How to Rock Best Friends and Frenemies

by Meg Haston

  “And then I told the sound guy—” Stevie dissolved into laughter. “You tell it,” she gasped at Zander.

  “Okay. Wait. No. You tell it. It was your guitar.” Zander’s toes curled around the ropy lip of the couch cushion.

  “No, you tell it!” Stevie opened the second of two bags of Swedish Fish she’d unearthed from her suitcase. The relentless crinkle of the cellophane made my left eye twitch.

  “No, you—”

  “Will one of you just tell it?” I blurted, lurching forward. My funny bone slammed into the cold marble edge of the coffee table, and I chomped down on my tongue.

  “Ohmygod, are you okay?” Even a mouthful of Swedish Fish couldn’t mask Stevie’s new round of laughter.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped. At least the radiating pain in my elbow provided a momentary distraction from my migraine and eye twitch.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll tell it,” Zander decided. “So then she tells the sound guy—”

  “I SAID, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN E FLAT!” the two yelled at the same time.

  The Beat leaned forward and slapped Stevie five, and Nelson grinned. Even Kevin stopped drooling over Stevie long enough to crack a smile. Clearly, I was the only one in the group with a functional sixth sense. And that sixth sense was screaming that Stevie from Seattle was trouble with a capital GET OUT.

  I was suddenly furious with Zander, but I couldn’t decide why. To be fair, I had a million reasons to choose from. How he’d let some random chick waltz into the loft and take over rehearsal. How two seconds after Stevie arrived he’d put out the best kind of fancy Whole Foods almonds, when he knew it would take an hour of flossing to excavate them from my braces.

  “So how long have you been in the band?” Stevie focused her cat-eyed gaze on me. “Zander’s been talking about Gravity since the school year started, but he never mentioned you by name.” She yanked up her sleeves, revealing a leather cuff bracelet identical to Zander’s.

  “Um, a couple of weeks,” I said distractedly, unable to take my eyes off that stupid bracelet.

  “Then she went on a little hiatus.” Kevin’s dark eyes flashed.

  “I was—I had a lot going on,” I said, glaring at Kevin.

  Stevie shot a warning glance at Zander. “Commitment issues?”

  “That’s not it. I—” Wait. Why did I feel like I had to explain myself? She was the outsider. I was Kacey. Elisabeth. Simon! I sat up straight and visualized myself in the Channel M studios, sitting at my anchor desk and prepping for an interview with a hostile source. I was in charge. This was my show.

  “So, Stevie. What is it, exactly, that you’re doing here?” Keeping my tone journalistically neutral was taking every ounce of my strength. “And how long did you say you were gonna be in town?”

  “I didn’t.” Stevie shrugged. “But a couple of weeks, I guess.”

  “Her dad’s interviewing for a job as a prof with U of C,” Zander added proudly. “Gabe. You guys’ll love him.”

  “Cool.” Nelson cracked his neck on one side, then the other. “I bet they’re putting you guys up in a sick hotel, huh?”

  “Actually, we’re staying here.” Stevie curled her feet underneath her and sank back into the sofa cushions, a few inches closer to Zander than before. “Our parents are old friends, so Vann and Lily invited us to crash at the loft.”

  Vann and Lily? I’d never even heard Zander’s parents’ names, let alone met them. “Wait. You’re staying here. At the loft.”

  “Yep.” She nodded smugly.

  There were so many things wrong with that arrangement, I’d already lost count. For one thing, the loft was basically one giant room. Which meant that no matter where Stevie slept for the next two weeks, she and Zander would be sleeping in the same room.

  “Oh, and we thought it would be cool if she came to school with me,” Zander was saying. “If they decide to move here, she’d be going to Marquette anyway, so…”

  Move here? “Don’t you have homework?” I interrupted, half curious and half desperate. “Like, from your actual school?” I couldn’t even process the part about a possible move. I would rather let Ella tighten my braces with a corkscrew than matriculate with Stevie.

  “We’re on spring break for two weeks. My school is year-round, so we get longer vacations.” She popped the last of the Swedish Fish into her mouth. Kevin watched her toss them back with a look of dazed admiration.

  “So, Kacey, you can introduce her around, right? Like to”—Zander shifted uncomfortably—“your friends?”

  “Totally,” I said through a tight smile. “I’m sure Molly would love that.”

  “Whatever. I doubt your little friends would be my kind of people, anyway.” Stevie shrugged at me. “No offense.”

  My throat closed up. “Obviously,” I mumbled.

  Stevie hopped to her feet. “So, let’s hear you guys jam.”

  The boys scrambled after her into the breakfast nook while I trailed reluctantly behind. I couldn’t decide which was worse—being stuck here with Stevie or the knowledge that as soon as rehearsal ended, Zander and Stevie would be alone. In an empty loft.

  “Hey, Goose.” Stevie climbed onto the island in the kitchen and drew her knees to her chest. “Does this place kind of remind you of—”

  “I was just about to say.” Zander laughed as he tuned his guitar and Nelson tried a few notes on the keyboard.

  “About to say what?” I adjusted my mic stand, even though the height was fine.

  Zander pulled his stand closer to mine. I looked smugly at Stevie, but she was picking at a thread in the cuff of her jeans.

  “Before we got Hard Rock Life together, I was thinking about just doing a solo thing,” he explained.

  “But I kept trying to convince him to team up,” Stevie added from her perch. “I knew a couple of good musicians, but nobody plays guitar like this one, you know?”

  “Duh,” I said into the mic. My voice boomed across the loft.

  Zander rolled his eyes at the compliment. “Anyway, I was gonna call myself One-Sided Truce.”

  “That’s the worst. Name. Ever,” I informed him.

  “That’s what I told him.” Stevie laughed.

  “I was eleven,” Zander protested. “Anyway, I’d booked my first gig at this bookstore on the waterfront. Two stories, a cool loft setup kind of like this one. I was pumped. Put an ad in the paper, on Facebook, everything. I even had some flyers printed, and Stevie offered to post them around town. But when I got to the gig, no one was there.”

  “How come?” The Beat asked.

  “Funny you should ask.” Stevie drummed her fingers together mischievously. “It seems there had been a little… typo on all the publicity materials.”

  Zander groaned. “Instead of saying ‘One-Sided Truce,’ the promo stuff read—”

  “ ‘—One-Legged Goose,’ ” Stevie finished proudly, with a slight bow at the waist. “Obviously, nobody showed up, because who wants to see that?”

  The Beat tapped the cymbals as the guys burst out laughing.

  “Dude. You got played!” Kevin roared.

  “And from then on, he was Goose,” Stevie said.

  Skinny Jeans was a way funnier nickname, but whatever.

  “I think that was my best prank ever,” Stevie mused. “Definitely top three.”

  “And she’s pulled some good ones,” Zander said.

  “He wouldn’t speak to me for, like, three days. Finally I told him, ‘Give this group thing a shot. We’ll play one show, and if you want to go solo after that, you can.’ ” Stevie lifted her arms in a sweeping, dramatic gesture. “And the rest is history.”

  “Actually, I probably wouldn’t have started Gravity if I hadn’t loved HRL so much, you know?”

  “You’re welcome.” Stevie winked at me.

  I blinked back. “Is story time over? I’m ready to play.”

  “Atta girl.” Zander grinned, strumming the intro to a song he’d written several years before. He’d p
layed it for me last week, and it was the perfect song: romantic and smack-dab in the middle of my range. By the time I was done with the first verse, Stevie would run crying back to the West Coast.

  My lips parted, and I took a slow, easy breath.

  “Hold up. Hold up.” Stevie lifted her hands in the time-out symbol.

  The microphone amplified my sharp inhale.

  “What?” I whipped my head toward Zander, but he suddenly seemed fascinated with his nail beds.

  “Oh. I was just wondering where your guitar is.” Stevie’s voice was saccharine, the same tone Molly used with Paige. Only amplified.

  “I don’t play,” I mumbled. “Yet. I’m—”

  “She’s gonna learn,” Zander said lamely.

  “You play?” The Beat rapped a drumstick in triple-time on his thigh. “Let’s hear it!”

  “But—”

  The sound of the guys’ cheers cut me off.

  Stevie slid off the counter. Zander handed her his guitar—the prized guitar he never let anybody touch—and she let loose.

  “Oh, I’ve got this feeling. Like I’m spinning, dancing, reeling.” Her voice was low and easy, uninhibited and powerful at the same time. She stared directly at Zander as she rocked out. It was as if everyone but him had disappeared. “And it happens every time he looks at me. And I can’t breathe. He sets me free.”

  Stevie shifted her gaze to me. She smiled innocently, but I saw through the hardness in her stare. Her look told me to watch my back.

  I gritted my teeth and matched her smile. My sixth sense had been wrong. Stevie from Seattle wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.

  She was worse.

  SMELLS LIKE TEEN RIVAL

  Tuesday, 8:30 P.M.

  “I’m upstaiiirs!” Paige shouted down the narrow stairwell of the Greenes’ townhouse when Ella and I stepped through the front door later that night.

  I wiped my feet on the blue color-blocked jute rug in the entryway, motioning for Ella to do the same. Paige’s townhouse had the same layout as ours, with a kitchen, half bath, and living area on the first floor, two bedrooms and bathrooms on the second, and an attic on the third. But their house had always seemed much bigger to me. It was probably the clean, low lines of the Greenes’ minimalist décor—and the lack of finger paintings and traced-hand turkey drawings on their stainless steel refrigerator.

  When we got to the second floor, Paige popped out of the first door to the right. Her bob was pulled into tiny sprouts that barely passed for pigtails, and her dad’s gigantic NYU LAW sweatshirt almost obscured her green-and-yellow striped boxers.

  “Hey, El! Didn’t know you were coming, too.”

  “Mom had a late interview,” I explained, then mouthed, Sorry.

  “Thank you for us coming over, Paige.” Ella beamed. I gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Uh, my pleasure.” Paige tousled Ella’s curls, then gave me a curious, crooked smile. A dab of white zit cream dotted her upper lip. “Everything okay?”

  “ ’Course,” I said, shaking my head violently when Ella wasn’t looking.

  “Got it. Come on in.”

  If the rest of the Greenes’ house was an image out of a West Elm catalog, Paige’s room was a “before” shot on one of those Help, I’m a hoarder shows. Teetering piles of history books, presidential biographies, and rubber-banded campaign posters lay at the foot of the low platform bed. Shoes and clothes, all black, littered the hardwood floor, and Paige’s pistachio duvet was draped over the bamboo papasan chair by the window. The large silver magnet board above the bed was papered with pictures, a crumpled program from the Guys and Dolls show I’d just starred in, and sticky notes Paige had written to herself. The computer desk in the corner was home to highlighters, an open box of granola, and an impressive haul of GO GREENE campaign buttons.

  “Nessa would have a field day with this place, psychologically speaking.” I stepped over Paige’s hair-dryer, which was plugged into the wall by the door, and cleared a space on the bed.

  Paige shrugged. “Mom says as long as she doesn’t have to look at it, I can keep it however I want. So what’s up?” “It’s… hard to explain.” I eyed Ella, wishing she were still at an age when I could say whatever I wanted in front of her. These days, everything I said went straight to Mom. Verbatim.

  Paige nodded her understanding. “Hey, El,” she said enthusiastically. “Wanna listen to this cool new song I downloaded on my iPod?” She pulled headphones from her desk drawer.

  “Kacey has those, too!” Ella reached for them.

  “Nothing she shouldn’t be listening to,” I warned.

  “Please. What kind of an influence do you think I am?” Gently, Paige slipped the earbuds into Ella’s ears and fiddled with the dial. Then she led her to the papasan chair and tucked her in beneath the wilted duvet. “Okay. Go.”

  I took a deep breath. “So this afternoon I had rehearsal at the loft. And I got there early for the surprise, you know?”

  “Riiiight.” Paige squinted, collapsing next to me on the bed.

  “¿Dónde está la biblioteca?” Ella chirped from the papasan chair. “Where is the library?”

  “So we’re about to get started and… this girl walks in.” I told her everything there was to tell about Stevie, from the perfect smile to the takeover attempt at the end of rehearsal.

  “Goose?” Paige said skeptically when I’d finished. Her brows disappeared beneath her bangs.

  “Lame, right?” I fell onto my back. “What am I gonna do? She can’t move here! She’ll steal Gravity, and Zander… I have to talk to Zander. Explain that Stevie is—”

  “Is what?” Paige looked at me like I was nuts. “Cramping your style? You can’t bad-mouth Stevie. If she’s his best friend—”

  “I’m his best friend, Paige!” I snapped, sitting up again. “Me. Not. Her.”

  “Okay. I know,” Paige said softly, in the same tone Mom used when she was trying to appease Ella mid-tantrum.

  “¿Quieres un café? Would you like some coffee?”

  Paige tightened her pigtails and looked me straight in the eye. “I just think this is one of those times when honesty isn’t the best policy, Kace.”

  I made a gagging sound.

  “And just because Stevie’s here doesn’t mean you and Zander aren’t still good—best—friends, you know?” She pursed her lips. “Did they used to date or something?”

  “I—I don’t know. Maybe not.” I sounded weak, even to myself. “It’s just that I’m trying to get things back to normal with the guys. They don’t trust me as it is. And having Stevie here isn’t gonna help.” I dug a stuffed duck out from under my thigh and pitched it across the room. Suddenly, the bedroom felt stifling.

  “Just promise me you won’t talk to Zander, Kace. It’s not the right thing to do.” Paige lifted her pinky finger, swear-style, but I shook my head.

  “Give me another option, then, Madame President. Something that’ll prove that I’m back with Gravity for good, and there’s no room for chicks from Seattle.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Paige said coyly. “Sometimes I think you forget about the strings I can pull as seventh-grade president.”

  “Paige. You getting me backstage passes to the Debate Club finals is so not gonna fix this.”

  Paige sniffed, poking at the zit cream on her face. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “Spill!”

  “Okay. So Molly thinks she’s running the dance, but she’s totally just a puppet. Guess who the faculty advisor for middle school social events is this semester?” Her shoulders inched toward her ears, which they always did when she was excited or stressed. “Dr. Phil!”

  “Ohmygod. Dr. Phil.” My stomach flip-flopped at the mention of Dr. Philippa Meyers, Marquette’s hippie-chick school shrink. She’d been called in to mediate when I’d been ousted as the lead in the school musical due to my braces-induced lisp. “Why would you say that name to me?”

  “But think about it!
She’ll be in charge of all major decisions,” Paige said.

  “Point, please.”

  “Decisions like, oh, I dunno… the evening’s entertain—”

  “THE BAND!” I leapt up and grabbed Paige by the shoulders. “I could get Gravity a gig playing the dance, and they’d know I was in it for good! There’s no way Stevie could compete with that!”

  “EXACTLY!” Paige shrieked.

  “You’re the best.” I threw my arms around her and squeezed.

  “Hey, Paige?”

  We jumped at the sound of Ella’s voice. The white earbuds were draped around her neck, halter-style.

  “I want to watch TV,” she whimpered. Her lower lip trembled, which I recognized as the international six-year-old sign for TANTRUM AHEAD: 3 MINUTES.

  “Okay, okay.” I jumped off the bed and hurried over to the jumbo TV set Paige had gotten at our neighborhood garage sale last year. It hailed from the early nineties and was missing the VOLUME-DOWN button, which meant that everybody on Paige’s TV was screaming, all the time.

  I punched the POWER button and held it for the required five seconds. A scene in a hospital room slowly flickered onto the screen. A young female doctor in a lab coat was yelling at the camera.

  “This is an extremely rare, flesh-eating fungus. There are currently fewer than fifty documented cases in the world.”

  “Gross.” I jabbed at the CHANNEL button, but the logo in the bottom right corner of the screen stayed put.

  “It’s broken.” Paige shrugged. “I only get the Surgery Channel now.”

  The screen cut to an image of a woman with a disintegrated face.

  “Monster!” Ella screamed and threw her arms around me.

  “Great.” I groaned, petting Ella’s curls with one hand and turning the TV off with the other. “Now she’s gonna have nightmares for weeks!”

  “Oops. Sorry, El.” Paige winced.

  My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. “Hold on.”

  MOM: HOME FROM THE STUDIO. WHERE ARE YOU GIRLS??? TEXT IN 30 SECONDS OR I CALL NANCY GRACE.