by Ginger Rue
“We won?” Kyra said, again with too much volume and now with added shrillness.
“Quiet!” Tig said.
“But, Tig, isn’t this great news?” Olivia asked. “Why are we whispering?”
“And why haven’t we gotten to see the ad yet?” Robbie added.
“That’s why we’re whispering,” Tig said. “I didn’t want to worry all of you, but Uncle Paul refused to let us see the commercial before he submitted it to the competition. He’s created a media event where the press gets to see our pure, unfiltered reactions to the commercial at the victory party.”
“But what if we hate it?” Robbie said.
“We won’t hate it!” Kyra said. “It must be good. . . . It won!”
“That doesn’t mean we’ll like it,” Robbie said. “Maybe it won because the judges thought it was supposed to be a funny commercial. Maybe we look like idiots. Maybe we’re a sight gag—like one of those dog wedding memes, with the poodle in a bridal gown and a pug in a tux! Oh man, Tig . . . tell me I’m not a pug in a tux!”
At least Robbie was on her wavelength. “We’re not pugs—or poodles,” Tig said. “Uncle Paul says we look great.”
“Yeah, well—no offense—he’s old,” Robbie said.
“But the college students aren’t,” Claire said. “Who knows cool better than college students? Every trend we follow comes straight from them. Am I right?”
She was right. Every next big thing that happened fashion-wise at Lakeview Heights was traceable to somebody’s older sister at UA.
“I hope you’re right,” Robbie said. “I don’t want to be a pug in a tux.”
“Nobody’s a pug in a tux,” Tig said. “I’m sure my mom won’t mind another sleepover at my house. We can either celebrate after the unveiling or wallow in our misery together. But look, let’s not tell anyone about this. With any luck, nobody at school will watch the local news anyway.”
“Can I tell Will?” Olivia asked. “He won’t tell anyone.”
Will? When would she tell Will? Did she mean when he got to the table? Or did they, like, talk outside of school now? And why did Tig even wonder about this? It was her idea for them to talk anyway, wasn’t it?
“Well, sure, Will’s a vault,” Tig said. “He can even come to the party if you want to invite him.” Tig meant to be generous when she said it. She wanted to mean it—to be chill about the whole thing. But she sort of wished she hadn’t said Olivia could invite Will, and she didn’t know why.
“Will!” Olivia said when he and Sam sat down. The next thing Tig knew, Olivia was whispering in Will’s ear. It was weird, seeing them so close to each other.
“I’d love to come, if it’s okay,” Will whispered across the table to Tig. Sam was oblivious, engaged in conversation with the other guys at the bordering table.
“Of course,” Tig said. She hoped her smile was convincing. “So it’s settled, then. You girls come to my house this afternoon. The five of us will go to the party thing together. Will, we’ll see you there.”
“Awesome,” Will said. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“Me neither,” Tig said. And that, she pretty much meant.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The party was in the rotunda of the College of Communication. Uncle Paul’s students had turned it into a nightclub atmosphere and were blaring dance music and flashing strobe lights. Tig’s grandparents had shown up, and both looked a little uncomfortable, plugging their ears with their fingers and grimacing.
The girls had dressed low-key for the event; they didn’t want to look too conspicuous if the ad was a joke. Tig wore a knit beanie to mostly cover her hair so as not to draw attention. Some of the students on the ad team hugged the girls and thanked them for helping them create the winning commercial. Tig munched on a piece of celery from the vegetable tray even though she hated celery. The crunching gave her something to focus on besides her nerves.
She saw Will coming up the outside stairs. He was carrying a green cone-shaped paper. As he got closer, Tig could see it was a bouquet of flowers. Her heart did another little flip, like it had the day he’d taken her aside in the hallway. Then she saw him come through the door and receive a hug from Olivia, who’d been waiting for him, and she realized the flowers weren’t intended for her. She watched as Will handed the flowers to Olivia, and they hugged again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” Uncle Paul was in the center of the lobby. “Thank you all for joining us for our victory party! Another regional championship for the UA Department of Advertising!” Everyone clapped. “Next stop, nationals!” More applause. Uncle Paul told the press and the guests about how the competition worked and what the product assignment for this year had been. Then he recognized each team member by name and presented them with certificates. There was a pause as the newspaper photographer took a group picture. “And now, without further delay, please enjoy our winning ad!”
A screen came down over the indoor staircase, and the room went dark again. Suddenly Tig and the other girls were before them all, larger than life, their music playing through the speakers. Most of the intro was gone—Tig’s count and the first six bars of the backbeat. Only one bar of the backbeat before the drum fill and then Claire began singing the first line. It was all so fast—wide shots of the whole band, followed by quick close-ups on each girl. They got Claire’s little hop, and Kyra looking down sideways at her bass. Olivia was looking to the side and smiling. There was a slo-mo of Robbie tossing her hair back, and Tig’s was all flying arms and a quick nod. She wasn’t making the drummer face! She actually looked cool for the two seconds the camera focused on her. In between these shots, the wide-angle showed the screen behind them flashing retro-nautical imagery and the words Submarine Pants with the name of the store. Before Tig could really process any of it, it was over.
And now people were really applauding.
Tig looked at Robbie. “Were we cool?”
Robbie replied, “Yeah. I think we were.”
Tig sighed. “Thank goodness we’re not pugs in tuxes.”
The lights came back on, and Uncle Paul took his place again. “Please welcome Pandora’s Box!” He motioned for the girls to join him. When they did, the newspaper photographer began snapping pictures. Then the TV reporters began asking questions. “How do you girls like your ad?” and “Are you a real band?” and “Where do you go to school?” and finally “Who’s the band leader?”
“That would be Antigone Ripley,” Robbie said. It was then that Tig realized she hadn’t answered a single one of the reporters’ questions. She’d been so stunned, she’d left the talking to the other girls.
The reporters began directing questions to Tig. She thought she answered most of them well enough, but it was all so fast that by the time it was over, she couldn’t remember a word she’d said.
“How does it feel to be a famous rock star?” BD asked. He had to yell it over the party music that had started up again.
“My head is swimming,” Tig said. “There are so many people here.”
“Well, I do know how to clear a room,” BD said. “Want me to grab the mic and start singing ‘Party Doll’?”
Tig grinned. “No, that’s okay,” she said. Uncle Paul came over. “Can I see the video again?” Tig asked him.
“Oh, you’ll see it,” Uncle Paul said. “As many times as you like. My students just posted it on YouTube.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Someone had watched the local news. The video on YouTube was blowing up. Uncle Paul had told her that many of those hits would be the losing teams who’d be watching to see how UA had bested them. He’d warned Tig not to take any negative comments personally: winners had to learn to cope with sour grapes.
Robbie and the other girls had already linked to the page on their social media accounts. The video now had several hundred likes as well as views, and most of the comments were positive.
“‘LOL’?” Robbie asked as the
y scrolled through the comments on Tig’s computer. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, haters gonna hate,” Kyra said.
“Look! This one says ‘cute girls’!” Olivia said.
“Is that good or bad?” Robbie asked.
“How can being cute be bad?” said Olivia.
Claire scrolled right past the Sid Vicious is rolling over in his grave comment to The singer kicks butt! She gasped. “Look, everyone! I kick butt!” she said.
“Here’s one,” said Tig. “‘I think I have a crush on the guitarist.’ Oh, Robbie, you have an admirer!”
“Yours is coming,” Robbie said. “It’s early yet.”
And Robbie was correct. Every girl had at least one admirer by noon Saturday. A few posted that Tig rocked, that Claire killed on vocals, and that Kyra and Olivia were cute. A couple of people said Robbie played like a professional. Several commenters said, Girls Rock! and urged the band to stay with music.
At school Monday the girls were practically royalty. People came up to them in the gym and actually asked for their autographs! Tig looked forward to a chance to rub it all in Regan’s face, but Regan and her crew refused to look up from the Bot Spot. Tig thought about going up to Regan and saying something smart, but she decided against it. It was enough that she’d proven Regan wrong, and that Regan knew it. Soon Tig forgot all about the Bots and just enjoyed her new celebrity status. The other girls in the band seemed to be enjoying themselves, too: Kyra was positively glowing, basking in the popularity she’d so desperately wanted for so long. Olivia’s smile was so big, Tig thought her face must be getting sore. Even Robbie was smiling and laughing with people instead of rocking her usual calculated scowl. And despite the fact that everyone was clamoring for her attention, Claire wasn’t even blushing the least bit.
As the first period bell rang and everyone made their way out of the gym to their class, Tig looked at her friends. “What do you say?” she asked. “Practice at my house this afternoon?”
Acknowledgments
Being completely devoid of any musical talent whatsoever, there is no way I could have ever written this book without the help of my many musically inclined friends. I’m sorry I bugged you with so many questions, but I hope when you read this book, you’ll think I got it right. If I did, it’s thanks to you! Big shout-out to these drummers: my lovely younger daughter; brother-in-law Hansel Stewart; and friends Chris Wier, James Podmore, Matt Wiley, Jud Cameron, Susy Daria; and of course, my dad—the original BD! And for all the other musical assistance, thanks to my sister-in-law Alithea Stewart and friends Michael Terry, Jeff Berry, Justin Brasfield, Kelly Ferguson, Emma Lambiase, and Casie Jones. I admire (and, let’s be honest, totally envy) your talent and appreciate your friendship.
Thanks to my former students who inspired this book. Your special gifts and personalities were the pixie dust that helped me imagine many of the girls in these pages. (Rest assured, though, none of you inspired Regan and the Bots!)
Many thanks to Abigail Samoun for being a great friend and a fantastic agent. Thanks for finding the right home for this project.
Thanks to Barb McNally and all the folks at Sleeping Bear Press for loving the Pandora’s Box girls along with me and helping bring them to life. Thanks, Catherine Frank, for pushing me to give the girls in these pages my best.
And finally, as always, I thank my family: my parents and brother, who haven’t stopped cheering me on since I first wrote my name in crayon; my stepson for reminding me how girls lose their minds over a cute boy; my daughters who inspired Tig’s heart and her coolness; and my husband, because, “What is all this sweet work worth/if thou kiss not me?”
About the Author
Ginger Rue is the author of Brand-New Emily and Jump. She’s a former advice columnist for a teen magazine, and her work has appeared in Seventeen, Teen Vogue, Girls’ Life, Family Circle, and other publications. She is currently a contributing editor for Guideposts.
Ginger lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, with her husband, two daughters, and stepson. Before she wrote this book, Ginger bought a drum kit and signed up for drum lessons. She failed miserably and has made peace with the fact that she possesses neither rhythm nor coordination. Ginger hopes you like her writing, because there’s no hope of her ever becoming a rock star.