The Radical Skinks were dazzling. The amp, which Harriet worried about the whole time, held up perfectly. Sam was a blur at the drums, darting his hands between the different parts of the drum kit so fast the human eye could hardly process it. Joe was pitch-perfect—his voice velvet, but with a ragged edge that made the crowd go wild. And Larry wasn’t exaggerating when he said the ChromaChord 3000 gave him magical musical powers. Maybe he wasn’t quite Hendrix, but he was better than he’d ever been, better than Harriet ever imagined he could be. What made their performance truly transcendent, though, was how in sync they were—as if they weren’t three separate people playing three separate instruments but one mythical musical creature with three sets of arms and legs.
It wasn’t just the Startup Squad who thought the Radical Skinks hit a home run. The crowd in the auditorium was locked in to the Radical Skinks’ performance, cheering and clapping and singing along. When Larry played the final chord of the final song, and Sam hit the cymbals for the last time, the crowd spontaneously began to chant, “Rad Skinks! Rad Skinks! Rad Skinks!”
When their performance was over, Harriet sizzled with excitement. “I really don’t want to jinx it, but I think they are gonna win! How could they not?”
“They’re definitely the crowd favorite,” said Amelia. “That’s gotta count for something.”
The Radical Skinks were a hard act to follow, so Xpectation!, which performed after them, had an uphill battle. They walked onto the stage, barefoot, with empty hands. They asked the audience for donations of items—anything, they said, absolutely anything, because there was nothing they could not make musical—and the audience obliged, tossing up candy bar wrappers, shoes, books, and even some Radical Skinks buttons. The band members distributed these “instruments,” and, after counting down from ten like NASA Mission Control, they began to sing.
The band had no lead singer. Instead, they all sang, in unison, these words:
“My belly rumbles
I want a sandwich
The time is midnight,
The time is noon,
The time is never.
Are you a turkey?
Turtles are the loneliiiiiiiiiiiiiest …
animals.”
The youngest member of the band slammed a shoe down on the stage once, twice, three times. Then, silence.
The audience remained quiet, trying to decide if that was the song’s finale or if there’d be more. When nothing else happened, the crowd began to clap, most of them quietly, politely. There was, however, a cluster of audience members seated toward the front, dressed all in white, with white fedoras, and those people began to whoop and whistle and cheer. The fans of Xpectation! were small in number but clearly very devoted.
“The judges will now vote,” announced the emcee. “And while we wait, we’ll be treated to a short acrobatic routine by a performer I hear is a real dynamo.” As he was speaking, two high schoolers dragged a large blue gymnastics mat to the middle of the stage. “Let’s hear it for … the Blaze!”
Loud, pulsating techno music blared from the auditorium’s speaker system, so fast and insistent that the audience couldn’t help but clap along to the beat. After a few seconds, a girl ran full speed from the wings and executed a string of gymnastic moves Harriet did not know the names for but involved flips—forward and backward—and no-handed cartwheels and one-handed handstands and all kinds of other incredible feats that defied gravity. The girl moved so fast and her leotard was so sparkly from the golden sequins that covered it that it took a minute before Harriet recognized her.
“Is that…” she ventured. “Val?”
Resa leaned forward and squinted. “Holy moly,” she said. “It is.”
Val did a final move—a backflip with no hands—and raised both arms above her head triumphantly as her chest moved rapidly up and down from her exertion.
“Did you know she was, like, an Olympic gymnast?” asked Amelia.
“I didn’t even know she could do a cartwheel,” marveled Harriet, shaking her head. “That girl has more tricks up her sleeve than a magician.”
The girls clapped energetically along with the rest of the audience as Val gave a deep bow before running off the stage. The emcee returned to the microphone to say it’d be just one more minute.
“I can’t take it,” said Harriet, hiding her face in her hands.
Resa was swiping at her phone and smiling. “Wow,” she said.
“A good wow or a bad wow?” asked Didi.
“Good,” said Resa. “People have been posting from the show, and everybody says the Radical Skinks are gonna win.”
“Really?” asked Harriet.
“And remember Skinks 4Eva, who wrote that rude post about us?” she asked. “Listen to what he just posted.”
She read: “‘Love the cool new Skinks merch!!! New staff way better. Just upped my order to 3 shirts and 3 buttons. Skinks 4Eva!’”
Harriet looked at Resa, her eyes wide. “Reginald? He’s Skinks 4Eva?”
“Looks like it,” Resa said, nodding. “And he’s in our corner now.”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The emcee was back at the mic. “We have a winner!”
The crowd grew silent.
“As everybody knows, this is a very special Battle of the Bands,” the emcee continued.
“Amazing contenders, every one. It was an incredibly close vote for the judges, so close we had to do a recount.”
Harriet’s stomach felt as if there were some kind of animal trapped in there doing somersaults. She couldn’t take the anticipation.
“But finally,” the emcee went on, “we have the results!”
Harriet squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands into fists. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” she whispered under her breath.
“The winner of tonight’s Battle of the Bands…”
Harriet felt a hand reach for hers. She opened her fists and clasped Didi’s fingers. Then, on her other side, another hand, this one belonging to Resa. On Harriet’s shoulder, she felt Amelia’s hands giving a little, encouraging squeeze.
“The band who will be featured on American Supahstars…” called the emcee, “iiiiiiiiiiiis … Xpectation!”
Harriet opened her mouth to let forth the most earsplitting whoop ever. But before she unleashed it, she realized her brothers had not, in fact, won.
The audience clapped, though it mostly came from the contingent in white fedoras toward the front of the auditorium. The members of Xpectation! were triumphant, though, grabbing any loose objects within reach—a notebook, a plastic cup, an orange traffic cone to mark off-limits areas—and banging them on nearby surfaces as they walked onstage to accept the trophy.
Harriet couldn’t watch. She let go of Didi’s and Resa’s hands, shook Amelia’s hands off her shoulder, and spun to face the wall so that they wouldn’t see her eyes fill up with tears. It was embarrassing to cry in front of other people, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been so sure her brothers would win. They were so talented, and the crowd loved them so much. It didn’t seem fair that after all the hurdles they’d jumped through—the broken guitar, the broken drum, the broken-up band—that this is how it would end: losing to a band that didn’t even have instruments.
“Oh, Harriet,” Didi murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Harriet wiped her eyes with the end of her shirt. “I know you are.” Harriet sniffed. “It’s not your fault.”
“They were robbed,” said Resa, her eyes flashing. “We should demand a recount.”
“They already did a recount,” Amelia pointed out.
“A re-recount,” Resa demanded.
“I used to go to a ton of these contests—music, art, writing—when my mom was on the arts beat back in the city,” said Amelia. “Lots of times they give the prize to the ones who are the most unique, the most outside the box. Sometimes they’re great, and sometimes they’re just…”
“Bizarre,” offered Didi.
“Yeah,” said Amelia. “And if the winners are going to be on national TV, they probably want them to be as bizarre as possible. I mean, sometimes people like to watch bad performances more than good ones.”
“Ladies!”
Joe was jogging toward them, sweaty from performing, his face aglow. A few steps behind him was Sam, still holding his drumsticks, his hair impressively intact.
Harriet took a deep, shaky breath. She’d have to put on a brave face for her brothers. They were probably devastated.
“Did you hear our set?” asked Joe, pushing his long hair out of his eyes.
Harriet nodded. “You guys were amazing. I’m sorry—” Her voice broke off.
“You mean, ’cause we didn’t win that spot on American SupahCheesefest?” Sam snorted with disdain. “Who cares? That’s not where serious music acts perform, Harriet.”
“Yeah, we were never that keen on being on that show,” said Joe. “You just seemed so jazzed, we went along with it.”
“And hey, any chance to play, right?” asked Sam.
“But it was good we came,” said Joe, “because—Harry, you’re gonna flip when you hear this.”
Harriet’s pulse quickened. “What?”
“There was a guy from New Blue in the audience!” Joe was so overcome with excitement, he laughed out loud.
“What’s New Blue?” asked Harriet.
“A record label.” It was Eleanor’s voice. She’d walked up beside Harriet, and next to her, with his arm around her shoulders, was Larry.
“A really cool label,” Larry added. “And he liked our set. A lot. We’re going into the city next week to play him some of our stuff.”
Harriet said nothing. She was absolutely dumbfounded. Her brother’s dreams were literally coming true.
“We want you to handle all our merch from now on,” said Sam.
“Are you game?” asked Joe.
Harriet looked from Joe to Sam to Larry. Then she inhaled deeply, raising her shoulders nearly to her ears. “Yeeeeeeees,” she hollered. “Yes! Yes yes! Yes yes yes yes yes yes!”
Harriet ran full throttle over to Joe, flinging her arms around him. Then she did the same to Sam, and finally Larry. Eleanor leaped backward to avoid getting knocked over.
“I saved everything! I am a star-maker!” Harriet shouted.
Sam laughed. “Well, you and your associates.”
“Come on, ladies and gents,” said Eleanor, nodding toward the exit. “I’ll use my employee discount and hook you up with ice cream.”
“We actually gotta run the drum and guitar back to Music Mania,” said Larry.
“Right now?” asked Eleanor.
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Mo already texted me. News travels fast, and she isn’t happy we didn’t win. She was really counting on that shout-out on TV we promised her, so she suddenly ran out of generosity.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” said Amelia with a wry smile. “Why don’t you guys go to Music Mania … but keep the instruments. Give her this instead.” She handed Larry an overstuffed fanny pack.
“Is that the money we made?” asked Sam, eyes wide.
Amelia nodded.
“Is it enough for a guitar?” asked Larry hopefully.
“Yep,” said Amelia. “And not just any guitar. It’s enough to get you the ChromaChord 3000.”
“Yes!” exclaimed Larry. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” He lifted Eleanor off her feet and spun her around in a circle. She beamed.
“Will there be anything left over for a drum?” Sam looked more hopeful than a little kid first thing on Christmas morning.
Amelia nodded. “That snare drum’s all yours.”
Now it was Sam’s turn to celebrate, lifting Joe off his feet and spinning him around in a circle.
“Dude.” Joe laughed, shoving his brother away playfully. “Cut it out.”
“I was hoping you guys would have enough to buy a new amp, too,” said Amelia. “But the rest of the money has to go toward a deposit for the next batch of T-shirts.”
“Once you guys get a record deal, I have a feeling you’ll be able to get an amp,” said Eleanor.
“Record deal,” reflected Joe. “I like the sound of that.”
“Guys,” said Sam to his brothers. “Should we—”
“Yeah!” said Joe. Turning to the girls, he said, “We put together a little something for you. We’re going a cappella here so, you know, bear with us.”
Sam hit his drumsticks together three times and then played a simple beat on the edge of the merch table. Then, in furiously fast unison, all three boys sang:
“You’ll be wowed and awed
By the Startup Squad
Let’s hear it for these ladies!
They’re tough and they’re smart
Make you wanna applau-aud!
Let’s hear it for these ladies!
They never give up easy
Even when they maybe should.
They’re never mean or sleazy.
They’re honest and they’re good.
They’re whizzes at the bizzes!
Go hire them, you should!
Oh oh oh oh ohhhhhhh
Let’s hear it for these ladies!”
The boys struck a “ta-da!” pose, making it clear the song was done. The four girls—plus Eleanor—clapped and laughed.
“Come on, guys,” said Sam, tugging on Larry’s arm. “I don’t want to get another text from Mo.”
As the Radical Skinks headed off to Music Mania, Eleanor turned to the Startup Squad. “My offer still stands,” she said. “Wanna get some celebratory ice cream?”
“Uhhh, I think the only question that remains,” said Harriet, “is how many scoops? And can we get marshmallows on top? Jumbo ones, if possible?”
Eleanor laughed. “That’s more than one question.”
“It’d be good to have a meeting,” said Resa, nodding. “We can figure out how big our next order should be. And if we should maybe mix it up with different colors for the shirts.”
“It would be cool to make patches, too,” said Didi. “You know, the kind you sew onto your backpack?”
“And do the Radical Skinks have a website?” asked Amelia. “Because they really should.”
Eleanor laughed as the girls grabbed their shopping bags and boxes of supplies. “Hey,” she said, gesturing under the table. “Don’t forget your megaphone.”
Harriet lunged for the bright orange megaphone before the other girls could stop her.
“The Startup Squad foreva!” she boomed.