Lemonade Mouth (31 page)

Sure I was mad. Okay, so I’d never seen Olivia so pissed off, but she didn’t know everything even if she thought she did. Sydney was a leech. She didn’t belong in my house. Or in my family. And she was definitely wrong for my dad.

What did Olivia know about that?

I couldn’t stop my father from marrying her, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Or to agree to be the best man. Even Olivia should have seen that this was just too much to ask.
Way
too much! And it wasn’t like I didn’t appreciate what I had. I
did.
I just didn’t think about it that often.

Still, the fact that I’d needed her to point it out to me made me feel lower than a sea slug.

And what about Sydney? It made me squirm to think that Olivia had somehow guessed the truth. Of all people, how did Olivia see so clearly how I felt? I hated that it was so obvious to her.

The worst part, of course, the part I could barely get myself to think about, was what Olivia had said about why she agreed to go ahead with Lemonade Mouth. She did it for
me
? What was that supposed to mean? Was she saying what I thought she was saying?

Replaying her words in my head, I could feel my face redden again.

I wanted to flush my head down the toilet.

By the time I reached my street, the wind had died down. My lungs took in the cold air and blew it out again. There was an eerie, quiet feeling. During my entire walk back, I don’t believe I saw a single person. I might as well have been on some far away planet, an empty world of ice-covered roofs, parked cars and trees. All this in a spooky universe of silent, falling snow as far as my squinting eyes could see.

Glancing up at the sky, I couldn’t help thinking about Olivia’s clouds—how they can take whatever shape you want, but they can also block the view. I had plenty I wanted to block out. I was still fuming and embarrassed, and I just wanted to go home. It wasn’t fair that my dad was marrying a woman so beautiful it drove me crazy. It wasn’t fair that Lemonade Mouth couldn’t play tonight. I wanted to yell, shout at the top of my lungs just like Olivia, but what would be the point? Nobody would hear me.

Finally I came to my house. The truck was gone. I ran the last few yards up the driveway and to the front door. Inside, I bounded up the stairs.

Some people say this is where fate played a role again. I don’t usually buy into that kind of stuff, but looking back at that morning I can’t say I’m so sure either way. It certainly was weird how one thing led to another. Anyway, the truth was, the whole time I was walking home I had to pee. And now that I was in my house, I honestly thought I was alone. So when I came to the bathroom, I didn’t think about knocking. I just turned the knob and pushed.

And that was why I happened to open the door on Sydney just as she stepped out from a shower.

Dripping wet and completely naked.

For a second I froze. The bathroom was a cloud of steam but even so, there wasn’t much I couldn’t see. Her body was like the sketches she’d drawn. Only real, and right in front of me. I was so mortified that I think it took a moment for my brain to fully register what was happening.

But then she screamed. In all the steam and surprise, I wondered if she even recognized me in the doorway.

“Aaaaaaa!”

The scream was so loud and sudden that it scared me, too. And then we were both screaming.
“Aaaaaaaaa!”

She made a futile attempt to cover herself with one hand while her other one swiped for the towel hanging on the rack. Horrified, I averted my eyes. “Oh my God, Sydney. I’m so sorry!”

Then I turned and ran.

Unfortunately, I forgot about the heavy stone-topped coffee table my dad and I had heaved up the stairs only that morning. It was long and narrow, and even though it didn’t fit anywhere in our house, Sydney said it had sentimental value and she couldn’t part with it. We were going to store it in the attic, but my dad and I had only gotten as far as the upstairs hallway, where it still leaned against the wall, legs out.

And that’s how I ended up charging into one of its thick wooden posts. It smacked into my upper lip like a punch to the mouth.

“Oof!”

The collision was swift and sharp. I screamed again, only this time in sudden, terrible pain.

A few minutes later I lay swearing on the sofa downstairs, holding an ice cube to my stinging mouth. Every now and then I put a finger to my lip to see if it was still bleeding.

“Is it any better?” Sydney asked. In her bathrobe and slippers, she was standing over me, her forehead wrinkled in concern. “Maybe we should bring you to the emergency room.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She tried to brush my fingers aside to get a better look but I swatted her hand away. The truth was, my lip still felt warm. I was lucky I hadn’t dislodged a tooth.

“Come on. Let me see,” she said sympathetically. She tried again to move my hand and this time I let her. She came in close and squinted. Eventually she said, “Doesn’t look good, Wen. It’s still swelling. Better keep the ice on there a while longer. Your dad’ll be home in a half hour or so. Should I call him now anyway?”

I shook my head. To be honest, I was surprised at the fuss she was making. She was being so nice to me and seemed genuinely worried. I hadn’t expected her to care so much.

I have to admit I even felt a little embarrassed about it.

“Weren’t you heading out somewhere, Sydney?” I asked even though it hurt to move my mouth.

She shrugged. “Just to the hair dresser, but I can make another appointment. Your lip is more important. Listen, I’ll be right back. I’m going upstairs to find you some antibiotic cream. We don’t want an infection.”

And then she shot out of the room. My fingers numb with the ice, I found myself staring at the place where she’d turned the corner at the end of the hallway. I was still feeling the dizzying aftershock of seeing her naked. It wasn’t just the surprise of walking in on her; even more than that, it was the unexpected effect it’d had on me. And now all I felt was confusion. I’d thought I knew myself, but now I wasn’t so sure.

What a morning.

Soon after that the phone rang. A minute later Sydney came back with a tube of cream in one hand, the phone in the other.

“It’s for you,” she said, holding out the receiver. “It’s Stella.”

STELLA:
The Curse of Ray Beech #5.
The Unwitting Vehicle of Cruel Fate

It was too icy to bike, so our shivering subversive slogged the mile or so on foot through the snow and biting wind to the middle school. I was glad I’d grabbed my mom’s cell. As I walked I dialed my friends, each time crossing my fingers that they’d be around. All the while, I half-expected my mother’s green Volvo to pull up beside me and for her to roll down the window, still furious. But it didn’t happen. Eventually I arrived at the middle school parking lot. My pulse sped up when, at the rear of the building, I spotted the long white truck backed onto the loading area.

I ran over to look inside.

Nobody in the driver’s cab. The cargo door was open, so I checked that too. It was empty except for one item: A Mel’s Organic Frozen Lemonade machine.

My heart sank. I was too late.

But just then, your downhearted protagonist heard voices calling her name. Charlie, Olivia, Mo and Wen were approaching from four different directions. As each of them scrambled across the snowy field or slogged along the icy parking lot, I couldn’t help noticing the bandage on Charlie’s right hand. Or that there was something wrong with Wen’s lip. It looked like somebody had clocked him.

“Holy crap!” I called out. “What
happened
to you guys?”

Neither of them answered right away. They seemed embarrassed. And even when their stories did come out, it all sounded kind of sketchy. I wondered how Charlie was supposed to play his drums tonight with only one good hand. And could Wen even blow into his trumpet with a lip like that? But I decided not to push them about it right then.

One crisis at a time.

“Well, thanks for coming,” I said.

By then Mo and Olivia had reached us too. Then followed what I can only describe as an awkward silence. The four of them just kind of stood around, staring at their feet. Now, I may not have been the most perceptive person when it came to these kinds of things, but I could have sworn I felt a strange vibe in the air. Why weren’t any of them looking at each other?

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Nothing,” said Mo. But that’s when I noticed that her face was an odd gray color.

“Really?” I asked. “Everybody
sure
they’re okay?”

More quiet nods. More staring at the ground.

Luckily, whatever it was, it didn’t last long. “Look,” I said, pointing at the cargo area of the truck. “I’m sorry to say this now that you’re all here and everything, but they’ve already moved the lemonade machine. I’m pretty sure we’re too late.”

And that’s when everybody sprang back to life and seemed to put aside whatever cloud was in the air. They stepped around the back and peered in.

“The machine’s still here,” Charlie said, “so the driver must be around somewhere, right? Possibly inside setting up the new dispensers?” He looked back at us. “Maybe we could talk to him about not taking this one away.”

“I doubt it’d be that easy,” I said. But I thought about it. Charlie was right about the driver still being here somewhere.

Which gave me an idea.

Five minutes later two beefy men stood at the edge of the loading dock. One of them wore an oversized orange sweater that made him look like a giant pumpkin with glasses. “What’s going on down there?” he called. “What do you kids think you’re doing?”

The five of us were laid out spread-eagle in the snow, directly in front of the truck. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

“We’re protesting the removal of the Mel’s Organic Frozen Lemonade machine!”

His forehead wrinkled. “You’re doing what?”

“You heard her!” Wen said. “We’re not budging until you put it back. In order to move this truck you’ll have to run us over!”

The two men glanced at each other.

A minute later they climbed down from the dock. Their boots crunched in the snow. Soon they were standing over us, staring quietly down into our faces. From where I lay, they looked upside down.

“A protest, huh?” the pumpkin asked. “How long you plan on sticking it out down there in the cold?”

“As long as it takes,” I said.

The other guy had kind eyes, shaggy black hair and a stubbly beard. He looked kind of like a male Sista Slash on steroids. He chuckled. “Jesus, of all the crazy things . . .”

There was another silence as I watched their breath shoot out in long, puffy clouds. Soon I had to brush the snow from my eyes. It was coming down hard.

“Okay, have it your way,” the pumpkin finally said. “We’ll wait inside until you guys are ready.”

And then they walked away, leaving us lying there on the ground. The two men climbed back onto the dock and disappeared through the door at the back, into the warmth of the school.

The wind picked up. I shivered again. “They’re trying to break our will. Are you sure you guys are okay?”

That’s when Mo coughed. A sinister, phlegmy cough that came from deep inside her lungs. “Jesus, Mo,” I said. “That doesn’t sound too good.”

“I’m fine.”

But that’s when it came out that she’d practically dragged herself out of her deathbed. The rest of us tried to talk some sense into her but it was no use. “Mo, you can’t do this if you’re sick. It’s not worth catching pneumonia or something. You should go home, back to bed.”

“No,” she said. “I’m feeling better. Maybe it’s the excitement. Anyway, I don’t care. I’m not getting up.”

What could anybody do?

About ten minutes later the guys came out again. Looking down at us once more, the pumpkin blew into his cupped hands. By then the snow was freezing my back even through several layers of clothing.

Brother Slash squatted down. “Come on, kids. I gotta get this truck back. I’m on a schedule.”

“Nope,” Wen said. “We already told you the deal.”