Lemonade Mouth (24 page)

STELLA:
Lemon Gags

My friends, it certainly was a turbulent time for our embattled ukulele-toting maverick and her ragtag gang of malcontents. Suddenly they found themselves at the center of controversy, both vilified and idolized, depending on who you asked. So it was no wonder why, as our down-trodden diva trudged home from school one cold afternoon not long after Thanksgiving, her head was weighed down with troubles. She felt herself slipping back into that deep funk she’d fallen into at the beginning of the school year. The Holiday Talent Show had happened only the night before and, depressingly, Mudslide Crush had won. Her own aborted band, formerly the sole happy diversion in her otherwise gloomy new life, would never play another show.

Worst of all, she was still feeling guilty about Olivia.

Okay, here’s the thing. Since the Bash I’d felt like a real jackass for pressuring Olivia into going onstage. That night, after Mr. Brenigan shut off the music and everybody else was taking down the equipment, I’d noticed her sitting alone on a stool in the corner, her shoulders hunched and her eyes closed.

“Are you all right?” I’d asked her.

“Fine,” Olivia had said after a moment. “I’m . . . just fine.”

But I could have sworn her whole body had been shaking.

Now, as I trudged up the front steps to my house, I wondered if I really
had
gone too far that night. Maybe my mother was right—I was selfish and irresponsible, an immature kid who never considered how my actions might affect anybody else.

Once inside the house, something felt different than normal. Where was the noise? Usually when I came home in the afternoons the TV would be blaring and the step-monkeys would be up to something chaotic, perhaps sliding down the stairs or pretending to swordfight in the kitchen. It was normally my job to make sure they didn’t maim themselves until my mother came home from the lab. But today the house was strangely calm.

And then I noticed my mother. She was on the sofa, her jacket on.

“Hi,” I said, confused. “What are you doing home so early?”

“I thought we’d go out,” she said, grinning. She explained that Tim and Andy were at a friend’s house and that she’d decided to duck out of the lab early. “We have an hour or so to ourselves before they’re back. It’s time we restarted our tradition. Want to grab a coffee somewhere?”

For a second or two I didn’t answer. The woman had been MIA for practically the whole three and a half months since we moved, and now all of a sudden she wanted to spend time together? Why should I let her off so easy? Why not let
her
feel the silence for a while? I almost said no.

But I didn’t. A part of me still wanted to believe that my mother and I could be friends again. So fifteen minutes later the two of us were seated at a table in Paperback Joe’s, the little bookstore café next to the photo place in the center of town, me with my usual decaf mint mochachino and my mother with a caramel latte. Back in Arizona we used to go out and talk over coffee all the time, just the two of us. But it’d been a while.

To my shock, my mom asked, “So, how goes the lemonade crusade?”

This was the first time she had ever brought up the subject—even though I’d been clipping Naomi’s articles about the lemonade controversy and leaving them in obvious places. There were rumors that the town was even thinking about expanding the bottling company deal to the middle school in order to make improvements to the school grounds. But my mother, so self-absorbed lately, had never said a word about it. Not even once.

“Great,” I lied. I was trying to fight back my growing pessimism, but it was hard. After all, what did hallway signs matter now that the Talent Show was over? “Sarah Beth Adams got into an argument with Mr. Dewonka in class yesterday. A bunch of kids are boycotting the soda machines now, but Mr. Dewonka says the whole thing is ridiculous. He thinks everybody should stop complaining and just be thankful that we have the new scoreboard. He also says that as part of the deal, a small percentage of the money we spend on soda is going to come back to the school to buy new sports equipment. So he says we should all be happy.”

“This is Mr. Dewonka?” my mother asked. “The history teacher?”

“Right. Anyway, Sarah Beth, this mousey little girl with a voice like a fairy princess, stood up to him. She told him that since the students were never included in the decision-making process, taking the machine away was kind of like taxation without representation. You should’ve heard her.”

My mom raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re causing quite a stir in your new school. Be careful, Stella. Don’t get yourself in any more trouble. I’m concerned about you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” I felt my resentment thaw a little. I could see that, in her own way, my mother really
was
trying to make things okay again. “How about you? How are things going with the Frankenstein plants?”

My mom took a thoughtful sip from her steamy mug. “Not so well, actually,” she said finally. “One of the investors we were counting on is thinking of backing out. If we don’t see real progress soon, I’m worried the whole project might be scrapped.”

“Scrapped? But . . . how can that be, Mom? You just started.”

“Well, I knew when I took this position that there were no guarantees.” She shrugged as if she was trying to be philosophical about it, but it was obvious that this was eating her up inside. I felt sorry for her, but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling secretly excited. If the plant thing didn’t work out, would that mean we might move back to Arizona?

That’s when, out of the blue, my mom came out with an unexpected peace offering. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for you much since we moved. It can’t be easy for you to start again in a new place, and I know you’ve been mad at me about it. It’s just that right now I feel like I have my big chance to do something really important with my life, to make a real difference. And I feel like I have to give it everything I have for a while.” She watched me from over her cup. “But it won’t last forever. I promise.”

From across the table, I felt her eyes searching my own until finally I had to look away. “It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The truth was, as hard as it’d been for me, I really did understand how much the monster ferns, or whatever they were, meant to my mother. Ever since I was a little kid, she’d talked about making the world a better place. Imagine finding a way to make plastic that doesn’t hang around as trash in our ecosystems for thousands of years. For a genius biochemical environmentalist like my mom, this project must have felt like the Holy Grail.

“I’m so glad you understand,” she said with a grateful smile. “Thanks for bearing with me.”

I took a sip of my coffee. It was delicious and warm. And suddenly, sitting in that shop, I felt a little better. In fact, for one misguided moment I actually believed things with my mother might be back to the way they used to be. We were friends again. We could talk without getting mad at each other—
would
talk, in fact, whenever we had the chance. I even felt excited that we still had more than half an hour left before we had to head back home. I had so much to say. I wanted to tell her about my new friends and my new school, about the A.V. Club and the Patties and so much else. I wanted to let her know how hard it was to fit in, and how depressed I felt about Lemonade Mouth ending. For one crazy moment I even decided I would show her the envelope that I still carried in my pocket, maybe ask if she thought there was a chance that the IQ results could be wrong.

But that was when my mother’s cell rang—and brought me crashing back to reality.

When the call ended my mother said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Stella, but that was the lab.” All at once I felt my excitement fizzle away. I knew what was coming. My mom sighed. “I know this is incredibly bad timing . . . but there’s a problem and I absolutely
have
to go back. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

A moment later we were back in the car, our coffees abandoned in the shop not even half-finished. “Listen, I’ll drop you off at home so you can meet the boys when they get back,” my mother was saying as she sped out of the parking lot. “Leonard won’t be home until late tonight. I’ll leave you money so you can order a pizza for dinner.”

But I wasn’t really listening. I felt like a fool.

As far as I knew, nobody even tried to change Olivia’s mind about playing at Bruno’s.
I
certainly didn’t. I wasn’t going to pressure her again, and anyway, I was sure she wouldn’t do it. But then one chilly Tuesday morning as I got off the bus at school, I noticed a bunch of kids crowded on the asphalt near the side entrance. At first I wasn’t going to bother finding out what the fuss was about. My breath billowed out in a thick fog, and my fingers were so cold I wondered if they were going to fall off. I wanted to get my freezing butt inside as fast as possible. But then I noticed Wen, Mo and Charlie gathered together at the back of the crowd, so I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and walked over.

“What’s up?” I called.

They didn’t answer, exactly. In fact, nobody in the crowd was saying much, which seemed kind of strange. Wen just nodded toward the wall, which I still couldn’t see because I hadn’t made it around the corner yet. “Check it out,” he said.

As I walked through the crowd, kids stepped aside. And then I saw what everyone was looking at.

Drawn in chalk across the brick windowless wall were five gigantic faces.
Our
faces.

“Do you
believe
this?” Charlie asked quietly.

All I could do was stare.

Whoever had drawn it was pretty good. Sure, Wen’s glasses were a little too rectangular, Olivia’s face a little too long and the green of my hair a little too fluorescent, but it was definitely us. And there was a lemon stuffed into each of our mouths—gags preventing us from talking. In thick purple lettering across the top of the wall was a long quote from someone I’d never heard of:

WE ARE ALL, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US,
MISUNDERSTOOD. AND EVERY INDIVIDUAL IS ABNORMAL.
BUT I ASK YOU, WHERE’S THE FUN IN NORMAL?
—PHINEAS FLETCHER

Scribbled below that in yellow chalk was:

I’M A FREAK AND I’M PROUD!
LEMONADE MOUTH—DON’T STOP THE REVOLUTION!

I didn’t know what to say.

And then I noticed Olivia, the real-life Olivia, standing beside me. As I’d walked up to the wall, she must have been only a few steps behind. I watched her face as she took in the giant picture. Her eyes lingered on the words.

She stayed quiet for a long time.

It was at the end of that day that Olivia came up to Wen and me as we got ready to walk home. Without any explanation, she told us she’d decided to sing at Bruno’s after all. When she walked away, we turned to each other, speechless. We couldn’t help grinning.

Lemonade Mouth was back.

CHAPTER 7

Only the pure in heart can make a good soup.

—Ludwig Van Beethoven

OLIVIA:
Houseplants, T-Shirts and Unrequited Desire

Dear Ted,

Happy New Year! It’s study hall so I thought I’d write. Sorry it’s been so long. I have so much to tell you.

First, I’m resting my voice. Want to know why? Bruno asked us back again this Thursday because our first gig was packed. Half the crowd was in costume too. Most of the football team came as potted plants. Stella called them up onstage and they line-danced behind us. The audience went nuts. And remember I told you about those guys that don’t like us, the ones in that other band, Mudslide Crush? Well, even
they
showed up, although they mostly just stood quietly at the back with Bruno. We made a point to welcome them, though, and everybody cheered. Anyway, I’m doing a little better now. I figure if I stare at the back wall and don’t think about the people, I’ll get through it. I’m not saying it’s
easy
, just okay.

I’m glad you received the extra CDs you asked for. Want to hear something bizarre? So many kids have been walking around listening to our music that Mr. Brenigan said nobody could play it anymore. Can you believe that? He banned it! Nobody is allowed to listen to anything in the hallways anymore. Personally, I think the rule has more to do with the soda machines than anything else. I think Mr. Brenigan is tired of people asking about them. Anyway, you can probably imagine how effective the rule is. It’s easy to sneak an earphone in when you want to. My guess is, more people are listening to us in the corridors now than ever before.

My horoscope today: “Take unexpected changes in stride. Don’t lose faith. Get ready for a startling new experience.” They got that right. Charlie’s friend Lyle is selling Lemonade Mouth posters and T-shirts. I can’t tell you how strange it feels walking around the hallways and seeing your own face on other people’s chests. But not to worry. It’s only a matter of time before Mr. Brenigan outlaws the T-shirts too.

Here’s another crazy update: Remember I told you about Catch A RI-Zing Star, the annual WRIZ battle of the bands with the most popular local groups from all over the state? I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but Desirée Crane won two years ago, and this year the winner gets a one-album deal with Epiphany Records. Anyway, Naomi Fishmeier started a call-in campaign to get us on the band list. We’re not even signed up, but just the idea of it gives me stomach cramps. Performing at the Providence Civic Center wouldn’t be like playing at a pizza place. It holds over
fourteen thousand seats
. And the Catch A RI-Zing Star finals are shown on TV, so who knows how many other eyes would be watching?

You asked about Wen . . . well, he’s pretty much the same as ever. Still oblivious around me and weird around Sydney. But I’m getting used to it. After all, do I have any choice? And no, I’m
not
going to tell him how I feel, because if I do it might drive him away, and then I really would be miserable. I guess some people are meant to find connections and others aren’t, and I’m obviously in the latter category and that’s just the way it is. I’m okay with it, so stop worrying about me. All right, sometimes I get secretly furious at the boy. A couple nights ago I stopped by his place (it’s stuffed with Sydney’s furniture now—his living room is almost as chaotic as ours!) to write some new songs. When I got there, Sydney told me Wen was out with his dad and would be a little late so she suggested we paint our toenails. When Wen finally came back and found us laughing on the sofa, our bare feet in the air, cotton balls between our toes, his face went all glum. Unfortunately, Sydney and I had a hard time fighting back the giggles. We weren’t laughing at
him
, it was just the situation. But Wen left the room without saying a word. He went back to his usual easygoing self as soon as we were writing upstairs, away from Sydney. Still, I couldn’t help fuming at how clueless he is.

But I felt sorry for him too. Poor, sweet, confused kid.

Miss you,
Olivia

P.S.

Oh my God. It’s 11 p.m. and I’d already sealed and stamped your envelope but I had to rip it open so I could add this note.

Are you ready for this?

Believe it or not, I just heard “Skinny Nancy”
on the radio.

Let me set the scene: Brenda and I were sitting at the kitchen table playing a quiet game of gin rummy with the cats flopping around our feet and on our laps. Suddenly the phone rang so I picked it up and Wen’s voice said, “Turn on WRIZ
right now.
” And then he hung up. It was a weird message, but I did what he said and flipped on the radio. And there we were. I couldn’t believe my ears. Turns out, WRIZ has a local music show and somehow they got our CD. Brenda and I threw our cards into the air and screamed. Which sent the cats fleeing in all directions. But we didn’t care—Lemonade Mouth was on the airwaves!

WEN:
Have You Hugged Your Radio Today?

I rushed down to the kitchen to tell my dad we were on the radio but when I got there I found him and Sydney standing really close to each other, Sydney’s arms over my dad’s shoulders and his hands on her waist. I felt like maybe I was interrupting something, and I expected them to pull apart, maybe act uncomfortable, but they didn’t. My dad just turned his head a little in my direction with this dopey grin.

“What’s going on, kiddo?”

“Uh . . . we’re on the radio,” I said, muffling the excitement in my voice because I suddenly felt embarrassed. “Right now. WRIZ.”

After a brief hesitation, his expression changed. “You’re kidding.”

I shook my head.

He and Sydney suddenly let go of each other and my dad switched on the kitchen radio. Sydney shrieked. While my dad cranked up the music, she grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. George came pounding down the stairs in his pajamas to find out what the fuss was about. When I pointed to the radio it didn’t take him long to understand what was happening. It was a weird feeling, the three of us staring at the speakers, grinning from ear to ear, and George hopping all over the place like a Mexican jumping bean.

My dad wrapped his arm around my neck. “That’s it, kiddo. The big time. You’re a star!”

“Yeah right,” I said. I knew it wasn’t true, of course. But still, I couldn’t help feeling lightheaded.

Then everybody started hugging each other and I guess I got caught up in it because a few seconds later I realized too late that I had my arms around Sydney and she had hers around me. It wasn’t a long hug or anything, but it was long enough. The moment after she gave me a quick congratulatory peck on the cheek and then moved on to George, I stood there frozen. I realized to my horror that for a brief instant I’d sensed her breasts, under her sweater, actually brushing up against my shirt. It was an awful realization. I forced myself not to think about it.

When the song was over the DJ said, “That’s brand new from a band called Lemonade Mouth off their CD
Live at the Bash.
Call and let us know if you like it as much as we do.”

After that the phone started ringing one call after another. “How much did you hear?” I asked Mo.

“Almost all of it. I was studying right by my radio when you phoned. Can you believe this? My dad’s bursting to call Calcutta.”

Stella whooped so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

But I couldn’t blame anybody for being excited.

I had a hard time keeping my eyes closed that night. After all, who in their right mind would have predicted in September that the five of us would get this far? I wondered if this was how Dizzy felt the first time he heard himself on the radio. I know it was just some late-night exposure on a local radio show, but it felt like a big deal. Like we’d made it to the next step.

But even as those exciting thoughts bounced around in my head, my alarming brush with Sydney’s breasts refused to stay blocked from my mind. It was a disturbing memory, not just because it was so unforgivable to think about the touch of your dad’s fiancée’s boobs, but also because I realized that the experience had left me feeling completely different than I would have imagined. I guess I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d felt some terrible, secret thrill, but that wasn’t what happened, exactly. It was weird. I don’t know if I could even explain the emotion I’d felt, but whatever it was, it hadn’t been what I’d expected.

As I lay in bed that night it took me forever to get to sleep.

MOHINI:
A Surprise Visit

One morning I show up for my regular every-other-day session with Mrs. Reznik and discover that she’s out sick. At the front office they tell me it’s just a cold. I don’t think anything of it. But she’s not back four lessons later, so by then I’m concerned.

“She’s
still
out?” Charlie asks around a mouthful of PB&J. It’s lunchtime and as usual my friends and I are sitting together at the Freak Table. “Wow. How long has it been now? A week and a half?”

“Almost two,” Stella corrects him.

Wen frowns. “It’s hard to picture Mrs. Reznik getting sidelined by just a cold.”

It’s true. She’s such a Rottweiler of a personality that it’s easy to forget she’s actually just a little old lady. Until now I think part of me doubted anything could ever hold her back—I figured she was too stubborn to allow it.