11 Birthdays (12 page)

“What’s
about to start?” But he’s already ducked back in. Inside I find the last thing I expected to see — a group of twenty or so white-haired people clapping for Leo, who is stepping up onto a small wooden stage. The steps creak under him and he has to reach up to pull out the microphone from the tall metal stand. My mouth goes dry. What is he
doing?

Hands visibly shaking, he pulls a piece of paper out of his back pocket and unfolds it. He leans into the mike and says, “I wrote this last year, after I said some not very nice things that hurt a friend of mine.”

“Louder!” an old man in the back row yells, twisting a hearing aid in his ear.

Leo quickly moves the mike closer to his face. It bonks him on the mouth and squeaks loudly through the speaker on the wall. “Sorry!” Leo says as the audience cringes.

I sink down into a rickety folding chair, finally noticing the large poster on the wall behind him announcing
OPEN MIKE POETRY READING EVERY FRIDAY MORNING.
In a voice that gets steadily stronger, Leo recites a few lines about friendship and birthdays and I think it rhymes but I’m too stunned to follow it.

When he’s finished the audience claps politely. I realize I’ve been holding my breath since he started. Leo awkwardly sticks the mike back on the stand, making the audience grimace again as it squeals. He hurries off the stage, grasping his paper tight in his hand. I jump up and we meet in the back of the room as the next poet slowly makes her way up the stairs.

As soon as we get outside I say, “Wow, I can’t believe you did that!”

He reddens. “Like in a good way or a bad way?”

“A really good way. You were so brave. That poem was about me, right?”

“What? No, of course not. It was about some other friend who I said something mean about on our birthday.”

We both laugh. “But I thought you don’t read your poetry in front of people?”

“I don’t,” he says. “I mean, I haven’t before. But that’s what today’s all about, right?”

“If you say so.”

“I’m glad you feel that way because the next stop is all about you!”

“About me?”

Instead of answering, he hands me the folded poem. “You keep this,” he says. “As a souvenir of our day.”

I’m tempted to read it now since I missed half of it before, but I don’t want him to know that. I push the poem deep into my pocket and ask, “How’d you find out about the reading anyway?”

He hops on his scooter and winks. “I have my ways. Now c’mon, let’s go eat.”

I follow for about ten minutes until we get to the park. Leo pulls up to a vender selling hot dogs and sodas. He’s already paid for all of them before I can even pull my helmet off. “Happy birthday,” Leo says, clinking his Coke can against mine.

“Happy birthday,” I reply, clinking back. A few men and women in business clothes turn to look, and one or two give us second glances, but no one bothers us. Good thing my mom doesn’t work in town. She’d freak out if she saw us here.

As I take a bite of my hot dog, I think of Tracy and how against eating meat she is and how she never tells anyone else not to, and how Emma had brought in that cupcake for me and I won’t even be there to eat it. They’ve been really good friends to me this year, and I’ve been so caught up in my own stuff that I’ve sort of ignored them. Suddenly I’m not very hungry anymore. I pass the hot dog over to Leo, who happily gobbles it up in four bites. He hasn’t stopped smiling since his poetry reading. I guess that’s what it feels like to do something you’re scared of.

After tossing his crumbs to the ducks in the pond, we set off again, this time toward a part of town with a lot of shops. It’s getting more crowded on the sidewalks now, so
we walk our scooters instead of riding them. We pass shop after shop, including the toy store with its display window full of the cutest stuffed pandas I’ve ever seen. I press my face against the glass. Leo doubles back and clears his throat impatiently.

“Okay, okay,” I say, hurrying past the window, “maybe girls do have a thing for stuffed animals after all.”

We stop a few stores later, and I look up at the sign. It’s the music store where my parents bought me my first drum set when I was eight. To my surprise Leo pushes open the door and bells jangle above his head. I follow him inside. A sign posted on the wall says
DRUMMER NEEDED FOR NEW BAND. AUDITION TODAY AT NOON.

Leo grins and points at the sign. I’m not sure what this has to do with us. “I don’t get it.”

Leo pushes me farther into the store. Displays with guitars, basses, drums, and violins fill most of the floor space. There’s not much room for our scooters, and the clerk behind the counter is watching us warily. Leo takes the scooters and parks them in a corner by a stack of flutes, knocking half of them over. We both scramble to pick them up before we make more of a spectacle of ourselves.

“Leo,” I whisper loudly as we’re on our knees. “Seriously, what are we doing here?”

He sits up. “You’re going to audition to be a drummer in a rock band.”

I get to my feet and he follows. I stick my finger in my ear, pretending to clean wax out of it. “I’m sorry, I’m going to do what now?”

He turns me toward a narrow staircase. “They have a soundproof room downstairs. We are going down there together, and you’re gonna bang those drums with all you got.”

I dig my heels into the carpet. “Oh no, I’m not. You know I’ve never played in front of anyone.”

“I never read my poetry in front of anyone before today, either,” he argues, “and I survived.”

“But this is different.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s me!”

Leo rolls his eyes.

A skinny guy with long blond hair pushes the door open. “Dude, they were tough,” he says to no one in particular. “They said to send the next guy down.”

“You goin’?” asks a deep voice behind us. “’Cause you’re blocking the stairs.”

“We’re going.” Leo grabs my arm and practically tosses me down the stairs. At the bottom I find myself facing two guys in their twenties sitting cross-legged on the floor. They’re both wearing faded jeans, sandals, and black T-shirts with the words
BORN TO ROCK
on them. It takes a few seconds for my brain to register that they’re identical twins.

They look up at us with identical expressions of expectation and surprise. The one closest to us asks, “You kids lost? The ice-cream shop is next door.”

The other chuckles. “Good one, Larry.”

“Thanks, Laurence.”

Leo clears his throat. “Um, you’re both named Larry?”

They shake their heads. The one who spoke first points to his brother. “He’s Laurence. Totally different name.”

“Our parents had a good sense of humor,” Laurence adds.

Leo nods. “They must have.”

Larry looks directly at me when he asks Leo, “Doesn’t your friend here talk?” I shrink back a bit.

Leo pretends not to have heard him and asks, “Are you the guys looking for a drummer?”

In response, Larry gestures across the room to a drum set. “Hey, you kids gonna interview us for your school paper or something? ’Cause if that’s the case, we’ve got a lotta people to see today.”

Leo shakes his head. “You can stop looking because I have your new drummer right here.”

The Larrys look around. “Where?”

“Right here,” Leo says, pointing to me. I try to duck behind him, but he steps out of the way. I give a halfhearted wave.

The Larrys look amused. “So, you’re our new drummer? How long you been playing?”

For some reason I still can’t talk.

“Since our second birthday,” Leo boasts.

“You remember our second birthday?” I ask, finally finding my voice.

“I remember all our birthdays,” he replies.

“She speaks!” Larry says, clapping his hands together.

“Hey, so you guys are twins, too?” Laurence says. “Cool!”

“No, we just have the same birthday,” Leo explains.

“So you’re twins!” Larry declares. “We gotta let a fellow twin audition.”

I open my mouth to explain that we’re really not twins, but Leo elbows me in the ribs. “Yup, we’re twins all right. Sis here is older by two minutes.”

“And I bet she holds it over you every chance she gets,” Larry says, nodding knowingly.

“She sure does,” Leo agrees, giving Larry a high five.

“Oh, brother,” I mutter.

“Come on then, let’s hear it,” Laurence says, handing me a pair of drumsticks. It feels strange holding someone else’s drumsticks. Mine are worn in so my fingers automatically know where to go for perfect balance. I try handing them back, but Leo pushes me toward the drum set. “Remember,” he whispers, “no consequences.”

I sit down on the stool, feeling foolish. My foot doesn’t even reach the pedal for the bass drum. Larry comes over and lowers the stool while I glare at Leo.

I position the drumsticks in my hands, and I admit, it feels good to hold them.

“The traditional grip,” Larry says, nodding appreciatively. “Nice. Don’t see that much anymore.”

I KNEW I shouldn’t have learned how to play from Dad’s old books! I look over the drums. They’re much nicer than mine. More cymbals and a row of little drums that my set doesn’t have. I move my wrists around, watching the sticks move in circles in the air. Laurence glances at his watch. It’s like gymnastics tryouts all over again. But this time instead of my arms, it’s the sticks that are waving. I haven’t been able to play these last few days and a part of me really wants to let out all my energy, all my frustration, and just bang those drums. But the rest of me just twists the sticks in the air, stalling.

Leo is urging me on with his eyes. Any second, one of the Larrys is going to tell us we’re wasting their time. Now or never.
You can do this,
I tell myself. No consequences. Closing my eyes, I picture myself sitting alone in my basement playing. Almost of their own volition, my sticks move toward the snare drum. Inside my head I hear the familiar
one and a two and a three and a four.
My hands move from drum to drum, to high hat, to bass. I keep counting in my head. The sticks are heavier than mine, so it takes a few beats until I feel comfortable controlling them. The sounds the different drums make are deeper and fuller somehow, than mine. These are really excellent drums. My eyes are
open now and I’m banging away, like Leo said. I catch his eye and he’s grinning, slapping his hand against his leg along to the beat.

A few minutes later Larry comes over and rests his hand on the high hat, just a second before I’m about to hit it. I put the sticks down on my lap.

“You’re good, kid,” he says. “But we can’t take you on account that you ARE a kid. Wouldn’t be good for business, you understand.”

I nod and hop off the stool, half exhilarated, half glad it’s over. My arms are a little shaky as I hand him back the sticks.

“Thanks for coming in, though,” Laurence says. “Here, have this.” He tosses me what looks like a black ball. It turns out to be a rolled-up black T-shirt like the ones they’re wearing. He gives one to Leo, too. We hold them up to our chests. Leo’s might fit him in a year or so, but mine looks like it will be a nightgown for years to come.

“Thanks,” I tell the twins as they walk us to the stairs. “Thanks for letting me play. It was fun.” And it WAS fun. It really was.

“No problem. Come back in ten years. And send down the next guy. Or girl. Or whoever.”

We bound up the stairs two at a time and tell the guy who was waiting there before that he can go down. When we get outside, Leo says, “You were awesome! You were definitely born to rock!”

“And I have the T-shirt to prove it!”

“I know I pushed you into that, I mean, I know I actually had to
push
you, but seriously, you were really good.”

“It was fun. But no more pushing. I’m getting bruised!”

“Deal. And to celebrate, let’s go to the mall. You can buy anything you want, as long as it’s under ten dollars and you have a gift card for it!”

“I don’t know about the mall. We’ll be the only kids there, people are gonna notice.”

“Nah, they’ll just think our parents are in another store, or that school got out already. Let’s just go for a little while.”

“You want to go to the arcade, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he admits.

“All right, just for half an hour. I want to make sure I get home long before my dad wakes up.”

The Willow Falls mall is on the outskirts of town, near where the old apple grove used to be. By the time we get there my scooter’s down to one-quarter power. I hope we’ll have enough left to get us home. I wish we had thought to
get a lock for the scooters. Leo finds a big bush in the parking lot where we hide them as best as we can. We bring our helmets in with us. Unfortunately the arcade is at the other end from where we enter.

“Try to look casual,” Leo whispers.

So we stroll (casually) down the main hallway, sticking close to the storefronts so we don’t attract too much attention. Leo lazily swings his helmet. The mall is pretty empty and I start to relax. I’ve never been to the mall without one of my parents before. If I wasn’t so hyper from my audition, I’m sure I’d feel more nervous. I guess I’m just a drum-playing, mall-shopping kinda girl now!

We’re about to step on the escalator when a hand grips my shoulder. It’s too big by far to be Leo’s. I stop in my tracks and turn around. The hand belongs to a mall security guard and he has his other hand on Leo’s shoulder. The man looks older than my grandfather. For such an old guy, he has a surprisingly strong grip. Leo’s face has drained of its color. Just like that, the happiness I felt falls to the floor.

“You the Ellerby girl and the Fitzpatrick boy?” We nod, eyes wide. In a shaky voice, Leo asks, “How do you know our names?”

He relaxes his grip. “Let’s take a walk to the security office.”

I give Leo a worried look.

“Boy, oh boy,” says the officer. “I thought someone was playing a trick on me when I got a missing-kid call with those names. Ellerby and Fitzpatrick, sure! There was a time when that was all you’d hear in this town. But that ain’t been for decades.”

Leo and I exchange puzzled glances. Maybe this guy is getting senile. He’s not making any sense.