Ten

“Sorry I’m late,” I gasped, rushing into the Town Hall at ten past six with my gear bouncing on my back in a plastic bag.

There was loads of activity everywhere, with guys in black T-shirts and headsets lifting massive amps around the stage and setting up light rigs that flashed through all the wicked colours I remembered from the Bubbly gig. The atmosphere was nervy and exciting with all the qualified bands pacing around and looking scared, waiting to be called for their sound-check. There were twelve bands in total from all over town, including Summer and her Fashionistas and the other band from our qualifier, Thrash Bunnies. And it looked like we weren’t the only band to have changed our lineup. Standing with the Thrash Bunnies was none other than Dave Sheekey, tuning his guitar and adjusting his new dark-blue band T-shirt.

“Where have you been, Col?” Mel demanded. “I said to meet here at quarter to!”

“Three lots have already done their sound-checks,” Jasmine said angrily. She was as jumpy as a frog on springs. “We’re dead lucky we haven’t been called yet.”

“Long story,” I panted, hugely relieved that I hadn’t missed our sound-check. I wanted everything to be perfect tonight, and everyone knows how important sound-checks are for adjusting the volume on microphones and all that.

“So what’s your excuse?” Lucy said.

I’d got home after seeing Summer in town to find Mum standing in the hall with her hands on her hips, wanting to know why her whole white wash had gone pink: knickers, socks, all mine and Em’s school shirts, Dad’s work overalls and Em’s football shorts included. After my stuttered explanation I got the Questions: how could I have forgotten to leave Mum a note telling her I’d used her machine for dyeing? How could I have dyed Dad’s best white T-shirt without asking him first? Then Mum got me at the sink with bleach, stain removers and instructions to come nowhere near the table for tea until everything was white again.

“And then she said I had to buy Dad a new T-shirt and walk Rascal for the next fortnight, starting with right after tea, and she didn’t care if I was late for the sound-check; I was lucky to be allowed anywhere near the Town Hall tonight, blah, blah,” I finished.

“You idiot,” Mel said, and started to grin.

“Bounce Back to the stage please,” came a voice over the microphone, making us jump out of our skins.

With chattering teeth, we all walked up the hall.

“Good luck, mate,” Dave said hopefully as Ben brushed past him.

Ben grunted something in reply which was either “Good luck yourself” or something a whole lot ruder. It was difficult to tell.

“It’s good that Dave and Ben are talking again,” Lucy said to me as we took our positions and tried not to feel too freaked out by the huge space of the Town Hall laying out in front of us.

“That depends what they’re saying to each other,” I said, glancing back at Dave.

The sound-check went fine. It was the craziest feeling in the world, hearing your own voice booming back to you through a massive sound system. It made me realise, maybe for the first time, just what we’d got ourselves into here. There wasn’t time to do the whole song – just the start and the finish. But it left my head ringing all the same.

Hartley’s Battle of the Bands was due to start at seven o’clock. People came flooding in as soon as the stage technicians said they were done with the sound-checks, and the Town Hall was filling up as fast as a welly in deep water. I gasped as I saw Deena from Bubbly take her seat with the rest of the judging panel at the front of the hall – and then I spotted my folks.

“You made it!” I said in relief, hurrying over to them as they came in the door. My eyes slid guiltily over Em’s still faintly pink England footie shirt.

“Don’t say a word,” Em growled.

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” said Mum, “however daft you’ve been.”

“I will get you a new T-shirt, Dad,” I promised, giving everyone quick hugs.

“’Course you will,” said Dad comfortably. “Just like you’ll get me a cup of tea in bed every day for the next week.”

“Good luck, Coleen love,” Nan said, patting me on the cheek with one warm little hand as the voice on the microphone summoned everyone to their seats.

The lights dimmed as I plonked into my reserved place beside Mel and Lucy. My heart was really going now. That special hush fell, the one you always get before a show, and Thrash Bunnies took to the stage.

“They were much better than I remembered at the qualifiers,” Mel whispered across at me as everyone cheered at the end of their set.

“Looks like Dave was a good extra,” I whispered back.

Jasmine looked like she was about to agree with me, but something stopped her – probably the thought of Ben hearing her saying nice stuff about his supposed love rival. I noticed she and Ben weren’t holding hands like normal and hoped it was just nerves.

We all listened as the panel – including Deena – said a few words on what they thought of Thrash Bunnies’ performance. They were pretty complementary. I closed my eyes and really, really hoped Deena would say some nice things about us.

The next four bands were scarily good. From where we were sitting, we could see Deena’s multicoloured hair as she bent towards another judge for a chat, then congratulated the band members on their excellent performances. Were we anywhere near good enough for this competition?

“Look out, world,” Mel said happily. “It’s the Fashionistas.”

We watched as Summer, Hannah and Shona lined up on the stage. Their make-up was even worse than it had been at the qualifiers. This was better than good. This was totally perfect.

Ben bent towards us. “Is it just me,” he said in a low voice, “or do they look like a row of traffic lights?”

I nodded, frantically biting back a mad desire to giggle as Shona, Summer and Hannah lined up, holding out their hands in front of them. Their backing track started up.

“Walk to me,” Summer began, beckoning with one finger, “come this way, cross the line, hear me say…”

“Wait for the green man first,” Mel sang out cheerfully.

A couple of people near us started chuckling as they saw the traffic-light resemblance in their costumes. Once you’d seen it, it was impossible to take the song seriously.

“You push my buttons, baby,” Hannah and Shona started grinding away in their red and green dresses. “I love you true, you push my buttons, baby…”

“Bus coming through!” roared a joker somewhere further down the hall.

“I love youuu…”

The Fashionistas pressed on valiantly, although it was beginning to dawn on them that something was going deeply wrong. The laughter began to spread as Summer’s lyrics pushed the joke to heights I had only dreamed of. By the time they reached: “Gimme the green light, green light for your love,” they couldn’t make themselves heard over the riotous laughter flooding the hall.

“Walk, don’t walk!” chanted the crowd in delight. “Walk, don’t walk!”

Summer stopped singing, completely purple with rage. “I hate you all!” she screeched, and ran off the stage with Hannah and Shona running after her. The hall erupted in tumultuous applause.

“That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Dave Sheekey, wiping his eyes and leaning his arm over the back of his seat as he turned to us.

“Right on,” Mel sighed in complete satisfaction, high-fiving Lucy.

I couldn’t speak. “Hoohoo,” I gasped weakly as Deena and the other judges struggled to find something nice to say about the Fashionistas. I thought I was about to die with the joyful pain of it all. “Hoohoohoohahahoo…”

“Where’s your watch, Dave?” said Ben.

Dave looked surprised. He glanced at his bare wrist. “Dunno,” he said. “Must’ve left it somewhere.”

For some reason, my giggles dried up. This wave of tension ripped through me as I looked at Dave, and then at Ben, and then at Jasmine, who was sitting totally still.

“Bounce Back?” A stage technician was hunkering down beside our row. “Backstage, please.”

Ben leaped up and barged past us all.

“Wait,” said Jasmine, struggling out of her seat.

“Where’s the fire, Ben?” Lucy complained as we followed Ben, Jasmine and the techie down a little corridor that took us backstage. Jasmine kept trying to grab Ben’s arm, but he shook her off each time. I watched them with this growing feeling of doom.

“I don’t think it’s a fire we should be worrying about,” Mel said, echoing my thoughts. “What was that about Dave’s watch?”

“Ten minutes to change, and then you’re on,” said the techie, leaving us in this little dressing room.

I felt sick as the image of Dave Sheekey’s big black watch swam into my head. I knew exactly where I had seen it. It had been lying on the messy packing-crate table at Jasmine’s place. Which meant Dave had been there. Like me, Ben must’ve spotted it – and then forgotten all about it till he saw Dave’s bare wrist. Suddenly, the so-called rumour was looking less like a rumour, and more like…

“Ben?” Jasmine was saying. “Listen, don’t do anything crazy, OK?”

Ben was ignoring her, pulling on his tie-dye T-shirt and black jacket in silence. His face was like thunder.

“Er,” said Lucy in confusion, “what’s going on, guys?”

“Two minutes!” went the tannoy over our heads. “Bounce Back, this is your two-minute call.”

“We’re going on,” Mel declared, dragging on her footless tights. “Come on – my mum’s out there waiting to see us, and so’s everyone else’s folks. Let’s talk about whatever the problem is after, yeah? We’ve got a show to do.”

Dumbly I fixed my hair and pulled my black trilby on over the top with shaky fingers. We were about to hit the stage with a time-bomb on drums. I was so spooked at the thought of what Ben might do in front of hundreds of people that I didn’t even smile at the sight of a dumbstruck Summer, Shona and Hannah halfway down the corridor as they took in our totally un-traffic-light-like outfits.

“Bounce Baaack!” went the announcer. The audience cheered. We were on.

Ben marched over to the drums and started attacking them almost before we’d all got in position. Jasmine turned her back on him and started into her guitar line with a new and scary energy.

“The sea, the sea, the sea and me,” we began. Mel and me kept glancing back nervously at Ben, and then at Jasmine, and then back again like we were at some nightmare tennis match. If it hadn’t been for Lucy, we’d have lost our way before the end of the first verse. Ben was belting his drums like a maniac. It was like the qualifiers all over again, but on a much bigger scale. And we were right in the middle of it!

“The sea, the sea, the sea and you,” we sang on into the second verse, praying that we could make it to the end before meltdown.

Ben started joining in. “The sea can see that you’re untrue,” he belted out, pointing one drumstick at Jasmine’s back.

Mel, Lucy and me ploughed on helplessly. “You left the sand just like you planned…”

“Who’s sorry now?” Ben roared at Jasmine. “WHO’S SORRY NOW, YOU SILLY—”

We tried to drown Ben out with even louder words. But as loud as we went, he sang even louder. Jasmine was hunched over her guitar with tears pouring down her face, but was still just about holding on to the tune. I realised we were seriously overdoing it and sounding like a whole lot of wailing cats, but there was nothing else we could do.

“Dance…dance routine,” I nudged at Mel and Lucy, hoping that the dance steps we’d put together for the qualifier would distract everyone from Ben. We hadn’t planned to use the routine now that we were more of a rock band, so none of us had practised. We ended up banging and bumping into each other like nobody’s business. The whole thing was a total mess.

We didn’t win. But you know what? I was just so relieved to get off that stage in one piece that I didn’t care. Being twelve sucks a lot of the time, but if being fourteen means dealing with the kind of mega love disasters we’d seen with Ben and Jasmine since starting our band, I’ll take twelve any day. And at least Ben Hanratty was single again and available for his old starring role in my daydreams…

Besides, I told myself as I got ready for bed that night. Look on the bright side. OK, so I still had to walk Rascal for weeks, spend all my future pocket money on a T-shirt for Dad, and generally keep my head down round ours for a bit. But we’d had some amazing feedback from Deena after our performance. She loved the song – both the music and my lyrics! Mind you, she also said the guitarist could do with cheering up and that we should get rid of the angry drummer. But the big thing was: my total heroine Deena had told us we were cool. And what could be better than that?

Em’s wrong about winning being everything.