by Ginger Rue
But only a few moments passed before Tig was reaching under her bed, patting her hand on the rug and around various shoes, in search of the missing stick. When she had both of them in her grasp again, she studied them for damage.
Before she could fully think about what she was doing and why, Tig found herself in the studio. She sat on her little stool, put her feet on the pedals, and began pounding out rhythms. She played loudly, forcefully. Not a song per se, but different combinations of backbeats. Behind her drums, she could feel herself start to breathe again, like a fish tossed back into its bowl after a few seconds out of water.
Tig realized that no matter the amount of misery the drums might cause her, she couldn’t give them up. She wasn’t good yet, but she would keep playing. Years from now, when she could barely remember the names Regan or Haley or Sofia, she would still be somewhere sitting behind some drums, a backbeat pounding in her brain and coming out her limbs.
The drums were no longer a means to an end or a silly little project.
They had become part of her.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Where have you been?” Kyra demanded when Tig got to school Monday. She was sitting in the gym with Robbie and Olivia. “I had to have Mama call Aunt Julie last night just so I could make sure you were still alive! Do you have any idea how many texts I sent you?”
“Eleven,” Tig said. “I also received six from Olivia, three from Will, and one big Seriously? from Robbie.”
“Seemed like a valid question,” Robbie said. “Man, you skip town just once for your great-grandma’s party, and the world goes crazy.”
“It is a good question,” Kyra said. “So, seriously? You storm off the stage like a crazy person and then you drop off the face of the planet. What are we supposed to think?”
“Correction. I did not storm off the stage like a crazy person. I stormed off the stage like a very mentally stable person who realized she’d made a complete fool of herself.”
“Whatever you want to call it, Mama was furious.”
Like I care, Tig wanted to say. But before she could come up with any response at all, Regan was upon her.
“Good morning, rock ’n’ roll princess!” she said. Naturally, Haley and Sofia were on her heels. It was as though they were three parts of one organism.
Tig wanted to say something smart back to Regan, but she didn’t. She was humiliated, and her role now was to stand there and take what Regan dished out. She’d earned it.
“Not so mouthy today, are we?” Regan said. “I can’t blame you. There’s really nothing left for you to say. Wow. What a train wreck! You must be so embarrassed. I mean, telling everyone you have a band and then it’s all over YouTube that you can’t even play one stupid song.”
Okay, so maybe Tig wasn’t so great at the whole standing-there-and-taking-it bit.
“If you knew anything about music,” Tig replied, “you would know that ‘Gotcha’ isn’t a stupid song; it’s a difficult song, an advanced song. And that it’s hard to play any song when your lead singer gets sick and your usual guitarist is out of town.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Regan said. “I’m just so glad that your big mouth got you into exposing your talentless, pathetic excuse for a band to the whole school.”
“The whole world, really,” Haley added. “My, my, but I do love the Internet!”
“If you love the Internet so much,” Tig said, “then why don’t you put up a video of yourself singing? I’d love to read all the comments about your supposed talent.”
“I have too much class to self-promote,” Haley said.
“Trust me, two things you’ll never have to worry about having too much of are class and talent,” Tig replied.
“Haley’s not putting any videos on YouTube,” Regan said. “Because if she did, people would be talking about her video instead of yours.” Tig was disappointed that Regan could see through her so easily. Regan continued, “And we want to make sure your video gets talked about around here for a very long time.”
“Tig! There you are!” Will made his way to her from across the gym.
“Oh, look, it’s your boyfriend the guitarist!” Regan said.
“Will is not my boyfriend,” Tig said.
Olivia shifted her weight onto her opposite hip.
“He’s not much of a guitarist either,” said Regan. “We’ll just leave you lovebirds alone . . . for now.”
The Bots went to their usual section, and Will sat down next to Tig. “You okay?” he asked. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Life couldn’t be better,” Tig said. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a rock star.”
“You and me both,” Will said. “That was pretty embarrassing.”
“Will, you were so great up there Friday night!” Olivia said.
“No, I wasn’t,” Will said. “I shouldn’t have said I could play guitar. If Robbie’d been there instead of me, this never would’ve happened.”
“But I couldn’t be there, and you stepped up,” Robbie said. “That means something.”
“She’s right,” Olivia said. “You’re very sweet.”
The funny thing was, Tig thought so, too. Will was sweet. He’d made a complete fool of himself right along with her, even though he didn’t have to, and instead of blaming her for screwing up the song and walking off the stage or even being mad at her for ignoring his texts, here he was, being all nice. She tried to remember what she’d always found so annoying about him, but she couldn’t.
“I guess you’ve seen YouTube?” Robbie asked Tig.
“No,” Tig replied. “I’m making a conscious decision not to look.”
“Good idea,” Robbie said. “It’s not pretty.”
“You know what they say about denial,” Tig said.
“It ain’t just a river in Egypt,” said Will.
“Exactly. But pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t solve the problem.”
“You mean of being the laughingstock of the whole school and the rest of the city?” Kyra asked.
“No,” Tig said. “I can deal with that. I mean, don’t get me wrong—that part stinks, no question. But I think we have an even bigger problem.”
“What?” asked Kyra.
“Has anybody heard from Claire?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Claire hadn’t shown up for school that day.
“She’s probably still sick,” Robbie said.
“Let’s call her and find out,” Kyra said.
“I’m too scared,” Tig replied. “I mean, what if we call and she doesn’t want to talk to us? What if she saw the video and has decided to ditch us?”
“Come on,” Olivia said. “Claire’s our friend.”
“Is she?” Tig asked. “Or were we just her only option?” Tig hoped Olivia was right. She really liked Claire; she wanted them to be real friends.
“Let’s just call her after school and check on her,” Olivia said.
“Yeah, we can’t not call her,” Robbie said. “That would make us pretty inconsiderate friends, and then I wouldn’t blame her for ditching us.”
“Y’all are right,” Tig replied. “We’ll talk more about it at lunch.”
As the girls went to their classes, a deep voice called behind Tig: “Miss Ripley?”
Tig turned around to see Mr. Ellis standing in the door of the science lab. Oh no. She’d completely forgotten about doing the science project over the weekend. She walked toward him, a sick feeling in her stomach.
“Good morning, Mr. Ellis,” she said sheepishly.
“Good morning,” he replied. “I just wondered if you needed to drop off your science project so you wouldn’t have to try to shove it into your locker or carry it around all day.”
“Yes, sir. About that . . . ,” Tig began. “I had every intention of getting that done this weekend, but I had something kind of . . . traumatic . . . happen, and—”
“And let me guess. No project?”
“No, sir.”
“Tig
, this just isn’t like you,” Mr. Ellis said. “You’ve always been such a conscientious student.”
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Ellis. I’ll work harder. I promise.”
The first bell rang. Students were pushing past her to get into the science lab. She needed to get to her first class before the tardy bell. Tig felt that she should say something else, but she didn’t know what. Mr. Ellis didn’t say anything either. He was a tall, imposing man, but he never raised his voice in anger. Tig almost wished he would. The disappointment on his face made her feel worse than if he’d lit into her.
I can’t think about any of that right now, Tig told herself as she hurried to class. I’ll worry about the science project tonight when I can do something about it. Meanwhile, she still had to get through the day and figure out what was going on with Claire.
At lunch the girls and Will brainstormed what Tig should say when she called Claire. “You could just say, Hey, you still alive, or what?” Kyra said. “Keep it light.”
“Or: I’ve been so concerned about you. Is everything okay?” Olivia said. “And then see if she brings up the band. Or the YouTube video.”
“Maybe instead of calling, we should just go by and see how she’s doing?” Robbie said. “Take her some ice pops or something. Mono gives you a sore throat, right?”
“You know what’s good?” Will said. “Those lime juice ice pops.”
“Those are good!” Olivia said.
“So let’s do it,” said Robbie. “We’ll meet at Tig’s house. I’m sure Mrs. Ripley will be glad to chauffeur us.”
“I guess she would,” Tig said.
“Text me later and let me know how it goes,” Will said to Tig. She felt her face flush and wondered if Olivia noticed.
After school the four girls met at Tig’s house and, as expected, Tig’s mother was happy to drive them, both to Publix to pick up ice pops and to Claire’s to deliver them.
“Shouldn’t we have called first?” Kyra whispered to Tig in the van. “Isn’t it rude to just show up?”
“It’s a surprise,” Tig said. But the truth was, Tig was afraid that a one-on-one phone call would simply result in awkward silence, and that would make her feel stupid, and she’d had quite enough of feeling stupid over the past few days. At least this way, there were three other girls to fill in any conversation gaps.
Tig’s mother sat in the car while the four girls went up to the door. “We won’t be long,” Tig told her.
They rang the doorbell. Claire’s mother answered. “Oh, how lovely!” she said in a Mary Poppins voice. “Do come in and say hello! Poppet, you have more visitors!”
Tig wondered for a second why Claire’s mother had used the word more, but before she could process it, Mrs. Roberts was leading them into the family room, where Claire was sitting in her pajamas on the couch . . .
With Regan, Haley, and Sofia gathered around her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“What are you doing here?” Tig said. She knew it was rude. She hadn’t even said hello to Claire. But she couldn’t help herself.
“We’re visiting our friend Claire,” Regan said. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting our friend Claire.” Tig knew it sounded petty, like in second grade when kids thought they owned their friends and no one else could be friends with them.
“Hey, Tig,” Claire said. “Hey, Kyra, Robbie, Olivia. I’d hug you, but I might still be a little contagious. Doctor says it’s okay as long as you don’t get too close.”
“We brought you some ice pops,” Robbie said, awkwardly shoving the box in front of Claire.
“Oh, thanks,” Claire said. “Mum, could you put these in the freezer?”
Suddenly the lime ice pops looked pretty meager. “We brought Claire this get-well basket,” Regan said. The basket was huge and pink and wrapped up in cellophane with a glittery bow. Inside were all manner of froufrou snacks and groovy, retro-looking fruit sodas.
“So how was your party, Kyra?” Claire asked. “I’m so sorry I missed it.”
“Funny you should ask,” Regan said. “I was just about to show you a video on YouTube. . . .”
“We have to go,” Tig said.
“But you just got here,” said Claire. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”
“Wish we could,” Tig said. “But my mom’s in the car, so you know how it is.”
“Well, all right then,” said Claire. “It was good to see you. Thanks for coming by.”
“Yeah, you too,” said Tig. “I mean, the seeing you part. Not the coming by part because you didn’t come by; we did. I mean, not that you would come by because you’re the one who’s sick and everything, and—”
“So we’ll see you soon,” Robbie said, saving Tig from any further babbling.
Tig’s mom was on the phone when the girls got back in the van, so they had an excuse to whisper. “They’re trying to flip her,” Tig said. “They didn’t even know she was alive, but now that we want her to be our friend and be in the band, they want to take her away from us!”
“Maybe they’re just being nice?” Olivia offered. “Oh, who am I kidding? You’re right, Tig. They’ve flipped her. Claire was scared to sing lead before, and now, when they show her the video, she’ll never do it again. It’s over. She’s with the Bots.”
“This stinks,” Robbie said. “The Bots are such jerks! We need Claire’s voice!”
“Plus, I really like her,” Olivia said.
“Me too,” said Kyra.
“We all do,” Tig said, and Robbie nodded. “Ugh! I hate this! Could somebody just shoot me, please, before my life gets any worse?”
“Thank you so much,” Tig’s mom said. She hung up. “Tig, we’re going to drop your friends off now.”
“But I thought we were all going to get supper?” Tig said.
“Not anymore,” her mother replied.
“But, Mom,” Tig said, “we’d all planned—”
“I’m taking the girls home, Tig,” her mom said. “The person I was just talking to on the phone? That was Mr. Ellis.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
They dropped Olivia off last. She hugged Tig and wished her luck.
When Tig and her mother were alone in the car, Tig braced herself for the lecture of a lifetime.
But it didn’t come. Instead they drove home in silence. That was worse. Tig’s mother was rarely one to be rendered speechless. If she wasn’t talking, she must be really upset. Like beyond upset.
When they got home, Tig’s mother kissed the little ones and told them to go play. “Dave, we have a situation,” she told Tig’s dad.
They sat Tig down in the formal living room, which no one ever used, and Tig’s mother relayed the information to her dad. “She just didn’t turn it in. Nothing! Zilch! I can’t . . . I mean . . . What?” She put her head in her hands. “What were you thinking?”
“I meant to do it,” Tig said. “But Kyra told everyone at school that our band was playing at her party, and we weren’t ready anyway, and then Robbie and Claire couldn’t make it, so—”
“So you cancel. Boom. Easy!” said her mom.
“I tried to. But then Regan smack-talked me in the lunch room, and I kinda said, Oh yes, we would play, and then I had to.”
“Then that’s it. Good-bye, band. Hello, studying,” her mother replied.
“Mom! I can’t quit the band! I’m the leader!”
“Antigone Ripley, you have an F right now in science class. An F! There is no discussion. You are grounded from the band until your next progress report. And you will not use your phone or your computer for any social purposes until then either. Do you understand?” Her mother’s jaw was tight, her lips pursed.
“Dad?” Tig said. He was generally the good cop to her mom’s bad cop. But not this time.
“Don’t look at me,” her dad said. “Your mom’s right. An F’s an F.”
That was when it all hit her.
Not only was Tig a joke at school . .
. not only was she a laughingstock on the Internet . . . not only was her band a failure . . . not only had her new friend Claire ditched her . . . but now she was failing science, too. And to be honest, the rest of her grades weren’t so hot either. She had ruined everything she had going for her only to fail miserably as a musician. Tig started to cry.
“If this is a ploy, it’s not going to work,” said her mom. “You’re not getting out of this just by turning on the waterworks.”
But as Tig kept crying, her mom softened. “Honey, this just isn’t like you,” said her mom. “You were always so responsible and so on top of your schoolwork. I know you like your little band, but you’ve got to find a balance.”
“It’s not just the band,” Tig said. She told them everything: all about Regan turning everyone against her, how she had to stand up to Regan to prove herself, how it had all gone horribly wrong and wound up on the Internet, and how Claire had decided to become a Bot instead of her friend.
Even though she was too big for his lap anymore, Tig’s dad held her until she ran out of tears. Her mother patted her back and stroked her hair, whispering, “Now, now, sweetie . . . it’s going to be okay.” Then she asked, “Dave, isn’t there some way we can contact the person in charge of the Internet and have that awful video removed?”
It was so ridiculous, Tig couldn’t help but laugh. Her dad did, too.
“What? Why is that funny?” asked her mom.
“Mom, there’s no one ‘in charge of’ the Internet,” Tig said.
“But you know,” said her dad, “we could flag the video and ask YouTube to remove it. They might not, but all they can say is no, and then we’re no worse off than we were before.”
Tig doubted it would do much good—she felt sure that YouTube would consider the request trivial—but it made her feel better to know that her parents would try to do what they could to help. Even though they were upset with her, they were still on her side. At least somebody was.
There was just one more thing Tig wanted to know. “Mom, can I still play the drums?”
Tig’s mom looked at her dad. He shrugged.
“Well . . . ,” she said. “I mean, I have paid for your lessons through the end of the semester, and it wouldn’t be fair to Lee to ask for a refund. So I suppose you can go to your lessons if your dad thinks it’s okay.”