by Ginger Rue
“Nothing,” Tig said. “I was just playing around with some new beats. We’re going to have to learn more oldies songs if we want to be marketable for the grown-ups’ party circuit.”
The girls had discussed this as a band a couple of times. If they wanted gigs, they had to be reasonable about what they could actually do. As eighth graders, they were too young to play college parties or bars (like their moms would probably let them do that even if they were thirty!), so the only options left to them were private celebrations and school dances. Some of their parents’ friends had asked if they’d play their parties. Tig suspected that they thought it was cute to have a bunch of little girls playing instruments. But the band still needed a few solid set lists, and if they were going to play to the middle-aged crowd, they’d have to appeal to their musical tastes. It wasn’t too bad, really. Tig liked some of that old music. Robbie did too. In fact, she liked Led Zeppelin better than just about anything, and they were from the sixties or seventies. But their stuff was pretty hard—hard rock and hard to play. Especially for Kyra.
“Don’t you ever get sick of banging on the drums?” Kyra asked.
“No, not really,” Tig said. “In fact, I wish you would practice your bass half as much as I practice drums. It would really help the band.”
“I do have a life outside of the band,” Kyra said.
Her tone irritated Tig. First of all, what life did she have outside the band? She wasn’t on any teams or anything, and all her friends were in their band, even though Tig knew Kyra would’ve preferred to hang out with the cooler crowd if they’d have her, but they wouldn’t. And second of all, really? Really? Um, do not give me your attitude when everyone else in the band would have kicked you out a long time ago if it weren’t for me! Tig thought. That was why Tig didn’t bother to sugarcoat what she said next: “Kyra, you’re going to have a whole lot more life outside the band if you don’t start practicing.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’d better keep up,” Tig said.
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll leave us no choice but to”—Tig hesitated—“to make other arrangements.”
“Are you threatening to kick me out of the band?” Kyra asked.
“I’m not threatening anything,” Tig said. “I’m just telling you how it’s going to be.”
“I can’t believe you want to kick me out of the band!” Kyra said.
Ugh! She made Tig want to scream! How could any human being be so completely frustrating? Tig thought.
“Kyra!” Tig shouted. “You think I want to kick you out of the band? Is that what you think? If I wanted to kick you out of the band, I wouldn’t have been biting my tongue until it about fell off for the past six months! I wouldn’t have been bending over backward to try to smooth over your sorry playing with the rest of the band! I wouldn’t have been constantly apologizing to the other girls about your intense level of couldn’t-care-less playing so that they would let me keep you around!”
“The other girls want me out of the band?”
Had Tig really said that? She was so mad, she couldn’t really remember what she’d just said.
“It’s not that,” Tig said. “We all want you in the band. We just want you to want to be in the band.”
“I do want to be in the band,” Kyra said.
“Yeah, Kyra, but you don’t want it for the right reasons and you don’t want it when it counts.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that you want to be in the band when our picture’s in the paper or when everyone’s telling us our video was cool . . . or when you can tell people, ‘Oh, look at me; I’m in a band.’ But day in, day out? The boring parts? The hard work parts? You don’t want it then. You just want all the perks without the work. But it’s the work that makes the perks possible.” Works, perks, possible. Quite a tongue twister.
“That’s not true,” Kyra said.
“Kyra, come on,” Tig said. “How often do you actually practice?”
“I come to all the practices.”
“You know what I mean. I mean, how often do you practice on your own?”
There was a long pause. “Pretty much never,” she said.
Tig sighed. “Can you work on that for me? For the band?”
“I guess so,” Kyra said.
“Thanks,” Tig replied.
When Tig got off the phone with Kyra, she felt a little better . . . at first. The conversation had started out on a course to Tig’s kicking her out of the band and resulting in bad blood in their family, so Tig was glad she’d avoided that. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that all she’d really accomplished was . . . nothing. The two cousins had had almost the same conversation several times since the band had been formed. Tig would fuss at Kyra for not practicing, Kyra would make excuses, then promise to try harder, but when it came to the next practice, it would be obvious that she hadn’t tried harder at all. Lather, rinse, repeat. Same old routine, over and over.
This could end up getting ugly, Tig thought. She figured she’d better warn her parents before she did anything drastic. When she went downstairs, she found both of her parents in the kitchen, but they didn’t hear her come in. They were standing close to each other and whispering, but not in a sweet way. More like an angry way.
“I wouldn’t put up with it for one second,” her mom was saying. “Does she think we were born yesterday?”
“Now, Julie,” her dad was saying. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything for sure.”
“Oh, come on!” her mom said. Then Mr. Ripley noticed Tig. He put his hand on her mom’s shoulder.
“Hi, Tigger,” her dad said.
“Hi, sweetie,” said her mom.
Something was weird. Tig could feel it. “Is everything okay?” she asked her parents.
“Of course!” her mom replied quickly. “Everything is fine!”
Tig was skeptical. “Are y’all fighting?”
“Fighting?” Tig’s dad said. “No, sweetie. Of course not. We were just having a discussion.”
“About what?” Tig asked.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” said her mom.
“Are you sure y’all aren’t fighting?” Tig said.
“If we were fighting,” Tig’s dad said, “would I do this?” He grabbed Tig’s mom, dipped her like they do in a tango, and kissed her passionately. Then he swung her back up next to him.
“Gross!” Tig said. Her parents giggled.
“I don’t think she’s convinced,” said her mom. “Dave, you’d better do it again.”
“No!” Tig said. “Please don’t! Forget I said anything!”
As Tig left the room, her parents were still giggling. Obviously, if they’d been fighting, it wasn’t too serious. But something was up.
In any case, this was no time to bother them with her Kyra problems. She’d try them later. For now this was all on her.
Tig knew deep down that, as much as she hated to think about it, she and Kyra—and possibly the whole family by default—were headed toward a huge blowup. Unless Kyra suddenly changed, Tig was going to have no choice but to kick her out of Pandora’s Box.
Chapter Four
“So, did you talk to Kyra?” Robbie asked Tig the next morning at school.
“Yeah,” Tig said.
“And?”
“And she promised she’d try harder.”
Robbie looked at the ceiling, smiled, and shook her head.
“I know,” Tig said. “I know. But what can I do? She’s my cousin.”
Robbie shrugged. Tig wanted to change the subject. “How about you?” she said. “Did you talk to your friend from Pickens County?”
“Paris? Yeah. Sorta. I texted her yesterday. She said she’d call me tonight.”
“Cool,” Tig said. But she wasn’t sure she actually thought it was cool. Recruiting another beginner didn’t sound like a way t
o improve their situation. And hadn’t Robbie told her that Paris didn’t really play guitar much at all? A few lessons years ago? What if they wound up with another Kyra on their hands? Wasn’t one enough?
“Tig, Robbie! Look!” Olivia called. Her locker was across the hall from Tig’s. She was carrying a purple piece of paper. “Look at this! It’s from Will. He put it in my locker before I got to school this morning. Or after I left yesterday. I don’t know which. But anyway, look how sweet!” She held out the paper for them to read. Hoppy International Rabbit Day, it said. Love, Will. He’d drawn a picture of a bunny. It was pretty cute.
“And look, he got you the little organic bunny crackers to go with it,” Robbie said.
“Actually, those were from Kyra,” Olivia said.
“Does everyone know it’s Rabbit Day but me?” Tig asked.
Olivia laughed. “No, it was just a coincidence. Kyra had some of those in her lunch the other day and let me try one. I really liked them, so she got me my own bag.”
That was just like Kyra. She could drive Tig crazy sometimes, but she was ridiculously thoughtful. She was always doing stuff like that.
“But you see what he did there, with the card?” Olivia asked. “He said hoppy instead of happy. Hoppy International Rabbit Day. Isn’t that just beyond adorable?”
“You guys are sickening,” Robbie said. “Aren’t they, Ripley?”
“Yeah. Sickening,” Tig said. She wondered if Robbie, all kidding aside, actually felt kind of physically sick about the whole thing, because Tig did. Just a mild, passing nausea. Nothing too serious.
“Oh, wait until y’all get boyfriends,” Olivia said. “You won’t think it’s so sickening then.” Her eyes got big, as though a lightbulb had just gone off over her head. “Ooh! That’s it! Let’s find boyfriends for everyone in the band!”
Robbie laughed. “Yeah, I’m gonna devote my life to that quest.”
“I’m serious! Y’all, it’s so fun! I love having a boyfriend!”
“Stop,” Robbie said. “Don’t be one of those.”
“One of those what?” Olivia said.
“One of those . . . boyfriend girls,” Robbie replied.
“Boyfriend girls?” Olivia said.
“Yeah, you know . . . those girls who think they have to have a boyfriend all the time or the whole world stops spinning. Those girls who talk nonstop about nothing else but their boyfriend and can’t go anywhere without him and all that junk. It’s so pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic to have a boyfriend,” said Olivia.
“No,” said Robbie. “It’s just pathetic if that’s what you’re all about. If you’re, you know, a boyfriend girl.”
“She has a point,” Tig said. “I mean, there is more to life than boys.”
“Well, yeah,” said Olivia. “Of course there is. But that doesn’t mean having a boyfriend isn’t a total blast. I mean, what’s so wrong with a cute boy leaving a picture of a bunny rabbit in your locker? Say what you will, but I might just be on the lookout for your perfect matches.”
“Oh, joy,” Robbie said.
“How about you, Tig?” Olivia asked. “Any special requests for your soul mate?”
“I don’t believe in soul mates,” Tig said. “And if I did, I doubt I’d find mine in middle school.”
“You never know,” Olivia said. “I wonder who Kyra would like.”
“Yes, focus your energies on Kyra. She’ll be all over this,” said Tig.
“Ooh, there’s Claire,” Olivia said. “I’m going to pick her brain about her perfect match too.” Olivia ran off to catch Claire before homeroom.
“So, Ripley,” Robbie said. “Are there any guys in middle school who might tickle your fancy?”
Tig made a pfft sound. “Not likely,” she said.
But that wasn’t entirely true.
Chapter Five
There was one particular guy at Lakeview Heights Middle School who tickled Tig’s fancy quite a bit.
Problem was, it was Will, Olivia’s boyfriend. Olivia’s boyfriend, thanks in large part, to Tig herself. She’d fixed them up.
She could kick herself just thinking about it. Will had liked her, not Olivia, but Tig knew how much Olivia liked Will, so Tig had played matchmaker.
And now that the two of them were a couple, it made Tig die a little inside every time she saw them together or Olivia told her about some other sweet, wonderful thing Will had done for her.
But Tig was resolved. It was a mind-over-matter kind of thing: she would just force herself not to like Will. She would ignore his gorgeous blue eyes that looked ever bluer when he wore that one particular smoky-blue shirt. She would look away when he grinned that special grin that he seemed to reserve only for her and that made her stomach flip. She would not ponder how smart he was when he answered a really hard question in algebra, nor how sweet he was when he took up for anyone, no matter who it was, whenever people would say something negative about him or her. She just wouldn’t think about any of that. And soon she’d be over liking Will.
“What’s up, Anti-gone?” Will said when she got to algebra class. Funny . . . last year, it had annoyed her when he’d purposely pronounced Ann-TIG-ah-nee wrong. But this year she sort of liked that he called her something no one else did.
“Nothing,” Tig replied, forcing herself not to look into his blue eyes. “Saw your rabbit picture.”
“Oh,” Will said. He seemed embarrassed. “Yeah, I was just trying to make Olivia smile.”
“You succeeded,” Tig said. “But then again, you always do. She’s a pretty big fan of yours.”
Was Will blushing?
“Hey, did you do the homework? What’d you get for that last one?” Why was Will asking her that? He certainly didn’t need help with algebra. Tig wondered if he just wanted to avoid talking about Olivia with her.
Tig opened her binder and looked at the problem. “I got x equals forty-five,” she replied.
“Oh yeah, me too,” Will said. “Good to know.”
“If this class is as boring today as it was yesterday, please just pack me in a suitcase and send me to Siberia,” Regan said. She’d just come in, and she tossed her backpack onto the chair in front of Tig. Tig laughed. Last year she would have made some smart remark about how she would gladly have shipped Regan Hoffman off on a one-way trip to Siberia. But that was seventh grade, and since the eighth-grade year had begun, Regan had been pretty okay. It was almost as though she wanted to be friends with Tig. Weird.
“Siberia?” Tig replied. “Only if you promise to take me with you.”
Class was as boring that day as it had been the day before. But it really didn’t matter, because Tig wasn’t paying that much attention to the lesson anyhow.
All she could think about, no matter how hard she tried not to, was Will.
Chapter Six
Maybe thinking about Will all the time was why, at the salad bar later that day at lunch, Tig put chocolate pudding on top of her green salad with ranch dressing. The desserts were at the end of the salad bar line, and there were separate little plates, of course, for the pudding and cookies, so what was Tig thinking?
“Sheesh!” she said. “What is wrong with me today?”
“That looks not exactly de-lish,” said a voice behind her. Tig turned to see Regan. “I don’t think that combo is going to catch on.” Regan’s two besties, or as Tig thought of them, Bots, were not glued to her as usual but were instead sitting at the cool table where Regan’s spot was secure.
“Yeah,” Tig said. “I’m probably gonna need to scrape that off. I don’t know where my head is.”
“I bet I do,” Regan said.
Tig caught something odd in the tone of Regan’s voice. She looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, somebody has a bad case of Willingitis.”
Willingitis? What was . . . oh no. No, no, no, no, no!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tig said, perhaps a lit
tle too quickly.
“Come on,” Regan said. “It’s so obvious. I can’t believe your little friends haven’t already caught on.”
“Nobody’s caught on to anything because there’s nothing to catch on to,” Tig said.
“Chill out, Tig. I’m not going to tell anybody. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I don’t have a secret!”
“Oh, please. Let’s be real for a second here. I have algebra with you two. The electricity between you and Will could charge my phone for a week.”
“Look, Regan,” Tig said. “I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but Will and I are just friends. He’s in a relationship with Olivia, and Olivia is one of my best friends.”
“I know. That’s probably what makes it so electric. Forbidden fruit always tastes sweeter. Am I right?”
“No!” Tig said. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know what forbidden fruit tastes like because Will is not a fruit and I’m not . . . I don’t even know what to do with your metaphor. You’re confusing me.”
Regan laughed. “You can deny it all you want, but you should see your face right now. You are, like, fire-truck red. You’d better take a few deep breaths before you go back to your table, or people are going to start asking questions—and you do not want that. Not if you want to keep your secret.”
“I already told you, I don’t have a secret!”
“Yeah,” Regan said. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll start to believe it.”
Regan went back to the popular table, and Tig spooned the lettuce pieces with pudding on them into the trash can. Then she went to her own lunch table. The one with Robbie, Kyra, Claire, and, of course, Olivia and Will.
“Why are your hands shaking?” Kyra asked when Tig sat down.
“My hands are not shaking!” Tig snapped.
“Whoa! Who chapped your hide?” Kyra said.
“Nobody. My hide is just fine. Eat your lunch.”
“Are you okay, Tig?” Claire asked gently. “Is something wrong?”
Tig forced a smile. “Sorry, y’all. I guess I’m a little on edge. My algebra grade is kind of bad, and I’ve got to keep my grades up or you know my parents will ground me from band practice. We don’t want that to happen.” In truth, her grade was just fine, but Tig thought the little fib was harmless enough.