Page 36 of Resurrection
"You volunteering?" I asked with a challenge in my voice.
He pretended to think it over. "Depends," he said, "on what the pay is."
"Volunteering doesn’t pay."
"Wait, so you’re telling me all these things you do are for free?"
I rolled my eyes. "Obviously. It wouldn’t be called volunteering otherwise. Besides, we can’t legally work yet. Not until next year, anyway."
He smiled, and I felt a rush of something bright and new. Something that had started the moment I saw him in our living room and was getting bigger every day.
It had no name yet, but I knew it would bring me trouble.
No. Trouble with blue eyes and messy hair was on my doorstep already.
11NAOMI
The community centerrehearsal room smells like teenage dreams with a hint of body spray. I'm getting dizzy from the drums, the guitars, and the neon pants that scream anything but rock and roll that these kids calling themselves Phoenix Down are wearing.
I told myself I’d steer clear of bands altogether, especially high school ones. They're all hype and no harmony. Yet here I am, caught in the whirlpool of this talent-show-prep madness. And at times, my volunteer badge feels more like a ball and chain around my neck. Not because I don’t enjoy chaperoning teenagers, but because it brings back the old memories of my own high school days, the days I watched Tyler Brady—full of ambition and ready to leave everything behind to chase his own dreams—slowly become what he is now.
This town seemed too small for him then just like it seems too small for him in the present.
"What do you think, Ms. Medina?" Kenny, the scrawny bleached-haired lead singer, shouts from the stage as the song comes to an end.
I glance at my scribbles on my clipboard about their stage presence—not that I have any right to tell these kids what to do—and give them an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
"You think we’re ready for Battle of the Bands, Ms. Medina?" Kenny’s twin brother, Jamie, asks. He plucks some of his bass guitar strings like the showoff he is.
"I’d say the probability is high."
All four of them, including the drummer, Miranda, and her guitarist boyfriend, Asher, grin at me and exchange high-fives.
While they’re sharing the excitement, I check my phone.
I don’t know what possessed me to invite Tyler the other day. Maybe a part of me was trying to prove him wrong, to sabotage him completely, to let him see that he never does what he says he will. He promised he'd come by, but I'm not sure about him actually showing up. With Tyler Brady, you never know. He has this stupid habit of disappearing on you.
The digital clock on my phone tells me he’s fifteen minutes late.
"Ms. Medina, do you think it’ll be better if we play that last part a little faster?" Miranda shouts over the chaos.
"I’d say we need to hear it again before we decide," I supply. "Why don’t we do another take and see?"
These kids are so full of energy, it’s almost painful. They don’t care about my authority. They shouldn’t. I’m just here to ensure they don’t drink, smoke, or damage school property. With the exception of Asher, they’re all good kids from good families. Asher’s parents have never been interested in his extracurricular activities. He also had a couple of run-ins with some shady neighborhood kids, but the band seems to have given him some direction. Plus, Miranda is very supportive.
I check my phone again, feeling like the nerdy chaperone at a cool-kid party while they play the Paramore cover they’ve been rehearsing all afternoon.
"All right, Phoenix Down!" I say, clapping my hands to get their attention once the song ends. "Looking good. Let’s talk a little about stage presence and timing."
They all stop and stare, their instruments hanging awkwardly. And I feel like an alien life form they haven’t decided to accept yet.
"The key is to look like you know what you’re doing," I continue, pacing in front of them. "No one else has to know that you’re making it up as you go." I glance at the wall clock. "The talent show is very soon, and we can only meet up to practice twice a week. That’s why we need to make every second count." I pause, taking a deep breath. "And someone tell me, please, what the heck is a Phoenix Down? I’ve always wondered."
They all start explaining it to me simultaneously, talking over each other.
Miranda jumps up from her drum throne, her black hair falling into her eyes. "It’s a video game thing."
"It was anime first," Asher pipes up.
