Girl vs. Boy Band (2 page)

“Drowning?” Lark gasped, horrified. “Hey, now, Meems . . . I totally get suffering for your art and all, but I don't think I'm willing to go
that
far.”

Mimi laughed. “Lark, I don't mean you have to
actually
drown. Duh! Who would I eat lunch with at school if you did that?”

Lark knew better than to protest when her friend had an artistic vision. The last time they had made a video together, Mimi had convinced her to paint her face camouflage-style and sing with her head poking out of a shrub. Lark had been doubtful, but had to admit the video was pretty cool. Her best friend was kind of a genius. It was a shame nobody ever got to see their music videos, but that was the deal.

Half an hour later, Lark was lying on a pool float, fully clothed. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” she grumbled. As she shifted her weight to get more comfortable, water spilled over the edge of the raft and soaked her jeans. “Ugh! This feels gross.”

Mimi, who was standing on the diving board in full-on director mode, smiled down at her. “You know you love it! Now, let your hair just kind of sprawl out around you, mermaid-style. Perfect! I think we're good to go. Let me just hand you your guitar—”

“No!” Lark sat up so fast, she nearly toppled off the raft. “Don't bring my guitar anywhere near the water!”

Mimi frowned, but only for a second. Then she snapped her fingers, and her face lit up. “No problem. You can sing a cappella in this shot. It'll add some variety!”

Lark lowered herself back onto the plastic float. The sun was scorching, but the gentle rocking of the raft and the lapping sound of the clean, clear pool water were soothing.

“Action!” called Mimi as she hit Play on the track they'd recorded on her phone the week before.

“
If home is where the heart is, if that's what people say . . .
”

Lark sang and drifted, trailing her fingers over the cool surface of the water, impulsively splashing up a slender arc of glittering spray during the chorus. She lost herself in the floating and the lyrics and the music of her own voice.

“
I can't feel the rhythm, and I can't hear—”

The sound of the patio door sliding open startled Lark so much that she slipped off the raft and into the water. Her heart was pounding as she came up for air.

“Lark!” came her mom's voice. “Why are you swimming in your clothes? You'll ruin your boots!”

Lark pushed her dripping hair away from her eyes and climbed out of the pool, her sodden jeans hanging heavily off her hips. “Tell me about it,” she muttered as she squished across the patio.

Lark's mom looked at the girls suspiciously. “What on earth are you girls doing?”

Lark shot Mimi an urgent look. On the list of people Lark
didn't
want to see her perform (and that included pretty much everyone on the entire planet except Mimi), her mother was at the very top. Since the divorce, she and her mom hadn't been getting along very well. Lark's songs were about her deepest feelings, and she definitely didn't want to share them with her mom—whom she still blamed for making her leave Nashville.

Mimi, as always, could read Lark's expression and knew exactly what she was thinking. She had already turned off the track and snapped the screen shut. “I dropped my camera case in the pool by accident, and Lark jumped in to rescue it for me,” Mimi said.

Lark's mom seemed to buy Mimi's explanation. She tottered on her stilettos across the patio and handed Lark a towel, then sat down at the table. “I've asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick to bring out a pitcher of sweet tea.”

“Nice to see you still like some Southern things,” Lark said tightly.

“Oh, the tea is for you girls,” said Donna, waving off the dig. “I'm having coconut water.”

“Of course,” Lark muttered. She wrapped the towel around her soggy clothes and sat down across from her mother, who looked as polished as ever in her tailored business suit and flawless makeup. Back when they lived in Tennessee, her mom had worn jeans and boots like everyone else. Lark missed her dressed-down mom, the one who liked to go hiking and didn't work late all the time.

The one who hadn't needed to live in a house that was three times the size of the one they'd shared with Lark's dad when they were still a family. But Donna had explained that in many ways the music industry was all about appearances, and if she wanted to be treated like an LA music mogul, she'd need to look the part. So she'd rented some office space downtown and had the words Lotus Records painted in silver on the glass door. Then she'd invested in a new business wardrobe for herself and taken out a lease on this enormous house. Lark thought it was all ridiculously phony. Two people rattling around in all these empty rooms, just for show! But her mom insisted it would pay for itself in no time. Unfortunately, the plan was beginning to backfire. Although everyone in the business agreed that Lotus was an up-and-coming label, it was still in the growth phase, and the profits were taking much longer to add up than Donna had anticipated. Although she hadn't come right out and told Lark they were heading for financial trouble, Lark was smart enough to know that money was tight, and getting tighter by the minute. Her mom needed a hit band . . . and she needed one fast.

When Mrs. Fitzpatrick bustled over with the refreshment tray, Lark noticed she'd included a plate of fresh-baked cookies. The matronly housekeeper smoothed her apron, which read, I'd Tell You the Recipe, But I'd Have to Kill You, and she watched expectantly as Lark helped herself to a cookie.

“Mmm,” Lark said, nibbling tentatively. “Chocolate and . . . something else?” There was another flavor in the cookie that she couldn't quite place.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick nodded, her tightly permed gray curls bobbing. “Chocolate and avocado,” she announced proudly. “I noticed some ripe avocadoes on the trees outside and popped them in the mix. I thought they'd add vitamins.”

Lark finished her cookie and gave Mrs. Fitzpatrick a thumbs-up. Smiling broadly, the housekeeper bustled back into the house. Mrs. Fitzpatrick was always trying out new recipes. Even though chocolate and avocado sounded like a strange combination, it somehow worked—unlike the peanut-butter-and-marmalade cookies she'd baked earlier in the week.

“Why are you home so early, Mom?” Lark asked, reaching for another cookie.

“Because I have news,” said Donna, sipping her coconut drink. “Big news.”

Mimi gulped down a mouthful of tea. “You guys aren't moving back to Tennessee, are you?”

Lark held her breath.
Are we?

“No, Mimi,” said Donna, grinning. “Lark and I are here to stay.”

Lark's heart sank.

Her mother pulled a tablet out of her briefcase. “I want to talk to you about a music video.”

At that, Lark almost gagged on her cookie. Had her mom somehow found out about the videos she and Mimi had made? The thought filled her with horror. It would be like her mom reading her secret songwriting journal, but worse.

But when her mom clicked on a link, Lark relaxed.

“I want you to watch this and tell me what you think,” said Donna. “You too, Mimi. I'd love your thoughts, since you're so creative.”

Mimi, whose own parents were more much more interested in her grades than her artistic endeavors, glowed under the praise. It was moments like this, when her mother could be genuinely nice, that Lark felt guilty about being so resentful all the time.

Donna handed the iPad to Lark, who hit Play.

Three boys in their teens appeared as the intro to a song began. They were in a park, it seemed, and at first they were just horsing around, throwing friendly punches, showing off some dance moves. Two of them were dressed in jeans and T-shirts; the third wore all black, right down to his combat boots.

After a minute or two, the music faded into the background, and the boys turned to the camera in unison.

“Hey,” said the tallest of them in a British accent. “We're Abbey Road. I'm Ollie.”

As the camera zoomed in on his blue eyes, Lark couldn't help but gasp. The boy was gorgeous. Shaggy blond hair, a rugged jaw, and lips that looked so ripe for kissing, they made Lark blush.

The next boy, whose brown arms had muscles to spare under his fitted T-shirt, waved at the camera, then did a standing backflip with ease. “I'm Max.” His green eyes sparkled as he added, “As in maximum velocity.”

“As in maximum hottie-ocity,” Mimi whispered to Lark.

The camera then swung around to the third boy, the one in black. His hair was also jet black, and his cheekbones looked as though they'd been carved by a master sculptor. He wore black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. As he raised his chin in greeting, his eyes glinted in a way that left no doubt that he was the group's “bad boy.”

“That's Aidan,” Ollie explained, poking his grinning face into the frame. “Moody bloke, Aidan is.”

“Oi!” called Aidan playfully. “Watch it!”

The boys exchanged high fives.

“Let's get on with it, then,” said Ollie.

The three boys launched into a pop song. It was catchy and upbeat; Lark found her toes tapping on the wet patio tiles. She'd never been one to fall for pop stars, and she'd always considered boy bands to be silly—moderately talented cuties who looked good on posters and merchandise. But as Abbey Road danced and sang, she couldn't help being impressed. These dudes could really
sing
!

Occasionally, the video would cut away from the park to the boys playing instruments in what looked to be a dirty back alley. Lark suspected Mimi would call the alley segments “self-consciously artsy,” but being a musician herself, Lark found she liked the song even better knowing the boys could play their own instruments. She could tell from their technique that they were actual musicians rather than just eye candy miming along to someone else's playing.

“What do you think?” asked Donna when the video ended. “The song's called ‘Dream of Me.'”

Mimi spoke first. “The video's pretty cheesy,” she said honestly. “They made it themselves, right?”

“Right,” said Donna, “but I'm talking about the band. What did you think of the boys?”

“Oh . . . ,” said Mimi with a crooked grin. “Well, what I think is that I'd really love to get their phone numbers.”

Donna laughed. “That's what I was hoping to hear.” She turned to Lark. “What do you think, honey?”

“I think they've got talent,” said Lark. “Ollie has a great range—he can even sing falsetto.”

“That's what I like best about them,” her mother said, nodding. “They've all got fabulous voices.”

“To go with their fabulous looks,” added Mimi.

“A winning combination,” Donna agreed. “Which is why I've signed them to Lotus Records.”

Mimi's eyes lit up. “So I
can
get their phone numbers! Maybe I can even invite them to LA for the weekend!”

“You won't have to,” Donna said.

Lark lifted one eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Her mother took a sip of her coconut water. “A British talent scout I know told me he'd seen these boys perform at an open-mike night in London. He said they were unpolished but had lots of talent and might be worth a look. So, while you were in Nashville this summer, I went to London and signed them. Now I'm bringing them here, and I'm going to make them huge stars.”

Lark's heart pounded. “Bringing them
here
?” she repeated. But before she could ask her mom exactly what she meant by that, the patio doors slid open again and the housekeeper poked her head out.

“Mrs. Campbell, how many of the guest bedrooms did you want me to make up?”

“All
three
of them,” Donna answered, then turned a big smile to Lark. “Abbey Road arrives at LAX tomorrow afternoon. So why don't you change into some dry clothes and help me get things ready.”

CHAPTER

TWO

Lark wondered if she was stuck in some kind of nightmare.

The airport was bad enough—the crowds, the heavy security, the departures board mocking her with posted flights to Nashville. Part of her just wanted to hop on the next plane to Tennessee and leave LA behind forever. Not that there would be much point in that; her dad was on tour playing rhythm guitar for a hot new country band and wouldn't be home for three months. Lark knew this was a major gig for him, but she couldn't help wishing she at least had the option of going home. It would be so nice to know her father was there waiting for her if she needed him.

But no, he was touring and she was stuck here in La-La Land, being jostled by a sea of travelers and holding an oversize poster-board sign complete with glitter-sprinkled bubble letters, which read:

AMERICA LOVES ABBEY ROAD!!!

WELCOME SUPERSTARS OLLIE, AIDAN, AND MAX!!!!!

It was ridiculous!

Lark had outgrown glitter
and
bubble letters back in the fourth grade. But worse than both those things was the fact that the message on the sign was a complete lie. Superstars? Please! America didn't even know who Ollie, Max, and Aidan
were
, let alone love them. And since her life was about to be turned upside down and inside out to accommodate these three British strangers, it was Lark who loved them least of all.

Even if they were sort of talented.

Okay, and gorgeous.

But still . . . 
glitter
? Come on!

“It's working,” Donna whispered. “See? People are looking.”

“I'm very aware of that,” Lark muttered, feeling her cheeks burn red as passersby paused to scrutinize both her and her goofy sign. Her discomfort was compounded by the fact that her stomach was growling; her mother had rushed her out of the house without lunch.

“That's how the public is, honey,” said Donna. “They all want to feel like they're in on something fabulous, like they could be the first ones to know about the next big thing.”