Lemonade Mouth Puckers Up (12 page)

“We can still back out of this,” I whispered. “Maybe it’s not worth it.”

“I’m all right.”

For the first time in a while, she turned to face me. When she squeezed my hand I could tell that she really
was
going to be okay, at least for now. Which was even more of a relief than it might seem. For a few days I’d been worried about her—and not just because of her anxieties about performing. She’d been acting quieter than usual, and when I asked what was going on she wouldn’t admit anything was wrong. Something was up with her, though. I could tell.

It was still light when we entered Manhattan, but I knew we were late. I remember looking up at the skyscrapers and feeling their weight hanging over us as we rolled through a sea of traffic and shadows and towering buildings. Olivia squeezed my hand again. After we pulled up at a curb crowded with people, Ralph stepped out from behind the wheel so he could walk around the car and get the door for us.

“Here you go,” Mr. Decker said. “Good luck.”

“Wait—you’re not coming?” Stella asked, alarmed.

He shook his head. “I don’t want the cameras focusing on me, I want them on you guys. Remember to have fun and be yourselves—and don’t forget that the show begins the moment you step out onto that sidewalk.” Outside the limo a small crowd was already starting to press in toward us, which was strange. No doubt they were mistaking us for somebody famous. “Don’t worry,” Mr. Decker said. “America’s going to love you guys.”

There are different opinions about Mr. Decker and the role he played that day. Some people say he had no idea what he was doing, that what happened later proved it. Others look back at the astonishing events of that evening and conclude
that Mr. Decker knew
exactly
what he was doing, that getting us an appearance on that show at all was a stroke of genius, the sort of out-of-the-box inspired move he’d become famous for during his four decades in the music business. I don’t know which point of view is right, but I don’t think anyone, not even the great Earl Decker, could have guessed that things were about to play out the way they did.

The five of us glanced at each other as we waited for Ralph to open the door. Whatever was about to come next was going to have repercussions in our lives, for good or for bad, and suddenly I didn’t want to leave the safety of the limo. In a matter of seconds it would all begin. The door would open, and we’d climb out onto the crowded sidewalk. After that there was no predicting what might happen.

I’ve been Mr. Decker’s personal chauffeur for more than twenty-five years, and I’ve driven a lot of big-name stars. Danny Dangerous. Leroy Thrasher. Rachel and the Bob-sickles. If limousines could talk, mine would have a few stories to tell. Most passengers don’t pay any attention to the nameless guy behind the wheel. I honestly think a lot of them forget I’m even there.

But I’m there. And I notice everything.

Sure, I remember that ride to New York with Lemonade Mouth. It turned out to be a big day, bigger than anyone imagined, so of course I get asked about it a lot. And whenever I do, I tell people that I remember three things:

First, I remember how scared those kids were. When we left Rhode Island they were sitting behind me full of nervous energy, but as we got closer to Manhattan (we were running late because of a tractor trailer accident on I-95) it became like a morgue back there. Everyone was silent. Mohini Banerjee was biting her nails, Stella Penn was fidgeting as if she were getting ready to explode, and Olivia Whitehead, the singer, was staring out the window like she might jump out. The adults with them seemed just as stressed.

Second, I can still picture their amazed expressions at the reception they received when we finally reached Times Square. As we pulled up to the curb a rush of people closed in around the limo, trying to peer through the tinted glass. I didn’t say anything, but of course I knew Mr. Decker had arranged this ahead of time. It was an old trick of his, planting a few ringers in the sidewalk crowd to make sure his client’s arrival got noticed. And it worked. There were two cameramen by the building and both of them spun in our direction to see what all the commotion was about. When I saw the surprised look on the kids’ faces I had to hide a smile.

When it came to working the media, Mr. Decker played it like a violin.

But the third thing—and this is what sticks with me most whenever I think about that day—is this: even though those Lemonade Mouth kids were under a lot of pressure and must have been scared stiff about what would happen to them next, as they each got out of the car they still took the time to thank me for driving. All five of them, one at a time. And let me tell you, I appreciated that.

Now, I’m a fan of Danny Dangerous’s music, but you
want to know something? In all the hundreds of rides I gave that kid, he never thanked me. Not once. He never even remembered my name.

People always say how I should have been mad at Lemonade Mouth, as if following their dreams with Decker and Smythe somehow meant they were dumping me. But that’s ridiculous. I can honestly say I never felt that way. They were my friends and I was happy for them. Besides, with so much extra time on my hands that summer, I ended up hanging out a lot more with Naomi Fishmeier, one of the smartest, funniest people I ever met.

Let’s just put it this way: I wasn’t complaining.

And Lemonade Mouth always included Naomi and me whenever they could. Like, the day of the
American Pop Sensation
debacle, we rode down to New York in the limo with them.

The way I remember it, the mob scene started the moment we all stepped out of the limo. The band was out first and somebody shouted, “It’s them! It’s Lemonade Mouth!” and soon a small crowd was pressing in and screaming like Lemonade Mouth was this big celebrity band or something. It was a good thing Ralph, the limo driver, was such a big guy, because he was able to stand between us and the crush like a bodyguard. Seconds later two official-looking men with clipboards appeared. They told us they were from the network and that they would be Lemonade Mouth’s handlers. They’d been waiting for us, they said, and they seemed
kind of annoyed we were late. They told us there was still a chance Lemonade Mouth could make it before the producers bumped us from the schedule, but only if we hurried.

We rushed to follow them, but the line for the show was incredibly long. It snaked around the side of the Lane Elliott Conference Center, where the network was filming, and went back for more than two blocks. I’m told that some of the earliest people had even camped out on the street overnight just to be sure they’d get to audition, and here were my friends and me flying past it all.

The calls of “Lemonade Mouth!” continued. I saw Olivia trying to bow her head and cover her face, but that only seemed to make the camera operators
more
interested, not less. It was so crowded that Naomi and I kept getting separated from the rest of our group. Just as Stella and the others were being led into a roped-off area ahead of us, a beefy lady with an earphone blocked our path.

“Just where do you two think you’re going?” she demanded. “The line starts on Seventh Avenue.”

We pointed to our friends and said we were with them, but it was obvious she didn’t believe us. I started to panic. Fortunately Mo looked back and saw what was happening. “It’s all right! They’re with us!” One of the handlers nodded, and after a moment of hesitation, ear-monitor lady waved us through.

“Can you believe this?” I whispered. “How far do you think we’re going?”

Naomi looked just as astonished as I was. As we ducked past a security guard I felt her fingers reaching out to grasp mine. My breath caught. The thing was, even though I’d had a secret crush on her for a long time, I was always too nervous to say so. In a way it’s kind of fitting that the first
time Naomi and I ever held hands was as we were chasing after our favorite band together—a band whose members also happened to be our closest friends.

“All the way,” she said, rushing us forward and giving my fingers another squeeze. “I think Lemonade Mouth is headed for the front of the line.”

Our escorts seemed to be on a mission, powering the kids through the crowd like offensive tackles protecting a football. I heard later that they ended up knocking a few people over, which is terrible, but I didn’t see any of that. I was too busy struggling to keep up. At first I was worried about Mrs. Reznik, my son’s little old music teacher, but she was doing just fine. Better than I was, in fact. I had trouble keeping up with her.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so impressed.

For the hundredth time I couldn’t help thinking what a shame it was that Sydney was missing all this. Back when Wen first dropped the news to us that he was only allowed to bring one guardian along, Sydney had tried her best to be the one. She’d given me her most persuasive look, actually pleading with me at one point. See, we’d both been huge fans of the show since season one. But come on. My kid’s band was auditioning on
American Pop Sensation
! No way was I going to miss that. So during the entire drive down to New York she’d been texting me for updates. WHERE R U NOW? she’d write, and I’d answered her with the truth
(except every once in a while just for fun I’d made up obvious lies like BACKSTAGE WITH ELVIS. U?).

Our escorts led our little group deeper into the conference center building until at last we came to a high-ceilinged waiting area. It was like a media circus. Cameras everywhere. Costumed dancers practicing their moves. Nervous-looking kids standing in circles singing, their heads nodding in time. A red light flashed and somebody called out, “Thirty seconds! Quiet everyone!” and the noise level dropped. Monique Hirsh elbowed me and I followed her gaze toward a back corner of the room. The show’s blond, curvy host, Belinda Vree, was standing in front of a camera. You could have knocked me over. Belinda Vree! Everybody who followed
APS
—which had to be just about everyone with a television—knew her. She had one of the most downloaded faces in the world and there she was, only fifty feet away.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little starstruck.

“We’re back, America!” Belinda said, flashing her famous toothy grin. “We’re nearing the end of day two of our New York auditions, and we’re broadcasting live from the Pressure Chamber!”

One of the network guys whispered for us to stay put while he went off to tell one of the assistant directors we were here. I stood blinking at the chaos, hardly able to believe I was in the middle of all this. Belinda was interviewing a skinny preteen girl in rainbow spandex, one of the contestants for the upcoming round, and my phone vibrated. Another message from Sydney.

UPDATE?

I held up my phone, snapped a photo and sent it to her in reply. As it turned out, that shot ended up being a good one—my own little contribution to the rock-and-roll record
books. I’ve since seen it posted on Lemonade Mouth fan sites all over the Internet. In the center of the frame you can see Belinda and the spandex girl—the same scene that Sydney and millions of television viewers were watching live on TV at that very moment. But my shot also captured what the TV audience couldn’t see—the crowd of excited people behind the camera and, off to one side but clearly visible, Wen and Stella and the others all huddled together, looking pensive, like they were deep in thought. But the truth is (and I know this from talking with them later), they weren’t thinking much of anything at all. They were just standing there feeling terrified and overwhelmed.

It wasn’t until that moment that the immensity of the situation fully registered in my mind. This was the real thing, and it was happening to my son and his friends. I could only hope they were ready for it.