Rock 'n' Roll Rebel (3 page)

Chapter Five

K
yra was true to her word.

For about two weeks.

And for Kyra, that was pretty amazing. Tig was so impressed by how long it had taken Kyra to spill the beans, she almost wasn't mad.

Problem was, of all the people to tell, Kyra had chosen Haley Thornton.

“No, you did not,” Tig said as they stood at their lockers before school. The tone of disbelief was almost genuine. “Haley Thornton, really? Of all people . . .”

“What's wrong with Haley?” Kyra asked. “I thought it was Regan you didn't like.”

“Kyra, don't you get it? Haley is almost worse than Regan.”

“What do you mean?

“I mean that at least Regan rarely bothers with tormenting the little people like us most of the time. But Haley . . . Well, Haley's a sidekick, and sidekicks always need to up the ante in some way to stay relevant. It's Haley's job to mock and degrade other people to amuse Regan; it's Regan's job to be amused. They're like the court jester and the queen.”

“Oh, come on, Tig. Don't you think you're being just a bit dramatic?”

“No, I don't. And why did you tell her about the band, anyway? You weren't supposed to tell anyone. You promised!”

“Tig, don't be mad.”

Tig sighed. “I guess what's done is done. Just forget about it.” She slammed her locker door.

“As long as you're forgiving me,” Kyra said, “there is just one other little thing.”

“What?”

“I kind of asked her to be the lead singer.”

“You
what
?”

“Well, she's a really good singer, right?” Kyra replied. “I mean, she played Lucy in
You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown
this past summer.”

“Did you see her in the show?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know she's a good singer?” Tig asked.

“Well, did you see her in the show?”

“No,” Tig said.

“Then how do you know she's not?”

“Look, a part in a local theater production doesn't mean squat. For all you know, they gave her the part because her dad's office was sponsoring the production or something. Or even if she does sing on key, singing in musical theater isn't the same as fronting a rock band. You have to have a rock 'n' roll kind of voice, plus that certain . . . charisma.”

“Haley has charisma,” Kyra said. “She's superpopular.”

“That doesn't mean she's got charisma. That means she's a Bot with the right brand of jeans.”

“Come on, Tig. . . .”

“The fact of the matter is, you had no right—none!—to invite Haley or anyone else to be the lead singer! It's not your band.”

“I thought it was our band, together,” Kyra said.

Once again Tig sighed. “Don't make the puppy dog eyes.” Kyra whimpered, which almost made Tig laugh. Almost. “All right. I guess we can give her a chance.”

“You're the best!” Kyra squealed. Then she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Tig, if Haley is our lead singer, that means she'll be hanging out with us, and if she's hanging out with us, we'll probably all start going to the same parties and having sleepovers and scheduling our classes together, and the next thing you know, we'll be
in
!”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I have zero desire to ‘be in'? I'd rather gargle acid.”

“You say that, but once we're in, you'll change your mind. Besides, somebody with Haley's social connections can help us get gigs. Her sister was president of the high-school social club last year. They have formals and crush parties all the time, and they hire bands.”

The social club and gigs comment wasn't an entirely lousy idea. Haley could help them get gigs if they ever got good enough to play in public. Gigs would be cool—exposure, money . . . “We'll give her a shot,” Tig said. “A shot. Not a guarantee. If she stinks, she's out. No remorse.”

“It's going to be great!” Kyra said. “You, me, and Haley are in a band!”

“We're not ‘in a band,'” said Tig. “We're two girls just beginning music lessons and another who might be able to sing—
might
. We need some actual musicians on board before we can call ourselves a band. As of right now we still don't have a band.”

Chapter Six

“S
o, you have a band now?” Will asked at lunch.

“Word gets around fast,” Tig replied, glaring at Kyra.

“Need a drummer?”

“No,” Tig said.

They were interrupted by Kyra's shouting. “Haley! Over here!” Haley, who was standing in the lunch line with Regan, looked at Kyra as though she had leprosy, and then turned her back to her. Undaunted, Kyra announced to the rest of the table, “Maybe another time.”

Will kept on. “Who've you got for your drummer? Anybody I know?”

Tig pretended to be absorbed in carefully opening her pack of cookies.

“I said, who's your drummer?” Will repeated.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Tig said.

“Why not? Everybody already knows Haley's fronting your band. So what's your job? You play piano or something? Like doing the keyboard?”

The keyboard.

“Olivia, you play piano, right?” Tig asked.

“Yeah, sorta,” Olivia said. “I mean, I took lessons for, like, forever, when I was little. My mom finally let me quit last year when I got so busy with tennis.” Olivia was constantly in the local paper for winning yet another tennis tournament, and everyone assumed she'd go to UA or somewhere on a full tennis scholarship one day.

“You want to be in our band?” Tig asked. “Play the keyboard?”

Olivia raised her eyebrows, intrigued. “Sounds fun,” she said, “but I haven't played in a long time. My piano is covered with dust.”

“But could you get an electronic keyboard?”

“I actually have one at my aunt's house,” Olivia said. “I'm sure I could bring it home. But really, I don't know how to play anything cool.”

“But you can read music. You could play something cool if you had the sheet music?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“So join our band. It'll be fun.”

“I don't know,” Olivia said. “I have tennis practice and tournaments, and—”

“We can work around that,” Tig said. “I promise. We won't interfere with your tennis at all. Just say yes!”

Olivia smiled. “Okay, then. I guess so!”

“I want to be in the band,” Will said. “You need a drummer, don't you?”

“No, we don't,” Tig replied.

“So you do have a drummer,” Will said. “Who is it?”

“None of your business.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Will asked. “You never told me what you're playing. Or are you the singer?”

Tig picked at her sandwich.

“Wait a minute,” Will said. “You're the drummer, aren't you?”

Tig didn't look up.

“That's it! You're the drummer!”

“Fine,” Tig said. “Go ahead. Have your fun. Get it out of your system.”

Will grinned. “I'm not going to make fun of you. I think it's . . . cute.”

Tig cut her eyes at him. “Yeah, that's what I'm going for. Cute.”

“So, do you play? Where'd you learn? You have a drum set?”

“I got a decent set,” Tig said. “And I've had a few lessons.” Tig didn't want Will to know she'd been taking lessons for nearly two months—he might expect her to be a lot better than she was. “So I can't really play well yet, but I'm working on it.”

“That's cool,” Will said. “Show me something.” He handed her the sticks from his back pocket.
Tentatively, Tig took them.

On the lunch-room table, she did a quick flam, followed by a couple of fills, using Olivia's and Kyra's fabric lunch bags as toms.

Tig could feel her face getting red as Will grinned at her. “You're laughing at me,” she said.

“No, I'm not,” Will said. “That wasn't bad. But drums are both arms
and
legs. I didn't see any movement here.” He put his hand on her left knee—then quickly removed it.

“I don't know what to do with the hi-hat leg yet,” Tig said. “But my teacher says I've got to work on really pounding the kick. I'm practicing hitting the bass hard enough that I get the right reverberation.”

“Yeah, you've got to really put your thigh into it, especially at first,” Will said. “The ankle alone just doesn't deliver the power. So, have you ever tried holding the left stick underhanded, like this?”

Will and Tig discussed the pros and cons of overhand versus underhand left stick and tilted versus untilted toms until the bell rang.

As they packed up, Will said, “We should play together sometime.” Then Will blushed. “That sounded weird. I don't mean, like, G.I. Joes. Not that I still play G.I. Joes or anything, but . . . you know what I mean.”

Tig nodded. She knew what he meant. Or at least, she thought she did.

Chapter Seven

A
fter a few months of weekly lessons with Lee, Tig now had some idea of what she was doing on the drums; it wasn't just
crash, crash, clang
, like a four-year-old randomly hitting things. There was actual rhythm. She'd learned that most rock songs had the basic boom-chick or boom-boom-chick pattern, and now she could easily tell the booms from the chicks. Using an app to slow down the tempo, she was able to follow along with her phone on a few songs, at least until they got to the bridge.

Lee had her practicing a basic four-count with the bass on two before the snare. She'd finally gotten to the point where she could stay on count. When she'd first started, she'd get so excited about getting the pattern right, she'd speed up.

“Good,” Lee said when she'd demonstrated mastery of the pattern. “Keep going, just like that.”

While Tig kept banging out the pattern, Lee went to his electronic keyboard and began playing. Tig kept on as he played along. “Recognize that?” he asked.

Tig stopped. “Is that ‘Sweet Home Alabama'?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Lee replied.

Tig grinned. “You mean I just played part of ‘Sweet Home Alabama'? That's the pattern you've had me working on all these weeks? I didn't even know that's what I was doing!”

“It's different when you put the other instruments with it,” he said. “I just wanted to give you a little sense of what it's like to play with other musicians.”

Tig told him about how she'd been knocking out drumbeats to songs on her phone.

“That's good,” Lee said. “It's like playing with a real band. Great idea. Just make sure you practice with a metronome. Remember, the drummer's got to keep the pace.”

When Tig got home, she called Kyra. “How's the bass coming?”

“It's okay,” Kyra said. “I can do a few things on it.”

“Good,” Tig replied. “Keep practicing. Tell your teacher you want to learn ‘Sweet Home Alabama.'”

“Why?”

“Because I can play most of it on my drums,” Tig said. “It will be our first song.”

“Why'd you pick that one?”

“I didn't, exactly. Lee did. He taught me to play it before I knew what it was. But it's a good choice. A crowd-pleaser. They play it on the loudspeaker at the football games; it's like the town song, you know?”

“Okay,” Kyra said. “Wow, won't it be neat to be able to play a real song together? You think Olivia can do it?”

“Olivia reads music. She can handle it.” Tig thought a moment. “We've got to get a guitar player.”

“Tell Will to learn the guitar,” Kyra said. “He's
dying to be in our band.”

“He doesn't know it's all girls,” Tig said.

“He doesn't care. He just knows you're in it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Duh!” Kyra said. “He's totally crushing on you!”

“What-ever! He is not.”

“Come on—you know he is. Don't you think he's kind of cute?”

“Um,
no
. No, I do not. Besides, he doesn't play guitar, and even if he did, it's going to be an all-girl band. Now get serious. Who do we know who plays the guitar?”

“I can't think of anyone,” Kyra said. “At least not a girl.”

There had to be a girl at Lakeview Heights who played the guitar.
Think, Tig, think
, she told herself.

“I've got it,” Tig said.

“Who?” Kyra asked.

“You're not going to like it.”