by Jen Malone
“Yeah, kind of,” I mumble.
Ryan looks about as comfortable as I feel. Which is, like, not at all. He keeps dunking his straw up and down, up and down, in his sweet tea.
“So, the thing is, um, your company booked me for this gig. This band party, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding.
“And, uh, I’m supposed to be some rock star for these little girls, right?”
“Right.” I nod again.
“But the problem is, I really can’t play the guitar that well and, um, I was wonderingifyoucouldhelpme.”
That last part came out like it was all one word. Oh. So that’s what this is about. He needs my help.
He gives me a shy smile and I hide a sigh. It’s not Ryan’s fault I basically acted like a total idiot by practically throwing myself at him. He was pretty polite about it, considering I totally didn’t take the hint. And he looks so helpless right now. How do I say no to him? Plus . . . accent! Accent all to myself for a little while before the summer ends. How do I say no to that?
“Yeah, sure. I can help. You seemed to have the basics down when I heard you play at the beach.”
“The basics I’m good with, but I’m having some trouble with keeping the rhythm when I do my chord changes.”
“Right. Some of that is just muscle memory, but it’s also pretty common for beginners to try to tackle songs that are too advanced. Do you want to grab your guitar and meet me at Polka Dot Books in a half hour? There’s an outdoor hangout spot in the back and I practice there a lot. It’s protected from the rain and mostly private. Except for Cooper, the store’s black Lab.”
“Yeah? You’re truly up for this?” Ryan asks.
“Sure. I have nothing going on this afternoon.”
I fill Daddy in and race back to my house for my guitar. I have to wade through a pile of clothes on my floor to get to it. I have some time to kill since the bookstore is right next door, so I spend a couple minutes trying to make a dent in the mess, but I get bored pretty quickly. Guess it’s an allowance-free week for Becca. I settle for a quick cuddle with Mr. Bobo. Despite my so-called bestie Vi calling my stuffed dog bald and one-eyed, he isn’t even the tiniest bit sad-looking.
When I head over to the bookstore, Ryan is already there, strumming a song. He’s not bad, but I spot a few bad habits right away. I fix his grip (Ack! Touching boy hands!!) and give him a few pointers, and then we jam a few songs. He picks up everything I teach him really fast.
“I wish I’d known you knew so much about guitar earlier this summer,” he says.
I don’t tell him it probably wouldn’t have mattered earlier this summer, because I would have been too busy practicing my giggle on him to sit quietly next to him and play. But it’s pretty nice now. I’m still totally aware there is a cute boy next to me—because, hello, let’s be real—but I have to admit, I’m kind of having fun just hanging out like I would with my friends.
I smile. “Yeah, it’s too bad.”
“Right. I feel like it’s my fault I formed an opinion of you early on. I’m really sorry I didn’t get to know you better before now.”
I just smile again. It’s kind of awkward, though, and I don’t really know what to say to that, so I’m pretty happy when he says he has to use the bathroom. I consider offering the one next door at my house, but Daddy would probably fuh-reak if I brought a boy home when no adults were there, so I don’t mention it. While he heads off to the public restrooms down the street, I take the chance to work on my new song, the one Sadie inspired. It’s coming along really well. Not well enough to show it to anyone, but I’m getting pretty excited about it.
“What’s that one?” asks a voice from the doorway. I jump about ten feet in the air.
“Sorry,” says Ryan. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I thought you went to the bathroom!” I accuse.
“I did. Meg let me use the employee loo here.”
Of course she did. Traitor. Meg always makes me run next door to use mine, but I guess even fifty-gazillion-something-year-olds are suckers for a good accent. I duck my head and start playing James Taylor’s “Carolina in My Mind,” but Ryan stops me with his hand on my guitar.
“Go back. Play the other one. It has a great hook. Whose song is that? Can you teach me the chords?”
I basically want to run up to my room and dive under the pile of clothes on the floor. Even though the rain is cooling things off today, my face is hotter than one of those freaking meteors we saw the other night.
“Um, it’s nothing. Just something I’m working on.”
I can’t meet Ryan’s eyes, but he’s so quiet for so long that eventually I sneak a peek at him. He’s staring at me with his mouth open. “You wrote that?”
“Um, yeah. It’s not that good. I just—”
“Are you mad? It’s really good. Does it have lyrics too?”
Hello, Earth? Could you please swallow me up now? Any time would be perfect. Like RIGHT now.
“Um, yeah. Sort of. I mean, I’m still working on them too.”
Ryan doesn’t let up. He pesters me and pesters me until I agree to teach him the song. At first I’m dead set against it, but I remind myself that (a) I opened up to Sadie and it wasn’t like the world ended, and (b) Ryan’s going to be an entire ocean away soon and I’ll most likely never see him again.
So I show him.
Actually, he picks it up pretty quickly and comes up with an accompaniment that sounds really nice next to my lead guitar. After a few minutes of playing around with it, I kind of forget it’s my song and just relax. Then I somehow get really, really relaxed (and also I keep reminding myself he’s leaving town in a mere week) because I agree to run home and get my notebook with the lyrics and I actually show them to him too.
Eeep!!!!
But it’s so totally cool because he doesn’t laugh or tease me or anything. I think he’s kind of even jealous of them or something. At least he says he is.
Of course, I draw the line at singing them. Huh-uh. No way.
But still. Major progress on Songwriting Becca front.
Also plus? Ryan’s kind of a cool friend.
IT’S JILLY’S BIRTHDAY!
And you’re invited to the biggest event to ever hit Sandpiper Beach—a Five Alive Concert/Party!
When: Sunday, August 23, at two o’clock
Where: Sandpiper Park Pavilion, at the corner of Bodington Drive & Cove Street
Dress: Rock-Star Chic!
You don’t want to miss Jilly’s surprise guests!
RSVP to Sadie Pleffer at (910) 555-0110 or [email protected]
Vi
GRAPE JELLY MEATBALLS
Ingredients:
5 lbs frozen meatballs
1 jar (32 oz) grape jelly
1 bottle (24 oz) chili sauce
Pour grape jelly and chili sauce into a Crock-Pot and whisk until it is smooth (there will still be some lumps from the jelly). Add frozen meatballs and stir until the meatballs are covered with the sauce. Put the lid on the Crock-Pot and cook on low for 6–7 hours (or high for 3–4 hours), stirring occasionally.
**Reminder: Don’t tell anyone I use frozen meatballs instead of homemade!
**Dad’s favorite for the Super Bowl, the World Series, and pretty much any game on TV.
Oh em gee, Lance, everyone knows JJ Jenkins always performs in a red shirt. It’s his lucky color. Good thing I brought backup.” Becca thrusts a bright red shirt at Lance.
Lauren and I stand there and blink at her.
“Well, everyone does know that . . . right?” Becca says.
“Sure, of course,” Sadie says in a completely distracted voice. She’s too busy messing with the sound system we rented from Darling’s DJs to pay attention to Becca’s uber–boy band knowledge.
“Um, no,” Lauren adds.
“Yeah . . . no. Why don’t we leave you to the band inspection, since you actually know this stuff?” I say. How she convinced each of these guys to dre
ss up like one of the members of Five Alive is beyond me. Oh wait, I do know. We’re paying them. Except she still couldn’t convince five boys to dress up and dance to “I’m a Hot Potato,” Five Alive’s biggest song. So I guess it’s more like Four Alive, which doesn’t really have the same ring.
Becca waves us off as she shakes her head at Evan Miller’s ball cap.
Lance comes out of the park bathrooms with the red basketball jersey on as I’m putting the food on a table under the covered picnic area. It’s about ninety degrees out, and I’m doing my best not to drip sweat into the dishes.
“Nice shirt,” I say with a smirk. It’s kind of hilarious seeing Lance in this enormous oversized basketball jersey with JENKINS blazed across the back in huge white letters. And his hair is even funnier, all slicked back.
“Nice dress,” he shoots back.
Seriously, why does everyone have to make a big deal about me wearing a dress? Okay, maybe it’s not everyone—just Lance. My friends haven’t said a word about me dressing differently (which is why I love them). Dad always does his goofy Dad-smile, but he knows better than to say anything. And I’m not about to explain to Lance that just because I like sports doesn’t mean I always have to wear my comfy running shorts. In fact, this sundress is pretty comfortable too. I don’t look up as I push the ham and cheese sandwiches front and center on the table.
“Sorry, Vi. I didn’t mean that. I mean, it is a nice dress, but I didn’t mean . . . well, you know.”
His face is the color of a tomato when I look up and pass him the cord to the Crock-Pot full of meatballs. “Plug that in, please.” Good one, Vi. Totally calm and cool. Not at all completely freaked out by how weird Lance is acting.
“Um, sure.” He uncoils the cord and plugs it into the nearest outlet.
I’m searching for the paper plates (seriously, it’s like Lauren threw everything into the bags at random) when Lance makes this noise like he’s just died and gone to heaven, as Meemaw would say.
“These are so good! Where did you get them?” He reaches for another meatball and I have to swat his hand away.
“Those are for the party,” I tell him. “And they’re made with grape jelly, that’s why they’re so good.” I put the lid back on the Crock-Pot.
“Wait, did you make these?” He’s looking at me like he has no clue who I am. “Seriously, Vi. That’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Yeah, well.” I can’t really think of anything else to say. Plus it’s weird talking to Lance about stuff that doesn’t have to do with volleyball strategy or whether a tri-fin surfboard is better than a quad-fin. After Mr. Vernon’s party, and the way everyone loved that crab dip, I wanted to try again just to see if it was a fluke—maybe the seniors were all a little senile.
Although Lance’s reaction is telling me that possibly that’s not the case. Which feels kind of good, if I’m being completely honest.
“Five Alive, rehearsal time. Now!” Becca shouts through cupped hands. “We need to run your dance number before the girls show up.”
“Better go dance,” I tell Lance. “Becca’s pretty serious about this band stuff.” I point with a serving spoon at Becca, who’s got her hands on her hips as she waits for Lance and Ryan to join the other two guys.
By the time I’ve got the food ready, Lauren’s arranged the Make Your Own Band T-Shirt table (complete with iron-ons of the Five Alive guys’ faces and lots of glitter), Sadie’s finally gotten the sound system set up, and Becca’s run the boys through their dance three times and is handing them bottles of cold water so they won’t pass out in the heat. The whole time, Izzy is darting around, taking pictures of it all. Sadie said she wanted to spend more time with her sister so she cooked up the idea to have Izzy play the role of paparazzi. We get everything ready just in time for the birthday girl, Jilly, to arrive with her parents and twenty of her closest eight-year-old friends.
Becca shoos the guys behind the bathrooms so the girls won’t see them until the big reveal. Lauren, Sadie, and I hand out goody bags to all the girls as they come in, and Izzy snaps pictures of them. The girls ooh and aah over the bejeweled sunglasses and autograph books and the bracelets and rings that flash different colored lights (never mind that it’s the middle of the afternoon and the sun is blinding, so you can barely see the lights).
“Are they dressed right?” Jilly’s mom asks Sadie. “I wasn’t entirely sure what ‘rock-star chic’ meant.”
Lauren giggles and Sadie smiles at Jilly’s mom. “They’re perfect.”
And they are. These kids have probably outdone Becca (who came in tight black leggings and the sparkliest shirt she owns). At least half of them have Five Alive T-shirts, they’re practically drowning in costume jewelry, and Jilly’s hair is teased up so high, it makes her almost as tall as me.
“Thanks again for doing this,” Jilly’s mom says. “I can’t wait to see the band!”
“Well, let’s get—” Sadie begins.
Becca’s off and running onto the “stage,” which is actually just the far side of the picnic area where we pushed the tables out of the way.
“Heeeey, party people!” Becca shouts through the microphone.
“—started,” Sadie finishes.
The girls crowd around the stage area, Jilly right in front.
“I said, HEEEEY, PARTY PEOPLE!” Becca yells.
The girls clap.
Becca puts a hand on her hip and shakes her head, like the eight-year-olds are completely hopeless. “That’s not the kind of welcome you give your most awesomely amazing BFF, Jilly Papadakis, is it? Especially not on her eighth birthday. And definitely not when she’s got everyone’s favorite band here to perform, just for all y’all!”
A few of the girls squeal, Jilly slaps her hands over her mouth and spins around to see her mom, and Mrs. Papadakis does a great job of acting super surprised.
“So let’s make some NOISE!” Becca shouts so loudly, the people way down on the beach can probably hear her.
The girls scream and clap and jump up and down.
“Good call, putting her up there as the emcee,” I say to Sadie.
“There’s no way any of us could ever be that loud,” Sadie replies with a grin.
“Or that enthusiastic over a bunch of guys from our class pretending to be some silly boy band,” Lauren says.
“All right, then!” Becca says over the mic. “That’s more like it! Now get ready for the most supremely amazing afternoon of your whole entire lives. Because here, just for you, Jilly, all the way from fabulous Toronto, Canada, ready to perform their number one song . . . FIVE ALIVE!!!!”
“And that’s my cue,” Sadie says just as the crowd of girls erupts into a synchronized shriek and Izzy’s camera clicks in rapid succession. Lauren claps her hands over her ears as Sadie pushes her way toward the sound system.
Becca’s jumping up and down “onstage,” pumping her fist. So, of course, I can’t help but pull out my Now-Sometimes-Vi lilac phone and snap a picture of her in midair just in case Izzy’s protective of her own shots. Sadie starts some intro music, and Becca finally raises her hands to quiet the girls.
“Now some bad news. Leo Lumpkins has caught the duck flu, and can’t join us today,” Becca says.
Lauren laughs, and when I look at her, she whispers, “It’s bird flu, not duck flu. It’s this really horrible virus, and if the real Leo Lumpkins caught it, he’d be in pretty bad shape.”
“Then I guess it’s good we don’t have a Leo Lumpkins.” When we figured out we’d only have four guys, Becca suggested we leave out Leo. Apparently, he’s the least popular. She actually called him Leo Lumpy, which seems kind of mean to me but she was like, “Please! Everyone calls him that.”
Anyway, none of the girls look too disappointed that we don’t have a Leo.
“So the only question is . . . ARE YOU READY?!” Becca shouts.
The girls scream and jump up and down.
“Here they ar
e. FIVE ALIVE!”
Sadie turns the music up and Becca holds an arm out to her left.
And . . . nothing.
“Um, where are the guys?” Lauren asks.
Becca’s onstage snapping her fingers all frantically (like the guys are actually going to hear that over the music).
“Be right back,” I say to Lauren, and I race past the crowd toward the park bathrooms. Around the back of the concrete block building, I find Ryan, Lance, Evan, and this other guy, named Dominic, who’s best known at school for bringing a veggie burger for lunch every single day. They’re all hunched over Lance’s phone.
I plant myself right in front of them.
Lance looks up. “Vi! You’ve gotta see this video of a dog jumping—”
I yank the phone from his hands. “Hello? There are a bunch of hyper eight-year-olds waiting for you! Move it! Or you’ll have to answer to Becca.”
That gets them going.
“Sorry,” Lance says as he runs after the other guys toward the stage.
I join Sadie by the sound system as our Five Alive (Four Alive?) takes the stage. The girls either don’t notice or don’t care that they aren’t the real Five Alive, because they’re shouting and cheering so loudly that Sadie has to turn the music up when she starts “I’m a Hot Potato.”
And I have to hand it to the guys. The dance isn’t perfect, but they at least look like they rehearsed it. Ryan, who’s playing the lead singer, even flashes some grins in between his lip-syncing that make the girls squeal even more.
As the song really gets going, I spot Becca singing along (to “I’m a hot potato, a potato in a tornado”), Jilly’s mom and a couple of other moms cheering and clapping along, and even Lauren bopping just a little to the beat in the back of the crowd.
“This is perfect,” Sadie says as the song ends and the guys pose onstage.
The girls scream and shout for more. Except the guys only rehearsed one song, so that’s not going to happen. But it doesn’t seem to matter, because Ryan gives the crowd a wink, and then he’s mobbed—like swarming-bees mobbed—by shrieking eight-year-olds, with Izzy right in the middle, capturing it all with her camera.