Hard Rock Page 9

  “What makes you think he’d want to solve Kyra’s equation?” asked Tig.

  “Well,” said Paris, “Kyra’s cute. I think he’d go for her in a second.”

  “But would she go for him?” asked Claire.

  “He’s not bad-looking,” said Robbie. “And Kyra’s all about what other people think. Since she’s not at Paris’s school, she wouldn’t know that Milo isn’t considered cool. She’d give him a chance and get to know him. Sounds to me like they could both benefit from a clean slate.”

  “Good point,” said Tig. “I just wonder if they’d have anything in common.”

  “That’s the best part,” Paris said. “That’s what made me think of him. Kyra’s bummed about failing at music, and Milo, smart as he is, actually failed at something recently.”

  “What? Curing cancer?” asked Robbie.

  Paris laughed. “No, but something almost as serious down here in the South: football.”

  “Really?” asked Olivia.

  “Yep. He went out for the team and didn’t make the cut. Probably the only thing in his life he wasn’t the best at. I’m sure it stung. So he and Kyra have that in common—they both got cut from something because they didn’t measure up. I think they’d understand each other.”

  “I think it’s worth a try,” said Tig. “Now, how do we go about introducing them?”

  “I know just what we’ll do,” said Paris.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I don’t think it needs to be that soon,” Tig said.

  “Why not?” asked Paris. “The strings concert on Thursday night is a perfect opportunity. Milo will be the lead soloist.”

  “First of all, how would we get Kyra there?” Tig said. “She just dropped a pretty big bomb on us. It doesn’t make sense for us to turn around the next day and say, ‘Oh, by the way, how’d you like to join us for some lovely violin music?’”

  “What did you have in mind?” asked Paris.

  “May I?” asked Tig, gesturing to the laptop. Paris handed it over. Tig began typing a message to Milo:

  Hey, Milo. I’m in this new band with some girls from Lakeview Heights. Our drummer has a cousin I think you’d really like. Her name is Kyra Bennett. Feel free to PM her and tell her I’m a mutual friend. Have a good weekend!

  Tig hit send.

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” asked Paris.

  “Well, you might have thought that, ordinarily, it would freak a girl out to get a PM from a guy she’s never met,” Tig said. “But in Kyra’s case, given the fact that she basically has zero friends right now, I think this could work.”

  “Glad that’s settled,” Robbie said. “All this talk about chasing boys makes me feel very disempowered.”

  “Yes, let’s talk about something else,” said Claire.

  “Agreed,” said Olivia. “Enough about Milo. So, who do y’all think Will might like instead of me?

  “Ugh!” said Robbie.

  Yes, Tig thought. Ugh, indeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Good morning,” her mother said when Tig dragged herself into the kitchen the next day. It was not quite ten o’clock; the rest of the girls were still sleeping.

  “Morning,” said Tig. She poured herself a glass of milk, squirted in some chocolate syrup, and stirred.

  “I saw that Kyra came by with Nick last night,” said Mrs. Ripley.

  “That she did,” said Tig.

  “I was hoping maybe that was a good sign. Not so much?”

  “The only reason she showed up was so she could try to get everyone mad at me,” said Tig. “She told them I’d bad-mouthed Paris behind her back.”

  “Did you really do that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Yikes,” said Mrs. Ripley. “I hope that you learned something from this. You shouldn’t say unkind things about other people.”

  “You mean like how you told Mrs. Leonard that Mrs. Beal never shuts up at the PTA meetings because she thinks she knows everything?”

  Tig’s mother blushed. “Touché,” she said. “Do as I say, not as I do.” She tousled Tig’s hair. “How did Paris and the other girls take this revelation?”

  “Surprisingly awesomely,” said Tig. “Paris wasn’t even mad. She’s way cooler than I realized. I think I see now why Robbie likes her so much.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Mrs. Ripley.

  “Did Uncle Nick say anything to you about Kyra’s being mad at me?”

  “A little.”

  “Is he mad at me too?”

  “Honey, no one likes for their children to be hurt. But you know your uncle Nick. He’s easygoing. He sees it as a misunderstanding that will work itself out eventually. Besides, he’s got enough to worry about with the divorce right now. Plus, I think he understands that Kyra never practiced and wasn’t really good at playing bass. He’s not holding a grudge against you.”

  “At least there’s that,” Tig said.

  Tig’s dad came into the kitchen. “You tell her about the new gig?” he said, kissing Mrs. Ripley on the cheek.

  “What new gig?” Tig asked.

  “I forgot all about it,” said her mom.

  “Your granddad’s class reunion,” said Mr. Ripley. “They want you to play at the country club. BD’s so proud of you, he could pop.”

  “Are they going to pay us and everything?” Tig asked.

  “Of course,” said her dad. “How does three hundred dollars sound?”

  Tig quickly did the math in her head. “That’s sixty bucks apiece!”

  “What about BD’s agent’s fee?” said her dad. “He’s the one who got you the job, and he talked them up from the two hundred they originally wanted to pay y’all.”

  “What’s an agent’s fee?” Tig asked.

  “Typically about fifteen percent, isn’t it, Dave?” Tig’s mom said.

  “Yes, I think that’s about the going rate,” he replied.

  Tig grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil out of the junk drawer. “Let’s see . . . 300 times 0.15 would be 45 dollars for BD, which would leave 300 minus that 45, which is 255, divided by five, leaves 51 dollars apiece, which is, hey, still not that bad.”

  Tig’s parents began to laugh.

  “What? Did I do the math wrong?”

  “You don’t really think your granddad is going to charge you an agent’s fee, do you?” her dad said. “I was just pulling your leg!”

  “So we still get sixty bucks each?” Tig said. “I’ve got to tell the other girls!”

  When she got to her room, Olivia, Claire, and Paris were awake but lying on their sleeping bags. Robbie, however, was still out cold.

  “Guess what, guess what, guess what,” Tig said.

  “Shh!” Claire said. “Robbie’s still sleeping.”

  Tig leaped onto the air mattress, shaking Robbie. “Wake up! I have news!”

  Robbie rolled over. “What?” she said. “This better be good.”

  “Oh, it’s good,” Tig said. “What if I told you that denim jacket you’ve had your eye on for two months is almost within your grasp?”

  Robbie sat up. “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve been asked to play a gig. Three hundred dollars. That’s sixty apiece. And no agent’s fee.”

  “What’s an agent’s fee?” asked Claire.

  “What’s an agent?” said Paris.

  “We have an agent?” said Olivia.

  “What gig?” Robbie asked.

  “My grandfather’s high-school class reunion. At the country club.”

  “Ooh! The country club!” said Olivia. “Does our fee include food? Their food is soooo good!”

  “You and your stomach,” said Robbie. “So, when do the old people get down? What’s the date?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tig. “I forgot to ask. Be right back.” Tig ran downstairs, got the date from her parents, and ran back up. “The twenty-fourth of next month,” she said. “It starts at six.”

  “And since they’r
e pushing, what? Eighty? We should be done by seven thirty, tops,” said Robbie.

  “Hey, BD and my grandma, Mimi, are pretty spry,” said Tig. “They stay up till nine thirty sometimes.”

  “We should be able to get a short set down in plenty of time,” said Robbie. “If we all promise to practice daily.”

  The girls all agreed, then texted their parents. No one had any conflicts.

  “Then it’s on!” said Tig. “I’ll call BD right now and tell him to book us!”

  Chapter Thirty

  Tig called BD from the den while the girls got dressed. He answered the phone in his Donald Duck voice. “Hew-wo?”

  Tig giggled. “Hey, BD. What’s up?”

  “The sky,” he replied. “The ceiling? The Goodyear blimp?” Ah, grandfather jokes. Tig laughed anyway to be polite.

  “I meant, what are you and Mimi up to this morning?”

  “Nothing really. Did your parents tell you about the reunion?”

  “Yes!” said Tig. “How exciting!”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  “Yes, sir. All the girls are over at my house right now. We had a sleepover. They’ve all asked their parents, and everyone can make it, so we’re good to go.”

  “That’s great news,” said BD. “I’ll tell the committee they can print the invitations, then. Oh, won’t this be fun?”

  “We can hardly wait,” said Tig. “How long will we need to play?”

  “Only about an hour,” said BD. “It’s not much money, so they don’t expect much. Plus, they understand that you’re kids, and they don’t want to work you too hard.”

  “That’s nice of them,” said Tig.

  “Also, they realize that we can’t take too much loud music or dancing at our age, anyway. But you girls realize you’ll have to play some music from our class’s generation, right? We’re too old for all that clanging mess you kids today listen to.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time to learn some new songs,” said Tig. “Maybe you could select some of your favorites? And since you played in a band yourself back in the day, maybe you could choose some that don’t have really difficult percussion parts. Would you mind?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” said BD. “I’ll see if your Mimi has any requests too. But I won’t let her pick anything too hard.”

  “Great,” Tig replied. “Just text or email me the songs you have in mind and I’ll run them by the other girls.”

  “Will do,” he said. Then, once again in the Donald Duck voice, he said, “Good-bwye!”

  “Bye, BD,” said Tig.

  While the girls had breakfast, Tig received an email from BD with his song choices. She and the other girls read the list. “I’ve never even heard of most of these,” said Tig.

  “Me neither,” said Robbie. “And the ones I have heard of, I don’t want to play. Sonny and Cher? Seriously? Not happening.”

  “‘The Twist?” said Claire. “Doesn’t that have a saxophone in it? We don’t have a sax.”

  “What’s this one?” asked Olivia. They looked it up on the Internet.

  The girls looked at one another in complete horror as they took in a black-and-white image of a man in a cowboy hat and listened to him narrate a story about a coal miner who gave his life in an accident to save his fellow workers. Robbie almost fell over laughing. “Your granddad thinks a bunch of eighth-grade girls are going to be able to do this with a straight face?”

  “That accent!” said Olivia. “This is country music!”

  “Definitely not a rock song,” said Tig.

  “I’m not doing that,” said Claire. “That’s not even singing. It’s talking. I’d feel ridiculous.”

  “Your granddad has some weird taste in music,” said Robbie.

  “I thought the sixties were supposed to be full of great music,” said Tig. “What is this stuff he picked?”

  “Apparently the British Invasion happened after your grandparents’ class graduated,” said Robbie. “But still . . . we’ve got to be able to find some better songs than these!”

  The girls spent some time looking up music critics’ lists of the best songs of the early 1960s. Not finding much they liked, they widened their search to include the entire decade. Olivia liked one song that featured an electric piano. It also had a cool bass line, but Paris was worried she might not be able to master it in time because of the offbeat rhythm.

  The next song they looked at was “For Your Love,” which seemed to have doable percussion, except for a crazy break that would require some serious practice. Then they selected the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout” and “I’m a Believer” by the Monkees, a group whose TV show Olivia and Tig remembered seeing old reruns of a few times.

  “Is Paris going to be able to handle these? That’s three new songs by next month,” said Tig. She looked at Paris. “Not that I lack confidence in your abilities; I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

  “Besides a little bit of guitar training, P’s got two things Kyra didn’t,” Robbie said. “A natural rhythm and the desire to go for it. I can show her the frets and come up with some simple arrangements. We’ll have to pare it down, of course—no walking, no fills, nothing fancy—just quarter notes on the beat. What do you think, Paris?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  The last song, which Robbie suggested for its straightforward bass line, was Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” It was from 1970, but they figured their audience at the class reunion would still like it.

  “If we can make these four happen,” Tig said, “add them to the Stones song we’ve already got, plus ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ that’s six oldies songs we could play.”

  “We could also do that Sex Pistols song,” said Robbie. “It’s seventies punk, but we know it.”

  “Paris doesn’t,” Tig said. “That’s one more song to put on her.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Paris. “I’m really enjoying learning the bass.”

  “If you think so, it’s fine by me. Even though I doubt they’re punk fans, I guess that song’s slow enough that it wouldn’t kill any of the old people,” said Tig. “Good thing we won’t have to play for more than an hour, so I guess seven songs isn’t too bad. I say we do it.”

  “Let’s get in one good practice before everyone has to leave,” said Robbie.

  The girls went out to the studio and got to work.

  Tig was amazed at how quickly Paris picked things up. The guitar lessons she’d taken in elementary school had not been wasted.

  It was amazing how much more the band could accomplish when all the members were dedicated. Tig could hardly stand the excitement. Sure, it was a bunch of grandparents, but it was a real show with a real—albeit short—set list. And real money! They were actually going to get paid for playing music!

  Tig was so happy, she almost stopped worrying about the problem with Kyra.

  Almost.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  On Sunday, Tig got a call from Paris.

  “It’s working,” she said.

  “What? The new songs? “You’re getting them down already?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’m working on that, too . . . but the other thing. The plan. The Kyra and Milo thing.”

  “Oh!” said Tig. “What’s going on?”

  “Milo sent me a message that he’d introduced himself to Kyra on chat,” Paris said. “Apparently, they’ve been talking some. He likes her, I think.”

  “Does she like him?”

  “Well, it’s hard to say. I mean, Milo’s a guy. Guys think they’re doing great with girls even when they’re not. Especially Milo . . . I told you he’s not good at picking up hints.”

  “But if she’s talking to him, that’s a good sign,” Tig said. “I wish we knew what she’d said, though. She might have politely blown him off.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Paris. “Milo said she’s coming to the strings concert on Thursday to hear him play.”

  “Get out of here!” said
Tig. “Wow, that was fast!” The more she thought about it, though, it wasn’t that surprising. Kyra was probably giddy over a mystery boy’s interest in her. In fact, Kyra was probably bursting right this very minute to call Tig and tell her all about it. Well, good. Let her burst. “Thanks for the heads-up,” Tig said. “It will be interesting to see how Kyra acts at school tomorrow.”

  That Monday morning, Kyra came into the gym after Tig, Robbie, Olivia, and Claire were already seated. But instead of walking right past them to go sit with the Scholars’ Bowl team, she walked up to the Pandora’s Box girls, her posture and facial expression sheepish, to say the least. “Hi,” she said.

  “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Tig said. “Oh right. You look just like this cousin of mine who tried to ruin my life over the weekend.”

  Kyra grimaced. “Sorry?” she said.

  “Yes, it was pretty sorry of you,” said Tig. “But Paris is still speaking to me . . . no thanks to you.”

  “I really am sorry,” said Kyra. “That was a rotten thing to do to you. And to Paris. But I was so upset about the band. You hurt my feelings, and I wanted to hurt you back.”

  “Mission accomplished,” said Tig.

  “Can we just forget it ever happened?” Kyra said. “I don’t know what got into me. Lately stuff just really sets me off. I know I overreacted.”

  Tig couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Kyra. If she were going through what Kyra was, she’d probably have some major mood swings too. She’d probably just be looking for an excuse to lash out at anyone who was nearby. And even though Tig was still angry, she thought of how quickly Paris had forgiven her. It seemed somehow like she ought to at least try to extend the same generosity. “I guess we can try to move past it,” Tig said. “If you can understand that we didn’t ask you to leave the band out of meanness. You know we didn’t. And if you understand that I didn’t tell the girls about your parents until they’d already heard about it somewhere else.”

  “I know,” said Kyra. “I understand. And I’m over it. Really, I am. Can we all be friends again?”

  “What about the Scholars’ Bowl team?” asked Robbie. Tig was glad she wasn’t letting her off the hook too easily.