Face the Music

by Brian Weisfeld

  Harriet laughed. “Just a tad.”

  As if on cue, Resa ran back into the cafeteria, earning a rebuke from Joan, who called after her, “You’re gonna break your neck!” Didi trailed behind at a safe distance and normal speed.

  “Well?” asked Harriet. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Option number two,” said Resa, panting. “The circle. He thinks it’s classic.”

  “Hey, Miss Lightspeed,” called Joan from the food counter. “Can you pick up that tray you knocked over in your big rush?”

  “I guess I’m not the only one living life in the fast lane,” said Harriet.

  Resa groaned as she headed back to deal with the tray mess. “You’re also not the only one on Joan’s bad side.”

  8

  Amelia was right about being a master untangler. It took a while, but eventually she straightened out most of the orders—getting all the names down, along with the choice of adult unisex sizes. She apologized to Reginald and told him the most she could offer was a 25 percent discount. He changed his order and bought only one T-shirt, but as Amelia pointed out to Harriet, that was okay because they’d actually make more money than if he’d bought eight at half price.

  “Math is an enigma,” said Harriet, shaking her head.

  Amelia laughed. “Math is anything but an enigma. That’s why I like it. It’s always the same. It’s reliable.”

  They’d retreated to a bench near the high school’s side entrance, where they were eating sourdough pretzel rods and going over the orders one last time to make sure they’d ironed out every wrinkle.

  Amelia chomped thoughtfully on a pretzel. “What does this mean?” she asked, pointing to one of the order entries. “Here, next to Cam-Thu’s order. It says three shirts in small, and then it says LTR. Is that supposed to be large?”

  “Oh, that means ‘later,’” Harriet explained. “She didn’t have any money on her, so I told her to pay me whenever. Like a … whaddya call it … an IOU.”

  “Okay, see, the whole point of preorders is that there are no IOUs,” said Amelia. “We need the cash to place the order. No money, no shirt. You read me?”

  “I read you loud and clear! Roger that!” Harriet mimed speaking into a walkie-talkie. “Over and out!”

  “Uh-huh,” Amelia murmured uncertainly.

  “Okay, okay,” said Harriet with a sigh. “I’ll go by Cam-Thu’s house right now and collect.”

  Amelia closed the notebook and got to her feet. “I’ll go with you. Then we can go to Lucy’s shop to place the order.”

  * * *

  Cam-Thu was just getting home from debate practice when they arrived. As always, she was impeccably dressed in an outfit that could have appeared on the cover of a fashion magazine, from the bun she wore atop her head, with tiny tendrils hanging down, to the boots, which perfectly matched her belt.

  Cam-Thu was two years older than Harriet and a role model in more ways than one. In particular, Harriet admired Cam-Thu’s attention to detail; she was the master of the well-chosen accessory. Harriet wondered how long it took Cam-Thu to get dressed in the morning.

  Not only did Cam-Thu fork over the money she owed Harriet, but she also gave Harriet a bag full of hand-me-downs, which included the world’s skinniest tie, with pink and purple stripes.

  “It matches your purple pleather jacket,” said Cam-Thu.

  “My power suit is complete!” exclaimed Harriet. She threw her arms around Cam-Thu’s neck and squeezed. “Love you, Cam Cam.”

  “Watch the hair, Harry,” Cam-Thu reminded her. “I’ve got a Skype study session in five, and I don’t have time to battle with this hair doughnut.”

  Armed with a hefty wad of cash, the selected T-shirt logo, and a bag full of Cam-Thu hand-me-downs, the girls headed to Lucy’s shop, a tiny storefront with a blue awning and SMALL JOYS written in gold script on the window.

  It was an inviting little shop. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow, and pastel paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. Lovely things lined the shelves: small wooden jewelry boxes, embroidered pillows, silk headbands, corduroy stuffed animals, brightly colored bangles. Too bad there wasn’t a customer in the store.

  “Hel-lo, sweet pea!” Lucy sang when she caught sight of Harriet coming through the door. “Rambo! It’s your best friend! Wake up, you sleepyhead!”

  Lucy had a wide smile and big, bright eyes. She wore red reading glasses on a beaded chain around her neck and dangly silver earrings, which were easy to admire since her hair was shorn so short.

  Everything about Lucy was round and soft, and when she walked over to give Harriet a hug, Harriet felt like a pillow was embracing her. It was nice. Harriet didn’t really have grandparents—her mom’s parents died when she was little and her dad’s parents lived overseas. He didn’t really talk to them, and Harriet couldn’t remember the last time they’d visited. So she welcomed a grandmotherly hug from Lucy.

  Harriet introduced Amelia to Lucy and told her they were ready to do business.

  Lucy rubbed her hands together quickly. “Business time!” she called out. “I’ll go get my order ledger. Want to give Rambo a treat? You know where I keep ’em.”

  Lucy disappeared behind the blue velvet curtain leading to the back room, and Harriet reached over the counter, retrieving a cat treat from the lidded container there. “Here, Rambo,” she called. A second later, an orange tabby cat who’d been dozing in the corner got to his feet and stretched lazily, then walked over to Harriet. Harriet let him eat the treat out of her palm, then scratched him between his ears.

  “Isn’t he the cutest?” she asked Amelia. “And isn’t the store great?”

  “Yeah,” said Amelia. She added in a whisper, “Business is slow, huh?”

  “Nobody even knows it’s here,” Harriet whispered back. “She’s got great stuff, and it’s not too expensive. But it’s on this little side street, so nobody ever walks by.”

  Lucy pushed through the curtain, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose and a thick black binder in her hands. She was frowning. “Harriet, sweet pea, I thought you were coming by yesterday with the money so that we could place an order.” Her voice was apologetic. “My vendor needs six to eight business days for rush orders.”

  “We were a tad delayed,” said Harriet, blushing. “But we have the money now. All of it. And the concert is one week from tomorrow, so we still have eight days.”

  “Yes, but that’s only five business days,” Lucy said. “Weekends don’t count.”

  Rambo weaved in between Harriet’s legs, purring. Harriet was too upset to notice, though. “Can’t we try?” she asked plaintively. “Can’t we rush the rush?”

  “We can always try,” said Lucy with a smile. “And with some luck, the order will get here next Friday.” She pulled her glasses off and let them fall to her chest. “Of course, there’s no telling what time of day they’ll arrive. Might be in the evening—after your concert starts.”

  Harriet looked at Amelia nervously. She’d already messed things up so much. She didn’t want to make the wrong call. “What should we do?”

  Amelia drummed her fingers on the countertop. Then she said, “I say we go for it. Odds are in our favor, right?”

  “Sure, sweet pea,” said Lucy. “If you’re a glass-is-half-full kind of person.”

  “Oh, we are,” Harriet assured her. “We definitely are.”

  9

  The week before the concert flew by. There was a ton of stuff to do—all sorts of little things Harriet hadn’t anticipated.

  The girls were so busy planning the concert that would raise money for Larry’s new guitar that they kept forgetting to deal with one tiny but oh-so-important detail: Larry would need a guitar to play at that concert. And not just at the concert, he pointed out, but before, too. The Radical Skinks hadn’t practiced in a while, and they couldn’t just pick up and play a killer concert out of the blue.

  The obvious thing to do, the girls agreed, was to borrow a guitar
for the week. Trouble was, while the boys knew plenty of guitarists, they were all using their instruments to practice for the Battle of the Bands.

  Thankfully, Harriet possessed superpowers of persuasion. She paid a visit to Music Mania, the music store on Pecan Street, and struck up a conversation with the owner, a heavily tattooed woman named Mo. Harriet told Mo the sad story of how she’d accidentally destroyed Larry’s guitar—and possibly his dreams of stardom—and how she was doing everything she could to make things right. “The one thing we still desperately need,” she said, her eyes wide and hopeful, “is to borrow a guitar for Larry to practice with this week. Can you help?”

  Mo hooked her fingers into the belt loops of her jeans. “What’s in it for me?”

  “How about some free publicity?” asked Harriet with a smile. “We’ll put a stack of Music Mania brochures on the merch table!”

  “Nah,” said Mo without hesitation. “Nobody takes brochures. What else you got?”

  “Ummmm…” Harriet was surprised. Usually her soft sell did the trick, but Mo clearly required a hard sell. “We can hang a poster up behind the merch table.”

  “I want ten shout-outs on social media from the lead singer’s account,” said Mo.

  “Okay,” Harriet agreed.

  “I’m not done.” Mo went on. Her face barely moved when she talked. She looked like a ventriloquist, just without the dummy. “I also want a shout-out at the opening of the concert. Including our address.”

  “That’s a lot of conditions,” said Harriet. She couldn’t help but admire Mo’s negotiation skills.

  “And,” said Mo.

  “There’s more?” asked Harriet.

  “I need a guarantee that your brother will buy his guitar here when he raises the money,” said Mo. She extended her hand toward Harriet. “Do we have a deal?”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” said Harriet, pausing a moment. Then she reached out and shook Mo’s hand firmly. “Nice doing business with you.”

  Larry was delighted to get his hands on a guitar again—especially the ChromaChord 3000.

  “This guitar’s way better than Herbert, may he rest in peace,” Larry said. “It plays like a dream. I mean, with this ax, I could be Keith Richards.”

  “You should get that kind, then, when we raise the money,” said Amelia. She’d come over for an organizational meeting about the concert.

  “You think we’ll have enough money?” Larry asked.

  “Depends. How much did Mo say this one cost, Harriet?”

  “One hundred and forty,” said Harriet. “I bet she gave us a more expensive one on purpose! She knew Larry would fall in love with it.”

  “She’s one smart cookie, that Mo,” said Amelia admiringly. “She must teach us her ways.”

  “All I know is, I need this guitar,” said Larry. “With this baby, I could be Hendrix!”

  “Hendrix?” whispered Amelia to Harriet. “Now he’s going too far.”

  * * *

  Thanks to the new ChromaChord 3000, Larry’s solos soared. The boys rehearsed every night for hours on end. Their long break from rehearsals had made them sloppy, and they had a lot of work to do before the Battle of the Bands.

  The Radical Skinks’ work ethic was admirable—but it was also very loud. Harriet’s dad owned a pair of noise-canceling headphones, which he usually only wore when he worked on a painting or sculpture and needed to be free of distractions. These headphones became a hot commodity in the Nguyen household.

  “Harriet, you’ve had the headphones for over an hour,” complained her dad on Thursday night. The boys had been practicing for two hours straight and showed no signs of stopping soon.

  “What?” she asked. Sam was whaling on his drum kit, and she couldn’t hear a thing.

  “You’re hogging the headphones! I need them!” her dad shouted.

  “Oh no you don’t!” broke in Harriet’s mom. “I need those for my customer downstairs!”

  “For your custard? You’re baking?” Harriet’s dad yelled.

  The house, always loud, became deafening.

  But every night, the band sounded better—tighter and more in sync. They sounded like American Supahstars.

  10

  Harriet popped into Small Joys every afternoon on her way home from school to see if there was any update on the T-shirt order. Every afternoon, Lucy told her the same thing: It would be Friday at the earliest.

  “The concert’s Friday night,” Harriet lamented to Lucy.

  “I know, sweet pea,” Lucy replied. “I’ve got my fingers crossed.”

  * * *

  On Friday at lunch, Harriet led the girls into the school’s lobby and borrowed Resa’s phone to call Small Joys.

  “Are they in yet?” she asked anxiously.

  “Well, hello to you, too, Harriet,” Lucy teased. “A bunch of boxes were just delivered. I’ll have to go through and see if your order’s in one of them.”

  “Do you think that will take more than eight minutes?” asked Harriet. “Because that’s how much longer we have for lunch, and then we have to turn the phone off and I won’t be able to concentrate on my prealgebra quiz and if I don’t concentrate, I will for sure fail—”

  “Okay, okay,” Lucy interrupted. “I’m opening the boxes now. I’ll call you back in a minute.”

  The girls huddled around Resa’s phone, keeping an eye out for Ms. Davis.

  “We have only five minutes left,” Didi said, yanking her sleeves down so she didn’t succumb to temptation and bite her nails. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Whatcha waiting for?” came a high-pitched voice from behind Harriet.

  Harriet spun around to find their classmate Val peeking into their little cluster.

  “Nosy much?” asked Resa, her whole body tensing up. Val and Resa always seemed to be in competition. Whether it was for the best grades or to win a lemonade-selling contest, they both were intent on coming out on top. Resa didn’t know why Val was poking her head in their business, but it didn’t bode well.

  “I’m just a concerned citizen,” said Val, looking mock-offended. “Phones are for emergencies only, so I figured it must be an emergency.” She smiled, and her braces glinted in the light. But that was nothing compared with the glint of the silver-sequined emoji on her shirt.

  “Just making sure we have our T-shirts for the big concert tonight,” explained Harriet. “You’re coming, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” said Val. “You didn’t forget to put in my order, did you?”

  Resa fixed Val with a skeptical look. “You’re getting a T-shirt? You know they don’t have sequins on them, right?”

  Val pursed her lips together, obviously annoyed. “I don’t need sequins on my Radical Skinks T-shirt,” she said with a sugary, sweet smile. “Mine is special enough without any bling.” She winked at Harriet, then turned on her heel. “See you tonight.”

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Resa turned to Harriet. “What was that wink for?”

  “We’re friends!” Harriet protested. “It was just a friendly wink!”

  Resa crossed her arms over her chest. “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you two have an arrangement for something special?” asked Amelia. “On the T-shirt?”

  Harriet had the feeling she’d done something wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what. This was a common feeling for Harriet, and it unsettled her. “I mean, maybe she’s talking about the autographs?” Harriet said. “She wanted all my brothers to sign her shirt. Who would’ve guessed she’s such a fan, right?”

  “You charged her more, right?” asked Resa.

  Ah, so that’s what my mistake was, Harriet thought. Still, she didn’t get it. “Why would I?” she asked nervously. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. My brothers love giving autographs. They don’t mind. Really.”

  The lobby started filling up with students leaving the lunchroom and heading to their next class. The bell hadn’t rung yet, but Harriet knew it would any second.
r />   “This is why you need to run stuff by—” Resa began, but Didi elbowed her.

  “It’s not a big deal,” said Didi. “But next time, you should charge more for an autographed shirt.”

  “But it doesn’t cost us any more to get the autographs!” Harriet protested.

  “That’s true,” Amelia said. “But now everyone else’s shirts—that they’re buying for the same price—will be less special by comparison. It’s like—”

  Amelia’s voice was interrupted by the bell blaring.

  “Doggonit!” Harriet exclaimed. “Lucy said she’d call us back.”

  “I have to go to social studies,” said Amelia. “Can’t keep ancient Egypt waiting.”

  Resa placed her finger on the phone’s off switch, but before she could press it down, it started to buzz. A text had just come in.

  “It’s from Lucy,” Resa announced. “The shirts are in!”

  The girls let out a celebratory whoop, just as Ms. Davis passed by. She glanced down at the phone in Resa’s hand with disdain.

  “Somebody break a bone?” she said.

  “Uh, no,” stammered Didi, looking mortified. “Sorry, Ms. Davis … we were—”

  Ms. Davis held her hand up. “Save the song and dance for theater class,” she said. “Which you’re late for, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Didi’s eyes were wide and worried. “Ohmigosh, yes, yes, you’re right, I’m—I’m going.”

  Didi, Resa, and Amelia scattered to various staircases to make it to their next period on time. Harriet took a step toward the stairs and then had a thought. She spun around and called out, “Hey, Ms. D, do you like rock and roll?”

  11

  “Skinks tees! Come get your commemorative Skinks tees here!”

  Harriet stood behind the merchandise table at the entrance to the park, an orange megaphone pressed to her mouth. Her voice was near deafening through the megaphone.