Rock 'n' Roll Rebel (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

C
laire hadn't shown up for school that day.

“She's probably still sick,” Robbie said.

“Let's call her and find out,” Kyra said.

“I'm too scared,” Tig replied. “I mean, what if we call and she doesn't want to talk to us? What if she saw the video and has decided to ditch us?”

“Come on,” Olivia said. “Claire's our friend.”

“Is she?” Tig asked. “Or were we just her only option?” Tig hoped Olivia was right. She really liked Claire; she wanted them to be real friends.

“Let's just call her after school and check on her,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, we can't
not
call her,” Robbie said. “That would make us pretty inconsiderate friends, and then I wouldn't blame her for ditching us.”

“Y'all are right,” Tig replied. “We'll talk more about it at lunch.”

As the girls went to their classes, a deep voice called behind Tig: “Miss Ripley?”

Tig turned around to see Mr. Ellis standing in the door of the science lab. Oh no. She'd completely forgotten about doing the science project over the weekend. She walked toward him, a sick feeling in her stomach.

“Good morning, Mr. Ellis,” she said sheepishly.

“Good morning,” he replied. “I just wondered if you needed to drop off your science project so you wouldn't have to try to shove it into your locker or carry it around all day.”

“Yes, sir. About that . . . ,” Tig began. “I had every intention of getting that done this weekend, but I had something kind of . . . traumatic . . . happen, and—”

“And let me guess. No project?”

“No, sir.”

“Tig, this just isn't like you,” Mr. Ellis said. “You've always been such a conscientious student.”

“I'm really sorry, Mr. Ellis. I'll work harder. I promise.”

The first bell rang. Students were pushing past her to get into the science lab. She needed to get to her first class before the tardy bell. Tig felt that she should say something else, but she didn't know what. Mr. Ellis didn't say anything either. He was a tall, imposing man, but he never raised his voice in anger. Tig almost wished he would. The disappointment on his face made her feel worse than if he'd lit into her.

I can't think about any of that right now,
Tig told herself as she hurried to class.
I'll worry about the science project tonight when I can do something about it.
Meanwhile, she still had to get through the day and figure out what was going on with Claire.

At lunch the girls and Will brainstormed what Tig should say when she called Claire. “You could just say,
Hey, you still alive, or what?
” Kyra said. “Keep it light.”

“Or:
I've been so concerned about you. Is everything okay
?” Olivia said. “And then see if she brings up the band. Or the YouTube video.”

“Maybe instead of calling, we should just go by and see how she's doing?” Robbie said. “Take her some ice pops or something. Mono gives you a sore throat, right?”

“You know what's good?” Will said. “Those lime juice ice pops.”

“Those are good!” Olivia said.

“So let's do it,” said Robbie. “We'll meet at Tig's house. I'm sure Mrs. Ripley will be glad to chauffeur us.”

“I guess she would,” Tig said.

“Text me later and let me know how it goes,” Will said to Tig. She felt her face flush and wondered if Olivia noticed.

After school the four girls met at Tig's house and, as expected, Tig's mother was happy to drive them, both to Publix to pick up ice pops and to Claire's to deliver them.

“Shouldn't we have called first?” Kyra whispered to Tig in the van. “Isn't it rude to just show up?”

“It's a surprise,” Tig said. But the truth was, Tig was afraid that a one-on-one phone call would simply result in awkward silence, and that would make her feel stupid, and she'd had quite enough of feeling stupid over the past few days. At least this way, there were three other girls to fill in any conversation gaps.

Tig's mother sat in the car while the four girls went up to the door. “We won't be long,” Tig told her.

They rang the doorbell. Claire's mother answered. “Oh, how lovely!” she said in a Mary Poppins voice. “Do come in and say hello! Poppet, you have more visitors!”

Tig wondered for a second why Claire's mother had used the word
more
, but before she could process it, Mrs. Roberts was leading them into the family room, where Claire was sitting in her pajamas on the couch . . .

With Regan, Haley, and Sofia gathered around her.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“W
hat are you doing here?” Tig said. She knew it was rude. She hadn't even said hello to Claire. But she couldn't help herself.

“We're visiting our friend Claire,” Regan said. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Visiting
our
friend Claire.” Tig knew it sounded petty, like in second grade when kids thought they owned their friends and no one else could be friends with them.

“Hey, Tig,” Claire said. “Hey, Kyra, Robbie, Olivia. I'd hug you, but I might still be a little contagious.
Doctor says it's okay as long as you don't get too close.”

“We brought you some ice pops,” Robbie said, awkwardly shoving the box in front of Claire.

“Oh, thanks,” Claire said. “Mum, could you put these in the freezer?”

Suddenly the lime ice pops looked pretty meager. “We brought Claire this get-well basket,” Regan said. The basket was huge and pink and wrapped up in cellophane with a glittery bow. Inside were all manner of froufrou snacks and groovy, retro-looking fruit sodas.

“So how was your party, Kyra?” Claire asked. “I'm so sorry I missed it.”

“Funny you should ask,” Regan said. “I was just about to show you a video on YouTube. . . .”

“We have to go,” Tig said.

“But you just got here,” said Claire. “Can't you stay a little longer?”

“Wish we could,” Tig said. “But my mom's in the car, so you know how it is.”

“Well, all right then,” said Claire. “It was good to see you. Thanks for coming by.”

“Yeah, you too,” said Tig. “I mean, the seeing you part. Not the coming by part because you didn't come by; we did. I mean, not that you would come by because you're the one who's sick and everything, and—”

“So we'll see you soon,” Robbie said, saving Tig from any further babbling.

Tig's mom was on the phone when the girls got back in the van, so they had an excuse to whisper. “They're trying to flip her,” Tig said. “They didn't even know she was alive, but now that we want her to be our friend and be in the band, they want to take her away from us!”

“Maybe they're just being nice?” Olivia offered. “Oh, who am I kidding? You're right, Tig. They've flipped her. Claire was scared to sing lead before, and now, when they show her the video, she'll never do it again. It's over. She's with the Bots.”

“This stinks,” Robbie said. “The Bots are such jerks! We need Claire's voice!”

“Plus, I really like her,” Olivia said.

“Me too,” said Kyra.

“We all do,” Tig said, and Robbie nodded. “Ugh! I hate this! Could somebody just shoot me, please, before my life gets any worse?”

“Thank you so much,” Tig's mom said. She hung up. “Tig, we're going to drop your friends off now.”

“But I thought we were all going to get supper?” Tig said.

“Not anymore,” her mother replied.

“But, Mom,” Tig said, “we'd all planned—”

“I'm taking the girls home, Tig,” her mom said. “The person I was just talking to on the phone? That was Mr. Ellis.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

T
hey dropped Olivia off last. She hugged Tig and wished her luck.

When Tig and her mother were alone in the car, Tig braced herself for the lecture of a lifetime.

But it didn't come. Instead they drove home in silence. That was worse. Tig's mother was rarely one to be rendered speechless. If she wasn't talking, she must be really upset. Like
beyond
upset.

When they got home, Tig's mother kissed the little ones and told them to go play. “Dave, we have a situation,” she told Tig's dad.

They sat Tig down in the formal living room, which no one ever used, and Tig's mother relayed the information to her dad. “She just didn't turn it in. Nothing! Zilch! I can't . . . I mean . . . What?” She put her head in her hands. “What were you thinking?”

“I meant to do it,” Tig said. “But Kyra told everyone at school that our band was playing at her party, and we weren't ready anyway, and then Robbie and Claire couldn't make it, so—”

“So you cancel. Boom. Easy!” said her mom.

“I tried to. But then Regan smack-talked me in the lunch room, and I kinda said,
Oh yes, we would play
, and then I had to.”

“Then that's it. Good-bye, band. Hello, studying,” her mother replied.

“Mom! I can't quit the band! I'm the leader!”

“Antigone Ripley, you have an F right now in science class. An F! There is no discussion. You are grounded from the band until your next progress report. And you will not use your phone or your computer for any social purposes until then either.
Do you understand?” Her mother's jaw was tight, her lips pursed.

“Dad?” Tig said. He was generally the good cop to her mom's bad cop. But not this time.

“Don't look at me,” her dad said. “Your mom's right. An F's an F.”

That was when it all hit her.

Not only was Tig a joke at school . . . not only was she a laughingstock on the Internet . . . not only was her band a failure . . . not only had her new friend Claire ditched her . . . but now she was failing science, too. And to be honest, the rest of her grades weren't so hot either. She had ruined everything she had going for her only to fail miserably as a musician. Tig started to cry.

“If this is a ploy, it's not going to work,” said her mom. “You're not getting out of this just by turning on the waterworks.”

But as Tig kept crying, her mom softened. “Honey, this just isn't like you,” said her mom. “You were always so responsible and so on top of your schoolwork. I know you like your little band, but you've got to find a balance.”

“It's not just the band,” Tig said. She told them everything: all about Regan turning everyone against her, how she had to stand up to Regan to prove herself, how it had all gone horribly wrong and wound up on the Internet, and how Claire had decided to become a Bot instead of her friend.

Even though she was too big for his lap anymore, Tig's dad held her until she ran out of tears. Her mother patted her back and stroked her hair, whispering, “Now, now, sweetie . . . it's going to be okay.” Then she asked, “Dave, isn't there some way we can contact the person in charge of the Internet and have that awful video removed?”

It was so ridiculous, Tig couldn't help but laugh. Her dad did, too.

“What? Why is that funny?” asked her mom.

“Mom, there's no one ‘in charge of' the Internet,” Tig said.

“But you know,” said her dad, “we could flag the video and ask YouTube to remove it. They might not, but all they can say is no, and then we're no worse off than we were before.”

Tig doubted it would do much good—she felt sure that YouTube would consider the request trivial—but it made her feel better to know that her parents would try to do what they could to help. Even though they were upset with her, they were still on her side. At least somebody was.

There was just one more thing Tig wanted to know. “Mom, can I still play the drums?”

Tig's mom looked at her dad. He shrugged.

“Well . . . ,” she said. “I mean, I have paid for your lessons through the end of the semester, and it wouldn't be fair to Lee to ask for a refund. So I suppose you can go to your lessons if your dad thinks it's okay.”

“Okay by me,” said her dad.

“Can I practice?”

Tig's mom looked at her dad. He said, “I suppose so. But only after you've finished all your homework and studied for tests. Not a second before. Not even
for study breaks.”

“Fair enough,” Tig replied.

“What's say we get started on your science project?” her dad said.

That sounded like the best idea Tig had heard all day.