The Daughters Take the Stage

by Joanna Philbin

  “Yikes,” Lizzie said under her breath.

  “Oh, God,” Carina whispered. “It’s this kind of jazz?”

  “Just hold on, you guys,” Hudson said as they walked down the stairs behind Ben. But she felt something inside her deflate and sink to the ground. The Stone Cold Freaks definitely weren’t the studio band she’d used to record her album.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked into the basement, which had been converted into an old-fashioned rec room. There was a Ping-Pong table, a refrigerator, an upright piano, and a brown and pink plaid sofa that faced an old-fashioned wall-unit TV. Brown acoustic paneling covered the walls. And in the corner were the other Stone Cold Freaks—Logan sitting in a plastic folding chair, playing his sax, and behind him a freckled boy with bright red hair pounding his drum kit. Hudson almost had to plug her ears.

  “Hey guys, Hudson’s here,” Ben said, waving at the two of them to stop. “Hudson, you know Logan. And this is Gordie,” he said, waving to the redheaded guy on drums. “These are Hudson’s friends Marina and—”

  “Lizzie,” Lizzie said.

  “And it’s Ca -rina,” Carina said.

  “Hi, guys,” Hudson said, waving.

  Ben turned to face her. “Wait. What’d you say your last name was?”

  Hudson thought fast. Jones couldn’t be a more common last name, and from what Hillary had said about Ben and his friends, they probably wouldn’t make the Holla connection if she just told the truth. “Jones,” she said.

  “Hudson Jones,” Ben said, oblivious. “So, guys, Hudson writes her own stuff. Right, Hudson?”

  “I do,” she said, feeling her heart start to race. What if they didn’t like her music? She noticed Logan looking at her with a very different expression than yesterday; he seemed to be scowling.

  Ben pointed to the upright piano. “Go ahead,” he said. “Do one of your songs and we’ll join in.”

  Hudson glanced at her friends. This was definitely an audition. Carina gave her a small thumbs-up as she sat down on the couch. Lizzie winked at her. “Okay,” Hudson said, swallowing.

  I can do this, she thought as she sat down on the creaky old piano bench. She touched one of the keys. The piano was horribly out of tune.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Ben said. “Just go for it.”

  Hudson looked down at the keys. Her heart was beating in her chest like she was about to run a marathon. This wasn’t like jumping onstage with Hillary and singing a silly karaoke song. This was real. This was supposed to be good. And on top of that, she could practically feel Logan’s scowl burning into her back. I am going to make this guy like my music, she thought. No matter what.

  “Okay, this is a song called ‘Heartbeat,’ ” she said. Her fingers found the familiar chords on the piano. Go ahead, she thought. Just sing the first line. That’s all you need to do.

  Her voice wavered at first. She hadn’t tried to sing this song since the Silver Snowflake Ball. For a second she was back there, onstage, in front of all those people, knowing that her mom was just a few feet behind her in the wings, watching…

  And then she remembered: Nobody knows who I am. Something inside of her swung open, like a gate being unlocked. She sang the first two lines.

  I love the way you talk to me on the line

  I love the way you tell me that you’re mine

  Before she knew it she was singing it the way she had the day she’d written it, slowly and passionately and smokily, letting her voice wrap around each syllable.

  And then Ben started to play his bass—thump a thump a thump a thump—setting the perfect rhythm. He was good. She could tell right away.

  Then Gordie started on drums, nothing too hard or distracting, just following Ben’s lead.

  Then, at the bridge, Logan blasted his sax, making Hudson jump. It was way too loud, and all over the place, like a manic foghorn.

  When she was done, she sat and faced the keys for a moment, letting herself settle. Finishing a song was always a little like coming out of a trance—time would jump forward again and she’d suddenly become aware of her surroundings. The room was eerily quiet. That usually meant one of two things: People either loved the song or they hated it.

  She turned around. Gordie sat with one hand still touching a cymbal, faintly smiling. Ben rested his bass on the floor and was blinking busily behind his glasses, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down. Even Logan looked semi-impressed as he cradled his sax. Carina and Lizzie sat on the couch, clutching each other’s hands. Even Hillary, standing against the wall, seemed to be moved.

  “Did you really write that?” Ben finally asked.

  “She totally did,” Carina asserted from her spot on the couch.

  “Wow,” Ben said. “Can you give us a minute?” He glanced at his bandmates.

  “Sure.” Hudson practically leaped to her feet. “We’ll just go upstairs.”

  Hudson took the stairs two at a time, with Hillary, Lizzie, and Carina behind her. “I knew it!” Hillary said when they got upstairs. “You blew them away!”

  “Really?” Hudson asked.

  “You crushed it!” Carina said, hugging Hudson.

  “That was incredible,” Lizzie said. “I got chills.”

  “They’re totally going to want you,” Hillary said.

  “You think so?” Hudson asked.

  Hillary nodded.

  For the first time, Hudson realized that she didn’t just want to be the lead singer of the Stone Cold Freaks. She needed to be.

  Just then she heard the creak of Ben’s feet on the stairs. “Hudson?” he called out. “Can you come down here?”

  Hudson and Hillary exchanged a worried look. “Just go,” Hillary said, swatting her on the arm.

  Hudson walked back down the stairs. The Stone Cold Freaks had assembled themselves on the plaid couch. Gordie was smiling, but Logan’s eyes were on the muted TV.

  “So,” Ben began, grinning, “can you come up for rehearsal on Wednesday? Around four thirty?”

  “Really?” she cried, hopping up and down. “Yes, I definitely can!”

  “Okay then,” Ben said. He stood up and held out his hand. “Welcome to the Stone Cold Freaks.”

  She shook his hand, said good-bye, and then walked back up to the kitchen, not even feeling the stairs underneath her feet. She’d sung that song in front of total strangers, and they’d loved it. They’d loved it so much they’d asked her—for real, this time—to front their band.

  She said good-bye to Hillary, and thanked her for everything, and then she and Lizzie and Carina walked out to the gravel driveway in the freezing cold, where they waited for the cab they’d called.

  “You did it!” Carina squealed. “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know why, but I’m more psyched about this than I was about my album,” Hudson said. “Isn’t that weird?”

  “Maybe this is what you were supposed to do all along,” Lizzie said, as a bright green cab turned into the driveway. “Maybe this is going to be more fun than your album.”

  “Maybe,” Hudson said. “But first I really need to change their name.”

  chapter 16

  That night Hudson sat at the kitchen table, picking at a plate of mushy boiled dandelion greens and feeling giddy. She was the lead singer of a band. Outside of the city. She had a whole new life. A life that her mom had no clue about. Hudson glanced over at Holla, who was across the room giving Sophie a list of orders. She almost felt a little guilty, but it was also undeniably thrilling.

  “Tell them I want to be at the final callbacks,” Holla said, pulling her sweaty hair up into a ponytail. She yawned slightly into her hand. “The last time I let Howard do it he picked the laziest dancers I’ve ever seen.”

  “You got it,” Sophie said.

  “Why is this so hard?” Holla grumbled. “Why do I have to do everything myself, all the time?”

  Sophie stared at her, biting her full lips. “I’m not sure,” she said helplessly.r />
  “That’s it ’til tomorrow,” Holla said, turning back to the kitchen table. “You can go home now.”

  “Thanks, Holla,” Sophie whispered as she began to gather her things from the computer desk. So far Sophie seemed to be dealing well with Holla’s exacting demands, but Hudson was pretty sure she wouldn’t last through the spring. Most of Holla’s assistants quit—or were fired—after three months.

  Holla walked over to the kitchen table and slid into a chair. Even though Hudson could see she was exhausted, her mom’s posture was perfect. Lorraine placed a hot plate of mushed green vegetables in front of her. “It’s always the same, every tour,” Holla said to Hudson. “All these last-minute dramas. You’re coming with me this summer, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” Hudson said. It seemed odd for her mom to ask, since that was what she did every time.

  “So, honey, how was Jenny?” Holla asked. “And please, sit up straight.”

  “Jenny was great,” Hudson answered, sitting up. “She loved the blanket.”

  “Really?” Holla asked, and Hudson could see the sudden interest in her eyes. “You guys spent an awfully long time together. What time did you get back here? Five thirty?”

  Hudson remembered her lie to Fernald. “You know, I think she feels really bad about the fight you guys had,” she said, ignoring Holla’s question.

  “She does?” Holla asked, putting down her fork. “What’d she say?”

  “Just… well, that she feels bad,” Hudson improvised. “I think we should do something nice for her. Just to let her know there are no hard feelings.”

  Holla zipped up her workout jacket. “I’ve done a lot of nice things for her, baby. It only makes things worse.”

  “I know, but maybe just this once we could do something to really show her that we’re her family,” Hudson said. “Like throw her a birthday party. Invite her friends. Sort of a welcome back to New York. Maybe then she’ll stop running off all the time.”

  Her mom chewed her food slowly, considering this. “Where?”

  “What about here?”

  “Here?” Holla asked. “Why does it have to be here?”

  “It doesn’t,” Hudson said. “It just might be more personal that way.”

  Holla sipped from her glass of coconut water. “Does she hate me?” she asked suddenly, the space between her eyebrows creased and her lips pressed together. “Just tell me the truth. I can handle it. Does she hate me?”

  “She doesn’t hate you, Mom.”

  “Because I promised Grandma that I would take care of her, that I would watch out for her,” Holla said, her eyes growing soft and shiny. “We all knew that she was wild. And maybe I made it worse, being so successful, so quickly… Maybe it’s my fault…”

  Hudson touched her mom’s arm. “It’s okay. She’s your sister. She loves you,” Hudson reassured her.

  Holla patted Hudson’s hand, and just like that, the moment of insecurity passed. Her face hardened again, ever so slightly, and she picked up her fork. “Then let’s plan it. But you make sure that she’s okay with it. If I present it to her, she’ll just say no.”

  “Fine.” Hudson pushed the food around on her plate. “What if I go over to her place and hang out with her again? Like, Wednesday afternoon?” It was the perfect alibi for her Larchmont rehearsal date.

  “Sure. And I’d like you to come down to the studio this week and give me some feedback. On your song.”

  Hudson stopped pushing a clump of dandelion greens around her plate. “Okay,” Hudson said, too surprised to say anything else. “Let’s do Thursday.”

  “Thursday it is,” Holla said. “And honey, please sit up straight.”

  *

  The next day Hudson was on her way out of Geometry class when Miss Evanevski said, “Hudson? Can you wait a moment?”

  Hudson gave Carina and Lizzie a glance that said Not a big deal, I’ll meet up with you in a second and whirled around. “Is something wrong?”

  “I just wanted to discuss your quiz from last week,” Miss Evanevski said. Hudson’s Geometry teacher was tall and fragile-looking, with a pointy chin and a permanently disappointed expression, which intensified when she said, “I was a little alarmed to see your grade.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Do you need some extra help?” Miss Evanevski sat down at her desk. “I’m happy to refer you to a tutor.”

  “It was just a onetime thing,” Hudson explained.

  Miss Evanevski frowned. “I’m supposed to inform your parents if you get less than a C minus on a test,” she said. “But this is so out of character for you, Hudson, that I’m tempted to call your mom anyway.”

  “Please don’t,” Hudson said. “Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

  Miss Evanevski picked up a red pen and started shuffling piles of tests on her desk. “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because I just decided not to study for it, sort of as an experiment,” Hudson said, before she realized how that sounded.

  Miss Evanevski frowned. “Experiment?”

  “Well,” Hudson said, “it’s all part of my life-coaching.”

  “Your what?” Miss Evanevski asked, alarmed. “You’re seeing a life coach? Are your parents aware of this?”

  “Please,” Hudson pleaded. “It’s really nothing. Forget I said anything. I promise I’ll study next time. You know I always do.”

  The sound of a footstep behind her made Hudson turn, and there on the threshold stood Ava Elting. From the smug smile on her face Hudson knew that she’d heard the entire conversation. “Oh, sorry,” Ava said, tucking one of her auburn curls behind her ear.

  “No, we’re done, Ava. What is it?” Miss Evanevski said, beckoning her into the classroom.

  Hudson headed for the hallway, her face burning. Of course Ava Elting had overheard. She replayed everything that she’d just said in front of Miss Evanevski. The C plus on her quiz. The life coach. It was hard to know which was more embarrassing. Both were enough ammunition to keep Ava busy for weeks. As Hudson passed her, she stared straight ahead and averted her eyes.

  She sped down the hall to History and sat down next to Carina, Lizzie, and Todd.

  “What was that all about?” Lizzie asked.

  “I got a C plus on our last quiz,” Hudson said, “and now I think Ava Elting knows that I have a life coach.”

  “Oh, jeez,” Carina whispered.

  It didn’t take long for Ava to unleash this new tidbit. When Ava walked into History she took a seat right behind Hudson.

  “So, is everything okay? I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re seeing a life coach,” she drawled, making Hudson’s stomach turn over.

  “Uh-huh,” Hudson said over her shoulder, holding her breath.

  “I’m just soooo surprised,” Ava went on. “I thought you were so together. At least, it seems that way. But I guess nothing is ever quite as it seems, is it?”

  Hudson froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Carina and Lizzie listening to this, too.

  “Just so you know, I’m always, always here for you,” Ava said. “I wouldn’t want you to end up on E! True Hollywood Story.”

  Hudson whirled around. “Don’t you have more important, interesting things to think about than my life?” she asked.

  Ava blinked her large brown eyes, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Uh, yeah,” she finally said with her famous smirk. She tossed some of her auburn hair over her shoulder as she stood up. “I was just trying to be nice.” Then she walked over to another empty chair as Mr. Weatherly sat on the edge of his desk.

  “All right, people! Who wants to tell us about Alexander the Great?”

  Hudson’s heart pounded in her chest; she couldn’t believe what she’d just said. Carina nudged Hudson’s arm. “You are my new hero,” she whispered.

  Hudson knew that things with Ava probably weren’t over. But she’d finally said exactly what had been on her mind. Mayb
e getting angry every now and again wasn’t such a bad thing. Especially if it meant making Ava Elting get up and move seats in class. Maybe Hudson would never quite have an inner bee-yatch. But she could stick up for herself when the time came, and that was all that really mattered.

  chapter 17

  Hudson leaned back against the vinyl seat with her book bag on her lap and felt the wheels of the three thirty-five train roll underneath her. She’d told Fernald to drop her at Jenny’s straight from school, and as soon as he’d driven away she’d taken the subway to Grand Central. She’d jumped on board just in time and scored a row of three seats all to herself. Looking at the cracked seats she wished Hillary or Lizzie or Carina could have come. Tonight it would just be her and the Stone Cold Freaks. Note to self, she thought. Must change that name.

  At Larchmont she got off the train and got into a cab. As they pulled into the gravel drive at Ben’s house, Hudson noticed that there were more cars in the driveway this time—a beat-up maroon hatchback and a forest green Saab. A couple of bikes lay on their side near the steps to the front door. Logan’s and Gordie’s, she assumed. She hoped Logan wouldn’t still be acting weird. She’d tried to think of something to do or say to get him to like her but the things she’d thought of—bringing him cookies, or maybe getting him an iTunes gift certificate—just seemed a little desperate.

  She paid the driver, then walked up the steps and rang the bell. The door opened and Hudson was greeted by a woman in her mid-forties with shoulder-length, softly layered brown hair and Ben’s large brown eyes.

  “Mrs. Geyer?” Hudson asked, remembering Ben’s mom from the bar mitzvah.

  “Call me Patty,” she said, extending her hand. “Come on in, Hudson.”

  Hudson shook her hand. “It’s nice to see you again,” she said.

  “You can leave your coat right there,” said Mrs. Geyer, pointing to the bench in the entryway, which was again covered in coats and scarves. “You want some hot chocolate? Something to warm you up?”

  “Hot chocolate would be great,” Hudson said, following her into the kitchen.