in sixth grade.” She folded her hands in front of her.
“I’ll be performing to ‘Sugar Pop’ by Generation Love.”

  Millie’s mouth fell open involuntarily. It was one of her favorite songs. Even Zuki’s eyes widened—but whether from alarm or excitement, it was hard to tell. Not when she was being so … constricted.

  Luna took the silence as a cue to continue, so she tapped a button on her phone and hurried to the center of the room.

  In an instant, the music took over, and Millie had to fight the urge to tap her thumb and shimmy her shoulders to the downbeat. And then Luna’s smile flashed, and she started to dance in time with the pop song, imitating Chiyo Aoki’s signature moves to perfection. When she started singing along to the vocals, Millie couldn’t believe how seamlessly she blended into the sounds. Her voice was sugary sweet, but soft, too—and she could sing in key, which for most people was over half the battle.

  But her dancing. Millie couldn’t take her eyes off her. Luna moved with all the coolness of someone in a music video, but with a style that was all her own. She was in complete control of the audience. She had that thing everyone always talked about on reality talent shows—she had it.

  When the song ended, Luna clasped her hands and let them fall in front of her, rocking back and forth on her toes like she was still full of energy.

  Millie looked between Zuki and Luna, wondering who was going to speak first, when all the professionalism from Zuki suddenly fizzled away, replaced by a smile that was too large for her face.

  “That was amazing!” Zuki squealed. “I didn’t know you liked Generation Love! ‘Sugar Pop’ is one of the best dance songs, too. I can’t believe how good you are. You dance as well as Hana—did you see her dance solo in ‘Parachute’? Oh my gosh, it’s so good. And you’re so good! When did you start listening to Generation Love? Millie, wasn’t that amazing?”

  Millie turned to Luna. “It really was.”

  “Best audition we’ve seen all day!” Zuki said.

  Millie cringed. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

  Luna smiled with relief. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she said, tucking a barely there curl over her ear. “I’m always anxious about singing in Japanese because I can’t actually speak the language. I just memorize the lyrics. I—I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course it is,” Zuki said firmly. “Neither of us is fluent either, but that doesn’t mean we can’t love J-Pop.”

  It was hard to comprehend how Luna could be so nervous. Even if more people had shown up to audition, Millie was pretty sure Luna was one of the best dancers in the school.

  “I’ve been a big Generation Love fan for a while, but none of my friends listen to them.” Luna hesitated, suddenly conscious of her words. “I was really excited when I saw the flyers. I didn’t even know there was a J-Club, actually.”

  Zuki nudged Millie and widened her eyes. “See?” she hissed. “I knew it was only a matter of getting the word out!”

  Maybe it didn’t matter that Luna was the only person who turned up to audition for the band or that Zuki was determined to pretend she wasn’t. Everyone looked happy. Everyone was getting what they wanted.

  And at least this way Millie and Zuki wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of turning anyone down.

  “So … when will you post results for the band?” Luna asked.

  Millie sensed that her question stemmed from more than just curiosity—for some reason, there was caution in her voice, too.

  “There’s no need—you’re in for sure!” Zuki exclaimed, not even bothering to discuss it with Millie. “Unless you want us to post the results. We could do that, too, you know, if you want your name up on a flyer. It might be good to draw more attention to the band, actually. Plus, if people knew Luna Acevedo joined J-Club, they’d definitely want to join!” The twinkle in her eyes was turning into a full-blown fireworks display.

  Millie tried to think of a way to reel her back in. She worried Zuki was already planning a second audition day, and she didn’t want to be the one to tell her that was a terrible idea.

  But Luna was the one to stifle Zuki’s excitement. “Actually, I was sort of hoping I could keep my being here a secret?”

  Zuki frowned. Millie shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  Luna waved her hands quickly like she was trying to stop them from forming any conclusions. “It’s only because my friends are … well … they don’t really get J-Pop, you know? And I just thought it would be nice to have something for myself.”

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed about J-Pop, you know,” Zuki said, and Millie was certain she could hear a twinge of hurt in her voice.

  J-Club was everything to Zuki. And Luna was practically admitting she was ashamed to be in it.

  Luna crossed her arms protectively. “I get it if you don’t want me to be in the band. But my friends can be kind of intense sometimes, and I just don’t want them to make fun of me.”

  “I think if they were really your friends, they’d be happy if you’re happy,” Millie offered meekly.

  Luna didn’t say anything.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Zuki said suddenly, her enthusiasm returning. “You’re the best dancer we’ve seen all day, and we definitely want you in the band. Keep it a secret if you want to. You said it yourself—it’s not like anyone knows about J-Club anyway.”

  Luna looked guilty, despite her smile. “Thanks for understanding.”

  Zuki hurried around the table and thrust out a hand. “I’m Zuki, and this is Millie. Welcome to the club!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kelly placed a folded piece of paper on Millie’s music stand. For a brief second, she thought it was meant for her. But before her brain had time to process the anomaly, she caught Dia’s impatient stare and quickly put the silly idea to rest.

  Millie didn’t have friends in band. Kelly and Dia had made that very clear.

  She passed the note to her left.

  Dia scribbled something on the paper and pushed the folded note back onto Millie’s stand. Mr. Thomas was too busy running through the percussion section to notice what was going on in the front row.

  Kelly bounced her knee like the message had a time limit.

  Millie moved the note to Kelly’s stand and picked up her flute, busying her hands with major scales and arpeggios. Her grades were still terrible, but at least she knew what she was doing in band.

  And maybe being good at music would be enough to soften her parents’ disappointment when progress reports came out. Millie had mostly Cs in every class, but in band she had an A.

  In a way, they should be happy her highest grade was in band. Wasn’t that what they had always wanted? For music to be the most important?

  Millie’s heart sank like a baritone as her fingers moved down the scale. There was no point trying to twist the situation into anything other than what it was—a total and complete catastrophe.

  Because it wouldn’t be enough. Her parents wouldn’t just be disappointed—they’d be furious when they saw Millie’s grades. A single A in Wind Ensemble II wouldn’t be enough to disguise the truth.

  By her parents’ standards, Millie was failing at school.

  “Millie? Do you know where we are?” Mr. Thomas’s voice broke through her thoughts like a crack of thunder.

  She looked up, panicked. The rest of the flutes were already ten measures into the next section. She tried to mumble an apology before attempting to join in, but her face was burning with embarrassment and it was hard for her to form thoughts, let alone words.

  Mr. Thomas raised an eyebrow like he wanted her to pay closer attention. He turned his eyes back to the rest of the woodwind section, his baton still ticking like a metronome in the air.

  Millie fumbled note after note until she finally found her place, but by then there were hardly any more notes to play. She set her flute in her lap when the rest of the flute section did the same.

  Dia’s words were low but definitely audible over the French horns. “T
his is why a sixth grader shouldn’t be second chair.”

  Millie stiffened. She knew how Kelly and Dia felt—she could tell by their stares and stifled laughter. But hearing it? Having confirmation?

  That was so much worse.

  * * *

  “Just ignore them,” Zuki said, chewing absentmindedly on a chicken strip. “If she wanted second chair, she should’ve practiced harder. She’s got nobody to blame but herself.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Millie replied, fiddling with her sleeve under the lunch table. Kelly and Dia didn’t have the same lunch hour as her, but she still felt like they could be watching nearby.

  “It is simple,” Zuki argued. “Because people like that aren’t going to change. She’s already made up her mind to be mad. But you don’t have to let her get to you. You can choose to ignore it. They’re a horrendous shade of pea-soup green. Don’t let them darken your marigold.”

  “Is that what you do? Ignore it?” Millie secretly wished a bit of Zuki’s confidence would jump across the table and into her own brain.

  For some reason, it took Zuki an extra beat to answer. It was barely there, but Millie caught it—the faltering in her eyes.

  What was she not saying?

  Before Millie could ask, Zuki found her laughter again and snorted. “Of course! What’s the point in letting some random person I don’t even care about ruin my day, you know?” She took a sip from her water bottle and scrolled through a playlist on her phone.

  Millie adjusted her bangs self-consciously, wondering if she should dye her hair with colorful streaks like Zuki. Could something as simple as hair be the thing that gave a person superpowers?

  Because not being affected by the things people said—especially in sixth grade—was most definitely a superpower.