by Ginger Rue
“Yeah, maybe Robbie’s got a point. You might want to take it down a notch on the volume, and since this is sort of a Southern anthem, maybe loosen up the diction a little bit. Give it some flavor, know what I mean?”
Haley scrunched up her face. “You want me to sing badly to match your drumming?”
Before Tig could launch into Haley, Kyra interrupted. “Ha, ha, ha! Good one, Haley! Oh, don’t you love this girl-band banter?”
“Let’s take it from the top again,” Haley suggested.
“Yes, let’s do that,” Tig agreed, neglecting to add, Even though it’s my band, and I’m the one who says when we take it from the top. But whatever.
They ran through the song three more times, each time with the same result as the first, before Haley’s mom drove up. “Later,” Haley said. “And maybe you could practice on your own before next week. You know, to try not to stink quite so much.”
Kyra waved as Haley jumped into the car and it pulled away. Robbie, Olivia, and Tig just stared in a sort of daze. Had Haley really just said that? And had practice really been as bad as they thought?
Robbie broke the silence. “You do realize you’re going to have to do something about that?”
“Yeah,” Tig said. “Definitely.”
Chapter Eleven
By the next practice, Tig and Kyra were better on their instruments. Kyra had spent the weekend at Tig’s, and they’d practiced together nonstop. Tig was becoming enough of a musician to realize that the bass and the drums walked hand in hand, and that together they were the foundation of the band’s sound. A little scary considering that they were the two least experienced members of the group, but Robbie’s guitar and Olivia’s keyboard were held up by what Tig and Kyra put down.
Each musician was improving separately, which made the band sound a little better together.
Except for Haley. And not just in the area of musicianship. Haley was becoming harder to take every time Tig was around her.
“What’s the name of this band?” Haley demanded at the third practice.
“Good question,” Tig said. It was something she’d wanted to address with the girls; she just hadn’t planned on doing it on Haley’s timetable. Still, she tried to be diplomatic: no sense in becoming a Bot target if she could avoid it. “Does anyone have any suggestions?”
“I’ve got one,” Robbie said. “How about Blood Lust?”
“Ewww,” Olivia said.
“Ewww what?” Robbie asked. “The blood or the lust?”
“Both,” Olivia said. “I’m squeamish. And my mom would freak if I told her I was in a band with lust in the name. She does not approve of lust.”
“Okay,” Robbie said. “You got a better idea, then?”
“I was thinking, something cute and fun,” Olivia said. “How about the Kittens?”
Robbie laughed. “Did you run that one past your mom?”
“No. Why?”
“The term kitten is a provocative way to describe females,” Robbie explained. “I doubt your mom would like it. And I’d be right there with her. I refuse to be part of anything that objectifies women and girls.”
“Ewww,” Olivia repeated. “I didn’t know. So, that’s definitely out. Anybody got something better?”
“What about something concepty . . . simple . . . like, the Five?” Kyra said.
“Two words,” Haley said. “Bore. Ring.”
Although Tig kind of agreed with Haley, she didn’t like the way she’d dismissed Kyra so rudely. “And what do you suggest, Haley?” she asked.
“Call it what it is: Haley and the Other Girls,” Haley said.
“You’re not serious,” Robbie replied.
“Of course I’m serious,” said Haley.
“Why stop there?” Tig said. “Why not just call our band Haley and the Sycophants?”
Robbie laughed. “While I actually find that ironic and attention-getting, and I do love the way the word sycophant rolls off the tongue, I will agree to that when it snows in Alabama in August.”
“What’s a sycophant?” Haley asked.
“Forget it,” Tig said. She looked down at her mythology book sitting on top of her backpack in the corner. Another decision Tig needed to make was which myth from English class to write her essay about. Now she was ready to make two decisions at once. “I’ve got it,” she said. “How about Pandora’s Box?”
“I like it,” Robbie said. “Cool. Dangerous. So cool it makes me wonder why I’ve never heard of a band using it before. Did you do an Internet search?”
“Not yet,” Tig said. She grabbed her phone and typed in the search terms. “It says there was a female band in the ’80s who called themselves Pandora’s Box, but they only had one album and it didn’t get much attention.”
“Never heard of them,” said Robbie. Neither had anyone else.
“I’ll ask an expert.” Tig texted both her parents, who replied almost immediately. “My mom and my dad both say it doesn’t ring a bell, and those two know ’80s music like nobody’s business. If they don’t know who they are, probably no one else does, either.”
Robbie, Kyra, and Olivia also texted their parents, who also had never heard of the band.
“Just so long as we’re not derivative,” Robbie said. “I say we snag it!”
“Pandora’s Box? What does it mean?” Haley asked.
“You know, the myth,” Tig said. “It’s this box full of all the trouble in the world, and they aren’t supposed to open it, but when they do, whammo!”
“That’s stupid,” Haley said. “Just close the box. Problem solved.”
Tig and Robbie looked at each other and shook their heads.
“I like it,” Olivia said. “What about you, Kyra?”
Kyra looked at Haley. Tig could tell she didn’t want to cross her. “I guess we should pick something we all like,” Kyra said.
“Simple question,” Robbie said. “Do you, Kyra, like the name Pandora’s Box?”
“I mean,” Kyra said, “I do, but—”
“Then it looks like it’s four to one,” Robbie said. “Don’t you just love democracy?”
“But I don’t like that name,” Haley said.
“Maybe we should just get back to practicing,” Tig said. “We can all let the name sink in for a little while. You might like it better after you sleep on it.”
“No, I won’t,” Haley said. But Tig just counted off for the next run-through of “Sweet Home Alabama” to end the conversation, and everyone started playing.
In the middle of the song, though, Haley stopped singing and barked out an order. “Write this down,” she said to Tig.
“Excuse me?” Tig replied.
“Hurry . . . grab some paper before I lose my train of thought.”
“What are you—” But before Tig could finish, Haley interrupted again.
“Paper!” She actually snapped her fingers.
Tig was too taken aback to know exactly how to respond, but Kyra quickly pulled a notebook from her backpack. “I’ve got it,” Kyra said. “Go ahead.”
“Octave change after the bridge, and slow it down on the chorus.”
As Kyra wrote, Tig said, “No. Absolutely not.”
“I beg your pardon?” Haley said.
“No octave change. No slowing down the chorus.”
“But that’s the way I want to sing it,” Haley said.
“But that’s not the way we want to play it,” Tig replied. She looked at the rest of the band. “Am I right?”
Olivia and Kyra looked like frightened deer and said nothing.
“You’re right,” Robbie said.
“Last time I checked, I’m the lead singer,” Haley said.
“Last time I checked, this was Tig’s band,” Robbie shot back.
“Says who?” Haley asked.
“Says all of us,” Robbie said. “Or in case you hadn’t noticed, this is Tig’s rehearsal space, and the band was her idea.”
“Look, it doesn’t
really matter who’s the leader and who’s the singer,” Tig added, thinking, Of course it matters. But being brought up in the Deep South, Tig had been trained to believe that good manners were the only thing that kept society from complete collapse. Manners, Tig had been taught, were the grease that turned the wheels of the social machine, and they were the duty of every Southern girl. Her mother had taught her that being nice, even when she didn’t feel like it, wasn’t being fake, as Tig had supposed; instead it was being “gracious.” Tig wanted to be gracious and lovely like her mother and grandmothers, but she wondered how they managed it when people like Haley were so downright awful. “The point is what makes the song work best for our group,” Tig continued. “And slowing down the chorus makes it drag too much. Remember, this is a crowd favorite. They’re going to want to hear it played the way they know it.”
“That’s only because they haven’t heard me sing it better,” Haley said.
“Are you actually suggesting that you sing this better than—” Robbie was cut off by a horn honking outside.
Kyra looked out the window and said, “That’s your mom, Haley.”
“Good,” Haley replied. “You’ll have time to think about it when I’m gone. And I suggest you think about it long and hard. I’m the only thing this pathetic excuse for a band has going for it.”
Kyra actually said, “Bye, Haley!” as Haley stormed out of the studio. Well, it was the same old concrete house, but the girls had taken to referring to it as “the studio.”
“She’s got to go,” Robbie said.
“She is pretty horrible,” Olivia added.
“Tig, no!” Kyra said. “Give her a chance!”
“For Pete’s sake, Kyra, we’ve given her a chance! More than one!” said Tig. “Even Olivia thinks she’s horrible, and Olivia’s nicer than . . . than Winnie-the-Pooh!”
Everyone cracked up. “Winnie-the-Pooh,” Robbie repeated. “Nice.”
“I’m spent,” Olivia said. “I can’t think about this anymore today. I’ve got to work on my mythology essay for English.”
“Me too,” said Robbie.
“Look,” said Tig, “what’s say we get together this weekend and have some downtime as a band? A band retreat, if you will. Slumber party at my house Friday night? Complete with stupid movies and lots of snacks. What do y’all say?”
“I’m in,” said Robbie. Olivia and Kyra said they were too, if it was okay with their moms, but Olivia would have to leave early Saturday to make a tennis lesson.
“I’ll invite Haley tomorrow,” Kyra volunteered.
“Who said anything about Haley?” Robbie said.
“Well, she’s in the band,” said Kyra. “I can invite her, can’t I, Tig?”
Tig sighed. She was tired of fighting and didn’t want to get into it with Kyra at the moment. “I suppose so.” She suspected—and hoped—that Haley would refuse the invitation.
“I just remembered I’ve got a home improvement project this weekend,” Robbie said.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Tig said. “We’re in this together. Hey, thanks for having my back—you know, with the chorus and octave thing.”
“No problem.”
“Band party at Tig’s Friday night,” Olivia said as she typed a note into her phone. “It might be fun.”
Tig knew what Olivia was thinking. It might be fun . . . if Haley doesn’t show up.
Chapter Twelve
“The more I think about the name Pandora’s Box, the more I like it for our band,” Robbie told Tig the next day at lunch. Robbie had taken to sitting at what had now become the band’s table. Well, minus Haley, of course, and plus Will and Sam, who took the edge seats next to the guys’ table.
“Your band’s name is Pandora’s Box?” Will asked. “I dig that.”
Tig didn’t respond. She felt embarrassed but couldn’t say why. She just did. Lately everything Will said or did made her feel . . . What was it she felt? Tig wasn’t sure. But every time Will was around, she felt it.
“So, how’s Haley working out?” Will said.
Tig looked at Olivia, Kyra, and Robbie. No one said a word.
“I take it that means not so good,” said Will. “What? She can’t sing?”
“Of course she can sing,” Robbie said. “Haley’s the best singer ever. Just ask Haley!”
Tig grinned. “She’s all right.”
“No, Tig,” Robbie said. “What you mean is, she’s all riiiiii—iiii—iii—iiight!” Robbie pulled her hand down in a fist while singing the word in twenty different notes and about ten syllables.
Will laughed. “No way! She’s a warbler?”
“Is Haley a warbler?” Robbie laughed. “Was John Locke an influential thinker during the Enlightenment?” Robbie laughed some more, but everyone else just stared at her. Robbie stopped laughing. “The answer is yes. Yes, he was. Man, don’t you people know your basic historical references? Sheesh.”
“Haley’s a bit of a diva,” Olivia said. “Except that she can’t really sing.”
“Olivia!” said Kyra.
“Well, she can’t,” Olivia said. “I mean, I’m just sayin’.”
“Aww, man,” said Will. “There goes your edge. You can’t have a pop-soul diva front a rock band. Especially one who can’t really even sing.”
“Did you hear that, Kyra?” Tig asked.
“Oh, so now we’re listening to Will all of a sudden?” said Kyra.
“What are you going to do?” Will said. “Give her the old heave-ho?”
“I don’t know,” Tig said. “I’ve got to do something, but I’m not looking forward to the confrontation.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to the confrontation!” Robbie said. “Can I have the confrontation? Please? I would savor it. Let me kick her out. I’ll totally do it.”
“Give her one more chance,” Kyra said. “Please? Everyone will think we’re mean if we kick her out now.”
“Everyone who? Regan and Sofia? Who cares?” Robbie said. “I’m not scared of them.”
“Me neither,” Tig said. But deep down, she was a little bit scared. What drama would result in kicking Haley out of the band? Regan and Haley and Sofia may have been annoying Bots, but Tig had a feeling they knew how to bring it when crossed. Running the school social hierarchy wasn’t the kind of thing that happened by accident.
“One more practice,” Kyra said. “Please, Tig.”
Tig sighed. “Okay. One. But that’s it. We’ll see how it goes. We’ll practice Friday after school, before the sleepover. Then we’ll discuss.”
“Can I come?” Will asked.
“To the practice?” said Tig.
“Or the sleepover. I’m not picky.”
Tig elbowed him. “In your dreams.” She didn’t want Will anywhere near practice. She didn’t need him critiquing her drumming. She was still too green.
“I’ll go ask Haley if Friday works for her,” Kyra said. Everyone stared at her. “What? You already said I could invite her to the sleepover! And she needs to be at practice.” Before anyone could say anything else, Kyra was on her way to Haley and Regan’s table.
Tig, Olivia, Robbie, and Will watched from across the lunch room. Kyra’s posture showed her nervousness, and the smile plastered on her face was forced. Regan looked at her with revulsion, and Haley barely looked at her at all. Haley waved her hand in dismissal, and Kyra returned to Tig’s table.
“She said she’ll think about it,” Kyra said.
“Did you hear that, Tig?” Robbie asked. “Haley’s going to think about it! Oh, joy! Oh, happy day! To think that peasants such as ourselves should be so honored!”
“What’s so bad about thinking about it?” Kyra said.
“Nothing,” Tig replied. “Let’s just see how it goes on Friday.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tig didn’t think it was possible for Haley to be more obnoxious, but on Friday she outdid herself.
When she got to practice, she announced, “You’ve got thirty
minutes of my time. Make it count. It’s Friday, and I have plans.”
“You’re not staying for the sleepover?” Kyra asked.
Haley laughed. “Did you miss the part where I said I have plans?”
When they began practicing, Haley was all over the map. First there was the tempo issue. Even though the rest of the band had told her at the last practice that they wouldn’t slow down the song, Haley sang it the way she wanted to. She dragged and put in vocal flourishes as she saw fit, paying no attention to what the other band members were doing.
“Haley, part of being in a band is listening to the other members,” Tig said. “If we all just do our own thing, we’re not a band. We’re just a bunch of people making noise in the same general area.”
“Does the term lead singer mean anything to you people?” Haley asked. “Lead. As in, get your act together and start following me.”
“Listen, Haley . . . ,” Tig began.
“From the top,” Haley said. Then she counted off and cranked the song through her phone, which she’d hooked up to a speaker. Tig couldn’t believe she’d actually counted off! And Kyra fell in on bass with the recording. Tig, once again too shocked to think straight, fell in behind Kyra, and Olivia started in on the keyboard.
Then Robbie jumped in.
But what Robbie played was nothing at all like “Sweet Home Alabama.” Her guitar was squealing and whining all over the place, her hand running up and down the frets at a speed none of her bandmates could’ve matched, even if they had known what in the world she was playing.
Haley clicked off her phone, put her hands over her ears, and shouted, “What are you doing?”
Robbie played a couple more licks before stopping. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to wait for the rest of you? Were we supposed to be playing something together? I mean, I am lead guitar, so I figured you’d all just, you know, follow me. Or wait . . . was that completely self-centered?”
Tig couldn’t help but smirk. “Okay, Robbie. You’ve made your point.”
“Have I?” Robbie asked. “Haley, do you think I’ve made my point?”
“Here’s my point,” Haley said. “My mom’s going to be here any minute. And then I’m out of here because I have more important things to do than hang around with a bunch of people who don’t appreciate what I have to offer. While you’re having your little sleepover, you can work out how you’re going to deal with this. Because frankly, Robbie, I don’t like your attitude. So you have a choice: either fix it or find another band.”