by Dan Gutman
He began to listen to music, almost obsessively. The pop stars that most of the other kids at school idolized didn’t grab him. He didn’t like rap, hip-hop, or techno music created by machines. The boy bands and teenybopper girls who were on Radio Disney all the time just sounded silly to him. The music that really got his juices flowing was the “old time rock and roll” his dad had been pumping into his ears since he was a baby. The Beatles. The Stones. The Who. Led Zep. AC/DC. Clapton. Page. Hendrix. The ancient guitar gods of yesteryear.
The next step, of course, was to put together a band. A killer band. Not many kids in Cape Bluff were into old rock and roll. Paul asked around, and finally found a fourth grader named Jim Conlin who could play bass guitar a little. A guy named Victor Iannone was drumming on the table at lunch, and it turned out he had a full drum set at home—bass, snare, tom-toms, cymbals. The works. Paul asked him to join his band. Hanging around the music store at the mall, Paul found a sixth grader named Rob Goodman who could play the lead guitar part to “Free Bird” without even looking at his fingers. That was the only song he could play, but at least he could play something. With a little gentle persuasion, Rob joined the band too.
A practice was scheduled over at Victor’s house, because the drum set was in his garage and it was a big hassle to set it up and take it down all the time. Paul could tell after a few minutes of jamming that the other guys weren’t very good. But you don’t have to be that good to play basic three-chord rock and roll. Just about anybody can play “Wipeout” without embarrassing themselves. Most importantly, the four boys had fun playing together as a band. None of them were into sports—unlike just about every other guy at school—but they all liked to play music. And being in a rock band—like being a skateboarder—was cool.
The band needed a name. The Fender Benders. Death By Squirrel. Ambidextrous Scissors MagneticBunions. After a night of throwing out a few hundred ridiculous ideas, they settled on The BluffTones.
None of the boys could sing particularly well, which can be a problem unless a band is just going to play “Wipeout” over and over again. But Paul knew there was one kid in the school who had a great voice.
Elke Villa.
Paul had heard Elke sing in chorus. Her voice just soared over everyone else’s. With that voice and Paul’s guitar, he imagined The BluffTones would go far. Maybe all the way to the top.
As founder and leader of the band, Paul took it upon himself to approach Elke. He was a little nervous. After all, she was a sixth grader and he was just in fifth. But he worked up the courage and walked over to her locker at the end of eighth period one day.
“Hi,” he said. “You have a really great voice.”
Elke looked at him. Was this little fifth grader asking her out on a date or something?
“Thanks,” she mumbled, shutting her locker and turning to walk away.
“Listen,” he said, stopping her. “Me and some guys formed a rock band, and we’re pretty good. But we need a lead singer. And I was thinking—”
“I’m not really into rock,” Elke said simply, “but thanks anyway.”
She walked away and left him standing there. Paul wasn’t mad. Disappointed, definitely. Well, maybe he was a little mad. Nobody wants to be rejected.
The great thing about rock and roll, Paul convinced himself, is that you can have a lousy voice and still be a star. Plenty of rock groups have lousy singers. Half of them just shout anyway. The heck with it. He would be the singer. The singer is the front man, the face of the band. Who needs Elke anyway? He didn’t have to play second fiddle to some chick singer.
Once The BluffTones had learned how to play a dozen songs, they got their first gig—a birthday party for Victor Iannone’s brother in third grade. It was at a bowling alley. The boys loaded up all their gear in Victor’s mom’s minivan, and felt like a real touring band. At the party, they ran through all the songs they knew, and the little kids jumped around, having a great time. Paul felt exhilarated performing in front of an audience, even if it was a bunch of little kids who didn’t know The Beatles from Britney Spears.
At the end of the party, while the boys were packing up their equipment, Victor’s mother came over and handed each of The BluffTones a twenty-dollar bill.
“Wow!” Paul exclaimed, “I didn’t know we were getting paid for this!”
“If we hired a clown or magician,” Mrs. Iannone told him, “it would have cost us a lot more. You guys are good. You could make some real money doing this.”
That was all it took to get the wheels turning in Paul’s head. He printed up a hundred business cards on his computer:
Paul’s mother pointed out that “We play good” was not grammatically correct, and that people don’t hire bands to play at funerals. But the cards were already printed, and he didn’t want to make them over again.
Paul put a card up on every bulletin board he could find and waited for the phone to ring, but it never did. After the tornado hit Cape Bluff, nobody was looking to hire a rock band for anything. But as soon as the town decided to hold a talent show, Paul knew it would be great exposure for The BluffTones. Even if they didn’t win, the whole town would see them in action. This could get the band a lot of gigs down the line. Maybe people would stop talking about Elke Villa and her great voice for a few minutes.
As Paul walked home from school that day, he thought about which song The BluffTones should play at the talent show. Maybe they should stick with something basic that all the guys in the band knew, like “Wild Thing,” “Louie Louie,” or “Satisfaction.” Or maybe they should go with something more challenging, like “Stairway to Heaven.” But if they messed up “Stairway,” it would look really bad.
When he got home, he flipped on the radio in his room, like always. And this is what he heard:
Stacy, can I come over after school?
We can hang around by the pool
Did your mom get back from her business trip?
Is she there, or is she trying to give me the slip?
Whoa! What’s that? It sounded like a classic rock song, but Paul had never heard it before. He turned up the volume.
You know, I’m not the little boy that I used to be
I’m all grown-up now, baby can’t you see?
Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on
She’s all I want and I’ve waited for so long
Stacy, can’t you see you’re just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong but I’m in love with Stacy’s mom
It was irresistible! Totally catchy. Paul turned the volume higher and started dancing around his bedroom during the second verse.
Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn?
Your mom came out with just a towel on
I could tell she liked me from the way she stared
And the way she said, “You missed a spot over there”
And I know that you think it’s just a fantasy
But since your dad walked out, your mom could use a guy like me
Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on
She’s all I want and I’ve waited for so long
Stacy, can’t you see you’re just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong but I’m in love with Stacy’s mom
The song ended abruptly, and the DJ didn’t identify it. Paul went to his computer to google the words “Stacy’s Mom” and found that the song was a big hit in 2003 by a group called Fountains of Wayne. He then googled “Stacy’s Mom chords” and found that the song was easy to play. It was almost all E, A, and B, with two tricky chords thrown in—G sharp minor and C sharp minor.
At the meeting that night, Paul gathered the band around his computer and showed them the YouTube video of “Stacy’s Mom.” Everyone loved it, and couldn’t wait to start rehearsing. In an hour, they were able to play “Stacy’s Mom” all the way through.
The BluffTones had found their song for the talent show.
Chapter 7
Jul
ia Maguire
Julia started taking ballet lessons when she was four years old. She was walking down Main Street in Cape Bluff one day, holding hands with her mom, when they happened to pass by the big picture window of the Fontaneau Ballet Studio. Julia pressed her nose against the glass and saw a group of teenage girls in their leotards, jumping, pirouetting, and gliding on the tips of their toes. She was transfixed. Dancing was something she did at home all the time for fun, but it hadn’t even occurred to her that you could go to a school and learn how to do it better.
“Can I come here, Mommy?” she pleaded.
Julia was two years too young to enroll in Fontaneau. But because she seemed so intent on dancing, an exception was made, and Julia became the youngest student ever at the studio.
All the other girls in her class at school played soccer, but chasing a ball up and down a muddy field in the rain just seemed silly to Julia. She wanted to wear a beautiful costume and gracefully curve her body into an elegant arabesque. She started with an afternoon dance class once a week that first year, and liked it so much that she was eventually taking a class every day after school. By the time she got to fourth grade, just about all her time outside of school was devoted to dancing. She did her homework at night.
Julia wasn’t a show-off. Just the opposite. While she loved to dance, she didn’t like people staring at her while she did it. When it came time for her first ballet recital, her mother had to talk Julia into going. Her teacher asked her to do a short solo number, but she refused. Julia would only participate if she was up there on the stage with a bunch of other girls at the same time.
When the talent show was announced, she didn’t want to audition for it. Only a few kids at school knew that she danced. She was afraid everybody would think ballet wasn’t cool. The last thing she wanted was to get up in front of the whole school so everybody could laugh at her.
Her mother had other ideas. Mrs. Maguire was a “people person.” She loved to be the center of attention and couldn’t understand why Julia was so shy. The talent show seemed like the perfect opportunity for her daughter to finally come out of her shell. Once the students saw this other side of Julia, Mrs. Maguire argued, it would give her more confidence in social situations. She would make some friends. Mrs. Maguire had it all planned out in her mind.
“It would be a shame if you weren’t in the talent show,” she told Julia. “You’re so talented. I was thinking that you should perform the wedding scene in Sleeping Beauty. You looked so lovely at your recital. Or maybe you should do the grand allegro in Giselle.”
“I’ll think it over” was as far as Julia would go.
The day after the talent show posters went up in the hallways, a girl named Anne Zafian walked over to Julia during gym class.
Anne was one of the “popular girls,” as Julia called them. They were a small group of thin, pretty girls who had nicer clothes and lived in bigger houses with parents who drove newer cars than most of the people in Cape Bluff.
“I heard that you’re a good dancer,” Anne said.
“I’m okay,” Julia replied.
“Well, a few of us are going to get together and do an act for the talent show,” Anne said. “Do you want to be in it?”
Julia could hardly believe it. Anne Zafian had never spoken to her before. None of the popular girls had ever spoken to her before. Julia figured she wasn’t cool enough to be part of their crowd, or her hair wasn’t straight enough, or blond enough, or something.
“What kind of an act is it?” Julia asked.
“Oh, we’ll do a dance and lip synch to a hip-hop song,” Anne told her. “We need somebody who’s good. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Think fast,” Anne said. “I need an answer tomorrow, so we’ll have time to ask somebody else before the auditions on Friday.”
Julia thought it over during her ballet class that afternoon. There were some good reasons to join Anne’s group.
First of all, it was flattering to have the most popular girl in fourth grade invite you to be a part of her act. If she was hanging around with the popular girls, she would be popular too. Second, if she joined Anne’s group, she wouldn’t have to be up on stage all by herself. There was safety in numbers. If she made a mistake, people might not even see it. Finally, Principal Anderson had encouraged everybody to put together group acts so more kids would be able to participate in the talent show.
When her mom came to pick her up at the end of ballet class, Julia broke the news to her. She had decided to be in a hip-hop lip synch act with Anne and the popular girls.
Mrs. Maguire had mixed feelings about the whole thing. She was happy that Julia had been invited to join a group, but disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to show off her real talent.
“Hip-hop?” she said. “You’ve never danced hip-hop. And lip-synching? Julia, that’s not even a talent. That’s just moving your mouth while somebody with real talent sings.”
“I want to be with my friends,” Julia said.
“Friends?” Mrs. Maguire snorted. “Did any of those girls ever come over to our house? Did any of them ever invite you to their house?”
“They’re inviting me now,” Julia said. “They want me to be their friend now. You wouldn’t understand.”
The old “you wouldn’t understand” line. It defeats any argument.
“Do these so-called friends even know how to dance?” asked Mrs. Maguire.
“I don’t know,” Julia told her mother, “and I don’t care.”
“It’s your life,” Mrs. Maguire said, shaking her head. She couldn’t stop thinking of the hundreds of hours Julia had spent practicing ballet, and the thousands of dollars spent on dance lessons. And now Julia wanted to prance around on stage lip-synching and dancing hip-hop with the popular girls. What a waste.
In the lunchroom the next day, Anne waved at Julia to come over. She brought her tray to the table where Anne was sitting with the other popular girls—Jessie, Chloe, Caroline, Jenny, and Katie.
“I thought it over, “ Julia said. “I’ll do it!”
All the girls slapped hands with her and welcomed her to the group. They agreed to get together at Anne’s house that night for a rehearsal. Nobody mentioned the talent show for the rest of the lunch period. There was a lot of giggling and gossiping about kids at the other tables. Julia mostly listened. She was afraid she might say something stupid.
During lunch, Julia was a little ashamed of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and her plain brown lunch bag. The other girls, she noticed, had fancy insulated bags with photos on them. They were all texting on their cell phones as they ate. Julia was the only one who didn’t have a cell phone. Still, it was fun eating lunch at the popular table. So this is what it’s like to be at the top of the food chain, she thought. She could get used to it.
That night, Julia’s mother dropped her off at Anne’s. It was one of the biggest houses in Cape Bluff. Mrs. Maguire kissed her and said she’d pick her up at nine o’clock. Julia had asked her mom to park around the corner, so nobody would see their old car. For a minute or so, Mrs. Maguire was mad. What’s wrong with this car? What’s wrong with me? Eventually, she was able to let it go, chalking it up to adolescent weirdness.
Anne’s mom opened the front door to greet Julia. She looked like one of those “real housewives” you see on reality TV shows. She was dressed like she was going to a fancy dinner party. As they went inside, Julia noticed that the house was very neat. There wasn’t stuff scattered all over the place, like in her house. It didn’t look like people lived in this house.
Anne, Jessie, Chloe, Caroline, Jenny, and Katie were down the basement, in a room that was bigger than Julia’s entire ballet school. Posters of popular boy bands covered the walls. The girls were giggling, gossiping, and eating chips and pretzels. Julia tried to act natural, but kept wondering when they would start rehearsing.
Finally, Anne’s mother came downstairs. She said t
hat she used to be a cheerleader, and had some ideas for a dance routine to show the girls.
“The theme of the talent show is ‘The Beach,’” Mrs. Zafian said as she put a CD into a boom box on the floor. “So what do you think of this?”
Strange techno beach music started playing, and Anne’s mom began dancing around the basement. She was embarrassingly bad. Julia looked around to see if any of the girls were giggling, but for once they weren’t. In fact, they gave Mrs. Zafian a big round of applause when she was done.
She said she hired a local DJ to create a mix tape of electronic hip-hop beach music. She had also ordered matching bathing suits for the girls to wear at the talent show. And her husband, who owned a construction company, would be building a fake palm tree to put on the side of the stage while the girls danced. It was all part of the beach theme, she explained. She informed them that they would call the act the Beach Babes. The girls seemed to have no say in the matter.
The doorbell rang, and Anne’s mom ran upstairs to answer it. In a minute, she came back down with a thin, bald guy with an earring.
“Girls, this is Sergei Propopotov, and he’s going to help you with the dancing,” Mrs. Zafian said. “You can call him Mr. Sergei. He’s Russian. So he must be good, right?”
Julia was flabbergasted. She couldn’t believe that Mrs. Zafian had hired a choreographer for the talent show.
“Okay, girls, listen up,” Mr. Sergei said, clapping his hands, “I want you to get in two lines and do as I do. One, two, three …”
Mrs. Zafian went upstairs, and Mr. Sergei taught the girls a fairly simple routine with a few spins, jumps, and kicks. Thanks to years of dance classes, Julia was able to mirror his steps and lip-synch with the music easily. But it didn’t take long for her to realize that the other girls were terrible. Jenny, in particular, seemed to have no sense of rhythm. She stumbled around trying to keep up, but she kept bumping into everybody and she seemed to not even know her left from her right. The girls thought it was all hilarious.