Free Lemonade Mouth by Mark Peter Hughes Page B

that was expanding on the tablecloth. “It’s not the end of the world. Just wipe yourself off!”
    I clamped my mouth shut. Formerly easygoing, my maternal forebear had lately become the Queen of Stress.
    Before long the step-monkeys were fooling around again and Clea’s narrative had picked up right where it had left off. I once again found myself on my own, with the choice of watching the step-monkeys try to knock each other off their seats, listening to a seemingly endless story I couldn’t follow or watching my mom and Leonard devour their cuisine of cruelty.
    With this family, was it any wonder I’d hacked off my hair?
    As Mom nodded in time to Clea’s droning voice and Leonard stuffed his face, my thoughts crept back to the conversation with Mrs. Reznik.
    Revolutionary. That was how the old lady described the music those kids and I had made in detention. It was a ridiculous word to use, of course. It was just a stupid commercial played on weird instruments. But still, the word had been turning around in my head all day. And even though at first I’d been appalled by the thought of doing the talent show, I now found myself toying with the idea. After all, playing that dumb song had probably been the most fun I’d had since arriving in this godforsaken part of the country. And it wasn’t as if I had anything else to look forward to in my life at the moment.
    Eventually, Clea put her monologue on pause so she could go to the bathroom. After a minute or so of silence my mother said, “What about you, Stella? Anything special going on at school?”
    I was surprised at the question. It was the first time all week that my mom had expressed an interest in my life. But then again, I hardly ever saw her anymore now that she was busy being the big-shot biochemistry boss. Back in Arizona we used to do things together, just the two of us. We’d ride the Rio Salado bike path or go out to coffee and chat. Now everything was different. “Support me in this, Stella,” she’d said as we’d packed our bags. “The timing might not be ideal, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime, a chance for me to do something I really believe in.” But now that she’d dumped me into a new state and left me to fend for myself in an unfamiliar school, where was
her
support for
me?
    Just as I was about to open my mouth to answer the question, my mom’s cell went off. “Sorry,” she said, checking the screen, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “It’s the lab. I have to take this.” She put the receiver to her ear.
    It was while watching my mother listen to the phone that I had a revelation. I may have chopped back my locks, but there was still something very, very wrong with my life. And if anybody was going to fix it, it wasn’t my family. I was on my own.
    For some reason a question occurred to me:
What
would Sista Slash do?
Surely that outspoken crusader for human rights, personal dignity and self-reliance wouldn’t take this wholesale relegation to the backseat of life without a fight.
    And that’s when I made my decision.
    Revolutionary. It meant causing a shift or change in the status quo. And that was exactly what I needed right then.
    After my mom finally folded her phone shut I said, “Mother, in answer to your question, as a matter of fact there
is
something special going on at school. Or at least there’s about to be.” For dramatic effect, I speared an asparagus with my fork and brought it thoughtfully to my mouth.
    “And? So what is it?”
    Everybody was looking at me now. I let them wait. “I’m going to join a revolution.”
    My mom looked puzzled. Tim and Andy glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. After a long quiet moment, Leonard, his mouth still full of dead tuna, said, “Well, good for you, Stella.”
    I got the distinct impression that they all thought I was nuts. But just as I was about to explain about the band, Clea appeared at her chair again. Even before she sat down she plunged right