Girl vs. Boy Band Page 4

“They’re growing, all right,” muttered Lark. “Growing more annoying by the minute.”

  Right now, the boys were taking selfies in their fancy new home. “Check this out,” called Max, striking a funny pose in front of the huge television.

  “Now take one of us,” Aidan said, thrusting his phone into Max’s hand. He and Ollie stood with their arms around each other’s shoulders and made silly faces.

  “Nice one,” said Ollie, chuckling as he looked at the picture. “I’m going to send that one to my brother—he’ll be dead jealous when he sees the pool in the background!”

  Lark glared at the boys. For the first time since she’d moved to LA, she was actually looking forward to spending the day at school. Only now did it occur to her to wonder how the boys would be handling their education.

  “Did you enroll the boys in school?” she asked her mother nervously. Setting these three loose on Beverly Hills High would give a whole meaning to the term “British Invasion.”

  “They’ll have tutors,” Donna replied. “And since they’re going to be homeschooled, I’ll need you to clean out the room over the garage when you get home. They can have their lessons in the kitchen for today, but starting tomorrow, that’s going to be the school room and rehearsal space.”

  Lark felt anger bubble up in her chest. That room was one of the only things she liked about living in a house the size of the Titanic. “That’s where I like to go to practice guitar and keyboard,” she reminded her mother. “All my instruments are there. Not to mention that room has the best acoustics in the whole house.” It was also far enough away that nobody could hear her sing.

  “I know, honey. But we all have to make sacrifices if we want this to work,” her mother said.

  Lark bit back a sarcastic comment. It didn’t seem like the boys were having to make a whole lot of sacrifices. Right now, the three of them were horsing around on the sofa. Max and Aidan were laughing hysterically as Ollie did an imitation of a teacher at their old school.

  Glancing down at the calendar on her phone, Donna called the boys over. “Boys, when your classes are finished for the day, I’m going to have Mrs. Fitzpatrick drive you across town to meet with a stylist. Max, I think you’re going to need a haircut. And Aidan, maybe we can introduce at least one additional color into your wardrobe?” She looked up from her phone to appraise Ollie, who grinned at her. “Ollie . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Donna studied him, then smiled. “Actually, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

  Ollie’s easy smile indicated that this was not news to him.

  Lark rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be late,” she huffed. “Has anybody seen my lunch?”

  Aidan and Max both turned to Ollie, who held up a flattened brown bag. “Fitzy packed you a tuna mayo sandwich,” he said with a guilty look.

  “You ate my tuna sandwich?” Lark wrinkled her nose. “For breakfast?”

  “I guess my stomach’s still on Greenwich Mean Time,” he said. “In London, it’s lunchtime.”

  “Wonderful,” said Lark. “So what am I supposed to eat when twelve o’clock noon Pacific Standard Time rolls around?”

  Donna reached into her purse and pulled out a few dollar bills. “Buy lunch today, honey,” she said. “I’m sure it will be delicious.”

  Lark wasn’t sure of that at all. But she took the money her mother offered and headed off to the bus stop.

  “Grilled cheese, please,” said Lark, smiling halfheartedly across the chrome counter at the lunch lady. “Extra carrot sticks, no tater tots.”

  The lunch lady plopped the items onto a plastic plate, ignoring Lark’s request to forgo the pseudo-potato pieces. Then she slid the plate across the countertop. “You get a dessert with that,” the lady informed her. “Chocolate pudding or fruit cup.”

  “Neither, thanks,” said Lark.

  “Take the pudding,” said Mimi, bounding up beside her. “I’ll eat it!”

  The lunch lady slapped a cup of slimy-looking pudding onto Lark’s tray, then motioned for her to continue down the line to the cashier. Mimi was practically skipping along beside her as Lark paid, then they made her way to their usual table by the windows. They passed several signs for the upcoming International Fair.

  “What’s that fair thing all about?” Lark asked, sliding her tray across the table and taking a seat.

  “It’s fun, actually,” Mimi explained. “Kind of a hands-on way of promoting diversity. Parents and grandparents come in and teach us about their different nationalities through cooking demonstrations and other kinds of cultural presentations. Mostly, it’s a lot of really yummy food!”

  Lark eyed her mushy grilled cheese. “Good to know.”

  “So . . . ,” Mimi bubbled, “tell me everything! What are they like? Are they all stuck-up and snobby, or are they, like, normal and down-to-earth? I texted you a zillion times last night, but you never responded!”

  “I know,” said Lark, slipping into a chair. “I’m sorry. I was just so tired after the airport and moving the boys into their rooms and all, I went right to bed.”

  “‘The boys,’” Mimi repeated, beaming. “You say that like you’ve known them forever! I still can’t believe a real live band is crashing at your house. It’s so cool.”

  “You know what’s not cool?” Lark grumbled. “Fainting at the airport.”

  Mimi’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything!”

  So Lark gave her the CliffsNotes version of the sign, the song, and the swoon, cringing throughout the entire tale.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Mimi advised. “It was probably low blood sugar. Now, back to the boys. Are they as cute as they looked in their video?”

  “Cuter,” Lark admitted, poking at her unwanted tater tots. “Especially Ollie.” She bit into her grilled cheese, which was even soggier than she’d feared. “But they fight constantly. It’s exhausting.”

  Mimi snatched the pudding cup and dunked a plastic spoon into it. “Yeah, that’s how my brothers are. Willie is always trying to clobber Jake, and then Michael jumps in and it’s a free-for-all. Nobody ever gets hurt, but it drives my mother crazy!”

  “Mama chalked it up to their exhaustion and all,” said Lark. “But I don’t know. It felt like maybe there was something else going on. Something deeper.”

  “Deeper, huh?” Mimi gulped down the spoonful of pudding and reached for a tater tot. “Well, how were they to you? Friendly? Flirty? Or too full of themselves to even acknowledge your existence?”

  “Friendly, I guess,” said Lark. “But, Mimi, they’re going to take over my music room for their homeschool classes. It’s like I don’t have any personal space in my own house.” She dropped the disgusting sandwich back onto the plate. “They eat like there’s no tomorrow and they hog the bathrooms and use all the hot water. If I don’t die of hypothermia from taking freezing cold showers I’ll probably starve to death.”

  Mimi laughed. “Now you know how I feel!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have three older brothers and one younger sister, remember? You’ve basically just described every single morning of my whole entire life.”

  Lark smiled. “I never thought about that before. Maybe your first film should be about life in a large family.”

  “Not a bad idea. Although I’m not sure whether it would fall into the category of screwball comedy or horror movie.”

  “C’mon,” said Lark, biting into a carrot stick. “Is it really that bad?”

  “Nah. You know I love my sibs. I guess that’s the difference in our situations. You have to put up with a bunch of guys you don’t actually love.” She raised one eyebrow and grinned. “Or do you?”

  “What?”

  “Be honest . . . when you met the really gorgeous one . . . Ollie, right? Were there any sparks flying? Any soul-searing romantic moments when your eyes met his?”

  “No!” cried Lark, feeling her cheeks flush. “And for the record, our eyes only met twice. First when I wa
s half-unconscious, and then when he confessed to eating my tuna sandwich . . . so if there were any sparks flying, they were sparks of fury, not romance. Besides, they’re all older than me.”

  “Not by that much.”

  “Still, it’s hard to feel crushy about a guy who steals your zit cream.”

  “Ollie stole your zit cream?”

  “Well, one of them did. I’m not sure who.”

  “I guess I see your point,” said Mimi with a shrug. “Anyway, what would be the point, right? You’ve already got your crush.” She smiled in the direction of the super-popular table, where Teddy Reese was offering a tater tot to a giggling Alessandra Drake.

  Teddy was in eighth grade, which made him seem miles more sophisticated than Lark could ever hope to be. With his dark hair, blue eyes, and ready smile, he was by far the best-looking boy in school. It didn’t hurt that he was also an honor student and the star of the soccer team. Mimi liked to say that Teddy was “the all-American boy, right out of central casting,” whatever that meant. All Lark knew was that he was perfect.

  Her face turned even pinker. “Teddy doesn’t know I’m alive,” she lamented.

  “Well, I bet he’ll take notice when everyone finds out you’re living with the world’s next super-hot boy band,” Mimi observed. “Little advice? When that info goes public, you might want to leave out the part about the zit cream.”

  Lark laughed. “Yeah. Good call.”

  Mimi took another spoonful of pudding. “In other news, have you heard there’s going to be a school-wide talent show next month?” She pulled a flyer announcing the contest out of her backpack and slapped it onto the table. “I was thinking maybe . . .”

  She trailed off, shoveling more pudding into her mouth, but Lark knew a stalling tactic when she saw one. A feeling of dread welled up in her stomach, mingling with the gooey knot of undigested grilled cheese. “You were thinking maybe . . . what?”

  “That I could enter one of my music videos,” Mimi blurted. “And by that, I mean one of your videos. Our videos. I know it’s not a traditional talent show act, but filmmaking is a talent and I’d love to be recognized for what I do. Nobody at this whole school knows I’m an aspiring director. It would be nice to get some props for a change.”

  Lark was seized by a grip of panic. “I totally get that, Meems, and I hate to have to be the one to point this out, but you being recognized means I have to be recognized, too. You know how I feel about singing in public.”

  “I know, I know,” said Mimi. “I’ve heard the story a million times, all about poor little nine-year-old Lark Campbell, who was picked to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the Nashville Fourth of July parade. But when she marched up to the stage in her adorable red, white, and blue sundress and opened her mouth to sing, she only got as far as ‘the dawn’s early light’ before her head started spinning and she passed out. And she hasn’t sung in public again since.”

  Automatically, Lark’s thumb went to her forehead to trace the nearly invisible scar above her left eyebrow. “It was humiliating. I needed four stitches.”

  “It was three years ago!” Mimi put down the pudding cup and took both of Lark’s hands in hers. “Please, Lark. If you let me use one of my . . . your . . . our videos, it wouldn’t be like singing in front of a live audience. You wouldn’t even have to be in the audience, although it would be cool if you were. Won’t you just please think about it? Please?”

  Lark looked around the lunchroom, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have her schoolmates hear her sing one of her original songs. The jocks, the cheerleaders, the cool kids, the fashionistas, the brainiacs . . . what would they think of her? Would they judge her?

  Um . . . yeah, they would. This was middle school—of course they would judge her!

  But what if they actually liked her sound? Maybe they’d say, “Wow, we didn’t know the new girl was so talented.” Maybe Alessandra Drake—the best-dressed and most popular girl in seventh grade—would even ask where Lark got those cool, hand-tooled western boots she wore in every single video Mimi shot. Maybe Teddy Reese would think she had the sweetest voice he’d ever heard.

  Or maybe they would they all laugh and call her a bumpkin for singing country music. Sure, country-pop was more mainstream than ever before, but she was an outsider, a Southern girl from Tennessee who idolized Dolly Parton and Kenny Chesney.

  “I’ll think about it, Meems,” she said at last. “I swear, I’ll think about it, but I can’t make any promises, okay?”

  Mimi nodded, then gave Lark a serious look. “It’s not just for me, you know. You’re such an awesome singer. You owe it to yourself to let the whole world in on the secret.”

  “Thanks,” said Lark, her eyes darting to where Teddy was getting up to return his lunch tray. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  When the bell rang, she told Mimi she’d see her later, in history class, then dumped the remaining ninety-five percent of her lunch into the trash and headed to the music room. It was time for her absolute favorite part of the day.

  When Lark had first enrolled at school, she’d been placed in the standard music appreciation course, but it had quickly become clear that she could easily be teaching such a class. When she’d refused to join concert choir or chorus instead, her advisor had suggested a special independent study in songwriting. Lark had been delighted by the opportunity; now three times a week she got to enjoy fifty-five private, uninterrupted minutes in the school’s rehearsal room, strumming away on a guitar and composing original lyrics . . . all for class credit!

  The rehearsal space was only a short walk from the cafeteria, and Lark always had to resist the urge to run there. Today she was especially eager to start writing; seeing Teddy Reese with Alessandra had filled her with envy, and she knew from experience how that could translate into moody lyrics fueled by genuine middle-school angst. But when she turned the corner toward the music room, she stopped dead.

  Leaning against the door of her assigned rehearsal space—looking way too adorable for his own good—was Teddy Reese.

  Lark wondered if she was having some weird reaction to the cafeteria food that was causing her to hallucinate.

  No. Teddy Reese really was standing there, propped casually against the music room door. And from the way he was smiling, it was pretty clear he’d been waiting for her.

  It was all Lark could do to keep from turning and bolting back the way she’d come.

  “Hey,” said Teddy.

  “Uh . . . hey.”

  “You’re Lark Campbell, right?”

  Lark nodded.

  “I’m Teddy Reese.”

  She managed to stop herself before blurting out an enthusiastic, I know! Believe me, I know! “Hi.”

  “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor,” said Teddy.

  Anything. Anything at all. Just name it. “Sure.”

  “Well, I take private voice lessons from Mr. Saunders after school some days.”

  “Really? From the choir teacher? Um, I mean, that sounds fun.”

  So Teddy Reese was a singer! If he’d been attractive before, he was downright irresistible now. Lark’s heart swelled to think that she and this amazing boy actually had something in common.

  “So . . . have you heard about the talent show?”

  Lark nodded.

  “Cool. See, I’m hoping to sing in it. Not sure what song yet, but I’m definitely going to sign up.” He crooked a grin at her. “Mr. Saunders mentioned that you’re an awesome guitarist and I was wondering if you were planning to perform in the show.”

  “No.” Lark shook her head emphatically. “I don’t think I can risk another head injury.” The moment she said it, she wanted to kick herself. “Uh, I mean . . . I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “That’s too bad.” When Teddy pushed away from the door and took a step toward her, Lark bit back a gasp. “Is there any way I could get you to consider it?” he asked.

  For a second Lark was afraid this migh
t be some kind of cruel joke, but Teddy’s eyes seemed too kind for that. “W-what are you asking, exactly?”

  Teddy’s grin broadened into a smile. “I really like your accent. Where are you from?”

  “Just outside Nashville,” said Lark. “Tennessee,” she added.

  “Yeah.” Teddy laughed. “I know where Nashville is.”

  “Oh, right. Of course. Sorry.” Lark wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. Had she really just pointed out the location of one of the most famous cities in America? Now he probably thought she was some kind of idiot.

  “Anyway,” Teddy continued, “I was thinking maybe you could play backup for me in the show. Nothing too complicated, although from what Saunders says, I’m sure you could handle it. But I was just hoping for a little acoustic accompaniment.”

  Accompaniment. To Lark, that was suddenly the most beautiful word in the English language. “Me?” she whispered. “Play backup . . . for you?”

  “Who better?” said Teddy.

  “Pretty much anyone,” Lark answered honestly.

  “What do you mean?”

  Lark took a deep breath. “I mean that unless there are going to be paramedics standing by, you probably don’t want me onstage with you. I suffer from horrible stage fright. Singing in public is my biggest fear.”

  Teddy looked genuinely disappointed. “I was really hoping you and I could work together.”

  Why did he have to be so dang sweet? And why did she have to be such a wimp? Why couldn’t she just find the courage to stand onstage and do what she knew she did so well? “I’m real sorry, but I just don’t think—”

  “Wait,” Teddy interrupted. “You said ‘singing’ in public, right?”

  “Yes,” said Lark. “Singing in front of an audience sort of makes me . . . well, faint.”

  “Okay, but I’m talking about playing guitar. Just playing. No backup vocals at all. You wouldn’t even have to hum.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Are you afraid to play guitar in public?”

  Lark thought about it and realized she had no idea. She’d never tried it. After that Fourth of July fiasco, she’d never allowed herself to set foot on another stage. So maybe she could play her guitar in public without winding up in the ER.