I remember thinking: You know, Emme, there is a reason why you let Sophie do all the talking.

Ethan smiled politely at me.

“Hey!” a new voice called out. I ignored it. “Hey, Red!” I looked up to see two guys from class standing over us. “Got room at your table for two more?”

“Of course!” I said, grateful to be saved from further embarrassing myself in front of Ethan.

“I’m Jack, this is Ben.” Jack had a friendly smile on his face, a bigger build that suited him well, and a massive array of curls on his head.

Ben sat down across from him. That day, he had on a funky green and navy plaid newsboy cap that almost covered his dirty-blond hair. He was way more stylish than anybody I’d ever gone to school with.

Jack laughed. “So are you going to tell us your name, or are we going to stick with my nickname for you?”

“My nickname?”

“Yeah, Red. It suits you.” He pulled on a strand of my hair.

“Oh!” I tried to laugh it off, but my bright red hair has always made me so self-conscious. As Sophie likes to remind me, often, you can’t miss me in a room. “I’m Emme and this is Ethan.”

“Ethan!” Jack started nodding his head. “Ethan the chosen one. So did you want to kill North for calling you out in class?”

Ethan shrugged his shoulders.

Jack continued. “’Cause I wouldn’t have wanted the attention, I’ll tell you that much. From what I can tell, competition here is pretty fierce.”

“Please.” Ben sighed. “We are in music, so we need other people. No need to get the claws out … yet. Plus, I hear first year you get paired off for a bunch of assignments.” Ben slammed his hand on the table. “That’s it! Right here. We should form a band!”

“I like where this is going.” Jack rubbed his hands together. “This is more like it. A brotherhood — no offense.” He winked at me. “Red here will be the hot-chick lead singer.”

“Oh, I don’t sing. But my friend Sophie —” I said it so quietly that Jack moved right on to the next band member.

“What do you play, Ethan?”

Ethan hesitated. “Guitar, piano, sax, drums …”

“Okay, we get it. Genius. Emme, how about you?”

“Oh, I play piano and guitar mostly. I played flute when I was little, but …”

“Yeah, we don’t need a flutist for our awesome rock band.”

Ben interrupted. “Why do you automatically assume we’re a rock band?”

“Oh, is this our first fight as a band? And things were going so well!” Jack’s large belly laugh echoed through the cafeteria. “I can already see the documentary on us now: ‘When CPA Cliché started off —’”

“What’s CPA Cliché?” Ben asked.

“Our band name. What’s the most cliché thing to do at CPA? I’ll answer that for you: Form a rock band! And we’re doing it on the first day. I wonder if we can get extra credit?”

“We are not naming our band CPA Cliché,” Ben protested.

“So you agree we’re in a band, then?” Jack looked around the table. Ethan shrugged and looked at me. All I could think to do was shrug back. I was just happy to have people talking to me.

Ben took a notebook from his bag. “All right, someone needs to be serious about this. Ethan, guitar. Ben, bass. Emme, keyboard-slash-guitar. Jack, drums.”

“Oh, so you assume I play drums because I’m a brother?” Jack asks.

“No, I assume you play drums because you’ve been knocking out a beat with your silverware since we sat down.” Ben nodded toward Jack’s hands, which were indeed wrapped around a spoon and fork as if they were drumsticks.

“Fair enough.” Jack dropped his silverware and took a bite of his chip.

The back-and-forth between Jack and Ben continued for the rest of the period as they plotted our rise and subsequent fall from stardom. I was upset to hear that I was going to have a drug problem and Jack was going to bravely lead an intervention to save me. Which would be all for naught when, on the night before our big comeback tour, Ethan would tragically die in a car accident.

Jack shook his head sadly. “So much promise …”

As we all got up from our seats, Ethan finally spoke up. “What exactly happened just now?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not entirely sure, but I believe we’re in a band with Jack and Ben. Although you need to be sure to always wear a seat belt.”

He smiled. “Oh, okay. You should stay away from the smack.”

“I’ll try.”

“Cool.”


Now, three years later, we’re still talking about the future of our band.

“So nobody wants to hear what lies in store for us?” Jack pretends to be hurt. “You all want to throw away something we’ve worked so hard on?” He scrunches his face up like he’s about to cry. “That’s fine, that’s fine.”

Ben sighs. “Oh, you are such the martyr.”

“Well, at least you understand my role.” Jack wipes off his pretend tears with a napkin.

“Yeah, but if it wasn’t for me, we’d still be called CPA Cliché.”

Everybody at the table groans. For weeks we couldn’t come up with a name for our band, and Jack had plenty. After we all vetoed CPA Cliché, we swiftly turned down Jack’s other suggestions: Jack and the Irish (since the rest of us have Irish last names: Connelly, Quinn, and McWilliams), Black and the Irish (Jack’s warped sense of humor), and his personal favorite, Jack and the Not-So-All-Star Band.

Ethan came up with Dissonance Youth, which we didn’t think any non-music people would get. Ben and I were trying to come up with similarly obscure references, then suggested we just call the band Obscure Reference. Jack vetoed that. He didn’t want there to be anything obscure about our band; he isn’t into obscurity … or subtlety.

Then, as with everything about our band, our name sort of just came to us. Ethan started playing the opening chords of the Undertones’ “Teenage Kicks” during rehearsal for our first gig and it just stuck. Teenage Kicks. We know that pigeonholes us as a teen band, but that’s what we are.

The thought that this is our last year together makes me a little sad. I guess everybody is thinking the same thing, because Ben finally says, “Okay, what happens to us next, O wise one?”

Jack replies, “I’ve realized that I’ve been a little too hard on Red here.” That’s the understatement of the year. In every telling of our story, I end up with some horrible addiction … and Ethan dies tragically. Of course Jack becomes a huge star and Ben is some weird recluse who raises llamas or something. “I think you’re going to like this one, Red.”

I doubt it.

“We become instant sensations after we open for U2.” Nobody bothers to ask how we went from CPA to opening for U2, we just go with it. “Bono obviously becomes jealous of my dynamic personality and charisma.”

“Obviously,” Ben says with a dramatic rolling of the eyes.

“So he produces Jack and the Background Players —”

“Wait,” Ben interrupts. “When did we get a new name and why on —”

“Hey! I’m telling a story here. So he produces the band’s album and we become major stars. Soon U2 is opening for us. You know, because it’s important to remember those little people who have helped you along the way. Soon tension begins in the band as the attention shifts from our beanpole of a lead singer —”

“Hey, I’ve gained some weight this summer, thank you very much,” Ethan protests.

Jack gasps. “Yeah, you are probably what, a buck fifteen soaking wet? Big improvement.”

I shake my head; the last thing we need to do is make Ethan even more self-conscious about his appearance. It took me two years to get him into jeans and T-shirts that actually fit. And then I swear he grew another six inches.

“Okay, so the attention shifts from our bulking stud of a lead singer to the magnetic drummer.”

Ethan interrupts. “Yes, because that often happens with drummers.” Jack glares at him. “But do go on….”

“You’re all obviously jealous of the attention I receive.”

“Obviously,” Ben and I say in unison.

“But things get even more complicated as Red realizes that Ben will never return her feelings for him.”

“Um.” I know better than to try to reason with him, but I try anyway. “Maybe the fact that Ben’s gay has something to do with that?”

Jack nods at me with such sympathy. “But the heart, it wants what it wants.”

“Sorry, Emme, this —” Ben gestures at me. “Not my thing.”

Ethan begins to bang his head against the table. “Okay, we do have an audition next week, so can we please get on with this?”

Jack finally gives up. “Fine. I leave you all to become a ginormous star and marry an Oscar-winning actress-slash-Victoria’s Secret model, while Ethan dies by getting hit by a bike messenger while busking outside a subway station, Ben goes to Montana to raise wild goats, and Red, to recover from her heartbreak over Ben’s rejection, turns to her old friend Jack Daniel’s. Happy?”

Ben claps. “That it’s over? Yes.”

“Wait, how exactly is this being easier on me?” I ask. “I still have an addiction and I’m miserable.”

“You guys wanted the short version.” Jack shrugs his shoulders and dives into his food.

Both Ben and Ethan glare at me, not wanting to prolong this any more.

“Plus” — Jack shoves a few fries into his mouth — “I thought it was best to make it short and sweet. We don’t want Mount Saint Emme erupting again.”

Ethan’s fork drops, Ben looks down at the floor, and I just sit there with my mouth open. I can’t believe Jack would bring up … The Incident.

Jack realizes, too late, what he’s done. “You know, I …”

“Oh, so now you’re at a loss for words?” Ethan says through clenched teeth. “Two seconds too late.” He gets up to go to the bathroom.

“Emme …” Jack’s voice is a low whisper.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I’m the one …”

I don’t even want to think about what happened this summer. Ethan and I haven’t talked about it since. Nobody has.

I was hoping that we’d returned to normal. Things seemed to be a lot better.

However, Ethan’s abrupt departure from the table makes it clear:

Appearances can be deceiving.


The following afternoon, Sophie knocks on my door.

“Greetings from Maryland!” She holds out something wrapped up in tissue paper.

“You remembered!” I take the gift and start to unwrap the tissue.

“Of course I remembered. I only do it every year.”

It’s a pink scallop seashell. “These are my favorite.” I turn it over in my hand and rub the smooth surface.

Sophie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you keep them. The first time I gave you one was because I was eight and cheap. What else do you give someone from the beach for free?” She glances over the other shells she’s given me, all lined up on my bookshelf.

I place my newest shell next to the others. “It’s not that.”

“Right, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Stop it.” I pick up the first one she gave me, a black-and-white shell. “I just think it’s interesting to think about its journey. Where it’s been, you know? It’s probably traveled thousands of miles in the ocean and it ends up on a beach in Maryland.”

“And then on some girl’s bookshelf in Brooklyn. What a life!” She laughs. “Although I really shouldn’t judge, since my journey hasn’t been anything to brag about.”

Sophie sits down on my bed and I see her study the photos on my wall. There’s a collage of all the talent competitions Sophie and I have competed in. Sophie is wearing a blue ribbon or gold medal in all of them. But the photos stop when we’re around fourteen. Our schedules at CPA don’t really allow us to do much outside of school, and, well … Sophie really hasn’t shone through as much as we thought she would.

She shakes her head, as if she’s trying to get rid of whatever thought is there. “Sorry, I’m just in a crabby mood. Bad night.”

“Oh, did you and Carter get into a fight or something?”

Sophie reaches into her bag and pulls out a stack of newspapers and printouts from online gossip columns. “No. I spent all last night posing for photographers and I was cut off in every picture except one.” She hands me a spread from the Gossip Guru that has a picture of Sophie clutching on to Carter. “Carter Harrison and friend … and friend!”

I look at the photo. She has one arm wrapped around Carter, while the other holds his hand. “It’s pretty clear that you guys are a couple.”