We race across town to a part of the city called Leslieville. The big film-industry soundstages are down there. I got a tour of one in September with one of my classes. We park at Industrial Arts Studios between two white SUVs. There must have been a special on this month. “Have you figured out what you’re going to say?” AmberLea asks.
I groan. Aiden Tween is my only chance to save Bunny, and I’ve been too busy cursing the SPCA to think of what to say. “Well, I thought I’d…tell…uh, no.”
“Leave it to me.” She slams her door.
AT and Sumo are in a sleek Airstream trailer parked at one side of the giant soundstage. Other people are leaving, striding off into the dimness. On the practice stage, dancers are running a routine under the lights. A bass line thunders. The trailer door is still open. As we reach the steps, I hear Sumo say, “You’re sure about this? It’s not your—”
“Mah fans would freak if we cancel,” AT says. “Remember Berlin? They’ll have it covered. Besides, this is the right thing to do. It’s mah risk.”
“Our risk.”
AmberLea shoves me up the steps. The talking stops. They’re sitting in a mini-living room. Sumo is still in black. AT is in shimmery cargo pants, a skyblue bomber jacket and a wooly blue-and-yellow hat with earflaps I’ve seen before, plus the gloves AmberLea gave him. Sumo gives us a Transylvanian Death Glare. “Talk to us.”
AmberLea starts pitching. “So. You know Pianvia is trending. Get in now. They’ve banned music there, right? FREE THE MUSIC is your slogan, and we’ve got the way to do it: a world premiere for your concert tomorrow, a national anthem for a free Pianvia by its most famous composer. Written sixty years ago and never been heard. Banned, then lost, and now we’ve got the only copy. Sing it tomorrow night—new song, new year, new Pianvia. Get a film crew on it, and AT will own Pianvia, which I’ve got to tell you is hot in our age group right now. All you—”
“Perfect, we’ll do it,” says Sumo.
“What?” AmberLea is startled. I think she was just warming up.
“I said, we’ll do it.”
“Oh. Great!”
“Where’s the music?”
I hand over the calendar. “Nice,” says AT.
“Consider it yours,” says AmberLea. She shows him the music.
From looking like you or me with two piercings and a five-hundred-dollar haircut under a stupid hat, Aiden Tween somehow sharpens into a different person as he scans the music. Quietly he begins singing, “Ba da be bum, dum dee doo, Ba da be bum boo…” Say what you want about his music, the guy can sing.
“AT has perfect pitch,” says Sumo. “Sings and plays anything on sight.”
Aiden Tween stops singing. “I like it. It sounds familiar already, you know? I’ll want to take it up a tone.” He sings a bit in a higher register, then says, “Let’s do it. We’ll definitely do it.” He smiles for the first time.
“Really?” I feel myself go weak with relief. Bunny’s going to make it.
“We’ll get Jim to do an arrangement,” says Sumo. “Those the words? How are we going to get them translated?”
“I’ve got a number right here.” My fingers are trembling as I pull out my phone.
“No arrangement,” says AT. “I’m gonna do it a capella. Just me, single white spot. Get me one a’ their flags. Do their flags look good? That’s a killer tune. We could have a hit with that tune. Man, I’d do it even if those—”
“Great, Aiden,” says Sumo. “Okay,” he says to AmberLea. “FREE THE MUSIC, but not free music. This is a business. What’s your angle?”
AmberLea starts talking again. I stop listening and make my way out of the trailer. Bunny’s going to make it.