Rules to Rock By (14 page)

“You are?” said Jonny.

“I skipped a grade.”

“Well, you’ve got quite a voice on you,” said my dad. “What was your name again?”

“Crackers ’n’ Cheese,” I said.

“Christine,” Jonny said, shooting me a look.

“Well, Christine, you have got something pretty special there,” my dad said. “Jake, maybe she could double your vocals on ‘Trouble in Mind.’ What do you think?”

“Babe, the record’s already mixed and mastered,” said my mom. “We can’t just go back and add more parts to it.”

“What did everybody think about the
band
?” I said. I could feel my face going pink, then red. I had throat-sewn-shut syndrome again and could barely get the words out. “How did the
band
sound?”

“Well … you sounded great,” said my mom.

“Absolutely,” said my dad. “You played wonderfully.”

“You had a little bit of a Jackson Five thing going on, which, believe me, is a huge compliment,” said Jake.

That was pretty weak, I thought. Other than Michael, what did the other Jacksons ever do?

“You mean, we sound like a kid band?” I said.

“Look, Annabelle, you guys are a band trying to find its own sound, and you
sound
like a band still trying to find its own sound,” said my dad. “But you’ve got yourself a pretty amazing lead singer here. Congratulations, kiddo, you’ve got an eye for talent.”

Something snapped inside me. I had to get out of that room immediately. I didn’t exactly throw Satomi to the floor, but I wasn’t being too careful, either, and I dropped her. A sharp squawk of feedback pierced through the amp.

“Belle, where are you going?” asked Jonny.

“Shut up, Jonny.”

I had to get out of there, and I had to edge my way between my dad and Jake to do it. They looked really shocked and embarrassed, which made me even more upset, and as I pushed past Jake, I did something that I would immediately regret, especially because it was the second time I’d done it in ten days. I slapped him on the shoulder. I must have done it pretty hard, because he winced in pain.

“What did I do?” he moaned, shaking out his arm.

“Annabelle, come back here and apologize to Jake. Right now,” said my mom.

This was a moment when an actual room would have been extremely useful, because I really needed a door to slam. Instead, I slammed the bathroom door on my
way
to my “personal area,” then put my iPod on and crashed on my bed. Crackers was not going to be the star of
my
group, and I was not going to be just some backup musician in a Stevie Wonder cover band!

I don’t really know how long Jonny and Crackers stayed, but I eventually fell asleep. When I woke up, the clock read 1:
1
5 a.m. My parents were still up, talking quietly but tensely in the kitchen, and X was snoring away on the other side of the screen. Even in the middle of the night, I couldn’t get any peace or privacy.

Annabelle’s most important rock rule of all:

Rock stars
always
get their own room.

“Annabelle, wake up, sweetie. Wake up.”

I was dreaming that I was on an amusement park ride called the Kamikaze. I had gone on it once in New Jersey visiting my uncle, and I had never forgotten it. It’s like a subway car connected to a giant rotating arm. You get crammed in there with about fifteen other people you don’t know, the arm starts to move, and you suddenly realize you’ve made a huge mistake. But there’s no escape. You’re upside down and careening around and around, and two minutes feel like four hours. You’re trapped and you think it’s never going to end. In my dream, my seat belt started to vibrate, and my chair started shaking around, but I think it was just my mom lightly squeezing my shoulder as she tried to get me out of bed.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said. “You feeling any better?”

“I’m okay, I guess. What time is it?”

“It’s six forty-five. In the morning. You slept over twelve hours.”

“What happened to Jonny and Christine?”

“Well, I offered to make them something to eat, but they said they had to get home and left about ten minutes after your … exit. What was that all about, Belle?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s
my
band. I put it together. And we’re practicing in
my
house, in front of
my
parents. She’s not even that great of a singer.” Ha, what a lie.

“Belle, I thought you played great. You’re a great bassist, and you’re just getting started.”

See, my mom could be cool sometimes. Once in a while, she actually said the right thing at the right time. But I still wasn’t satisfied.

“That wasn’t even the kind of song I want to play, though. That’s a
gospel
song. I want to rock.”

“Belle, very few musicians actually wind up in the band they thought they wanted to be in. Take Shaky Jake. You know what his favorite band is?”

That was easy. “ZZ Top.”

“Exactly. Blues guitar and foot-long beards. What does ZZ Top have in common with Benny and Joon?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Right. Your dad found Jake in a deadbeat blues bar called Kenny’s Castaways. Jake had never even heard the kind of music we asked him to play. And to this day, I don’t even know if he’s a Benny and Joon fan. But when we met him, we clicked. It was like he was part of the family from the second he stepped through the door.” She paused, grazing her fingers lightly through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “So, what do you think of Jonny and Christine? They seem so nice. Do you like them?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Then maybe you need to let go a little bit and let your band become the band that represents all three of you guys, instead of just you.”

“So you think if I form a band that represents all three of us, Dad will start to acknowledge my existence? Or will he just invite Crackers to be the new singer of Benny and Joon?”

“Annabelle, stop. Your father didn’t mean anything by that. He just gets excited when he spots new talent.”

“I’m a new talent, and I’m sitting right under his nose.”

Then, out of nowhere, my mom knelt down on the floor and, leaning against the side of my bed, burst into tears.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I said. “What did I say?”

“You didn’t say anything, Belle.” She wiped the tears away and tried to get it together. “It’s just that I need to ask you something. Something very serious.”

This is what she and Abuela were talking about on the phone. It had to be.

“What, Mom?” I asked.

She cried for a few seconds more, then shook her head to get rid of the tears for good. “Would you rather live here, with your father and me, or would you rather move back to Brooklyn?”

“And live with Abuela?” I asked. “Where would X go? Would he go with me, or stay with you?”

“I don’t know, honey. We haven’t thought it through yet. I haven’t even spoken to your dad about any of this. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I don’t know, Mom. It’s been really, really hard here. I miss Abuela, and Ronaldo, and actually being in a band instead of banging my head against the wall trying to start a new one.”

“I know, Belle, I know. I’m sorry we had to take you away from your friends and your music.”

“And my grandmother.”

“And your grandmother.”

“It would be weird to live without you and Dad.”

She was doing everything she could not to cry. It wasn’t really working.

“Yes,” she said. “It would be really difficult for us, too. But we want you to be happy.”

Then she really lost it, burying her head in my pillow and lying down next to me in my bed. I petted her head a little and told her it would be okay, which was totally weird. Shouldn’t she have been the one comforting and petting me?

I told her I needed to think about it. Move back to Brooklyn? The idea filled me with a joy I hadn’t felt since we’d moved here. But would it be the same to go back? Would Ronaldo even want me in Egg Mountain if it meant kicking out Anthony? Would X come with me? Would I miss my parents? I was too confused to answer
any
of these questions.

So instead of doing what I would normally do in this situation—pace around the room like a nut while talking to myself—I decided to try to write out my frustration. I woke up my computer and quickly worked on my Mr. V assignment:

I chose “Declare Independence,” the Björk song, for my final battle song because when she sings this song, she sounds like she is at war. Maybe not the kind of war where you load up guns, fly flags, and climb mountaintops. But maybe the kind of war where sometimes it feels like everybody is standing between you and your dream, and you have to get a little bit mad in order to become who you want to be.

All my life people have used annoying words to describe me, like “sassy” or “spunky.” I hate the word “spunky.” It sounds like a word for feeling like you want to throw up. People describe Björk as spunky, too. (Or they just talk about how she wears weird clothes.) Sassy and spunky mean full of energy and attitude. But I don’t really feel like I have attitude. I feel like I will never get what I want in life. I will never be able to lead my own band. I will never be able to do what Ronaldo did, not on my own. I will never be noticed again, by my parents or anyone else. I will be invisible.

I don’t know what possessed me to write this, especially right after my mom broke down and told me I might be moving back to Brooklyn. It wasn’t a song exactly, this rant about my life. But maybe I’d be able to look at it in a few hours, or a few days, and turn it into a song. Maybe I could turn this upside-down fall into something positive. I had to do
something
, because the way things were now was making me crazy.

Later that night, I pinged R:

EggMtnRckr:
My advice on Crackers … totally forget what your dad thinks. Who cares, you know?

Bassinyrface:
I cant believe i’m hearing this from the guy who basically worships my dad. as a musician, anyway.

EggMtnRckr:
well, that doesnt mean he knows everything.

Bassinyrface:
so youre saying you think I’m a better singer than Crackers?

EggMtnRckr:
Wha?!? How would I know that? I’ve never even heard her.

Bassinyrface:
Grrr.

EggMtnRckr:
Here’s what I’m trying to say … I’ve never heard C sing before, but I’ve heard YOU sing before, and I know YOU are a good singer.

Bassinyrface:
Ok. Thanks.

EggMtnRckr:
First thing is, you should try not to compare yrself to other people all the time. Just worry about getting better at what you do: PLAY BASS, SING, and most importantly WRITE SWEEEET SONGS.

Bassinyrface:
but in Egg Mountain I was a major part of the band. I had, like, followers!

EggMtnRckr:
you liked being the center of attention, huh?

Bassinyrface:
Well, not THE center of attention, but A center of attention. Yeah, why not?!?