The Battle of the Bands was scheduled for noon Saturday at the high school auditorium, but audience members started lining up by eleven o’clock. There had been a regular Battle of the Bands at the high school for as long as Harriet could remember, and while it was always pretty popular, it never drew a crowd this big. Everyone had heard about the destiny of this year’s winner, and everybody in town—young, old, and in-between—wanted to be there to witness the competition.
“Do you think Connor Mackelvoe’s gonna be here?” asked Didi, bubbling over with excitement.
The girls had arrived with all their stuff a full hour early and had been allowed into the auditorium only when they explained they were staff. “We handle the Radical Skinks’ merchandise,” Harriet had said with pride, and magically they were waved through.
Each of the six bands performing was allowed one merch table in the back of the auditorium. They’d been warned they could sell before the show only, not after, and absolutely no voice-amplifying devices were allowed.
“Meaning?” Harriet had asked the concert organizer who was explaining the rules.
“Meaning you can put that megaphone away,” she’d said. “If I catch you on it, I’m shutting down your operation.”
Amelia had grabbed the megaphone out of Harriet’s hands. “Won’t be a problem!” she promised.
Now all four girls stood in a line behind the merch table, ready, willing, and able to make merch history. They all wore a bona fide Radical Skinks tee, one size fits all. The shirt was a little big on Harriet and Resa, the smallest girls in the group, so Resa had cut the extra fabric off the bottom of hers, folding it into a headband to keep her curls out of her face. Harriet, inspired by Amelia, had tied her too-big shirt into a knot at her hip.
Didi had her laptop all fired up and her master list in alphabetical order. She’d printed out a stack of copies of her list, in case she lost power, but had instructed the girls to keep their hands off her list. “Don’t forget; I’m queen of this counter,” she said. “Now follow me.”
She led the girls directly in front of the table and gestured to the two signs she’d hung on opposite ends of the rectangular table. One sign read PREORDERS and another read BUY NOW.
“Two lines!” Didi announced. “One for people who already paid and one for people who want to buy now. I’m in charge of preorders, and Amelia is in charge of buy now.”
“Got it, Captain,” said Harriet with a little salute.
“So if your name is not Didi or Amelia,” said Didi, giving Resa and Harriet a hard stare, “you should not lay a finger on the T-shirts.”
“What about buttons?” asked a voice from behind Didi.
It was Val. For once, she was not wearing sequins, just a plain old black hoodie with black sweats.
“Val,” said Resa, instantly annoyed, “we don’t have time for pestering.”
“It’s a real question,” said Val. “Who’s in charge of buttons?”
“I didn’t think of that…” said Didi.
“I can help,” Val chimed in. “If you want.”
“No,” Resa answered quickly. “We’re all set.”
“You weren’t all set last time,” said Val with a shrug. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Really?” said Resa. “The way you helped last week when you conned Harriet into getting autographs for your T-shirt so you could sell it for double what you paid?”
Val blinked fast, looking surprised.
“Yeah, we know all about your schemes,” said Harriet, crossing her arms.
“It wasn’t a scheme,” said Val. “I didn’t lie or anything. And I didn’t steal any of your customers, because you weren’t even offering autographed T-shirts. I provided a service you didn’t have. You should be thanking me.”
“You don’t even like the Radical Skinks!” protested Harriet. “You just want to make a buck!”
“I’m not in it for the money!” said Val, anger flashing in her green eyes.
“Then why are you all up in our business?” asked Resa.
“I think it’s cool, all right?” Val said with a scowl. “I love this kind of thing, but you all never even think of asking me to help.”
“Wait,” said Didi, “are you serious? You really just want to help?”
Val shrugged. “Yeah,” she said so quietly they almost couldn’t hear her.
“Resa?” asked Didi expectantly.
The girls had been best friends for long enough that Resa knew what Didi wanted her to do without her having to say anything. She hooked her arm through Didi’s and pulled her to the side of the table for a private conference.
“Are you kidding me?” Resa whispered. “You know she’s impossible to work with!”
“So are you,” Didi teased. “But that doesn’t stop me from being your best friend.”
“I’m being serious,” Resa replied.
“She’s not impossible,” Didi said. “She’s just, well, assertive about her ideas—like you. And just like you, she’s got a lot of good ideas.”
Resa pulled her blue headband down off her hairline and then readjusted it in place. “The autographed T-shirts are actually a smart idea.” She made a clicking sound on the back of her teeth as she considered. “Fine. On a trial basis.”
Didi grinned and gave Resa’s shoulders a little, approving squeeze. Then she walked back over to the table. “Val—”
“Just hear me out, would you?” Val was insistent. “You could get the boys to sign, like, five ahead of time, now, and have them up here. You could sell them for a lot more than the rest. You could say there’s a limited supply.”
“That’s a great idea,” Didi said.
“It is?” replied Val. “I mean, thanks.”
“I have a great idea, myself,” said Didi.
Didi grabbed a shirt from the pile on the table and handed it to Val.
“Put it on,” she encouraged. “So people will know you’re with us.”
Val turned to Resa, her eyes opened wide. “Seriously?”
Resa sighed. “On a trial basis.”
A kind of giggle started to erupt from Val’s throat, which she immediately suppressed. “Cool,” she said, trying her best to be casual. “I guess I can help. I mean, since you really need me.”
Resa rolled her eyes. She whispered to Didi, “If she’s a disaster, I’m never doing anything nice for anyone again.”
“That’s reasonable,” Didi joked.
Resa turned her attention to double-checking that the credit card reader app and device on her cell phone were working properly, while Harriet ran backstage with five T-shirts to get the boys’ autographs.
The auditorium had a real stage, with an actual—but worn—red curtain and a big backstage area to boot. There was even a Battle of the Bands staff member at the entrance to the backstage area, barring people from entering. Harriet told the man she was the Skinks’ sister and also their tour manager, but he kept shaking his head, his face expressionless.
Just as Harriet was about to lose her cool, Joe, returning from the restroom, arrived on the scene. “She’s with the band,” he said. And just like that, Harriet was in.
“Thanks, bro,” said Harriet. “Is it okay I’m here? I don’t want to disturb you.”
Joe slung his arm around Harriet’s shoulders. “Relax, sis. I’m taking a break from the zone. I think it was stressing me out more than relaxing me.”
Harriet caught sight of the yellow T-shirt Joe was wearing under his black leather jacket.
“You’re wearing a Music Mania shirt for the show?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah, Mo made me agree to that before she’d hand over the loaner drum,” he said. “I don’t really care. Fashion is an illusion.”
Harriet furrowed her brows. “Bite your tongue!”
The backstage area was loud and crowded. Joe gave Harriet a quick tour of the competition as they passed each band.
There was Tricky Vulture, an all-girl punk rock band, and Two Is Better Than One, a boyfriend/girlfriend folk duo. There was Smash!, a glam rock band who seemed to have more makeup on their faces than everyone in the audience combined. There was Armageddon Town, a heavy metal group. Then there was the last contender, a band with eight members, all of them lying in a circle on the floor with their eyes closed.
“Who’re they?” Harriet asked Joe in a whisper as they walked past the group. The youngest looked about Harriet’s age, and the oldest looked as if she might be a grandmother. Every band member wore all white, and they were barefoot. Diagonally across their chests, they wore beauty pageant–style banners, which read, in blue sparkly letters, XPECTATION!
“Ah, Xpectation!” said Joe with a wry smile. “They’re an experimental rock band from downtown.”
“Where are their instruments?” asked Harriet.
“They don’t have any,” said Joe. “Their whole thing is, they pick up whatever’s lying around and make music with that.”
“I don’t want to jinx you, but looking at your competition, I think you guys have a really good shot!” Harriet said, giddy with excitement as Joe led her to the Radical Skinks’ corner of the backstage. She was surprised to find Eleanor there, adjusting the collar on Larry’s retro bowling shirt.
“Are they a thing?” Harriet asked Joe.
“Not officially.” Joe nodded in Larry and Eleanor’s direction. “But I mean, it sure looks like it.”
Harriet got her brothers to autograph the T-shirts and sped back to the merch table so she could rustle up new customers. As it turned out, there was no need. The Radical Skinks’ merch table had the longest line of all the tables by far. So many customers wanted to buy T-shirts on the spot that Resa told Harriet to stop advertising and start accepting money. When Harriet reached over to give her first customer a T-shirt, Didi grabbed her hand.
“Is your name Amelia or Didi?” she asked.
“Resa told me to help,” protested Harriet. “Look at the line! Even Disneyland doesn’t have lines this long!”
Didi narrowed her eyes as she considered. “Fine,” she said. “But you don’t hand over T-shirts until you have the money in the cashbox, or until the credit card reader screen says ‘confirmed’! And don’t mess up my piles!”
“I promise,” said Harriet.
Val was right; the autographed T-shirts sold out almost immediately. And Resa and Amelia had been right, too; most customers were in such a hurry to find a good spot to watch the show that they didn’t bother waiting for change. The buttons were a huge hit, too, with some customers buying three or four at a time.
With ten minutes left until showtime, the Radical Skinks’ merch table still had a long line of customers. The girls were moving as quickly as they could to take money and hand out merch, and Harriet was glad they’d accepted Val’s help. She was fast and surprisingly friendly, too; way friendlier than she was in class. Her smile may have been fake, but the customers were buying it, and they were leaving with smiles on their faces, too.
Inspired by Val’s example, Harriet decided to push her own charm into turbo gear. When the next customer stepped up, her smile was extra-strength. “Well, hello there! How can I help you?” she asked.
Her smile was not met with a smile in response. It was Reginald.
“Reg!” Harriet sang. “How’s it going?”
He scowled. “Reginald. It’s Reginald.”
“Sorry!” said Harriet. “It’s great to see you again!”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. He glanced over at the T-shirts. “These look a lot better than the last ones. I’ll take three. And three buttons, too.”
“Three T-shirts, three buttons! Coming right up!” Harriet chirped. “Cash or credit?”
Reginald handed over a credit card, and Harriet rushed it over to Resa.
Resa shook her head. “Can’t. The credit card reader is down.”
“What?” asked Harriet, eyes wide.
Amelia turned in Harriet’s direction. “It’s the Wi-Fi. I just heard the people at the Tricky Vulture merch table complaining about it. No one’s able to take credit cards.”
Harriet froze. “We need to get it back up!”
“Right, because it’s so easy!” Resa snapped. “Forget it.” She turned abruptly and stormed off.
“This is a disaster!” Harriet moaned, dropping her head into her hands. “We have only a few minutes left before the show starts, and a lot of these people don’t have cash!”
“Helloooo?” called Reginald, still waiting on the other side of the table.
Harriet spun around to face him, her mournful expression transforming instantly into a cheerful grin.
“Can you speed it up?” Reginald asked, irritated. “I need to get a good seat.”
“So sorry, Reg,” she said. “Can you pay in cash? We’re just having the teeniest bit of trouble with our credit card machine.”
“No, I don’t have cash!” Reginald scrunched his nose like cash was a distasteful word.
“You’re right,” said Harriet. “Just a sec!”
She turned around to face Amelia, her smile dropping into a frown, like someone had pulled a lever on her mouth. She’d tried so hard to make sure everything went smoothly today, but even so, it was turning into a disaster, just like last time. “Now what do we do?”
“Gimme a minute,” said Amelia. “I’m thinking.”
“Well, think faster!” Harriet hissed. She wiped sweat from her brow.
“I’ll go ask the show organizer about the Wi-Fi,” said Amelia. “I bet they can reboot it.”
“Already done!” panted Resa, reappearing on the other side of the table. She was out of breath but smiling. “They’re restarting the router. And, in case that doesn’t work…”
“What?” asked Harriet.
Resa scrambled onto a folding chair and stood, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard over the roar of the crowd. “We’re fixing the Wi-Fi, but for now we are cash only. There’s an ATM machine across the street in the deli. And don’t worry! The show isn’t starting for another ten minutes!”
Harriet threw her arms around Resa’s calves and lifted her up. “Three cheers for Resa!” she shouted.
“Careful!” Resa said, but she was laughing, her brown eyes twinkling.
Harriet put Resa’s feet back down on the chair and darted over to where Reginald was waiting. “You wanna wait for the Wi-Fi, Reg, or hit up the ATM?”
“What if you sell out of the shirts while I go get the money?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you what, Reg.” Harriet leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “I’m not doing this for anyone else, but seeing as you’re our best customer and also how we didn’t do right by you last time, I’m gonna put three shirts and three buttons to the side for you while you go to the ATM. How’s that sound?”
“Cool,” he said. “Skinks for”—he held four fingers up—“ever.”
Harriet smiled and held four fingers up, too. “Skinks forever!”