Frosting and Friendship (3 page)

Isn't it?

T
he doorbell rings right at seven. Mom is in her office on the phone, lining up houses to show to a client tomorrow. She's a real estate agent, so she works a lot. She loves her job, though—helping people find their dream homes.

I hurry to the door and find Zola there, holding her drumsticks. Dad has a drum set in his studio that he lets us use, but Zola likes to use her own
sticks. She says using someone else's drumsticks is like using someone else's toothbrush. Ew! Her parents bought her a drum set for Christmas last year, when she was one of the students selected to play drums for the school band. She's really good. When kids try out for the drums, the band teacher looks for kids who can pick up a rhythm really quickly, and Zola blew everyone away with her performance the first time she played.

“Hey, Lily,” she says.

“Hi, Zola. Come in. Abigail isn't here yet.”

Zola is one of the most popular girls at school. She is cute and fun and it seems like everything she does, she does well. Kind of like my sister. When Abigail and I asked her if she'd like to join our band, I was so nervous, but I shouldn't have been. She was really excited that we'd asked her, and happily said yes.

“I love your shoes,” I tell her. “I didn't know they made polka-dot ones.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking down at her purple sneakers. “I think they're kind of a new thing.” She looks over at my pink ones. “Dude, you should get yourself some.”

Zola says “dude” a lot. Maybe because she has three older brothers. I don't know, but I don't mind. I kind of like it.

I lean up against the staircase. “Do you think it's important to be really stylish when you're in a band? Like, are we supposed to dress up or something?”

She shrugs. “I don't want to dress up. I like being comfortable, don't you? Maybe we'll be known as that cool band with girls who wear awesome sneakers. Nothing wrong with that.”

I nod, because she's right. There's a knock at the door, which means Abigail's here. We say hello and head down to the basement. When Mom and Dad bought this house ten years ago, it was the soundproof studio Dad loved the most. And I have to say, it's pretty great knowing that when we shut the door, our noise—I mean, our music—won't bother anyone. Abigail goes to work hooking up her pretty red guitar to the amplifier. My dad's been really nice about letting us use his studio equipment. He has top-of-the-line equipment that he uses for his performances, but the stuff in his studio wasn't cheap either.

He spent an hour or so going over rules with us. Everything basically came down to this one: Do not break anything or you will be grounded for the rest of your life.

“Before we start playing, I really think we should come up with a name,” Abigail says, fishing a guitar pick out of her jeans pocket. She's been taking guitar lessons for about six months, and she's getting pretty good.

“I hate coming up with names,” I say, thinking about the Baking Bookworms and how my mind went blank and I couldn't even offer any other suggestions. “It's so hard. How do people do it? Where do you think the New Pirates got their name?”

“I don't know,” Zola says as she takes a seat behind the drum set. “It's an awesome name, if you ask me.”

“What about the Cherry Pickers?” Abigail asks. “I'd love something fun like that.”

“Um, I don't like cherries,” Zola says. “No offense.”

“Maybe we can stay away from food-related names?” I suggest. “They kind of make me nervous. Long story.”

“We could go with something like the Zombies or the Ninjas,” Zola says. “I'd rather be a ninja than a pirate any day.”

Abigail slips the guitar strap around her neck and strums. It's really loud, so she turns the volume down on the amp. “Nah. Too much like the Pirates. I want to be different from them.”

I look around the room, trying to think of something that's fun and unique. Something that feels like us. I keep looking at Zola's shoes, wondering if we could do something related to them. The Polka Dots is a cute name, but people would probably expect us to play polka music, and polka is about the last thing I want to play.

The Sneakers?

The Sneaker Dots?

The Dots?

“You guys,” I say, “what about something really simple? Like the Dots?”

“Hey, I like it,” Zola says. “Do you think it's too simple, though?”

Abigail smiles. “The Dots. No. It's easy to remember, and that's good.”

“Yeah, I like it too,” I say. “Here, let me try it out. Ladies and gentlemen, for this year's Spring Fling, I'm pleased to introduce to you a band that's as fun as their name—the Dots!”

Abigail and Zola clap and cheer. It makes me laugh.

After we calm down, I say, “So now that our name is settled, do you guys want to compete in the auditions coming up in a few weeks?”

“Yes,” they say at the exact same time.

“But shouldn't we perform an original song?” I ask.

Abigail pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of her back pocket. “Well, I've been working on something. We can try it out, if you want to.”

“Is it a cupcake song?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, it isn't. Lily, you are the one who got us into that mess, so I think you're the one who gets to work on a cupcake song.”

Zola looks at us like we are crazy. “Dudes, what are you talking about?”

“Lily promised the New Pirates that if we're chosen to play at the Spring Fling,” Abigail explains, “we'll play a cupcake song they'll love.”

“Don't forget the dance,” I say, cringing. “That was your idea, Abigail.”

“Sorry, Lily. If you write the song, I think it makes sense you come up with the dance too,” Abigail says.

“So what's the song called you've been working on?” Zola asks.

“ ‘Wishing.' Here, I'll play a little bit for you.”

Abigail puts the piece of paper on the music stand in front of her and then strums her guitar and starts to sing.

“I blew on the dandelion, and watched the wishes fly.

Some fell to the ground while others floated high.

Maybe life is hard sometimes, but that's just how it goes.

If we hope and if we wish, life might change, who knows.”

She stops playing. “That's all I've got. Sorry. I need to work on the chorus. Maybe you guys can help me?”

“Abigail, that's really good,” I say. “If we can finish it and then practice like crazy the next couple of weeks, we might have a chance at winning that audition.”

“Can you play it from the top?” Zola asks, which sounds so professional and like we're really a band.

That's when it hits me, and I want to squeal and jump around because I'm in a
real
band and we have a name and we might even have a song!

I'm so excited, but I tell myself to calm down because there is still a lot of work to do. Before we're able to get too far into the song, someone knocks on the studio door. I open the door just enough to peek out and see my mom standing there.

“Sorry to bother you,” she says. She's holding a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. “Isabel just called and I thought you might want to call her back before it gets too late. She said it was important, and she didn't have your cell number, so she called the house.”

“We're right in the middle of something,” I tell her as I take the piece of paper. “I'll have to wait and call her in a little while.”

Mom nods. “Well, if you girls want to take a break pretty soon, I bought some peanut-butter cookies at the store. They're really good.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I shut the door and go back to the band. Not just any band. My band—the Dots!

W
e manage to get some more lyrics written to our song, though it's still not finished. I sing while the girls play the instruments, and we don't sound half-bad. We don't sound great yet either, but that's to be expected with a brand-new song.

I ask the girls if we can take a break, so we go upstairs and Abigail and Zola munch on cookies at the kitchen table while I excuse myself for a minute
and take the phone into the living room.

“Isabel?” I say when she answers. “This is Lily.”

“Oh, thanks for calling me back. Your mom said your band is practicing tonight. That's so amazing you're in a band. What do you play?”

I take a seat on the sofa. “I don't play an instrument. I'm the lead singer. I should probably learn guitar at some point, but my parents have been paying for voice lessons, and lessons are pretty expensive.”

“Yeah. I bet. Hey, the reason I called is because Sophie's thirteenth birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. I want to have a surprise party for her.”

“Oh, wow, I love that idea,” I say. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Actually, there is. Our apartment isn't very big, so I was hoping you might be willing to have the party at your house. Do you think your mom would mind?”

“Oh, um, I don't think so.” I get up and walk toward Mom's office. “Let me ask her right now. When's her birthday?”

“It's March sixteenth, which is a Saturday, lucky
for us. You could have it in the afternoon or evening, whatever you think is best.”

“Okay. Can you hold on a second, Isabel?”

“Sure.”

I knock lightly on Mom's office door.

“Come in,” Mom calls out.

I cover the phone with the palm of my hand and go in. “Mom, Isabel wants to have a surprise party for Sophie. She's turning thirteen in a couple of weeks. Do you think we could have the party here?”

Mom smiles. “Oh, sweetie, I'd love to do that! Sophie has been such a good friend to you. What's the date? I'll check my calendar to make sure we're free.”

“March sixteenth.”

She clicks on her laptop, studies it for a second, and then says, “Yep. That'll be fine. Oh, how fun! I love surprise parties!”

I step out of her office and shut the door as I put the phone back to my ear. “Isabel? My mom said we could have the party here.”

“Perfect! We have a lot we need to talk about and so much to do, but I know you need to get back to your band. We'll need to meet up at least once this week
and get invitations made and buy some decorations and figure out food. Do you have time tomorrow?”

I'm thinking fast, trying to figure out how I can make this work. I have an essay for social studies I have to work on after school. “After dinner would probably be best. Where do you want to meet?”

“If your mom can bring you here, we can sit in the cupcake shop and eat cupcakes while we talk about the party.”

“Sounds good. I'll be there around seven.”

“Great. Thanks, Lily. See you then.”

I head back to the kitchen, where Abigail and Zola have finished off the cookies and are entertaining themselves by playing table hockey with a guitar pick.

“Sorry about that,” I tell them. “We can head back to the studio now and work on those song lyrics some more.”

Zola looks at her phone. “Actually, my dad is on his way to pick me up. He's going to be here any minute. I need to get my sticks from downstairs.”

“Should we set up another time to practice?” Abigail asks as she and Zola stand up. “What about tomorrow night?”

“Sorry. I can't,” I say. “I have something else I have to do.” Now I feel guilty about making plans with Isabel before checking with Abigail and Zola. “What about Wednesday?”

“Wednesday I have guitar lessons,” Abigail says.

“And Thursday night I have drum lessons,” Zola says.