by Ginger Rue
“That’s actually still an issue,” Tig said. “My mom won’t relent on my punishment. We’ll have to practice separately until progress reports come out. Then we’ll have a week and a half to get together and practice as a band.”
“Yikes,” Olivia said. “That’s not a lot of time.”
“I know,” Tig said. “But if we all promise to work really hard individually, maybe we can make it work.”
“What does Claire think about all this?” Robbie asked.
Tig grimaced. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Tig couldn’t wait.
All those times she’d waited for just the right moment to talk to Claire . . . about joining the band . . . about whether Regan had turned her against them . . . those were over. A new day had dawned for Tig, one where caution was overruled by a burning desire to play a kick-butt song with her kick-butt band. Well, they’d be kick-butt eventually, wouldn’t they?
Tig couldn’t wait. She had to know.
She caught Claire at her locker. No Regan, no Haley, no Sofia. Perfect timing.
“Ever hear of a band called the Sex Pistols?” Tig said, skipping any small talk or conversational niceties.
“Are you kidding?” Claire said. “My dad has a framed poster of their album cover in his office.”
Yes! Tig thought. “Well, just imagine how proud your dear old dad would be if his daughter’s band recorded one of their songs.”
“The band? That’s still on?”
Tig didn’t like the way Claire’s voice sounded—like she’d hadn’t thought about the band in some time.
“Yeah, it’s still on,” Tig said. “I mean, I’ve been grounded for a while, but when progress reports come out, I’m good to go. We’re going to record a song at the university—and make a video and everything. See, my uncle—”
“You wore it!” Tig turned around to see Regan. “I told you it was so your color!” Regan stroked the collar on Claire’s sweater.
“Thanks!” Claire said. “I wasn’t sure which earrings to wear with it.”
Regan linked her arm in Claire’s. Tig could hear her saying, “Definitely the silver. Good choice,” as the two of them walked away.
Chapter Forty-Three
“So she just walks right off with them, talking about accessories,” Tig said. “Regan gave full approval to the silver earrings, in case you were wondering.”
“Oh, thank heavens!” Robbie said sarcastically. “Because what’s more important than which earrings to wear?”
School had just gotten out, and Tig had to tell the whole story about Claire fast, before the bus or carpool took her bandmates away.
“I can’t believe she asked if the band was still on,” Olivia said. “Like we wouldn’t have told her if we’d called the whole thing off?”
“What color was her sweater?” Kyra asked.
Everyone stared at her.
“What? You said Regan said it was her color. I just wondered.”
“I guess this means we count Claire out, then,” Robbie said. “Man, I sure hate it. What a waste of a perfectly killer voice.”
“I hate to lose Claire, not just her voice,” Olivia said. “I really like her.”
“We all do,” Tig said. “But she’s one of them now, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Maybe Claire can be friends with all of us,” Kyra said. “Maybe all of us can be friends.”
“Yeah, and maybe pink unicorns will sprinkle magical flowers all over the land!” Robbie said.
Tig smirked. “Give it up, Kyra. They don’t want to be friends with us, and we don’t want to be friends with them.” Well, the rest of them didn’t. Tig still couldn’t fathom why Kyra was so desperate for their approval.
“What are we going to do about the Ad Comp commercial?” Olivia asked. “Who’s going to be our singer?”
“I don’t know yet,” Tig said. “But we’ll figure something out.”
“We have to,” Robbie said. “The gauntlet has been thrown down. The Bots want to know if our band is ‘still on’? We’ve got to show them it’s so on!”
“Exactly,” Tig said. “Are we all together on this?”
Olivia and Kyra nodded.
“Good,” Tig said. “Because now, more than ever, I’m determined to make this work. Pandora’s Box for the win!”
Chapter Forty-Four
“Submission” had a syncopated rhythm for the backbeat. That meant that Tig had to kick the bass on one and, the and of three, and the and of four. She thought she’d never get used to doing three kicks in succession when it was time to start over the measure.
But she would get it.
Claire or no Claire, Pandora’s Box was going to make that Ad Comp commercial.
Lee was confident about Tig’s ability to play the song. “It’s not all that complicated once you get the hang of the syncopation,” he said. “It’s slower than ‘Gotcha.’”
“I thought we agreed we’d never speak of that song again,” Tig said.
Lee grinned. “Aw, come on. If you’re going to lead a band, you’re going to have to buck up,” he said. “Everybody who plays music has at least one story of complete humiliation. It gives you something to talk about with other musicians when you’re up at three a.m. after a gig. It builds character.”
Tig remembered BD’s “Party Doll” story and almost smiled. Almost. “I’ve built all the character I want to for a long time,” she said. “I can’t mess this one up. You think I’ll be able to get it?”
“Tig, you’re a good drummer for a beginner,” Lee said. “What’s more, you’re determined and dedicated. With practice, you can do anything. Just take it slowly until you master the coordination, then get the tempo.”
For the next couple of lessons, Lee and Tig worked on her opening cymbal crashes (which were pretty easy, except that Tig’s kit didn’t have a crash cymbal, so she had to do everything on the ride cymbal), the backbeat, and the drum fill. Once she mastered the syncopation, the rest fell into place fairly easily. By the third lesson since they’d started the song, she could play most of the way through without messing up.
“Good—keep going,” Lee said. As Tig banged away on the backbeat, Lee settled down with his guitar. Almost as soon as he started, Tig lost her count and got so flustered, she had to stop altogether.
It was just like the night of Kyra’s party.
“Why do I do that?” Tig said. “I was doing just fine!”
“The guitar part is on a counter rhythm,” Lee said. “Makes it a little tricky.”
“I’ll say,” Tig said. “Let’s try it again.”
They ran through it a few more times before Tig’s lesson was over, and later that night, after she’d finished all her homework, Tig practiced it with the song playing through headphones.
“I’ve almost got it,” Tig told the crew at lunch. “Just in time for progress reports. How’re you guys doing?”
“I’m cool,” Olivia said.
“Ready to rock,” said Robbie.
“I’m still practicing,” Kyra said.
Will was, of course, sitting by Sam, right across from Tig. He looked at her as if to say, Good luck with that. Tig nodded.
“Progress reports come out tomorrow,” Tig said. “I’ve got a solid B in science, so I’m golden. Practice at my house on Friday, then?”
“Aren’t you forgetting one very important detail?” asked Robbie. “We’re short a lead singer.”
Claire hadn’t sat at the lunch table all week. And the few times she’d talked to the girls in class or between, she’d never mentioned the band or the video. Tig had been too proud to bring it up again. She didn’t want Regan to get wind of anything, and revel in her desperation.
“I still say you should do it, Robbie,” Tig said. “I’m sure they can auto-tune you or something. Besides, it’s mostly growling, isn’t it?”
“I will not be auto-tuned like some cheap, no-tale
nt pop star,” Robbie said. “If it’s so easy, you do it.”
“I’m not good enough to sing and keep count,” Tig said. “If you want proof of that, there’s this very enlightening YouTube video you may have heard something about.”
“What about you, Olivia?” Robbie asked. “Think you’ve got it in you to growl?”
“Olivia’s not the growling type,” Will said. “She’s way too sweet.”
Tig noticed that Olivia and Will looked at each other, then blushed and quickly looked away. What was up with that?
“He has a point,” Tig said, somewhat distracted. She forced herself to get back to the matter at hand. “What if we did an instrumental?”
Just then Claire approached their table. “Is there room for one more?” she asked.
“Um, sure,” Tig said. “It’s just that . . . well, I didn’t think you were sitting with us anymore.”
“Don’t be silly,” Claire said. “Of course I want to sit with my friends.”
“We’re still your friends?” Robbie asked. “I thought you’d thrown us over for . . . a better offer.” Everyone stared at Robbie. “What? It’s what we were all thinking.”
“I never meant it that way, honestly,” Claire said. “Regan can be somewhat—”
“Evil?” Olivia said.
“Malicious?” Robbie offered.
“I was going to say . . . exclusive, perhaps,” Claire said. “She was very kind to befriend me, and she was quite solicitous about my well-being when I was ill, but she became easily annoyed if I didn’t spend all my time with her group. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and well, you all seemed to manage without me.”
“We didn’t manage,” Tig said. “The fact is, Claire, we didn’t want to freak you out or seem clingy, but we miss you. We miss your friendship. And to be completely honest, we miss you in the band.”
“Then you’ll still let me sing?” Claire asked.
“Let you?” Robbie said. “Uh, yeah. We’ll allow you to do that. Like, please, please, pleeeeze?”
Claire grinned. “Good. Because I really want to. I’ve missed you all. And I’ve missed the band, even though I’m still a little scared of the idea of singing in front of people. It never seemed so bad when you guys were with me, though. It felt like fun.”
“So you’re still in?” Tig could feel her cheeks getting sore from smiling so big.
“Oh yes,” Claire said. “And I especially want to sing in the video.”
“You do?” Tig said.
“Absolutely!”
“I was afraid the whole video idea had scared you off,” Tig said. “You know, with the stage fright thing. I thought maybe the idea of being recorded had you so spooked that you’d never come back.”
“Well, the video does scare me a bit,” Claire said. “But I don’t have much of a choice, really.”
“What do you mean?” asked Robbie.
“You see, Regan . . . She’d already tried to talk me out of singing with the band. But then it seemed she’d overheard Tig telling me about the video. And then . . . she forbade me to do it.”
“She what?” said Robbie.
“Yes. So you see, I have to sing on the video. I can’t let it sit, some twit telling me what I can and can’t do.” Tig loved the way Claire said cahnt. She loved even more the way Claire had just called Regan a twit.
“Did you just call Regan a twit?” Robbie said.
Obviously, Tig wasn’t the only one who’d enjoyed that part.
“Yes, sorry,” Claire said.
“Don’t apologize on our account!” Robbie replied.
“It’s just that it does make me angry when someone tells me I can’t do something. I have this—oh, I don’t know, perhaps it’s a personality flaw—but I just feel that I must do the exact opposite in order to assert myself. Do you think I’m quite horrible?”
“We think you’re wonderful,” Tig said. “Don’t we?” Everyone agreed. “Glad to have you back, Claire. Friday night, everybody: My house. Sleepover. Lots of practice!”
After the reunited band exchanged fist bumps, Tig looked over her shoulder. Regan and Haley were staring a hole straight through the girls of Pandora’s Box.
Chapter Forty-Five
“I think I may have this thing framed,” Tig said. Progress reports had just been handed out a few minutes before the last bell. Tig’s had all As except for a B in science. Amazing what she could do when she was motivated.
“Your mom just might frame it,” Kyra said. “My dad said she’s been checking your grades every day on the school’s Web portal, just to make sure you haven’t slipped.”
“Dad’s going to be even happier than she is,” Tig replied. “He said that Saturday morning he’d fix us all a big brunch whenever we got up.”
“Belgian waffles?” Kyra asked.
“Depends,” Tig said. “Am I going to be pleased with your progress? And I don’t mean your grades.”
“I’m doing my best,” Kyra said. “I can’t practice all the time.”
Tig had already quizzed Lee on how difficult Kyra’s part would be. He’d said that of all the parts, the bass was easiest, and that Kyra should be able to get it down if she practiced daily.
Before Tig could lecture Kyra about her lack of dedication to her instrument, the bell rang. The two cousins met Olivia, Robbie, and Claire out front at the carpool area. Claire had brought her overnight bag to school and was riding home with Tig, since she was the only one who didn’t have to go home and get an instrument. “Come over as soon as you can,” Tig told the other three girls. “Claire and I are ready to get started.”
“Me too,” Robbie said. “Man, I love this song! Such a great riff. I can’t wait to crank it out!”
“I’ve got to get my hair done before we make the video,” Kyra said. “Maybe some highlights right here. What do you think?”
“I think you’d do better to worry more about your bass line and less about your hair,” Tig said.
“Kyra’s got a point, though,” Robbie said. “Video is a powerful medium for bands. It’s not just about sound; it’s about look and image, too.” Robbie got a gleam in her eye as she studied Tig. “Have you ever thought about dyeing your hair?”
“To what?”
“I don’t know—pink?”
“Pink hair?” Tig replied. “As if my mom and dad are going to let me get pink hair!”
“There are worse things,” Robbie said. “Besides, now that you’ve got that shiny new progress report to show them, it might be the best time ever to ask.”
“I am not dyeing my hair pink!”
“Of course you’re not,” Robbie said. “Not all of it, anyway.”
“We can figure all this out later,” Claire said. “Right now all I can focus on is that our band is making a video!”
“You’re still doing the video?”
It was Regan.
“Don’t even start,” Tig said.
“Claire, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Regan said. “You’re not actually going to be filmed with these losers, are you? It’s social suicide!”
“I’ve already told you, Regan, my friends are not losers.”
“Have it your way,” Regan said. “But once you do this, Claire, I wash my hands of you. If you change your mind before you humiliate yourself, call me. There’s still room for you in our group. But once you publicly associate yourself with this band, that door closes. Forever.”
“Do you realize how absurd you sound?” Claire asked. “You can’t actually expect to tell people what to do.”
“That’s exactly what I expect,” Regan said. “Haley and Sofia and the other girls in our group appreciate my advice.”
“Demands and advice aren’t the same thing, Regan!” Claire said. “That’s not what friendship is about. Friends are supposed to support one another.”
“Friends are supposed to keep their friends from turning into dorks,” Regan said. “Come on! Look at these people. Do they look like roc
k stars to you?” She looked each girl up and down, motioning with her hand. When she got to Robbie, with her hot-pink purse, distressed jeans, and a bandanna tied around her ankle, plus plaid high-top tennis shoes with black laces, a bright blue top, razor-layered shiny black hair with the purple streak, and cherry lips, she had little choice but to concede. “Okay, maybe this one.” Robbie couldn’t help but smirk. “But look at the other ones. Rock stars? Really? Claire, you’re going to look like a fool next to these fools. You already know they can’t play, and if you would just watch that YouTube nightmare like I told you to, you’d know they have no stage presence to pull off a music video! As your friend, I simply have to intervene.”
“Rubbish!” Claire replied. “Your idea of friendship is turning people into . . . into—”
“The word you’re looking for is Bots,” Tig said.
“Bots,” Claire said. “I’m sorry, Regan. But I’m not interested in becoming one of your Bots.”
“Suit yourself, then,” Regan said. “Just don’t come crying to me when this whole thing blows up in your face. You’re sealing your own social destiny.”
When Regan was gone, Tig said, “Don’t let her get into your head, y’all.”
But on the car ride home, as Claire made small talk with Tig’s mom, Tig did some serious thinking.
Robbie and Kyra had actually made a very good point: the girls didn’t look the part yet. And they’d been so busy practicing the song, no one had even thought about stage presence.
It was one thing for Robbie and Kyra to say it, but when Regan made the same point, Tig knew the situation would have to be remedied.
Chapter Forty-Six
Tig’s palms were sweating a little bit when everyone was plugged in, tuned up, and ready to practice the song together for the first time. She had waited for this moment for weeks. Pounding out the backbeat alone day after day, she could hardly wait to hear what it would sound like when they all played together.
She counted off with her sticks, and Robbie cranked the guitar. In seconds Robbie was shredding it, and Tig was practically hopping like a rabbit behind her drum set, excitedly keeping the rhythm fast and hard. Olivia’s arrangement was fierce, but Tig had practiced with Lee and with her phone enough times that she was able to keep pace without being distracted by what the other musicians were doing. Kyra kept up fairly well, even on the first run-through, and Claire didn’t need any time to warm up—she brought it on the first note.