“Why would us playing together make Cam jealous?” Lilith started to say, but she stopped. “I really want to jam.”
“Cool,” Jean said. “You know, I was at that stupid open mic. Your song was good.”
Lilith felt herself blush. “It was a real crowd-pleaser,” she said darkly.
“Screw this school,” Jean said, shrugging. “I was clapping for you.” Then he motioned toward Luis. “The three of us should start a band. There’s still time to sign up for prom—”
“I’m not going to prom,” Lilith said. She felt confused about a lot of things lately, but that was one truth she knew for certain.
Jean frowned. “But you have to. You’re awesome.”
The compliment was so direct Lilith didn’t know how to respond.
“I mean, whatever,” Jean said. “Skip the prom part of prom, bring a date or rock it solo, but at least show up for the battle. I have to go to the whole thing, because my insane girlfriend has been obsessing about this ‘cranberry satin maxidress’ since our first date. See? She’s texting me right now.”
He held up his phone. The lock screen displayed a photo of Kimi Grace, the sassy half-Korean, half-Mexican girl who sat next to Lilith in poetry. Lilith hadn’t known she was with Jean—but now, she could totally see it.
In the photo, Kimi was beaming, holding up a piece of paper that read, in bubble letters, ELEVEN DAYS TILL THE BEST NIGHT OF OUR LIVES.
“She’s cute,” Lilith offered. “She’s excited.”
“She’s all kinds of crazy,” Jean said. “My point is, everyone makes such a big deal about how prom is this epic night. Well, it actually might exceed the hype if you showed up and played some epic music.”
Lilith rolled her eyes. “Nothing about Trumbull is ‘epic’…I promise.”
Jean wiggled one of his eyebrows. “Maybe not yet.” He patted Luis on the shoulder. The freshman threw his head back and shook some hair out of his face. “Luis here plays drums, not terribly.”
“Yeah,” Luis said. “What he said.”
“Luis,” Jean said. “You got a date to prom yet?”
“I’m weighing my options,” he said, turning red. “I know a couple senior girls who might invite me. But even if they don’t, I’ll be there to play. No doubt. I can totally drum.”
“See? He’s dedicated,” Jean Rah said. “So, Luis on drums”—Jean rustled through the instruments in the closet and pulled out a black Moog synthesizer—“you singing and playing guitar. And I’ll drop in on the synth. Sounds like a band to me.”
It did sound like a band. And Lilith had always dreamed of playing in one. But…
“Why are you hesitating?” Jean asked. “This is a slam dunk.”
Maybe Jean was right. Maybe it really was just a simple decision. Some kids. Some instruments. A band. She bit her lip so Jean wouldn’t see her smiling.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“Sweet!” Luis shouted. “I mean…cool.”
“Yeah,” Jean said. “Cool. Now grab a guitar from the closet.”
Lilith followed his instructions, watching as Jean Rah placed the guitar on its stand, then pulled the stand next to the mic. He disappeared into the closet and came out with a brown card table. He set it up next to Lilith and sat the Moog keyboard on it.
“Try it,” he said.
She played a C on the keyboard with her left hand. Her guitar growled out a punchy C. Her fingers danced a quick ascending riff on the MIDI keys, and her guitar responded perfectly. “Cool, huh?” Jean said. “Keep the audience on their toes.”
“Yeah,” Lilith said, impressed with Jean Rah’s musical ingenuity. “Definitely.”
“Hey, what’s our band name?” Luis asked. “We’re not really a band if we don’t have a name.”
Lilith inhaled and said, “Revenge.”
She smiled, because all of a sudden, for the very first time, she was part of something bigger than herself.
“Radical.” Luis lifted his drumsticks, then slapped a snare drum as hard as he could.
The sound was still reverberating through the band room when the door swung open and Principal Tarkenton stepped inside. He was glowering. “My office, Lilith. Now.”
Hurrying into Tarkenton’s office, Lilith’s mom ignored her and gave the principal a hug. “I’m so sorry, Jim.”
Her mom had already been on campus, subbing for the French teacher, so she was in Tarkenton’s office within minutes for the emergency parent-teacher conference.
“It’s not your fault, Janet,” Tarkenton said, straightening his tie. “I’ve worked with enough bad seeds to know one when I see one.”
Lilith looked around the office. Tarkenton’s walls were covered with photographs of him fishing in Crossroads’s one dismal lake.
“Your daughter started a fight with one of our most promising students,” Tarkenton said. “Fueled by jealousy, I imagine.”
“I heard.” Her mom adjusted the pink floral scarf tied tightly around her neck. “And Chloe’s such a nice girl.”