Tig called BD from the den while the girls got dressed. He answered the phone in his Donald Duck voice. “Hew-wo?”
Tig giggled. “Hey, BD. What’s up?”
“The sky,” he replied. “The ceiling? The Goodyear blimp?” Ah, grandfather jokes. Tig laughed anyway to be polite.
“I meant, what are you and Mimi up to this morning?”
“Nothing really. Did your parents tell you about the reunion?”
“Yes!” said Tig. “How exciting!”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“Yes, sir. All the girls are over at my house right now. We had a sleepover. They’ve all asked their parents, and everyone can make it, so we’re good to go.”
“That’s great news,” said BD. “I’ll tell the committee they can print the invitations, then. Oh, won’t this be fun?”
“We can hardly wait,” said Tig. “How long will we need to play?”
“Only about an hour,” said BD. “It’s not much money, so they don’t expect much. Plus, they understand that you’re kids, and they don’t want to work you too hard.”
“That’s nice of them,” said Tig.
“Also, they realize that we can’t take too much loud music or dancing at our age, anyway. But you girls realize you’ll have to play some music from our class’s generation, right? We’re too old for all that clanging mess you kids today listen to.”
“We’ve got plenty of time to learn some new songs,” said Tig. “Maybe you could select some of your favorites? And since you played in a band yourself back in the day, maybe you could choose some that don’t have really difficult percussion parts. Would you mind?”
“It would be my pleasure,” said BD. “I’ll see if your Mimi has any requests too. But I won’t let her pick anything too hard.”
“Great,” Tig replied. “Just text or email me the songs you have in mind and I’ll run them by the other girls.”
“Will do,” he said. Then, once again in the Donald Duck voice, he said, “Good-bwye!”
“Bye, BD,” said Tig.
While the girls had breakfast, Tig received an email from BD with his song choices. She and the other girls read the list. “I’ve never even heard of most of these,” said Tig.
“Me neither,” said Robbie. “And the ones I have heard of, I don’t want to play. Sonny and Cher? Seriously? Not happening.”
“‘The Twist?” said Claire. “Doesn’t that have a saxophone in it? We don’t have a sax.”
“What’s this one?” asked Olivia. They looked it up on the Internet.
The girls looked at one another in complete horror as they took in a black-and-white image of a man in a cowboy hat and listened to him narrate a story about a coal miner who gave his life in an accident to save his fellow workers. Robbie almost fell over laughing. “Your granddad thinks a bunch of eighth-grade girls are going to be able to do this with a straight face?”
“That accent!” said Olivia. “This is country music!”
“Definitely not a rock song,” said Tig.
“I’m not doing that,” said Claire. “That’s not even singing. It’s talking. I’d feel ridiculous.”
“Your granddad has some weird taste in music,” said Robbie.
“I thought the sixties were supposed to be full of great music,” said Tig. “What is this stuff he picked?”
“Apparently the British Invasion happened after your grandparents’ class graduated,” said Robbie. “But still . . . we’ve got to be able to find some better songs than these!”
The girls spent some time looking up music critics’ lists of the best songs of the early 1960s. Not finding much they liked, they widened their search to include the entire decade. Olivia liked one song that featured an electric piano. It also had a cool bass line, but Paris was worried she might not be able to master it in time because of the offbeat rhythm.
The next song they looked at was “For Your Love,” which seemed to have doable percussion, except for a crazy break that would require some serious practice. Then they selected the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout” and “I’m a Believer” by the Monkees, a group whose TV show Olivia and Tig remembered seeing old reruns of a few times.
“Is Paris going to be able to handle these? That’s three new songs by next month,” said Tig. She looked at Paris. “Not that I lack confidence in your abilities; I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Besides a little bit of guitar training, P’s got two things Kyra didn’t,” Robbie said. “A natural rhythm and the desire to go for it. I can show her the frets and come up with some simple arrangements. We’ll have to pare it down, of course—no walking, no fills, nothing fancy—just quarter notes on the beat. What do you think, Paris?”
“Sure,” she said.
The last song, which Robbie suggested for its straightforward bass line, was Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” It was from 1970, but they figured their audience at the class reunion would still like it.
“If we can make these four happen,” Tig said, “add them to the Stones song we’ve already got, plus ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ that’s six oldies songs we could play.”
“We could also do that Sex Pistols song,” said Robbie. “It’s seventies punk, but we know it.”
“Paris doesn’t,” Tig said. “That’s one more song to put on her.”
“I don’t mind,” said Paris. “I’m really enjoying learning the bass.”
“If you think so, it’s fine by me. Even though I doubt they’re punk fans, I guess that song’s slow enough that it wouldn’t kill any of the old people,” said Tig. “Good thing we won’t have to play for more than an hour, so I guess seven songs isn’t too bad. I say we do it.”
“Let’s get in one good practice before everyone has to leave,” said Robbie.
The girls went out to the studio and got to work.
Tig was amazed at how quickly Paris picked things up. The guitar lessons she’d taken in elementary school had not been wasted.
It was amazing how much more the band could accomplish when all the members were dedicated. Tig could hardly stand the excitement. Sure, it was a bunch of grandparents, but it was a real show with a real—albeit short—set list. And real money! They were actually going to get paid for playing music!
Tig was so happy, she almost stopped worrying about the problem with Kyra.
Almost.