Middle school born to ro.., p.4
Middle School--Born to Rock, page 4
“Slow down a second,” I told him. “I have a few conditions of my own. First of all, I’m not doing anything illegal or against the rules.”
“Yawn,” Rafe said.
“Two. If we don’t win, you don’t get anything.”
“No problem,” he said. “I live for risk.”
“Three. You have to give me a free sample first.”
“Free sample? What does that mean?” he said.
“One really good idea.”
“I can do that,” he said.
“And, four,” I told him, “the girls can’t know we have a deal. They have to think that whatever you’re coming up with is coming from me.”
“Huh?” Rafe said.
“This is my band. My deal. My contest,” I said. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
And yeah, I was totally bluffing. But there was no reason to roll over and play dead from the start.
For a minute, Rafe sat there and thought about it. Actually, he was probably just thinking about what he could buy with two hundred fifty dollars, but I played along.
“Okay,” he said finally. “You’ve already admitted that you need me, and that I’m the king of good ideas. I guess I can live with the rest.”
I took one more long, deep breath. This was what you might call a choose-your-battles moment.
“What about my free sample?” I asked.
“Already got it,” Rafe told me. “I’m way ahead of you.”
Then he picked up his sketchbook and scribbled something really fast.
“Here you go,” he said, and turned the pad around to show me. “It’s just a start, but I think you’re going to like it.”
And I’m not going to lie. I kind of loved it.
Reality Check
I got right to work after that and did something I should have done a long time ago. I put We Stink online.
You didn’t think I was leaving it all up to Rafe, did you? I’m not that crazy.
I started with Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, Facebook, and Google+ accounts. Then I set up We Stink channels on YouTube and Vimeo. I made us a Wikipedia page, too, and submitted it for review. I might have exaggerated a tiny bit for that, but what can I say? Rafe had me thinking LARGE.
After that, I went online and found a list of 122 other social media websites. That was like 122 different ways of getting more votes.
And no, I didn’t sign up for all of them. Just Blogger, Reddit, Tumblr, Pinterest, LinkedIn, LiveJournal, Digg…
… Skype, Snype, Periscope, Meerkat, Pitter, Patter, Smatter, Smatter2, Pic-A-Boo…
… X-Wow, Band-O-Rama, Twoo, Zing, Wing, Bing—
“GEORGIA!”
All of a sudden, Mom was in my room.
“Huh?” I said.
When I looked up, she was standing there in her bathrobe. The clock on my laptop said 1:34 a.m., and my eyelids felt like they had tiny dumbbells pulling them closed.
“What are you doing up so late?” Mom asked.
“I guess I lost track of time.”
“Is this about the Lulu contest?” she said. “Sweetie, I don’t want you getting carried away.”
I was going to say, “I’m not getting carried away!” But since I’d just spent the last ten minutes signing up for a Slovakian music newsletter, maybe it was time to call it a night.
“The thing is, we only have ten days to get into the top twelve,” I said. “I have to make sure people notice us, or I’ll never meet Lulu!”
Mom came over and sat on my bed.
“Let me ask you something,” she said. “If you could ask Lulu one question, what would it be?”
I had about eighteen thousand questions for Lulu. But if I could only ask one—
“I’d want to know what it’s like to walk onstage with thousands of people screaming your name,” I said.
“You wouldn’t ask about the music?” Mom said. “Or the writing process?”
“You said just one question,” I said.
She took my laptop and put it on the desk, and started to tuck me in like when I was little.
“I think you should worry more about what kind of musical artist you’d like to be,” she said, “and maybe a little less about getting famous.”
Mom’s all about the art. She’s a painter, and creates these really cool abstracts.
But at the same time, I’m not so sure she knows what it’s like to be my age. I mean, no offense to Mom, but she didn’t even go to middle school in this century.
“We do rock and roll,” I said. “Not art.”
“What do you think songs are? They’re poems and music,” she said. “And you’re so good with words. It doesn’t have to be big and heavy. It just has to come from you.”
“But that doesn’t mean people will like it,” I said.
“I’d say it’s better to lose as yourself than to win as someone else,” she said, and gave me a kiss good night. “Think about it.”
And I would. My mom’s pretty smart. But meanwhile, that didn’t mean I was going to slow down on the other stuff.
Oh, no.
No, no, no, no, no.
The World Tour was still very much ON.
Let’s Go to the Movies
When I came into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, Rafe had his hands held up like this.
“Miss Khatchadorian!” he said. “Today is the first day of shooting on your new movie. How does it feel?”
“It feels like I just woke up and you’re already being weirder than usual,” I said.
“Cut!” Rafe said, and put his hands down. “I’m just practicing. Because I had an even bigger idea last night.”
“Bigger than We Stink: The World Tour?” I asked.
Rafe held up his hands again. “Get this,” he said. “We Stink: The World Tour: A Rock-You-Mentary.” Then he put down his hands and looked at me. “Get it? Like a documentary about a rock band on their way to the top.”
I was actually impressed. And even a tiny bit touched.
“Do you really think we can win this thing?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he said. “But I’ll bet Mrs. Donatello will give me credit for art class, either way.”
I might have guessed.
“Flip said I could use his camera,” Rafe went on. “He’s got a GoBro, too. Those things are sweet! This movie’s gonna be killer!”
“I can’t afford to pay Flip, too,” I said. “You’ll have to share any prize money you get with him—”
“Flip’s not in it for the money,” Rafe said. “He has a crush on, like, half of We Stink, so basically, he’s on board for anything.”
“Hang on,” I said. “Flip has a crush? On which half?”
“Well,” Rafe said, “it’s more like he used to think you were cute—”
“He WHAT?”
“—but I talked him out of that,” Rafe said. “Now he likes Mari. And it wouldn’t kill you to let her know that, by the way.”
I was still stuck on the part about how Flip Savage used to think I was cute. Even if he didn’t think so anymore.
I mean, it’s not like I WANTED Flip to like me. The idea of going out with my brother’s best friend was kind of gross. And for another thing, I liked Sam.
But still, this was good news. Because if I could be completely clueless while Flip thought I was cute, then maybe it was also possible for Sam to like me without my ever figuring it out.
That was a big maybe, but even so—
“Hello? Earth to Georgia?” Rafe waved a hand in front of my face. “Do you want to talk about this movie idea or not?”
“Definitely,” I said, snapping to attention. “So when do we start?”
“As soon as we get to school. And this afternoon, you need to get your band to City Hall Park for your first music video shoot.”
Okay, I’ll admit it. Rafe was on a roll.
There was only one problem.
“I can’t this afternoon,” I said. “I have to work at the Trillins’.”
Rafe gave me this look, like I was the world’s leading cause of lameness.
“What?” I said. “It’s not like I’m doing volunteer work over there!”
“The day after tomorrow, then,” he said. “No excuses.”
Already, my brain was bubbling with ideas. But I didn’t want to get too excited yet. This was Rafe, after all.
“I’m in,” I said. “Just don’t mess it up, okay?”
“What makes you think I’m going to mess anything up?” he asked.
If I could have, I would have handed him a copy of his own life story to make my point.
“Just remember, you work for me,” I said.
“I don’t think of it like that,” Rafe said. “It’s more like you’re the engine, but I’m the gas.” And just to prove it, he let one rip right there at the breakfast table.
Yeah. Because nothing inspires confidence like a game of Pass the Gas from the kid who’s taking your entire future into his own hands.
Hoo, boy. What had I just gotten myself into?
Scene One
And… ACTION!”
“I can’t be-LIEVE that WE are on our WAY to the TOP!” Nanci said to me while we opened our lockers.
“CUT!”
We both stopped and looked at Rafe.
“What is it now?” Nanci asked.
We’d been working on our Rock-You-Mentary for five minutes, and Mr. Big Shot Director was already getting on our nerves.
“People are staring,” I said. “Do we really have to do this in front of everyone?”
“Right,” Rafe said. “Because doing this where people won’t notice is a great way of getting famous.”
I’d already gotten at least five eye rolls, although one of those might have just been Ashley Catalan’s allergies acting up. Still, I felt like a fish in a fishbowl under a microscope.
But Rafe was right. If I wanted to be famous, I was going to have to suck it up and get used to it. And middle school is all about learning to be the adults we’re going to be, right?
“Okay, let’s do it again,” I said. Right before we got slammed by a Princess hit-and-run.
“Oh, wow!” Missy Trillin said, oozing by in a strawberry-scented cloud. “That… is… adorable.”
Chloe and Alicia were there, too, of course. It’s like Missy keeps them on invisible leashes.
“I wouldn’t shoot more than one episode of that little reality show,” Chloe said. “It’s going to be canceled before it starts.”
“It’s not a reality show!” Mari said. “It’s a documentary.”
“It’s a Rock-You-Mentary,” Rafe said.
“Awwww,” Missy said. “That’s even more adorable. You know—in a sad, pathetic kind of way.”
“Who do you guys think you’re fooling?” Alicia said. “You’re just a middle school band—”
“Yeah,” Chloe said. “Band of losers!”
Then someone else chimed in.
“You’re the ones talking about them,” Sam said. “I don’t see them worrying about what you’re up to.”
I hadn’t even seen him coming. He just showed up like some kind of superhero. You know, the kind with an armful of books and a ketchup stain on his hoodie.
But he was my superhero.
Missy and her prissy minions didn’t even have a good comeback. Or anything to say for that matter.
But Mrs. Stricker sure did.
“EXCUSE ME!” she said. “Am I the only one who heard the first-period bell? Rafe, put that camera away!”
“We’re making a documentary,” he said. “It’s for art.”
“Ten, nine, eight…” she said.
“You can ask Mrs. Donatello!” Rafe said.
“Seven, six, five…”
“We’re going!” I said, and we scattered before Mrs. Stricker could get anywhere near three, two, one. I didn’t want to find out what came after that.
The Princesses scattered, too. I could hear them on their way to class.
“Did you study for the math test?”
“There’s a math test?”
“Exactly.”
“No, seriously, there’s a test…?”
That was the last I heard before I stopped worrying about them and started thinking about other stuff instead. Like my science project.
And by science project, of course, I mostly mean Sam.
Science Experiment
So if the tin can with the golf ball tips over here,” Sam said, putting it next to an old piece of wooden train track, “the golf ball can run down the track, and knock the marble into the funnel—”
He flicked the marble into the funnel, where it spiraled around, then down through the hole—
“And onto the Return button on my laptop,” I said. “Which I’ll have preset to text Swifty’s Diner.”
Everyone in the class was using marbles and tracks and pendulums for their machines, too. But no one was making a robocall-the-diner, order-your-breakfast, and have-it-waiting-for-pickup-on-the-way-to-school… machine.
The problem was, every time that marble plopped out of the funnel, it just rolled across my keyboard and hit the floor with a dull clunk. It was like the sound of a C-minus, if you know what I mean.
“Hmm,” Sam said. “Maybe we need a heavier marble.”
“By the way,” I told him, “thanks for standing up for us in the hall like that.”
“No prob,” he said, and went back to looking at the assignment sheet, while I just looked at him.
I’d been trying to figure Sam out for forever now. I talked it over with Mari, Patti, and Nanci, and they all thought that even though he hadn’t asked me on a date, he liked me. And to be honest, so did I. But I needed some proof, and everything I tried just went clunk, like that marble on the floor.
But Mrs. Hibbs always says if your experiment isn’t working, try coming at it from a different angle.
So I did.
“So, we’ve been working on some new songs for the band,” I said.
“Cool,” Sam said, and tore off a piece of duct tape.
“Yeah,” I said. “The new one’s called ‘Do You Like Me Like That?’”
“Uh-huh,” he said, taping the funnel into place.
“We also have one called ‘What Are You Doing Saturday Night?’” I said. “Because I was thinking we could do something together. You know—just the two of us.”
“Awesome,” he said. He didn’t even look up. Seriously, this boy was cute, smart, nice, and CLUELESS.
And I was running out of ideas.
#DoYouLikeMeLikeThat?
“Whatcha doin’?” Rafe asked. “Is that a new song?”
When I looked up, he was pointing his camera right at my notebook. I practically jumped eight feet, but not as fast as I slammed that notebook closed.
“NO! WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT? IT’S PRIVATE. DID YOU SEE ANYTHING?” I said.
“Wow,” Rafe said, “who put the Red Bull in your chocolate milk?”
“Nobody!” I said. “I mean… just let me know next time you point that thing at me. There’s a fine line between making a movie and snooping, you know.”
“Not when you’re a celebrity,” he said.
“I’M NOT A CELEBRITY!” I yelled.
Which was unfortunate, since I was sitting in the corner of the cafeteria. And now everyone was probably wondering why I thought I needed to announce that to the world.
If I ever do get famous, something tells me it’s going to be a lot harder than it looks.
Thanks a lot, Rafe.
Two to Tutor
When I got to the Trillins’ that day, things with Missy got worse in a whole new way.
“Georgia!” Mrs. Trillin said. “Come in. I need to ask you a favor.”
And I thought, what now? Oil change for the limo? Polish the burglar alarms? But that wasn’t even close.
“I understand you do fairly well in school, is that right?” she asked me.
“I guess,” I said. I didn’t want to brag.
“Well, Melissa’s math test did not go well,” she said. “And I’m insisting that she get a tutor. So I thought as long as you’re here—”
I kind of gasped. Or at least gulped.
“Excuse me?” I said. “You want me to… to… tu.…”
“Tutor Missy,” Mrs. Trillin said. “That’s right.”
And I thought—well, that’s the worst idea since meatless bacon. It was bad enough working for the Princess Patrol, but tutoring would mean I had to spend every minute of my prison sentence in the same room as Missy. No, thank you!
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Trillin, but you know we’re not exactly friends, right?” I said.
“But, sweetheart, Missy asked for you,” she said.
Oh. My. Geometry. It was even worse than I thought. This was like being invited into the alligator pit by the head alligator herself.
The question was, what torture did Missy have in mind for me now?
“I guess she knows how smart you are,” Mrs. Trillin said. “Also, she needs to earn a B or better on the next quiz if she wants to get this back.”
Then she held up a cell phone in a familiar lavender leather case.
“Ohhhh,” I said. It all started adding up in my mind like… well, like a big math problem.
FACT #1: I didn’t really have a choice about the tutoring. I basically had to do what Mrs. Trillin said.
FACT #2: Missy didn’t really have a choice, either. Not if she wanted her phone back. (And Missy definitely wanted her phone back. She loved that thing more than water, air, and lip gloss combined.)
FACT #3: That meant I had something Missy needed. Also known as math skills. Which was like having Missy’s fate in my hands.
“I’d be happy to help out,” I said.
“Wonderful!” she said. “She’s just up in her room, pouting.”
(Did I mention that I was starting to like Mrs. Trillin?)
“Actually, is there a bathroom I could use first?” I asked.
