Rock 'n' Roll Rebel (21 page)

Chapter Fifty-Six

“I
have good news and bad news,” Uncle Paul told her when he came by the house two days later.

“What?” Tig asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

“The good news is that the commercial is ready. My students worked around the clock all weekend. We submitted everything by overnight mail this afternoon for tomorrow's deadline.”

“What's the bad news?”

“That I lied,” Uncle Paul said. “I'm not going to let you see the video.”

“What?”
Tig yelled. “But you promised!”

“I know,” Uncle Paul said. “That's why it's bad news. Well, it's sort of bad news. Except that it's not. The reason you can't see the commercial is because it's amazing. It really is. You're going to love it.”

“I don't understand,” Tig said. “If it's so great, why can't I see it?”

“We're having a huge media event,” Uncle Paul said. “After the regional judging, we have a press conference set up where we'll show the commercial. The winning commercial. It will be, Tig. It's beyond good. And we want the band to be there to see the video for the first time along with the press. They want to interview you for your reactions—your fresh, unfiltered reactions. It'll be great!”

“Wait. You're telling me that this video of my band is being shipped off to the competition for other people to see before I even get to see it and then, after that, I don't get to see it until I'm in a room full of people from the media?”

“Yes, I think you have a firm grasp of the situation.”

“What am I going to tell the band?”

“Tell them they made a great video and everyone's going to love it.”

“But the regional judging won't be for another two weeks! You have to let us see it before you show it to the media!”

“Trust me,” Uncle Paul said. “You'll thank me later.”

“You can't do this to me!” Tig said. “What if we look stupid? What if I'm making the drummer face? I know I'm making the drummer face!”

“What if you are?” Uncle Paul replied. “We wouldn't have had time to go back and change it anyway. And you girls do not look stupid. The commercial is terrific! You're going to love it!”

“But I know we messed up some places in the song, and—”

“Tig, do you know how long a commercial is? It's thirty seconds. You played the song for over four minutes. You didn't think we were going to use the whole thing, did you?”

She hadn't thought of that.

“Well, which part did you use?”

Uncle Paul patted her on the head—actually patted her on the head! “You'll see,” he said.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

U
ncle Paul was right about one thing: two weeks later, the ad won regionals.

The victory party was set for Friday evening at the university. The band, the local media, and all the UA bigwigs would finally see the commercial. Uncle Paul had promised over and over that Tig would not be disappointed. It wasn't that she didn't trust her uncle. . . . Well, not exactly, anyway. She knew he wouldn't purposely embarrass her, and of course she trusted that he knew a good ad when he saw one. But Uncle Paul's concern was simply the ad; Tig's was whether the band had played well. Did the ad show that they knew what they were doing, or would it look staged and faked? Would they look like a real band . . . or like little girls
pretending
to be in a rock band?

“Here's the deal,” she told the band at lunch that Friday. Will and Sam were still in the lunch line, so there was no one else to listen. “There's sort of a party tonight.”

“A party?” Kyra said much too loudly.

“Shhh!” Tig scolded. “Keep your voice down.”

Kyra whispered, “Whose party is it?”

“It's the ad team's,” Tig said. “The commercial won regionals.”

“We won?” Kyra said, again with too much volume and now with added shrillness.

“Quiet!” Tig said.

“But, Tig, isn't this great news?” Olivia asked. “Why are we whispering?”

“And why haven't we gotten to see the ad yet?” Robbie added.

“That's why we're whispering,” Tig said. “I didn't want to worry all of you, but Uncle Paul refused to let us see the commercial before he submitted it to the competition. He's created a media event where the press gets to see our pure, unfiltered reactions to the commercial at the victory party.”

“But what if we hate it?” Robbie said.

“We won't hate it!” Kyra said. “It must be good. . . . It won!”

“That doesn't mean we'll like it,” Robbie said. “Maybe it won because the judges thought it was supposed to be a funny commercial. Maybe we look like idiots. Maybe we're a sight gag—like one of those dog wedding memes, with the poodle in a bridal gown and a pug in a tux! Oh man, Tig . . . tell me I'm not a pug in a tux!”

At least Robbie was on her wavelength. “We're not pugs—or poodles,” Tig said. “Uncle Paul says we look great.”

“Yeah, well—no offense—he's old,” Robbie said.

“But the college students aren't,” Claire said. “Who knows cool better than college students? Every trend we follow comes straight from them. Am I right?”

She was right. Every next big thing that happened fashion-wise at Lakeview Heights was traceable to somebody's older sister at UA.

“I hope you're right,” Robbie said. “I don't want to be a pug in a tux.”

“Nobody's a pug in a tux,” Tig said. “I'm sure my mom won't mind another sleepover at my house. We can either celebrate after the unveiling or wallow in our misery together. But look, let's not tell anyone about this. With any luck, nobody at school will watch the local news anyway.”

“Can I tell Will?” Olivia asked. “He won't tell anyone.”

Will? When would she tell Will? Did she mean when he got to the table? Or did they, like, talk outside of school now? And why did Tig even wonder about this? It was her idea for them to talk anyway, wasn't it?

“Well, sure, Will's a vault,” Tig said. “He can even come to the party if you want to invite him.” Tig meant to be generous when she said it. She wanted to mean it—to be chill about the whole thing. But she sort of wished she hadn't said Olivia could invite Will, and she didn't know why.

“Will!” Olivia said when he and Sam sat down. The next thing Tig knew, Olivia was whispering in Will's ear. It was weird, seeing them so close to each other.

“I'd love to come, if it's okay,” Will whispered across the table to Tig. Sam was oblivious, engaged in conversation with the other guys at the bordering table.

“Of course,” Tig said. She hoped her smile was convincing. “So it's settled, then. You girls come to my house this afternoon. The five of us will go to the party thing together. Will, we'll see you there.”

“Awesome,” Will said. “I can't wait to see it.”

“Me neither,” Tig said. And that, she pretty much meant.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

T
he party was in the rotunda of the College of Communication. Uncle Paul's students had turned it into a nightclub atmosphere and were blaring dance music and flashing strobe lights. Tig's grandparents had shown up, and both looked a little uncomfortable, plugging their ears with their fingers and grimacing.

The girls had dressed low-key for the event; they didn't want to look too conspicuous if the ad was a joke. Tig wore a knit beanie to mostly cover her hair so as not to draw attention. Some of the students on the ad team hugged the girls and thanked them for helping them create the winning commercial. Tig munched on a piece of celery from the vegetable tray even though she hated celery. The crunching gave her something to focus on besides her nerves.

She saw Will coming up the outside stairs. He was carrying a green cone-shaped paper. As he got closer, Tig could see it was a bouquet of flowers. Her heart did another little flip, like it had the day he'd taken her aside in the hallway. Then she saw him come through the door and receive a hug from Olivia, who'd been waiting for him, and she realized the flowers weren't intended for her. She watched as Will handed the flowers to Olivia, and they hugged again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” Uncle Paul was in the center of the lobby. “Thank you all for joining us for our victory party! Another regional championship for the UA Department of Advertising!” Everyone clapped. “Next stop, nationals!” More applause. Uncle Paul told the press and the guests about how the competition worked and what the product assignment for this year had been. Then he recognized each team member by name and presented them with certificates. There was a pause as the newspaper photographer took a group picture. “And now, without further delay, please enjoy our winning ad!”

A screen came down over the indoor staircase, and the room went dark again. Suddenly Tig and the other girls were before them all, larger than life, their music playing through the speakers. Most of the intro was gone—Tig's count and the first six bars of the backbeat. Only one bar of the backbeat before the drum fill and then Claire began singing the first line. It was all so fast—wide shots of the whole band, followed by quick close-ups on each girl. They got Claire's little hop, and Kyra looking down sideways at her bass. Olivia was looking to the side and smiling. There was a slo-mo of Robbie tossing her hair back, and Tig's was all flying arms and a quick nod. She wasn't making the drummer face! She actually looked cool for the two seconds the camera focused on her. In between these shots, the wide-angle showed the screen behind them flashing retro-nautical imagery and the words
Submarine Pants
with the name of the store. Before Tig could really process any of it, it was over.

And now people were really applauding.

Tig looked at Robbie. “Were we cool?”

Robbie replied, “Yeah. I think we were.”

Tig sighed. “Thank goodness we're not pugs in tuxes.”

The lights came back on, and Uncle Paul took his place again. “Please welcome Pandora's Box!” He motioned for the girls to join him. When they did, the newspaper photographer began snapping pictures. Then the TV reporters began asking questions. “How do you girls like your ad?” and “Are you a real band?” and “Where do you go to school?” and finally “Who's the band leader?”

“That would be Antigone Ripley,” Robbie said. It was then that Tig realized she hadn't answered a single one of the reporters' questions. She'd been so stunned, she'd left the talking to the other girls.

The reporters began directing questions to Tig.
She thought she answered most of them well enough, but it was all so fast that by the time it was over, she couldn't remember a word she'd said.

“How does it feel to be a famous rock star?” BD asked. He had to yell it over the party music that had started up again.

“My head is swimming,” Tig said. “There are so many people here.”

“Well, I do know how to clear a room,” BD said. “Want me to grab the mic and start singing ‘Party Doll'?”

Tig grinned. “No, that's okay,” she said. Uncle Paul came over. “Can I see the video again?” Tig asked him.

“Oh, you'll see it,” Uncle Paul said. “As many times as you like. My students just posted it on YouTube.”