Lemonade Mouth Puckers Up (9 page)

Dear Ted
,

Happy Independence Day, Daddy! Just a quick note to let you know I’m thinking of you, and that Brenda and the cats and I are all doing fine. Got your letter. I think it’s great that they’re letting you help out in the prison library now. And no, I haven’t read
Fahrenheit 451
yet, but I reserved it at the library, so I’ll let you know what I think after it comes in. I’m warning you, though: you were always more into the dystopian thing than I ever was—all that darkness and broken futuristic government stuff. Kind of depressing, don’t you think? Still, I promise to give it a chance
.

You asked about our recording sessions—we finished the first three songs and everybody seems excited. On Thursday Mr. Decker brought two executives from Apollo Records to the studio. It was weird having guys in suits watching us record, but I guess that’s how it is when you’re working with a real label. I wish I could send you the draft mixes so you can hear them, but Mr. Decker says it’s not allowed. As soon as I can, I will
.

Well, that’s it for now. I’m heading to the beach
to meet Wen, Mo and Charlie for a Fourth of July breakfast. I’m in charge of bringing the juice
.

Your daughter in freshly squeezed readiness
,

Olivia

P.S
.

It’s an hour later and my hands are shaking
.

I’m too stunned to leave the house
.

I don’t know what to do or who to talk to, but an earthquake just happened in my life and I have to tell somebody about it or I’m going to burst. Maybe setting down my thoughts here will help me clarify my feelings, or at least calm me down a little. Other than Brenda (who isn’t here right now, which is a good thing because I’m going to need some time before I’m ready to talk with her about this), you’re the only other person in the world who can really understand
.

Prepare yourself. This is going to come as much of a shock to you as it did to me
.

So, I was leaving the house with this letter already sealed in an envelope when I noticed that Brenda and I must have forgotten to bring in the mail from yesterday. I grabbed the small stack, carrying it back inside to the kitchen. If I’d just left
it on the counter and headed out without looking through it, I’d be on the beach with my friends now, still thinking today would be a normal day. But I didn’t. I looked through the letters. There was an electric bill, a phone bill, a couple of flyers from stores with summer sales, but what caught my eye was a single white envelope with my name neatly written in pink script. Something about the handwriting made me stop and pick it up. I didn’t realize what it was at the time. It seems weird to say it, but the penmanship looked strangely familiar, almost like I’d written it myself
.

I think I already suspected who it was from
.

I opened the letter. After I read the first few words my knees went weak and I had to sit down. I must have reread it a dozen times now, but the numb feeling still hasn’t gone away. The letter isn’t long, so I’m going to write it all out for you, word for word, so you’ll understand:

Jess Russo, July 1

Dear Olivia
,

I doubt you remember me, but I sure remember you. It’s been a while, I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been much of a mother for you, but believe me, I had my reasons for leaving. Yesterday somebody showed me an online video of you and your band,
and it made me realize how much you’ve grown. Wow, kid. You’re practically an adult already. The last time I saw you, you were almost two, a chubby little potato in green overalls. It’s hard to believe how fast the years have gone by. Watching you, I was amazed at how much you look like my mother. Except for your eyes—those you definitely get from your dad
.

Anyway, I’m writing to tell you that in all these years there has never been a day when I didn’t think about my little girl. I just wanted you to know that
.

Love
,
Mom

There. Now you know too. There’s no return address, but the postmark is from Pittsfield, Massachusetts
.

So what am I supposed to think? Thirteen years of nothing and suddenly this, out of nowhere. Should I be happy? Should I be mad at her for dropping out of my life and then reappearing after all this time? I don’t know. Right now all I want to do is stuff the letter in the back of my sock drawer. I don’t want to think about it anymore, not until the fog in my head clears
.

Everything in my life seems to be changing and I have no idea how I should feel
.

“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.