Skylar’s optimism extended into the next day, though it didn’t help her come up with any brilliant dance themes (other than the theme of “make Pierce Travers fall madly in love with Skylar McVoy,” which she didn’t think the other girls would go for). Still, she practically skipped to the dance committee meeting after school.
“Hey, babe!” Gabby’s greeting was chipper, but Skylar could tell she was watching the door for someone else. “Now that you’re here, I guess we’re just waiting for Em.” A whole cluster of other students—mostly girls, but a few guys, too—were in the room. Everyone seemed to be friends with everyone else.
One of the girls spoke up. “Could we just start without her, Gabby? She hasn’t been here the last two times, and I’m missing part of practice for this.”
Skylar could tell that Gabby wanted to stall. “She’s probably just staying after class,” Gabby offered vaguely. But after a few moments of shuffling papers, she took a deep breath and started talking, while keeping one eye trained on the door.
“So, we’ve got about three weeks to go, and not a lot figured out,” Gabby said. Skylar made a mental note: The thing about really peppy people like Gabby? It was very easy to tell when they were off their game. “Um . . . what else? I’m glad the posters went up even without a theme, but we still need to have one for the actual event. We also don’t have music figured out. . . .” She trailed off.
“What about the DJ we had at homecoming?” The suggestion came from one of the few guys on the committee. He looked artsy—he had a camera with a fancy lens on the desk next to him.
“No chance,” piped up another girl, one Skylar had seen hanging around with Pierce and his friends. “He played the worst music.”
“Um, I liked him,” the boy replied.
“Me too,” Sports Girl echoed. “Remember how he played all that dubstep? Perfect for dancing.”
“That shit sucked, Sara,” another guy, one of the ones from the mall yesterday, responded. “But when he played some of the harder stuff—”
“You mean the stuff that no one dances to,” a young-looking girl with supershort hair cut in.
The conversation was getting weirdly heated. “Okay, guys, this isn’t helpful,” Gabby spoke up, but she sounded uncomfortable, and the debate about the music continued back and forth. Skylar knew that Gabby must be upset about the fact that this friend of hers—this Em she’d heard so much about—hadn’t shown, leaving Gabby to corral the committee alone. That’s not how best friends should act, Skylar thought. That’s not how I’m going to act.
Notes of a Dusters song played in her head, and she got an idea. She sat forward excitedly, then checked herself and raised her hand timidly. “Hi,” she said, smiling shyly, “I’m Skylar. And, so, I know I’m new? But I have an idea.”
Gabby smiled at her. “Go ahead, Sky.”
“Well, I just found out about this band, from Boston? They’re called the Dusters. I think they’d be perfect—it’s good dancey stuff but it could also just play in the background, you know? Maybe since they’re kind of local, they’d consider it if we paid them?”
As soon as the word “Dusters” left her mouth, Gabby was squealing and banging her hand lightly against the desk. “Yes! Yes! That is such an awesome idea! Did you know that I’m going to see them in concert in April?”
“I’ve never even heard of them,” someone said doubtfully.
But one of the other girls, the one who hadn’t said much yet, nodded enthusiastically. “My brother loves them,” she said. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Sky, do you have them on your iPod?” Gabby asked.
Skylar silently thanked Meg for the music advice and the MP3s. “Of course,” she said, digging her iPod and headphones out of her backpack.
“Here, listen to this, Jeff,” Gabby said after pulling up her favorite song. She thrust the iPod in Photo Boy’s face and turned to the rest of the group. “I am totally going to get in touch with them, like, today.”
The girl who was friends with Pierce looked up from her phone, where she’d been texting. “I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “I thought I’d heard of the Dusters from Angela McGowen—you know, she’s a senior, she plays tennis?” Gabby nodded. “Well, she knows someone in the band! I just asked her, and she says her cousin is the drummer!”
Gabby squealed. “Are you serious?”
“Dead. Lemme ask her if she has their contact info.”
Skylar couldn’t believe her timing. Or, to be more accurate, Meg’s timing. It was like Meg was coordinating her life for her—perfectly.
“That’s terrific, Gabs,” Skylar said. She liked the sound of Gabby’s nickname rolling off her tongue. The others nodded.