Frosting and Friendship (16 page)

Belinda takes the microphone and holds it like a pro. “I guess we should start by saying happy birthday, Sophie!”

The party guests clap and cheer as they gather in the middle of the garage, all eyes on the stage. Belinda puts the microphone back in the stand and picks up a black electric guitar. As she puts the strap around her neck, she says, “We're the New Pirates and we're here to give Sophie a night she won't ever forget. So let's get this party started, what do you say? Our first song is called ‘This Life.' ”

Sydney and Belinda start jamming on their guitars while Bryan drums out the beat. The crowd is cheering and jumping up and down.

They play and sing like they've been doing this their whole lives. It's incredible. I had no idea they were so talented. I remember what Belinda said in choir class that one day.
Without talent . . . you're nothing. You'll get nowhere.

They definitely have talent. And they seem to be enjoying themselves too. The crowd loves them.

When they're finished, everyone raises their hands in the air and screams. Who knew twenty-five kids could make so much noise? Belinda says “Thank you” six or seven times, waiting until it's quieted down before they go into their next song.

They play one amazing song after another. Their songs are upbeat and fun and full of lyrics that are easy to remember, so by the time the chorus comes around for the third time, everyone's singing along. Like this one:

“I like you,

you like me,

that's the way

it's supposed to be.”

For a whole hour, we are entertained. Dazzled. Inspired. They must practice constantly. There's no way they could be this good otherwise. I remember what Betty said to my mom when we visited Grandpa Frank, about people's dreams and how it's too easy to let things get in the way. Obviously, the New Pirates haven't let anything get in their way.

But I have.

I was trying so hard to be something I'm not—a good baker—that I didn't let myself follow my real dream. All of that time and energy should have been spent on what really matters to me. Music is what
matters to me. It's what's always mattered to me.

As the show winds down, all I can think about is how badly I've messed up. I want to hug Abigail and Zola a million times over. I can only hope they'll give me another chance.

When I think the New Pirates are going to wrap up and say good night, Bryan picks up his microphone and says, “You know, I think we might have time for another song or two.”

Everyone cheers.

“But I think you've heard enough from us,” he says. “So I'm going to invite the Dots up here to play.”

I'm looking at him, shaking my head, trying to get him to understand this won't work. I know he's trying to be nice, but I'm the only Dot who's here.

At least, I thought I was. In a matter of seconds, Abigail and Zola are on either side of me. They've been here watching? How did I not see them?

“What?” I say. “How—”

“Bryan called us,” Abigail says in my ear. “He convinced us to come and play.”

I give each of them a quick hug. “I'm so sorry,” I tell them.

They both nod, as if to say, “We forgive you.” Zola pulls her sticks from her back pocket and holds them in the air. “Let's do this thing!”

I watch as Belinda turns around and whispers something angrily to Bryan, but he pulls her off the stage. Sydney follows them.

I suddenly feel dizzy and I can hardly breathe. Is this really happening? We're actually going to play? Zola starts walking toward the stage. Abigail grabs my hand and pulls me along, the crowd parting for us as we go. I take my place at the front of the small stage, while Zola moves to the drums and Abigail picks up one of the guitars.

“First,” I say, “we have a little song for the birthday girl. Happy birthday, sweet Sophie.”

We break out into our fun and up-tempo version of “Happy Birthday,” and the crowd claps along to the beat. It sounds really good. I look down at Sophie, standing in the front row, and I can tell she loves it.

When we finish, it feels like there are a million butterflies swarming inside my stomach. I don't think I've ever felt this nervous before. What if we
can't pull off the song we wrote? What if no one likes it? The New Pirates were so good, and they've obviously practiced a lot more than we have.

I turn and look at my bandmates, and their eyes are questioning me. I bite my lip, wondering if I should just end it now. Maybe I should say, “That's all, folks,” and quit while we're ahead.

But Betty's voice echoes in my brain.

The people who made their dreams come true felt afraid too, but they didn't let it stop them.

I wanted a chance to prove to Zola and Abigail that I'm committed to this band. I can show them here and now that my heart is in it a hundred percent. I messed up. I forgot what mattered most to me. This is my chance to show them who I really am.

It's my chance to show everyone. I want to be a singer.

No.

I am a singer.

I take the microphone and say, “This next song we wrote over the past few weeks. I want to play this song for you guys because I'm proud of it and I'm proud of my band. I want to say thanks to my
bandmates, Zola and Abigail, for sticking with me when I let other things get in the way. I was trying to be someone I'm not.

“See, I thought I wanted to be a good baker like my friends Sophie and Isabel. The truth is, I'm a horrible baker. And maybe I'm better now than I was a month ago, but I don't even really like baking. So I'll leave the baking to the people who do like it, while I work hard on what really matters to me.

“This next song is called ‘Wishing.' And tonight, my greatest wish, beyond Sophie having a great birthday, is that Abigail and Zola will forgive me. And that we have the chance to write many more songs together in the future.”

I put the microphone back in the stand. I listen to my band play the introduction. And then I sing like I've never sung before.

I'm pretty sure it's the best three minutes of my entire life.

T
here's a whole bunch of kids standing outside the choir room, waiting for Mr. Weisenheimer to announce who will be playing at the Spring Fling. Abigail and Zola are passing the time by listening to a song on Zola's iPod. They each have an earbud in one of their ears.

My gaze meets Bryan's across the sea of people. He
gives me a thumbs-up. I smile. Ever since Sophie's party, we talk almost every day. Abigail and Zola like to tease me about it, even though he's just a friend. They probably can't understand how we bonded over failed cake pops and how much it means that he helped get my band back together.

Bryan told me that when he called Abigail the day of Sophie's party, he explained how bad I felt about everything. He told her he knows what it's like to be torn in two different directions. Bryan's parents own rental property along the Oregon coast and lots of times, on the weekends, they want to drag him along with them so he can learn about home maintenance and repairs. On the one hand, he wants to help his parents, but on the other hand, his band likes to practice on the weekends, when there's not as much school stuff to worry about.

Abigail told me later that as he talked, she realized I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I was just trying to make everyone happy. And how could she stay mad at me for something like that?

Of course, now that everyone knows the truth about my baking skills, life has been much easier.
Since the party, Abigail, Zola, and I have become a music-making machine. We wrote two more songs, and when we played them for my parents, my dad said he was honestly impressed with how far we'd come in such a short amount of time.

Our audition for the Spring Fling went well, although I was really nervous, so my voice shook a little bit. That's one thing I need to work on. Dad says it just takes practice, and some musicians get a little case of stage fright every time they have to perform. He says either I'll get over it or I'll learn to live with it. I hope he's right, because I don't ever want to stop singing.

The doors to the choir room open. Mr. Weisenheimer steps out and everyone backs up a little bit to give him some room. Zola and Abigail tear the earbuds out of their ears so they can hear what he has to say.

“Thanks for your patience, everyone,” Mr. Weisenheimer says. “I want you to know, this was a really difficult decision. I said we'd have an announcement for you today by four o'clock, and here we are, a half hour late, and I apologize for
that. It makes me extremely proud to work at a school with such talented musicians and singers. If I could, I'd let you all play at the Spring Fling. I truly hope all of you will decide to perform at the talent show at the end of the year. I'd love for the community to see and hear you perform.”

I look at Zola and Abigail, and we all nod, as if to say, “We're in for the talent show.”

Abigail squeezes my hand as we wait in agony for him to tell us who they've chosen. I'm glad he's proud of all of us, but come on, the waiting is torture!

He must read my mind because he says, “All right, enough of that. I know you're all dying to learn who will be playing at your Spring Fling. This band has some of the most talented young people I've ever seen. I can't believe they are eighth graders. I won't be surprised at all if they're touring the country someday, playing their music to millions of adoring fans.

“So, it's my pleasure to say congratulations to the New Pirates! You'll be playing at our Spring Fling this year! Let's give them a round of applause.”

Everyone claps. I look over at Bryan, and now I
give him a thumbs-up. I'm truly happy for them. They totally deserve it.

“To show my appreciation to all of you for your efforts,” Mr. Weisenheimer says, “come in and grab a special treat I picked up on my way to work this morning. When I called It's Raining Cupcakes a few days ago and asked if they could make something special for this occasion, they came up with some fabulous music lovers cupcakes, just for you.”

We make our way into the choir room and then over to a long table, where the cupcakes are spread out along with plates and napkins. Each cupcake has vanilla frosting with a black musical note piped on top. They are gorgeous.

I grab one and slowly peel off the wrapper. The cake appears to be chocolate. I take a bite, and the way the chocolate and vanilla blend together in my mouth, it's almost magical. The chocolate flavor is different from anything I've ever tasted. It has a little bit of a spicy taste to it. Cinnamon, maybe? I don't know, but it tastes really, really good.

I turn and see Belinda standing next to me.
“Congratulations,” I tell her. “I can't wait to hear you guys play again.”

“Thanks. We're excited. Except I'm bummed we won't get to hear your cupcake song. Do you want to sing it for me now?” she teases.

I smile. “You know, I've learned I don't like baking cupcakes. And singing about them really isn't all that fun either. I think I'll stick to what I do best, as far as cupcakes are concerned.”

And with that, I take another bite and leave to find my bandmates.

“Dudes, when do we start practicing for the talent show?” Zola asks.

Abigail and I answer at the exact same time. “Tonight!”

W
hat are you making?” Madison asks me as she saunters into the kitchen, holding her water bottle. She's wearing her uniform, off to play a game, I'm guessing.

“Chocolate no-bake cookies,” I say. “The ones with the oatmeal and peanut butter. You've had them before, right?”