Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (26 page)

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, HVMS! I SAID—ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!”

“Yeah!” A few more people chimed in this time.

“LET’S SHAKE THIS HOUSE!” Rhonda turned to us. “ONE, TWO, ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR!”

We let it rip. Rhonda grabbed the microphone and shredded it!

Let me say this: Rhonda was AMAZING.

Yes, I’m serious.

No, really.

Really!

We Stink sounded awesome! All that time struggling with our instruments had finally paid off. My fingers found the chords, and I didn’t even drop my pick.

Nanci was drumming instead of eating pie. Mari’s bass had all of the strings, and Patti had even remembered to plug in her keyboard.

And Rhonda’s crazy, screechy voice actually sounded perfect with our crazy, screechy instruments. We were a slamming heavy-metal band!

The crowd danced madly, punching their fists in the air. But I really knew we were good the minute I glanced over at Missy. She looked like she was about to throttle someone.

I grinned.

And the band played on.

W
hen we finished, the crowd went wild. People were screaming. I felt their voices vibrate through my chest.

I had been so worried that I would embarrass myself that I had never even thought about how good it might feel to be onstage. But the crowd’s approval roared up to me, and I felt like a volcano, ready to explode with happiness.

HVMS kept shouting. Someone threw a pair of boxer shorts onstage.

Rhonda beamed at me. “I TOLD YOU WE WOULD ROCK!”

The crowd was chanting, “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

This is usually the place where I would say something like
And then I woke up
.

But this was real.

“Let’s do another one!” I shouted over the noise of the crowd. But Missy Trillin was already storming onto the stage. She grabbed the microphone and yanked it out of Rhonda’s hands. Then she hit the crowd with her Death Glare.

The room was as silent as a grave. My grave.

“Well,” Missy said finally. The microphone made her voice boom off the walls. “That was surprising. Especially since everyone knows Georgia’s so…
lame
.” She smirked.

For a moment, nobody spoke. My throat burned like I’d swallowed some hot lava. Everything got blurry.
Run!
my brain shouted.
Don’t let her get the hook!

But before I could turn and rush away, someone shouted, “Boo!” Then someone else joined in. “Boo, Missy!”

I heard Sam’s voice. “We want an encore!”

“En-core! En-core! En-core!” the crowd chanted. I couldn’t believe it. They were standing up to Missy. Was her power starting to crumble?

“I’m sorry, we don’t have time,” Missy said into the microphone. “The next band is—”

“En-CORE! En-CORE!”

The shouts washed down on me like cold rain. I blinked, and my tears cleared away. I watched Missy speaking into the microphone, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. The crowd was too loud. They wanted another song.

And—right at that moment—I realized something important: I wanted to give them one.

“Be quiet!” Missy hollered, but nobody heard her. Or maybe they did, but they just didn’t care.

“Get off the stage, Missy,” I snapped, reaching for the microphone.

Missy stuck out her foot and I stumbled forward, windmilling my arms. I tried to regain my balance, and I reached out—

A couple of kids in the front row caught me. I wasn’t hurt. I looked up just in time to see Missy gaping down at her missing skirt in horror. Then she stared out at everyone—laughing at her.

Rhonda offered Missy a tambourine to hold in front of her underpants, but Missy just batted it away. Then she let out a shriek and ran off the stage.

Rhonda looked down at me. “SHOULD WE DO ANOTHER SONG?” she asked.

“Definitely!”

Rhonda held out a hand and hauled me up onstage. I strapped on my electric guitar as the crowd let out a huge cheer. We tore up the next song, and two more after that. Then we had to bow for, like, five full minutes. Rhonda was eating it up—blowing kisses to the crowd and winking at the cutest boys.

As we headed offstage, I gave Rhonda a high five. Nanci, Mari, and Patti were squealing with excitement.

“I can’t wait for us to play at Airbrook Arts!” Mari said.

Oh, boy. I wasn’t sure what Rafe would think of that. He’d probably spend the whole performance in the bathroom, barfing, with his hands over his ears.

“WE WERE GREAT! RIGHT, GEORGIA?” Rhonda asked.

“You were fantastic, Rhonda,” I told her. Then I gave her a hug as she blushed and smiled.

“Georgia?” asked a soft voice behind me. I don’t know how I heard it over the cheers of the crowd, but I did.

“Um, Georgia, I just wanted to say that I thought you were really good. I’m sorry Missy was so mean out there.”

“Thanks, Bethany,” I said.

“I’m Brittany.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, anyway, thanks.”

“She’s really awful, isn’t she?” Brittany asked. She looked like she was about to cry.

I felt sort of bad. It must have been hard to have Missy as a friend. I squeezed her shoulder. “Yeah, she’s horrible.”

Brittany burst into tears.

Just then Sam shouted, “Georgia!” I saw him waving, hurrying over to join me. My performance
was over. My band had rocked. The best part? Now I could spend the rest of the evening dancing with Sam.

I grinned and waved back.

Best.

Dance.

Ever!

H
ow was it?” Mom asked when I climbed into the car later that night.

My mind was whirling with all the things I wanted to tell her about.

“We won the Battle of the Bands!” I said. “And I danced with Sam! It was, like, the best night of my life!”

“I’m so glad! You and your band worked very hard.” Mom smiled warmly. “You deserved it, Georgia.”

Suddenly, I felt like a heel. Mom had bought me this great dress and encouraged me to perform… and I hadn’t even told her the truth about my
detention. If I’d told her, she probably would’ve grounded me, and the best night of my life never would’ve happened….

I felt ill, like I’d accidentally stolen something.

Mom deserved to know the truth.

I took a deep breath. “Mom, I poured pudding on Missy Trillin’s head and I got a week of detention plus I had to talk to the school psychologist but I swear that’s it and I’ll never do anything bad again and I’m reallyreallyreallyreally sorry.”