“If my dad could see me right now he’d freak,” Carina said, settling into her seat across from Hudson and pulling a warm chocolate-chip cookie from a brown Zaro’s bag. “But this definitely beats reading Macbeth all day.”
“When was the last time we were on a train together?” Lizzie said, taking her battered copy of Nine Stories out of her purse.
“Sixth-grade field trip to D.C.,” Hudson said. “Remember when Eli threw up in the club car?”
They burst out laughing as a bell sounded and the doors shut. They’d chosen a group of four seats that faced one another in the back of the train, and Carina propped her Chuck Taylors up on the cracked Naugahyde seat next to Hudson.
“Yeah, I remember,” Carina said. “Some of it got on my foot.”
“Ugh!” Lizzie yelled.
The train lurched forward, and soon they were rolling along through a dark tunnel. Hudson still couldn’t believe what they were doing, but being with her friends made her less anxious.
“Thanks so much for coming with me, you guys,” Hudson said. “Who knew that doing karaoke at a bar mitzvah could be so eventful?”
“What’d you sing?” Lizzie asked, putting her book away.
“ ‘Poker Face,’ ” Hudson said. “But it was a duet. With Hillary.”
Carina crumpled the brown bag. “Hillary?” she asked. “Your stalker Hillary?”
“She’s not my stalker,” Hudson said.
“Are you guys becoming friends now?” Lizzie asked warily, looking over the top of her book.
“She asked me to go and I went,” Hudson said. “She’s a little weird, but she’s actually really cool.”
“No one with that kind of backpack can be cool,” Carina said.
“Be nice, C,” Lizzie said, nudging her in the arm.
Suddenly the train shot out of the tunnel and into sunlight. Hudson looked out through the smudged window. They were on a track above Park Avenue, passing through Harlem. The cloudless sky glowed a deep cornflower blue, and sun glinted off the windshields of parked cars below. She’d never seen the city from this angle before.
“Wait,” Lizzie said, pulling one unruly curl behind her ear. A moment later, it sprang back again. “Do the guys in the band know about your mom?”
“It never came up. And as long as they don’t ask, I’m not telling them.”
“But don’t you think they’ll find out?” Carina asked. “You’re in the tabloids, like, once a month.”
“These guys don’t read US Weekly,” Hudson said. “They’re into jazz and the Discovery Channel.”
“But you don’t have to be looking for info,” Carina said. “All they have to do is see a photo of you somewhere—”
“And then I’ll tell them,” Hudson interrupted. “It’s not the end of the world if they find out. But right now, it feels good to just be… nobody.”
“And you’re definitely not telling your mom,” Lizzie prompted.
“No.” Hudson played with her cowl-neck collar. “She’d never understand why I’d choose a high school band in the suburbs over Madison Square Garden.”
“Is this guy at least cute?” Carina asked. “What does he look like?”
“Curly hair. Tall. Skinny. He’s really nice.”
“Sounds like a dork.”
“He’s not a dork,” Hudson said.
“And there’s nothing wrong with a dork,” Lizzie said. “Todd’s kind of a dork.”
“Todd is definitely not a dork,” Hudson replied. “And how’s Alex?”
“Oh, I found out his birthday,” Carina said. “It’s September twenty-fourth.”
“A Libra,” Hudson said approvingly. “That’s just what we want. His air balances out your fire.”
“I wish you could figure out if he’s compatible with my dad,” said Carina. “Alex is supposed to come over for dinner next week. And something tells me they’re not gonna bond over music and subtitled movies.”
“Don’t even expect it to go well,” Lizzie put in. “Todd’s polite, he’s a writer, he calls people ‘sir,’ and my dad still doesn’t know his name. He calls him Brad. It’s like he’s mentally blocked him out or something.”
“It’s so funny; I think my mom would love for me to go out with someone,” Hudson said, yawning. “That way she could tell me how to do that, too.”
Lizzie and Carina laughed.
As they crossed the bridge into the Bronx, Hudson felt herself start to get drowsy from the gentle rocking of the train. A short time later, Hudson felt Lizzie’s foot nudge her leg. She opened her eyes to see bare trees and power lines and a church steeple whizzing past the window. “I think we’re the next stop,” Lizzie said, as Carina rubbed her eyes.
The train began to slow down, and they passed a white sign that said LARCHMONT in big black letters. A few moments later they screeched to a stop. “Let’s go,” Hudson said, getting to her feet. The doors opened and they stepped out onto the platform as a gust of wind seeped in underneath her cape. “Hillary gave me directions. She said it’s a quick walk.”
“Uh, no,” Carina said, heading for the line of black cabs waiting by the platform. “This may be the suburbs, but we’re still taking a cab.”
They got into a cab, gave the driver the address, and pulled out of the train station parking lot. Soon they turned onto a picturesque main street with an old-fashioned movie theater and a barbershop.
“This place is so cute,” Hudson said. “Can you imagine living up here?”
“It’s too quiet,” Carina said bluntly.
“Our lives would be so different,” Lizzie said. “We’d have to learn how to drive. And go to a school with a football team. And there would be cheerleaders.”
“Cheerleaders,” Hudson said, trying to picture it. “Do you ever think that we’re gonna end up total weirdos, growing up in the city? Not driving, not going to football games and stuff like that?”
“I think if we end up total weirdos, it’s gonna be for other reasons,” Lizzie said.
They turned off the main street onto a rural road. “So I hope this isn’t Silver Snowflake Ball, the Sequel,” said Hudson.
“But do you know if this band is any good?” Lizzie asked. “You’re so talented, H. It’d be good to know if they’re up to your standards.”
“You sound a little like my mom,” Hudson said.
“No, seriously,” Carina said. “How do we know that these guys even know how to play music?”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Hudson said.
They passed several three-story homes, Victorians mostly, until they turned into a gravel drive. The half-melted remains of a snowman stood frozen on the front lawn. Beyond it was a Victorian shingle house. It looked old and friendly. A gray Ford Windstar was parked in the driveway. A few bikes lay on their sides in the snow.
They paid the driver and walked up the steps to the house. “Can you imagine having a front lawn?” Carina asked in a whisper as Hudson rang the doorbell.
“You have, like, three of them,” Lizzie said.
“I mean, all the time,” Carina said.
Hillary opened the front door. She wore jeans and a surprisingly muted navy blue sweater. It was the first time Hudson had ever seen Hillary in pants. And in a sweater that wasn’t a blindingly bright color.
“Oh, hey,” Hillary said, blinking her yellow-green eyes. “I didn’t know you all were coming.”
“I asked them to come for moral support,” Hudson said. “You know Lizzie and Carina. You guys remember Hillary.”
As they stepped into the house there were murmured greetings.
“Everyone’s downstairs in the basement,” Hillary said, leading them past a bench covered in coats and scarves and mittens. Hudson heard the whirring, tumbling sound of a dryer in the distance and, upstairs, the muffled blare of a TV. Hillary pulled Hudson aside. “Logan and I have been talking this whole time,” she whispered excitedly into her ear.
“That’s great!” Hudson said encouragingly.
“I really feel like he’s this close to asking me out,” Hillary said excitedly. “Should I have a date planned or should I leave it up to him?”
“I think we should just leave it up to him,” Hudson said. “And by the way, you look really nice.”
“Thanks. Do you guys want something to eat?” Hillary asked her friends in a louder voice.
“Sure,” Carina said, going straight to the fridge and opening it. “Are these enchiladas?” she asked, taking a Tupperware container from the fridge. “Score.”
“C, put that back,” Lizzie said.
“No, she can have some,” said a voice, and Hudson turned to see Ben walk into the kitchen. At first Hudson barely recognized him. He looked so different than he had the day before. Then Hudson realized that he was wearing clothes that fit: dark jeans, a black T-shirt that read STOP THE ROBOTS, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that were a little too square-shaped to be cool. “Hey, Hudson,” he said shyly. “Nice… cape.”
“Hey, Ben,” Hudson said. “These are my friends Carina and Lizzie. They came with me for… well, because they’d never seen Larchmont.” She quickly unpinned her cape and took it off.
“Oh, hey,” Ben said, awkwardly shaking their hands. “Nice to meet you.”
Hudson watched Carina and Lizzie size him up. Lizzie was always polite, but sometimes Carina could take her time. “Nice to meet you, too,” Lizzie said.
“You sure I can eat these?” Carina asked, popping the lid off the Tupperware.
“Oh, sure. My mom would be flattered. Does anyone want something to drink?” he asked.
“Water would be great,” Hudson said. She tried to imagine her mom making enchiladas—at least, with real cheese. It was impossible.
“So, lemme ask you something, Ben,” Carina said, folding her arms and walking away from the Tupperware. “What exactly are your plans for this band?” She sounded just like she had the day they’d barged into Andrea Sidwell’s photo studio to find out about Lizzie’s modeling opportunities.
“My friends are a little protective,” Hudson explained.
“No, I get it,” Ben said, going straight to the sink to get Hudson a glass of water. “I saw you sing. You don’t want to be around a bunch of deadweights.” He grinned and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, we’re definitely not deadweights.”
“No, it’s not that,” Hudson said, feeling the heat in her face.
“I think, Marina—”
“It’s Ca -rina,” Carina interrupted.
“Carina, I love jazz,” he said. “Are you into jazz?”
“Uh, no,” Carina said decisively. “But Hudson here is. Actually, she’s got her own unique style. It’s like a cross between Nina…” Carina turned to Hudson. “Nina, who?”
“Nina Simone,” Hudson said. “Nina Simone and Abbey Lincoln. And a little bit of Julie London.”
“And Lady Gaga,” Ben said with a smile. “Let’s go down to the basement. That’s where we’re all set up. And you can see for yourself if we’re up to your standards.” As he made his way out of the kitchen he stumbled on a broom handle but caught himself.
Hudson saw Carina almost giggle. “Be nice,” she whispered.
“I am!” Carina whispered back.
Hillary tagged along. “Logan looks really cute today,” she whispered to Hudson. “And we talked for, like, three whole minutes.”
“Then I’m sure he’s really into you, Hil,” Hudson said.
Hillary wrinkled her nose. “You sure I look okay? Do you think I look too boring?” she asked, yanking on her sweater.
“I think you look perfect,” Hudson said, making Hillary beam. “Very agnès b.”
“Who’s agnès b.?” Hillary asked.
“Oh, just… no one,” Hudson said, knowing that Hillary probably wouldn’t have heard of the super-influential French designer from the eighties. “So, have you guys picked a name?” Hudson asked Ben as she followed him down a back hallway.
“Right now we’re the Stone Cold Freaks,” Ben said. “But that’s just temporary.”
Thank God, Hudson thought. Hudson and Carina and Lizzie all flashed looks at one another.
“And I have to tell you, the other guys aren’t mad,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “but they’re a little weirded out. They knew we needed someone on piano, but they didn’t know we were gonna have a lead singer. I spoke a little too soon.”
Hudson cast a worried look at her friends.
“But don’t worry. Let’s just play one of your songs,” he said, pushing up his glasses again. “And if it’s as good as Hillary says, then great.”
“No problem,” she said cheerfully. So this was going to be more like an audition after all. In that case, she was extra glad she’d brought her friends.
Then Ben opened the door to the basement stairs, and she heard the music. Or at least what sounded like music. Someone was pounding mercilessly on the drums while a saxophone whined and warbled over the beat. Hudson knew that this was supposed to be the kind of hectic, free-form “coffee-shop jazz” that Hillary had referred to at the bar mitzvah. But this wasn’t even that. This was just noise.
“Yikes,” Lizzie said under her breath.
“Oh, God,” Carina whispered. “It’s this kind of jazz?”
“Just hold on, you guys,” Hudson said as they walked down the stairs behind Ben. But she felt something inside her deflate and sink to the ground. The Stone Cold Freaks definitely weren’t the studio band she’d used to record her album.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked into the basement, which had been converted into an old-fashioned rec room. There was a Ping-Pong table, a refrigerator, an upright piano, and a brown and pink plaid sofa that faced an old-fashioned wall-unit TV. Brown acoustic paneling covered the walls. And in the corner were the other Stone Cold Freaks—Logan sitting in a plastic folding chair, playing his sax, and behind him a freckled boy with bright red hair pounding his drum kit. Hudson almost had to plug her ears.
“Hey guys, Hudson’s here,” Ben said, waving at the two of them to stop. “Hudson, you know Logan. And this is Gordie,” he said, waving to the redheaded guy on drums. “These are Hudson’s friends Marina and—”
“Lizzie,” Lizzie said.
“And it’s Ca -rina,” Carina said.
“Hi, guys,” Hudson said, waving.
Ben turned to face her. “Wait. What’d you say your last name was?”
Hudson thought fast. Jones couldn’t be a more common last name, and from what Hillary had said about Ben and his friends, they probably wouldn’t make the Holla connection if she just told the truth. “Jones,” she said.
“Hudson Jones,” Ben said, oblivious. “So, guys, Hudson writes her own stuff. Right, Hudson?”
“I do,” she said, feeling her heart start to race. What if they didn’t like her music? She noticed Logan looking at her with a very different expression than yesterday; he seemed to be scowling.
Ben pointed to the upright piano. “Go ahead,” he said. “Do one of your songs and we’ll join in.”
Hudson glanced at her friends. This was definitely an audition. Carina gave her a small thumbs-up as she sat down on the couch. Lizzie winked at her. “Okay,” Hudson said, swallowing.
I can do this, she thought as she sat down on the creaky old piano bench. She touched one of the keys. The piano was horribly out of tune.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Ben said. “Just go for it.”
Hudson looked down at the keys. Her heart was beating in her chest like she was about to run a marathon. This wasn’t like jumping onstage with Hillary and singing a silly karaoke song. This was real. This was supposed to be good. And on top of that, she could practically feel Logan’s scowl burning into her back. I am going to make this guy like my music, she thought. No matter what.
“Okay, this is a song called ‘Heartbeat,’ ” she said. Her fingers found the familiar chords on the piano. Go ahead, she thought. Just sing the first line. That’s all you need to do.
Her voice wavered at first. She hadn’t tried to sing this song since the Silver Snowflake Ball. For a second she was back there, onstage, in front of all those people, knowing that her mom was just a few feet behind her in the wings, watching…
And then she remembered: Nobody knows who I am. Something inside of her swung open, like a gate being unlocked. She sang the first two lines.
I love the way you talk to me on the line
I love the way you tell me that you’re mine
Before she knew it she was singing it the way she had the day she’d written it, slowly and passionately and smokily, letting her voice wrap around each syllable.
And then Ben started to play his bass—thump a thump a thump a thump—setting the perfect rhythm. He was good. She could tell right away.
Then Gordie started on drums, nothing too hard or distracting, just following Ben’s lead.
Then, at the bridge, Logan blasted his sax, making Hudson jump. It was way too loud, and all over the place, like a manic foghorn.
When she was done, she sat and faced the keys for a moment, letting herself settle. Finishing a song was always a little like coming out of a trance—time would jump forward again and she’d suddenly become aware of her surroundings. The room was eerily quiet. That usually meant one of two things: People either loved the song or they hated it.
She turned around. Gordie sat with one hand still touching a cymbal, faintly smiling. Ben rested his bass on the floor and was blinking busily behind his glasses, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down. Even Logan looked semi-impressed as he cradled his sax. Carina and Lizzie sat on the couch, clutching each other’s hands. Even Hillary, standing against the wall, seemed to be moved.
“Did you really write that?” Ben finally asked.
“She totally did,” Carina asserted from her spot on the couch.
“Wow,” Ben said. “Can you give us a minute?” He glanced at his bandmates.
“Sure.” Hudson practically leaped to her feet. “We’ll just go upstairs.”
Hudson took the stairs two at a time, with Hillary, Lizzie, and Carina behind her. “I knew it!” Hillary said when they got upstairs. “You blew them away!”
“Really?” Hudson asked.
“You crushed it!” Carina said, hugging Hudson.
“That was incredible,” Lizzie said. “I got chills.”
“They’re totally going to want you,” Hillary said.
“You think so?” Hudson asked.
Hillary nodded.
For the first time, Hudson realized that she didn’t just want to be the lead singer of the Stone Cold Freaks. She needed to be.
Just then she heard the creak of Ben’s feet on the stairs. “Hudson?” he called out. “Can you come down here?”
Hudson and Hillary exchanged a worried look. “Just go,” Hillary said, swatting her on the arm.
Hudson walked back down the stairs. The Stone Cold Freaks had assembled themselves on the plaid couch. Gordie was smiling, but Logan’s eyes were on the muted TV.
“So,” Ben began, grinning, “can you come up for rehearsal on Wednesday? Around four thirty?”
“Really?” she cried, hopping up and down. “Yes, I definitely can!”
“Okay then,” Ben said. He stood up and held out his hand. “Welcome to the Stone Cold Freaks.”
She shook his hand, said good-bye, and then walked back up to the kitchen, not even feeling the stairs underneath her feet. She’d sung that song in front of total strangers, and they’d loved it. They’d loved it so much they’d asked her—for real, this time—to front their band.
She said good-bye to Hillary, and thanked her for everything, and then she and Lizzie and Carina walked out to the gravel driveway in the freezing cold, where they waited for the cab they’d called.
“You did it!” Carina squealed. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know why, but I’m more psyched about this than I was about my album,” Hudson said. “Isn’t that weird?”
“Maybe this is what you were supposed to do all along,” Lizzie said, as a bright green cab turned into the driveway. “Maybe this is going to be more fun than your album.”
“Maybe,” Hudson said. “But first I really need to change their name.”