Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
—John Lennon
“No need to come to the store today, Monu,” Baba tells me as he leaves the house for the morning.
“Are you sure? I don’t have anything else planned.”
He nods. “Mr. Gupta is already there”—Mr. Gupta is my parents’ part-time helper—“and the holiday week is usually slow anyway. I’d rather you stay in case your mother needs you. She isn’t feeling well.”
It’s Monday and the change in plans has thrown me off balance. Plus, it turns out that Maa isn’t all that sick. She just has a cold, and she spends the first part of the morning puttering around the kitchen, telling me not to fuss over her. So I’m not sure what to do. Lemonade Mouth won’t be recording again until Wednesday because another band has the studio booked. I’m not even on the volunteer list at the clinic until the weekend.
Which leaves me in unfamiliar territory: a whole day on my hands and nothing on my schedule.
So I call Charlie, thinking that maybe Rajeev and I can swing by and hang out at his house for a while. Charlie doesn’t answer, so I leave a message. Then I try Naomi, but she’s not around; neither is Olivia, and Wen’s busy helping his dad. So now I’m wondering what the heck I’m supposed to do with Rajeev all day. The poor kid comes all the way from India just to end up with nothing to do except hang out in boring old Opequonsett.
But that’s when I realize the house has become quiet. Where is Rajeev, anyway? Madhu and I ate breakfast with him, but he’s not in the dining room or the kitchen now. I take a moment to check the other rooms. Nothing.
So where has he gone?
From somewhere outside I hear a peal of laughter—my little sister’s—and then Rajeev calling out something. He’s laughing too. I find them in the backyard. Rajeev is pitching tennis balls to Madhu, who’s grinning like a fiend as she holds a baseball bat like a golf club. Behind her are three vertical sticks shoved into the dirt with smaller sticks balanced on top.
“Monu!” Madhu shouts when she sees me. “Rajeev’s teaching me how to play cricket! I’m beating him!”
“Beginner’s luck,” he says with a smile. “Want to join us?”
Rajeev explains the rules. It’s a little like baseball except there are only two bases, and the pitcher tries to hit the sticks (called wickets) while the batter tries to protect them. Within a few minutes I get the hang of it, and before long I’m into the game and having a great time. When Maa calls out that it’s lunchtime I’m surprised. We’ve been playing all morning. Madhu can’t stop teasing Rajeev because she and I ended up crushing him four games out of five. Rajeev acts all bitter about it, but I can tell he doesn’t mean it. He’s just having fun with her, and she eats it up.
I check my messages. No response from Charlie, which is strange. Since yesterday morning I’ve tried to reach him at least four times. I wonder what’s up with him. I wonder if he’s still irked at me because I canceled our movie plans. I feel bad about that, I really do. I wish he’d hurry up and call me back so we can talk about it and then I can tell him about cricket and listen to his goofy jokes.
It’s stupid, I know, but after only one day I already miss him.
After lunch the three of us head into town, and as we walk Rajeev and I talk about junk food. Turns out he’s a big Twinkies fan, like me. He asks about Lemonade Mouth, so I tell him about the studio and how there’s a lot of pressure on us to finish quickly. Then we run into Wen and end up having a blast on the street corner with him. Madhu asks if she can try on the hot dog suit and Wen says yes. After that we each take turns in the costume, holding up the WIENERS ON WHEELS sign and waving to traffic. We jump around and dance as people honk and wave back. The suit is too small for Rajeev and his shins stick out at the bottom. Out of all of us he looks the most ridiculous. He doesn’t care, though. He has a great time waving at the cars and jumping around. He’s hilarious. Wen laughs so hard he can barely breathe.
Again I’m thinking about Charlie. I wish he were here. I’m sure he would love to be on the sidewalk with us, taking his turn in the suit. It’s just the kind of stupid thing that makes us both crack up. But when I check my messages once again and see there’s still no response from him, I can’t help feeling just a little annoyed. All right, so I backed out on him the other night, but it’s not like it was my fault. I don’t control my family. How about a little flexibility?
I take out my phone and I’m just about to hit his speed dial when I stop myself. Four messages? That’s enough. It’s up to him now. I put the phone back in my pocket.
If anybody’s going to make the next move it sure as heck isn’t going to be me. 
It was the worst Fourth of July ever.
My parents and I always go to this big barbecue at my uncle Kyle’s place in Wickford, and usually I love it, but not this time. I spent the afternoon with my stomach in knots. I was surrounded by relatives and other smiling people who kept asking about Lemonade Mouth and telling me how proud of me they were. I know they meant well and that the problem was me, not them. Everybody was just excited about all the stuff going on, and that was great, of course. But I just didn’t feel like talking or celebrating. Ever have to pretend to be in a good mood when all you really want to do is crawl off somewhere and hide? That was me.
I wanted to press my face into a pillow.
I wanted to scream.
I’ll admit it—there were even moments when I was close to crying.
But I couldn’t. And since I couldn’t bring myself to talk about the Mo stuff with anybody, I had to walk around with a fake smile as if everything was great. As if the whole world hadn’t just fallen to pieces in one giant mambo explosion named Rajeev.
The next day wasn’t much better. I stayed home and watched TV. Mo called a couple of times, but I didn’t pick up. What would be the point? I saw what I saw, so what more was there to say?
By Tuesday, though, after a James Bond marathon, I started to cool down. Something about the nonstop action and over-the-top crazy bad guys calmed my nerves. The world wasn’t really like that, and I guess a part of me wanted to believe I was overreacting about Mo, as if some green-skinned Jealousy Monster that fed on my insecurities had been whispering in my ear and making me nuts. Maybe I’d misinterpreted what I’d seen. Maybe if Mo and I talked this over she could clear everything up and we’d laugh about my stupid mistake. Falling for Rajeev? she’d ask. Me? Ha-ha! Is that what you thought? Of course not, Charlie! That’s ridiculous!
I didn’t know what the explanation might be, but there had to be one, right? Her parents had told her she needed to be nice to him, so maybe she had to pretend to have a great time dancing with him. Her arms around him. His around her.
Yeah, that was probably it.
Okay, so it was a long shot, but it was all I had.
Anyway, it was time to bite the bullet and pay her a visit. My first step was to phone Stella, who was finally back from Philadelphia, and ask if she wanted to swing by Mo’s family’s store to say hi with me. I didn’t mention the dancing stuff or anything, I just figured that if Stella came too then it would make everything seem more casual.
Fortunately, convincing Stella wasn’t hard.
“Oh man, yes!” she said. “You have no idea what it was like road-tripping with my two little monkey stepbrothers—five hours each way, trapped in a car with Thing One and Thing Two. I gotta get away or I’ll explode. See you in ten minutes.”
As Stella and I walked to the Banerjees’ store together, I secretly kept coaching myself on how I should act when I saw Mo. I told myself I wouldn’t get emotional. I was going to stay calm and we were going to talk, that was all. It was going to be okay.
Problem was, it never occurred to me that Rajeev would be there with her.
First thing I saw when we stepped into the store was the two of them sitting cross-legged on the floor together, all chummy and comfortable as they unpacked two big boxes of white rice onto the shelves. They looked like best buddies, like they belonged together. Right away my stomach turned to jelly. There weren’t any other customers at the time, and at the sound of the bell jingling Mo and Rajeev both looked up. They seemed surprised to see us, and for the briefest moment I felt weird vibes again, as if we’d caught them in the middle of something. I figured maybe they’d been having some hushed conversation, maybe sharing their deepest secrets with each other. I didn’t know.
All I knew was that even after all the coaching I’d given myself, the Jealousy Monster was back. Only now instead of whispering it was screaming at the top of its lungs.
“Oh, what a nice surprise!” Mo said, standing up. “How was your Fourth, Stella?” Stella and Rajeev hadn’t met yet so she introduced them, and then Mo said, all casual, “So, what’s going on, Charlie? I called you a bunch of times and you never called back. What have you been up to?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, still gripping my half-empty lemonade.
There was another weird pause. I caught Rajeev and Mo giving each other a strange look, and all of a sudden I wanted to shrink into the floor. Something was definitely going on here. My neck was warm and my head felt like it was spinning.
“Charlie, is everything okay?”
“No. As matter of fact it isn’t. Can we talk? Alone?”
Her eyebrows pulled together, but she nodded. She led me back to the storage room where her parents keep their office. For some reason neither of them was around just then—they must have stepped out. And for a while I just stood there trying to get my emotions under control. It was the weirdest feeling. Mo was my best friend in the world, my first-ever girlfriend, and I was nuts about her—and up until only a couple days earlier I’d honestly thought she felt the same way about me. And yet here we were about to break up. I was feeling so hurt and confused that I wasn’t even thinking straight.
INTERIOR. STORAGE ROOM—MIDDAY
Charlie and Mo stand facing each other near the door of a small storage space cluttered with boxes and shelves.
MO
(whispering, barely hiding her frustration)
Okay, so what’s going on? If this is about the movie the other night, I’m sorry about canceling on you at the last minute, but what was I supposed to—
CHARLIE
The movie? Oh, no, it’s not about the movie. It’s about … you know, about Rajeev.
MO
Rajeev? Okay … What about him?
She folds her arms across her chest and waits. It takes a few uncomfortable seconds, but finally Charlie takes a deep breath and begins.…
CHARLIE
I, uh, I just want you to know that I get what’s happening, and it’s okay. If you want to be with him instead of me, I’m good with it. I understand.
MO
You understand? What the heck is that supposed to mean?
CHARLIE
(shrugs)
All I’m saying is that Rajeev obviously likes you, and hey, he’s a good guy and everything. What can I say? I can totally see why you like him.
MO
(a wide-eyed pause)
Are you … are you breaking up with me?
CHARLIE
Uh … no. I just … What?
MO
Come on, Charlie. I don’t hear from you in two whole days, I leave you a ton of messages that you never return, and now suddenly you’re here telling me you’re okay if I’m with somebody else. What am I supposed to think?
No, that’s not it at all. I just … Hey, I saw you and him together. I wasn’t trying to spy or anything, but I could see you through your front window. You guys were dancing and I thought … well …
MO
(one eyebrow raised)
You saw us dancing and … what? You figured it meant Rajeev and I are now an item? That we’re about to start sending out wedding invitations? Is that it?
She glares at him. He blinks back, his face reddening.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
Funny thing was, hearing her say it out loud like that, it really did sound kind of ridiculous. But I realized that was more or less exactly what I’d been thinking.
MO
Holy crap. That is it, isn’t it? You’re jealous. Charlie Hirsh, I don’t know whether to feel bad or to be furious with you! You can be so oblivious sometimes! Don’t you get it? It’s you I like, not Rajeev. He’s just a friend! And I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about me!
CHARLIE
(mortified, trying to recover)
Yeah, well, I’m not so sure. Face it, Mo, I’m a guy, and I can tell when another guy likes somebody. And that guy out there, he likes you!
MO
(nose to nose with him now)
Oh yeah? Well, all right, then, maybe he does like me. What do I know? But even if it’s true, it isn’t my fault, is it? How am I supposed to help how he feels?
CHARLIE (V.O.)
But as it turned out, we were both wrong. Even as Mo and I argued in the storage room, at the other end of the store destiny was playing out in a way neither of us had seen coming. It just took until that moment for one of us to look up and notice.
Over Mo’s shoulder we see what has been visible in the background and what Charlie now sees: The storage room door is ajar, revealing a long grocery aisle that goes all the way to the front of the store. There, near the big glass window, are Rajeev and Stella. They met only a few minutes ago, but already they’re standing close to each other, laughing and talking like fast friends. There are obvious sparks between them. Mo says something but Charlie doesn’t hear.
MO
Charlie? Charlie, are you listening to me?
REVERSE ON: Charlie staring. Mo has her back to the camera. A moment passes, and Charlie nods toward the door. Following his gaze, Mo turns to see what Charlie is looking at. Now they both stare, their stupid little argument quickly forgotten.
REVERSE ON: Stella and Rajeev, seen through the crack in the doorway again. Rajeev, looking cool and dapper and in a white short-sleeved oxford and jeans, is whispering and smiling while Stella, with her pink hair and slashed-up Deadly Rebels tee, glows. She has a small bag of gummy fish and offers it to him. He takes one. In their own opposites-attract way, they look terrific together. The camera moves slowly toward them as we hear …
CHARLIE (V.O.)
In all the time we’d known Stella, neither of us had ever seen her like this. She was flirting with him—and Rajeev was right there with her. If fate was like a chemistry experiment, what we were witnessing was the first spark of a mighty explosion of fire and destiny. This was the start of something huge. I remember sensing what felt like electricity in the air, and wondering where on earth this would lead. With Stella Penn involved, it could have been just about anywhere. 
That’s right, cherished compatriots. Your Sista Stella, your embattled warrior of justice, rock-and-roll rebel and one time loner, found herself suddenly in love. Utterly smitten. Head over metal-spiked heels!
Rajeev and I went out for a broccoli noodle stir-fry and a walk along the water, and after that I started catching myself staring out windows and thinking of butterflies. Not only was Rajeev drop-dead gorgeous, but we had so much in common it was scary. He hated sugarless gum. He loved chili peppers and vampire stories. He owned every Sista Slash album, including a rare vinyl copy of her live benefit concert in Tibet, and he was as excited about her upcoming Take Charge concert as I was.
He was even a vegetarian!
Without warning, sappy love songs that would normally have set off my delicate musical gag reflex were drifting through my head, and I didn’t mind it at all. Every now and then I’d notice my mother or my older sister, Clea, staring at me with worried expressions.
“What the heck is wrong with you, Stella?” Clea asked me more than once from one of our backyard lounge chairs. Clea had recently finished her freshman year at Brown University and now seemed content spending her entire summer alternately sunning herself and stuffing her face with ice cream. “For days you’ve been floating around with a stupid smile on your face. Did you even realize you were just humming? Snap out of it!”
“Nothing’s wrong, Clea dear,” I told her. “Just enjoying the morning, that’s all. Shall I fetch you another scoop of rocky road?”
“Be careful,” Mo advised me after Rajeev and I had been going out for almost a week. “I know for a fact that his parents are way traditional—even more than mine.”
“So? What are you saying? That there’s something wrong with me that they should be upset about?”
“No, there’s nothing wrong with you, Stella. You’re great, and Rajeev’s a super-lucky guy. You know I mean that. But the thing is, you’re not a Hindu, and I think for his parents that might set off some red flags.”
I’ll admit, this gave me a moment of pause—but only a brief moment. If Rajeev had a problem with me not being a Hindu, well, that would have been a real concern. But he never said he did, so I figured, why worry? Besides, his parents didn’t even know me. If they met me, maybe they’d change their minds.
Anyway, I would cross that bridge only if I ever came to it.
Before you could say “infatuation at first sight” Rajeev and I were spending as much of our free time together as we could and my summer had gone from merely exciting to positively electrifying. Rajeev was like a Southern gentleman from an old black-and-white movie. He opened doors for me, and despite my feminist sensibilities I have to admit it didn’t bother me one little bit. He was always kind and polite, but not in a way that got on your nerves. He was interested in my opinions and ideas and wasn’t shy about sharing his with me even when we disagreed, which wasn’t all that often. We would talk for hours and hours about everything and nothing. We got each other.
And to top it all off, he was one heck of a great dancer.
So is it any wonder I was on a cloud? 
Dear Ted,
I know, I know. Two letters in one week—what’s come over me, right?
Today was another long day of recording. We spent the whole session on one song (another new one, “Zombietown”—lots of harmonies and percussion) and by the time Charlie’s mom brought us home Brenda had to reheat dinner. Now it’s almost midnight and she’s in bed. As I write this I’m at the kitchen table with Daisy purring on my lap. Only three months old, but already she’s so big that Brenda and I are starting to wonder if she’s part mountain lion. She’s definitely a wild thing. Today Brenda said she caught her climbing one of the curtains and leaping from there across the room onto one of the ottomans. The other cats are skittish around her. I don’t think they know what to make of such a hell-raiser.
Anyway, I’m writing to tell you that I got your letter today. It was in the mail stack when I came home tonight, and now I can’t think of anything else. Yes, of course I’m planning to tell Brenda about the note from Mom. I’ve been waiting for the right moment, that’s all. Brenda’s been under a lot of stress lately, and besides, you know how emotional she gets about these things. Whenever I’ve brought up this stuff in the past it’s been like torture for her to talk about it. It’s a topic I’ve learned to avoid.
Not that I haven’t been thinking about my mother a lot in the past few days.
Funny how there are so few pictures of her around. It’s almost like when she left, everything about her kind of disappeared too. I still have the photograph you gave me, though. I’ve kept it hidden in my bedside cabinet all these years. You remember the one, right? The two of you are at a party on a beach and she’s leaning her head on your shoulder and you’re staring at the camera with this sly look like a cat that just caught a mouse. You look so young, Daddy, but I guess it makes sense, because you both must have been in high school at the time. And she’s so beautiful with her long dark hair and those big eyes she had, and the way she was smiling at you like she’d decided what she wanted and you were the best thing ever. It’s no wonder you fell for her.
I don’t remember much of anything about her, just a few moments and feelings. A green jacket she wore, how it felt rough against my skin. Her and me singing along with the radio. I can even close my eyes and picture myself watching through our front window as she rolls her suitcase toward a yellow cab waiting at the end of the driveway. She turns to wave at me before she gets in and closes the cab door and never comes back.
I imagine these things, but I couldn’t have actual memories of any of it, not really. I was too little.
Okay, so now I’m going to share yet another secret with you: I’ve been checking the mail every day to see if she writes again. I’m curious about her. For so many years I used to wonder what happened to her. I would imagine her living in a mansion somewhere, or sailing around the world. I used to pretend to have conversations with her, long discussions where I’d share everything about my life and she’d tell me everything about hers. If she’d written to me then, it would have been so easy for me to forgive her for leaving. Later I decided that she must have died. In a strange way that might have been better, because at least it would have given me a good reason for why she never contacted me during all those years. Not one phone call. Not one letter. Nothing. Until now.
Which I suppose is why I still haven’t mentioned any of this to anyone except you. I think about it all the time, though. I keep wondering, why now? Why would she drop back into my life at this moment instead of any other? What does she expect from me? Is she trying to start a new, ongoing connection with the daughter she abandoned? If so, why didn’t she give an address or a phone number? Or is it that she’s looking for something else? Forgiveness, maybe?
I hope it’s not forgiveness. After so many years without a mother, it feels a little late for that.
Love,
Olivia 
Even while we were still making our recordings and everything else was going on in our lives, Mr. Decker was already busy behind the scenes setting up opportunities for Lemonade Mouth. The man was a force of nature. Not only did he have incredible access to high-ranking executives and other power players in the business, but he also worked fast.
Days after the holiday weekend he set up a video link to say he’d arranged for us to try out on American Pop Sensation. I was floored by the news. We all were. APS was the biggest reality show on TV, where unknown musicians from all over the country competed in front of three opinionated judges and a live national audience. The show was huge. Each of the winners of its ten previous seasons had been unknowns who became household names and sold millions of albums. Landing us a slot on the show, even if the only guarantee was a one-minute shot in this season’s preliminaries, was an amazing feat.
But it was also nuts. I’m not going to lie—at first I wondered if Mr. Decker had lost his mind.
“But does it really make sense for our group?” I managed to ask as the five of us gaped at his face on the monitor. “I mean, national TV. Millions of viewers. Don’t you think it’s kind of a big risk?”
“Relax,” he said, taking a puff on his cigar. “I have a good feeling about this.”
I looked over at Olivia. At the mention of national television she looked like she’d lost half her blood supply. Charlie and Stella didn’t seem sure either.
“I don’t know. Those judges can be kind of rough,” said Mo, biting at one of her fingernails. It was a nervous habit I knew she was trying to break. “What if we screw up and end up looking ridiculous? Lots of people do. Do you really think the odds of us winning are high enough to take that chance?”
Mr. Decker chuckled. “You’re not going to screw up. I have faith in you.”
The point, he explained, wasn’t that Lemonade Mouth had to win, exactly, but that any kind of national exposure would be good exposure. He asked us to trust him. None of us felt as sure as he seemed, but he was adamant that this was a good idea, and by the time the call was over he’d gotten us all to agree to do it. That was how Mr. Decker was. Once he had an idea there was no stopping him.
So a few days later, midafternoon on a sweltering day in July, we started our drive to New York City, where the show was being filmed. Mr. Decker insisted that we ride with him in his limo. “I want you to look like a band,” he told us, “and it never hurts to make a big entrance.” Our parents came with us, of course, and Lyle, Naomi and Mrs. Reznik too—we couldn’t let something as gigantic as this happen without having them with us.
I remember how nervous and quiet all of us were during that long ride to New York. It was supposed to take three and a half hours, but it took a lot longer because of traffic. If Mr. Decker was worried he didn’t show it, but I was sweating it out the whole way.
“Keep in mind that the show isn’t only about your performance on the stage,” Mr. Decker said as we traveled through Connecticut. “There will also be cameras on the contestants in the waiting areas, and even on the crowds in line outside the studio building. When the cameras are on you, America is watching—don’t forget that.”
I kept checking on Olivia. She spent most of the ride hugging her elbows and staring out the window.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
For weeks she’d been telling everyone not to worry about her, that she had her stage fright under control, but I wasn’t so sure. I knew for a fact that she’d already vomited twice that day—once in the morning and once just before the limo arrived. I glanced at the driver, Ralph, a serious-faced guy with a gray mustache and dark glasses. He was concentrating on the road.
“We can still back out of this,” I whispered. “Maybe it’s not worth it.”
“I’m all right.”
For the first time in a while, she turned to face me. When she squeezed my hand I could tell that she really was going to be okay, at least for now. Which was even more of a relief than it might seem. For a few days I’d been worried about her—and not just because of her anxieties about performing. She’d been acting quieter than usual, and when I asked what was going on she wouldn’t admit anything was wrong. Something was up with her, though. I could tell.
It was still light when we entered Manhattan, but I knew we were late. I remember looking up at the skyscrapers and feeling their weight hanging over us as we rolled through a sea of traffic and shadows and towering buildings. Olivia squeezed my hand again. After we pulled up at a curb crowded with people, Ralph stepped out from behind the wheel so he could walk around the car and get the door for us.
“Here you go,” Mr. Decker said. “Good luck.”
“Wait—you’re not coming?” Stella asked, alarmed.
He shook his head. “I don’t want the cameras focusing on me, I want them on you guys. Remember to have fun and be yourselves—and don’t forget that the show begins the moment you step out onto that sidewalk.” Outside the limo a small crowd was already starting to press in toward us, which was strange. No doubt they were mistaking us for somebody famous. “Don’t worry,” Mr. Decker said. “America’s going to love you guys.”
There are different opinions about Mr. Decker and the role he played that day. Some people say he had no idea what he was doing, that what happened later proved it. Others look back at the astonishing events of that evening and conclude that Mr. Decker knew exactly what he was doing, that getting us an appearance on that show at all was a stroke of genius, the sort of out-of-the-box inspired move he’d become famous for during his four decades in the music business. I don’t know which point of view is right, but I don’t think anyone, not even the great Earl Decker, could have guessed that things were about to play out the way they did.
The five of us glanced at each other as we waited for Ralph to open the door. Whatever was about to come next was going to have repercussions in our lives, for good or for bad, and suddenly I didn’t want to leave the safety of the limo. In a matter of seconds it would all begin. The door would open, and we’d climb out onto the crowded sidewalk. After that there was no predicting what might happen. 