Revenge Of A Band Geek Gone Bad

by Rabinowitz, Naomi

  "No, Kathy, you're perfect!" Clara burbled, patting Kathy's shoulder. "He should be grateful that you even look at him."

  Just then Kathy noticed me glancing at them. As soon as she stopped talking, Tamara and Clara's heads turned to stare at me as if the group of them were one of those multi-headed monsters I've read about, a Hydra.

  "What do you want, Smellinda?" Kathy called. She narrowed her eyes. "Didn't I tell you to mind your own business?"

  I held up my hands. "Hey, I was just walking to class. It's not my fault that you guys decided to have a private conversation in the middle of the hallway."

  The trio came closer to me. "Nice pants, Mel," mocked Tamara as she eyed my brown cords. "They're dog poop colored, perfect for you!"

  I really wasn't in the mood to get into it with them, not after everything I'd been through over the past few days. Holding my head high, I didn't answer her and kept walking.

  Until I felt something drop. I looked down and realized that one of them had unlatched the clasps on my flute case. Now all three sections of my flute —- the headjoint, body and foot -- were scattered across the hard floor.

  "Are you crazy?" I yelled, quickly gathering them. I turned each part over to see if there were dents or any other types of damage. Thankfully, the pieces seemed to be in decent shape. "I can't believe you just did that!"

  The girls stood over me snickering and wearing triumphant expressions. Kathy giggled the loudest.

  "How can you laugh about this?" I asked, standing up and getting so close to her that our faces practically touched. "You know how expensive flutes are, and how fragile. I know you don't respect me, but I'd have figured that you of all people, Miss I'm-so-great-now-because-I'm-first-chair would have respect for the instrument. Especially when you're section leader."

  Tamara rolled her eyes. "God, Moo-linda," she said, shaking her head. "It's just a flute. And I mean, it was just a joke. You're so intense."

  "Yeah!" said Clara.

  "Seriously, Mel, why do you carry that thing around with you all the time anyway?" Kathy added. "That's what our band lockers are for. Really," she told me, "When you're lugging that flute around, you look like a total dork."

  That did it. I was sick of everyone making me feel like crap. I was sick of everyone getting in my face. I was sick of putting up with Kathy and her stupid friends. As I stared into their trio of smug faces, I was overcome by the same feeling I had at Thanksgiving —- that urge to punch something. Before I knew what was happening, before I could even try to stop it, my hand took on a life of its own. It reached out and slapped Kathy across her cheek with a satisfying "Thwak!"

  "Oh my God," Kathy whispered, her eyes wide. She backed away from me, but I couldn't move. I still didn't believe I'd just done that. "Oh my God," she repeated a little more loudly, putting her hand up to her cheek. A bright red hand-shaped blotch was forming on it. "Ow!" she wailed. "Owwww! I can't believe you hit me!"

  By now, a crowd of students had gathered around us, but I was oblivious to them. I numbly stood and stared at Kathy, who was now in full-on freak out mode. "It HURTS," she sobbed, waving her arms around and shrieking. "Sh-she h-hit me haaaarrrrd."

  A few seconds later, Tamara and Clara arrived with Principal Muller in tow. In all the excitement, I hadn't even realized they'd left the scene. "There she is," Tamara said, pointing at me. "She hit Kathy. If you don't believe me, we've got plenty of witnesses."

  The principal turned to me, not quite able to process that quiet, studious Melinda Rhodes would do something like this. "Is this true?" he asked, sounding slightly puzzled.

  "Yep," I replied, noticing the pride in my voice. Now that I'd realized what I'd done, I was beginning to think it was worth it, especially if it got Kathy and her posse off my back.

  "Well, I don't know what to say, Miss Rhodes," Principal Muller said quietly, "but we have a zero-tolerance rule against violence on this campus."

  "Come on, you must have some idea how awful these girls are," I replied. "I can't be the only person who’s wanted to hit one of them."

  I could've sworn I saw a trace of a smile appear on the his face, but his expression quickly returned to neutral. "I can't have you hitting people," he repeated. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be suspended for a week."

  I shrugged. "Okay." By now I was so keyed up, I didn't even care about getting into trouble or dealing with my parents. Screw them! Come to think of it, I could use the break from school.

  "Let's go then," he said, beckoning me to follow. "We'll handle the rest of this in my office."

  ###

  The next few days passed by in a blur. My parents’ reaction, well, could’ve been worse. My mom grounded me for two weeks and regaled me with endless lectures about my recent behavior, and how I needed to see a counselor. Dad went along with her, but I think that he was actually proud of me for standing up for myself. "I don't condone fighting but hey, I got into a few fights during my day," he told me when my mother was out of earshot. He then added a stern warning. "Just don't do it again. Violence is wrong."

  Meanwhile, I got about a million e-mails, Facebook messages and texts, mainly from bandmates who were checking up on me. I’d never had this much online action! "Are you sure you're okay?" Maya wrote. "I can get you your homework." "Band's not the same without you," Ken told me. "I think even Francis misses you; he's been extra mean this week."

  I couldn't believe that smacking someone could suddenly make me so popular, but apparently it gave me some kind of street cred. "Everyone's talking about it," Lana informed me when she stopped by to deliver my work. She laughed. "But by now, you've done much more than just hit her, according to the grapevine. Rumor has it that you slapped her and knocked out a few of her teeth ... and then punched her in the stomach for good measure."

  "Wow," I said, shaking my head. When it comes to gossip, people really like to embellish. Still, one thing bothered me. "Do people think I'm crazy?" I asked.

  Lana smiled. "Are you kidding? Everyone thinks you're a hero. Kathy and her crew may be 'popular,' but not too many people like them."

  I grinned back. "You're right, but it makes no sense."

  She shrugged. "What part of high school does?"

  ###

  The one person who was not impressed with my debut as a bad girl was Josh. "I'm worried about you, Mel," he said one evening as we were hanging out. My parents let him visit under the assumption that we were doing schoolwork, but we were mainly relaxing in my room, talking. "First, you break a bunch of plates and hurt your hands, and now this. It's not good that this is how you're handling stress."

  I giggled. "Okay, Mom. Look," I assured him, "there's nothing wrong with me. I'm just finally standing up for myself. Is that so bad?"

  "No," he hedged, "but let's face it, you're being pretty extreme. I don't want you to end up getting hurt."

  "What, do you think I need help? Do you also think I need to see a shrink?" I stared at him in disbelief.

  Josh faced me. "I think we need to quit it with this whole Kathy thing.” His tone was serious. "Just let it go. It really doesn't seem to be doing anything good for you."

  "Are you serious?" I stood up. "I'm finally letting her know that she and her friends can't walk all over me. Besides," I added. "This whole thing was your idea, Josh, so stop being a hypocrite. You're the one who pushed me and pushed me until I did one of your stupid schemes. So where do you get off telling me that I'm going overboard?"

  "You're right," he said. He also stood up and paced. "I'll admit, when I first asked you to help me, I thought it would be fun to work with the 'good girl.' I wanted to see how far you'd really go." He sighed. "But now I regret ever doing that, and I'm sorry. I just wanted to have a little fun with Kathy and Francis; I never wanted you to get hurt."

  "I'm not hurt," I told him, the words tumbling out, "but now that we've started this thing, I don't want to stop. You've seen the way people are treating me. I finally have some respect!"

  "For
now, yeah. But if you keep throwing things and hitting people, you'll definitely be an outcast."

  I knew that what Josh was telling me made sense, but I didn't feel like listening. Not then. Not when I still had so much anger inside of me that I couldn't seem to get rid of. "You know what?" I spat. "Forget it. Don't help me. I'll just take care of Kathy myself."

  He held up his hand. "No ... don't do that," he muttered.

  "Well, what other choice do I have? If you're not going to do anything, I'll handle it. Now I know I can."

  Josh exhaled. "Know what?" he said softly. "If you really want, I'll — I'll work on Kathy." He closed his eyes for a moment. "But I'm going to do it in a way that'll guarantee that you won't be connected to it."

  I bounced on my heels. "Great! I owe you."

  "But this is the last time," he said in a low voice. "I'm serious. After this, I'm cutting you off."

  I ignored his final words. "I can't wait!" I shouted, pumping my fists. "Kathy's going down!"

  CHAPTER 11

  For the next few days, I pestered Josh about what kind of plan he had in store for Kathy. He refused to tell me. I wondered if he even had something lined up, or if he was just trying to hold me off until I gave up on getting revenge, but he assured me that I'd be very pleased with what he’d come up with.

  But I had bigger things to worry about, namely our upcoming holiday recital. Every December a few musicians from each section are chosen to play a solo for the event; Mr. Francis asked me, Kathy and Maya to represent the flutes.

  I was playing the first movement of a piece simply called "Sonata," by a French composer named Poulenc. It's one of my favorites because it's really beautiful, but it's also really out there. Don't get me wrong, I love playing music by Bach or Mozart, but that's the type of flute music that most people would expect to hear. The Poulenc piece is different. There are crazy jumps from low notes to high notes, and then it suddenly slows down to a haunting melody in the middle section. It especially sounds great when the piano and flute play together.

  Unfortunately, thanks to my suddenly busy social life, I hadn't worked on it nearly as much as I would've liked to to get it performance ready. I hadn't even had a chance to practice with Mrs. Bentz, the pianist whom Sequoia High hired for the recital. I was even beginning to wonder if I should find a way to get out of playing in front of everyone.

  Mr. Francis then made an announcement at our next rehearsal. "I have some wonderful news!" he boomed. A grimace appeared on his face, but I realized that this was actually a smile. "We're getting a special guest at the recital next week. Dr. David Chambourg, who's the conductor and founder of the Chambourg Youth Orchestra, is an old friend of mine and is anxious to hear everyone play. He's hoping that he can find a few musicians to include in his summer orchestra."

  A murmur swept over the band. The Chambourg Youth Orchestra is well known on Long Island. Only the best high school musicians are chosen for it, and they play all over the U.S. I'd even gone to see them once when they performed in Carnegie Hall. I couldn't believe that Dr. Chambourg wanted to hear us.

  "I told you it was a doozy," laughed Mr. Francis. We all quieted down when he chuckled because it was such an unusual sound. "But there's more." He paused for effect. "If any of you get chosen for this orchestra, it will be a paid job, $300 a week. And you'll be traveling all over the place, to Los Angeles, Arizona, Washington D.C. ... even Alaska. Like I said, it'll be one hell of an opportunity if any of you get this. If," he repeated. He resumed his normal frown. "So I expect everyone I picked to do an absolutely flawless job! No mess-ups. I don't want to be embarrassed; it won't be good for me or you." He stared us down.

  Mr. Francis ordered us to do a run-through of Broadway For The Band, but I was too excited to concentrate. I had to get a slot in that orchestra. This was my dream job.

  ###

  "Ugh, I have so much to do," I told Josh as we rode home from school. I hummed along to the rock song that was playing on the radio. By now, I was becoming somewhat familiar with Josh's favorite tunes. "I have to go over the first part of my piece and then work on some of the difficult parts in the middle, and then I have to listen to the piece a few times with the piano so I can make sure that it’s perfect, and then I have to polish my flute...." I stopped rambling for a moment and caught my breath. Josh smiled at me.

  "You're going to do great," he said. "I believe in you."

  "But everyone else playing is so good," I argued. "And I haven't been playing as much, but I didn't know that I would be getting this opportunity..." I paused and looked at Josh. "You know, it's not fair that you're not getting a chance to play at this recital and audition for this guy. If he heard the way you can play, you'd definitely get in."

  Josh shrugged. "I like playing with the guys at the bar. That's my thing. But you," he said, pointing at me. "You need to make sure you do well."

  I noticed his eyes flash as he said this. "Wait a second. You're not planning to do something at the recital?" I said slowly. He didn't answer, but bit his lip to keep from laughing. "You are, you are!" I shouted. "I knew it."

  "I didn't say anything," he said. "Now go practice. I expect for you to kick some ass at this thing."

  ###

  Lana helped me get ready for the big night. Believe me, I needed it. Between fretting about my solo, the plan and Dr. Chambourg, the last thing I could think about was what to wear.

  Fortunately I had my fashion-obsessed friend to assist me. Or in Lana's case, critique every article of clothing.

  "No offense, Mel, but your stuff is kind of blah," Lana complained, holding up my beige silk shirt. She'd laid out several dresses on my bed and was eyeing them warily. She, of course, looked flawless in a rose-colored cashmere sweater and blue skirt. To complete the look, she'd clipped her ringlets away from her face with a rhinestone barrette and wore a matching pin on her sweater.

  "This could work," I said, taking the shirt from her. "It'll look nice with my black skirt." I eyed her pin. "Maybe we can dress it up with some jewelry or something."

  "I guess that's okay, but I've got a better idea," Lana suggested, smiling. She pulled a red cocktail dress out of her duffel bag along with low red heels. "Try this."

  My mouth fell open. "Are you kidding me?" The dress was made of red satin and had a full skirt that flared out. However, the top was fitted, sleeveless and extremely low cut. No way was I squeezing myself into that thing.

  "It's my mom's," Lana explained, grabbing a hanger and looping it over my bedroom door. "She bought it a few years ago, but only wore it once. I doubt she could fit into it now."

  “I can't fit into it!" I reminded her. Still, I couldn't resist pinching a bit of the fabric. The satin felt so smooth between my fingers.

  "Just try it," Lana insisted. She looked me up and down. "I'm pretty good at dressing people and you've lost weight, you know. I have a good feeling about this one."

  "I don't know..." I hedged. Even if it did fit, I wasn't sure that red was my color. And then my flabby arms would be sticking out like sausages, and my marshmallow-like boobs would be waving “hello” to the world. Lana could pull off red and skimpy. I was more of a well, beige and covered up-kind-of-girl.

  "Look, the worst that can happen is that it doesn't fit," she said. "And if that's the case, we'll go with the other outfit." She made a face as she said this. "But if this does work..." She grabbed the dress and dangled it in front of me. "Can you imagine Josh's reaction? Think of his face as his eyes pop completely out of his head!"

  Yeah, especially if other things pop out, I thought.

  Lana thrust it at me. "Go on. Try it already."

  "Okay, okay," I said, laughing. "Let's see the damage."

  ###

  It fit. Not only did it fit, I looked nice. Hot even. The full skirt camouflaged my enormous thighs and butt. The bodice perfectly emphasized my rather sizeable chest, but in a good way, and the cut somehow made me look thin! I twirled around and around in front of my mirror, the
grin never leaving my face.

  "You. Look. Amazing," Lana said, standing back to examine her handywork. "Seriously. You're a goddess. You're going to knock everyone dead tonight."

  "I can't believe it," I said, turning once again to admire my reflection. "You're a genius, Lana!"

  "I know, I know," she said, taking a bow. "But honestly, I didn't have to do much. You've always been cute."

  I frowned. "The only reason I look remotely okay is because I've lost some weight. I still have so much to go."

  Lana sighed. "Mel, Mel, Mel, how many times do I have to tell you, you were not fat before. Trust me, even if you were still a Size 12, you'd look just as good."

  "What size is this?" I asked.

  She smiled. "A 10. Satisfied?"

  I nodded, not quite believing it. "Yeah!"

  ###

  After Lana finished my hair (which she curled for me), jewelry (she let me borrow her pin for the evening) and makeup (which made me look like a hooker, but I kept my mouth shut), we went downstairs to wait for Josh. Since my dad had to work and my mom had a performance of her own, Josh was driving me to the recital. I was glad, though, that he and Lana were so willing to step in as my "family" for the evening.

  "Thanks for bringing this outfit," I said to Lana as we wriggled into our coats. "I love it."

  She shrugged. "Hey, I can't call myself your friend if I let you go out looking like a librarian when you're about to see your Dream Boy."

  "If Josh likes me as more than a friend, I hope he's into more than just my looks," I said, dabbing at my cheeks in an attempt to wipe away some of the blush. "Otherwise, I'm screwed."

  Lana grabbed my hand to stop me from ruining her makeup job. "I think he's into you."

  "I hope so.”

  "Oh, come on," she reminded me, "look at how he took care of you at Thanksgiving. No offense, Mel, I love you, but I never would've entered the crossfire of the War Of The Rhodeses. What he did for you was just totally sweet." She sighed. "I wish I had a nice guy in my life."