Katie Cox vs. the Boy Band Read online

  It’s like a part of me died. Or maybe it was never really there in the first place.

  Superstar?

  Super failure, more like it.

  My new phone went ding!

  And there was a Lacey-Savannah-Paige-Sofie selfie: four pouty duck faces in front of a gigantic pink limousine, along with the words:

  Hey, Katie, we’re here!!!

  I threw my guitar across the room.

  Then I went and picked it up because the evening was going bad enough without me breaking that too.

  What was wrong with them? Karamel weren’t even slightly decent at the best of times. How could going to see the band be better than spending time with me on my fourteenth birthday?

  Ding!

  Now they were posing next to a gigantic gold letter K.

  EXCITED!!!!

  Great, Lacey. I am glad that missing my birthday in order to hang out with the band I hate most in the world is making you so very happy.

  LOOK! OOOOOH!

  And now a photo of the poster filled my screen, three big stupid boy faces with even bigger, stupider boy hair.

  Not only were they the worst and most annoying set of people in the actual universe, they were also quite literally ruining my life with their very existence.

  Karamel, with their stupid songs about how much they loved their moms and their bandmates and the invisible, imaginary girl standing in front of them.

  Karamel, who always seemed to be photographed fooling around on the beach. Or in a swimming pool. Or on a trampoline.

  Karamel, who seemed to start every song sitting on barstools.

  Karamel, who—

  Ding!

  OMG K I CANNOT BELIEVE U R MISSING THIS!!!!!!

  Another selfie, this time of Lacey looking crazily flushed in front of the stage, with three lit-up blobs in the background. Honestly, the way she was going, she’d run out of exclamation marks.

  Ding!

  THIS IS THE BEST NITE OF MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  And the worst night of mine.

  What could I say?

  What was there to say? And then…

  And then…

  I found that I had quite a lot of things to say, after all.

  Can’t stand the boy band

  Plastic faces, stupid hair

  Can’t stand the boy band

  The matching clothes they wear

  The tattooed Chinese symbols

  On the skin that’s perma-tanned

  I can’t stand the boy band

  Ding!

  IM SO HAPPY RITE NOW THANK U THANK U THANK U

  Don’t like the boy band

  Singing songs about their grans

  Don’t like the boy band

  Hanging around their camper vans

  Their lyrics are predictable

  Their music’s oh so bland

  I don’t like the boy band

  Maybe this song was already inside me, waiting. Maybe it had spent the last few months growing, feeding on the drip-drip of loathing I’d swallowed every time Savannah professed her undying love for them, or Paige sighed and said, “Swoon.”

  It certainly felt that way. My guitar seemed to offer up the chords before I even thought of them, and the chorus was right there, as though I was climbing a ladder, and each word was a rung, easy, within reach, leading me up and on.

  Oh poor sweet boy band

  Your music makes me heave

  You poor sad boy band

  Soon one of you will leave

  And if you think you’ll be remembered

  Then you misunderstand

  RIP the boy band

  What had I been so worried about?

  Songwriting was easy.

  Ding!

  Katie, what’s the matter?

  Tell me what’s wrong please

  My fingers went to reply.

  And then, I thought, No. I can do better than that. If she wants to know, I’ll tell her.

  I propped my phone up on an empty tissue box and started the voice recorder.

  Then I picked up my guitar, and I began to sing.

  Can’t stand the boy band

  Plastic faces, stupid hair…

  And as I sang, I got angrier and angrier, until I could almost feel the threads of fire trailing from my fingertips as I slashed at the strings.

  So angry, in fact, that by the time I finished, I was a little bit breathless, and I could feel my cheeks pulsing, magma-hot underneath the back of my hand.

  Done. Finished.

  For a second, I hesitated. After what had happened last time…

  Only then, I had thought, No, it’s fine. I’m not sticking it online or anything. I’m not actually crazy. I’m just going to send it to a friend.

  I knew it wasn’t my best idea ever. That it would probably cause a fight with Lace. But that was fine. In a slightly twisted way, it’s what I wanted.

  At least, it was at that precise moment. It probably wouldn’t be once I’d had a chance to calm down.

  Better send it now then.

  Very quickly, before I could change my mind, I opened a new message to Lacey, attached the file, and hit Send.

  And then…then I somehow felt a little flat.

  The song must have gotten all the angry stuff out of my system, like when you pop a zit and what was tight and inflamed before goes back to normal again, with just a cruddy piece of tissue and a little redness to show that anything was wrong in the first place.

  Ding!

  Here we go.

  I reached for my phone, only then Mom’s voice came shouting up the stairs.

  “Katie? Something’s…Katie! Get down here. Katie? Katie!”

  I gulped. It takes a lot for Mom to be freaked out. “Katie! Are you…can you…Katie? Katie, Katie, Katie!” Mom was totally freaking out.

  “What is it?” I said, opening my bedroom door and edging across the hallway to peer down the stairs. “What happened?”

  “Hello, Katie.”

  There, standing on the doorstep, surrounded by suitcases, was Dad.

  “Oh my God!”

  It’s hard for me to describe Dad because he’s just basically Daddish to me. But if a stranger had been there too, they’d have seen: a smiling man with thick black hair, wearing a gray cotton shirt with the top three buttons undone. Decent jeans and a belt with a big buckle I hadn’t seen before, so maybe that was a thing he’d picked up in America. Only, he wasn’t in America anymore. He was right in front of me.

  “Katie!”

  Then I was flying down the stairs and throwing myself into his arms, hugging him so tight that if it was anyone else I would have been afraid of breaking them, but not Dad—Dad who was so tall and real and wonderfully, amazingly here.

  “This is the best birthday surprise ever!”

  “Is it…yes! Happy birthday!”

  And we might have stood like that forever, or at least a good couple of minutes, only we were interrupted by Mom saying, “What the hell, Benjamin?”

  He stood back, and I saw that he looked tanned and thin…and tired.

  Oh, Dad.

  “Good to see you too, Zoe.”

  “You can’t just turn up out of the blue like this. I have a life now. You have no right to just waltz back in and—”

  He took a step back, puzzled. “But Katie said she’d—”

  They both looked at me. “Katie, you said you’d tell her I was coming…?”

  “Ah. Um. Yes. Mom, Dad’s coming back.”

  “Katie…I…”

  Mom isn’t often lost for words. I somehow knew she’d make up for it later.

  “Hello, hello? Who is this?”

  Adrian came through the hall and stopp
ed.

  “This,” said Mom, “is Benjamin. My ex-husband.”

  “Well, he can’t stay on the doorstep,” said Adrian, sticking out one of his big, thick hands. “Nice to meet you, Benjamin. I’m Ade. Come on in.”

  • • •

  Then actual Dad was standing in my actual living room, peering up at the cracks in the ceiling.

  “How long have they been there?”

  “Since we moved in,” I said, just as Mom said: “Couple of days.”

  He sucked his teeth. “That’s not good. You should get someone to come by.”

  “Thanks for the input, Benjamin,” said Mom. “Any other thoughts on our house? While you’re here?”

  Dad’s never been good at picking up sarcasm, and his stint stateside clearly didn’t improve matters because he said, “You should knock through that wall and get some light in here. Open things up—you’ve got the dimensions, but the furniture’s too big. It feels cramped. And that’s quite a drainage problem in the garden.”

  Mom’s knuckles were turning white. Luckily, Adrian was between them.

  “It’s a real fixer-upper, that’s what it is, Benj. Great to have your views on the place actually. We’re still at the ideas stage. Beer?”

  “Got any wine open?” said Dad. “A nice Shiraz would just hit the spot.”

  Adrian tossed him a can of Guinness. Dad caught it, barely, and we all waited. Then he opened it and sat down on the sofa.

  I sat down too. And so did Adrian. Mom stayed standing up.

  “So Katie tells me you’re a musician,” said Adrian. “Must be where she gets it from.”

  “Yeah, yeah, mainly session work,” said Dad. “But it keeps me busy. Just got out of the studio last week. We were doing this huge stint on a new album, all very secret, of course, can’t tell you much about it, but let’s just say that a certain Miss Alicia Keys will be gracing the airwaves pretty soon with someone you know rather well.”

  “Really?” I squeaked. “Dad, that is so cool!”

  “It’s just work,” said Dad. “I don’t even get excited about it anymore, to be honest.”

  “You should be excited,” I told him.

  He gave me a squeeze. “Maybe.”

  “Adrian is a very successful retailer,” said Mom. “He owns Vox Vinyl!”

  “It’s just a little shop in town,” said Adrian.

  “He’s taking over the space next door,” said Mom.

  “And then, the world!” said Adrian.

  “Great,” said Dad. “So, Katie, would you like Alicia’s autograph?”

  “Would I?! Dad, that is so amazing! Best present ever!” His hand went to his pocket, and I thought my heart might stop then and there. “Thought so. I’ll let her know.”

  He tapped out a quick message, just as I heard the front door open. Amanda.

  “We’re in the living room,” I called.

  I could hear her taking off her boots and then the double thump as she tossed them under the stairs. “Any pizza left? Because—uuuuh.”

  She was in the doorway, and she sort of began to crumple, her hands clutching against the wood as though the sight of Dad had been a punch.

  “Dad? What are you…?” She shook her head. “Dad.”

  He got to his feet, and, I dunno, maybe it was that she was older or that he was thinner, but I saw for the first time the way their hair curled up at the ends, that funny shrug they both do when they’re embarrassed, the way their eyes have that little crease, just underneath, in the shadows.

  He held out a hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  And what do you know? She burst into tears.

  Really long sobs, as Mom and Adrian looked at their feet.

  He put his arms around her, and she shook, and I knew exactly how she felt.

  “Amanda, angel, it’s okay.”

  She dabbed at her eyes, and then, after I passed her a tissue, her nose.

  “How come you’re here?”

  He looked at me. “Katie, did you tell anyone I was coming? Anyone at all?”

  I didn’t really know what to say, so I just made a face.

  “Well, no harm done,” said Dad. “I’m here now.”

  “No harm done?” said Amanda, the tissue dropping to the floor. “No harm done?”

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  “Dad, why didn’t you tell me? You know what Katie’s like.”

  “I didn’t…we hadn’t spoken in a while. So…”

  “We hadn’t spoken because I can never get you on the phone!” She wiped her nose on the back of her wrist and glared.

  “Work’s been crazy, and there’s the time difference. And I know you have a job now. I can’t just call you whenever.”

  “Yes, you can, Dad,” said Amanda.

  “Okay then,” said Dad. “From now on, I will.”

  “Great.”

  There was a long pause. I got to work filling it. “Er, Mands, what do you mean, ‘You know what Katie’s like’?”

  “Oh, you know.” She flapped an irritated hand. “Useless.”

  “What? How can you say that? I’m not the one who bailed on her little sister on her fourteenth birthday.”

  “That is not what we are talking about.”

  “Then what are we talking about?”

  This was turning into one of those arguments that you never remember starting and so you can’t ever end it.

  “Just…shut up, Katie.”

  Dad took a step forward. “Don’t talk to your sister like that.”

  “Great,” said Amanda. “You run off to America, and now you’re back, and you’re trying to discipline me? I’m going to bed.”

  When she slammed the door, it bounced a few times and then fell off its hinges.

  “So,” said Dad, who was going for the “Let’s Pretend None of That Just Happened” way of dealing with things. “Is someone going to give me a tour?”

  “It’s late,” said Mom. “Maybe you should go…wherever you’re staying…and we’ll do the tour another time.”

  This is when it occurred to me that there was another part of Dad’s message I’d failed to deliver.

  “Well, actually, Mom, I sort of said he could stay here. With us.”

  Dad did the shruggy, grinny thing that he does. Mom started to inflate.

  I went into crash position in my head.

  Only then, before she could blow, Adrian nodded. “Sure you can. Plenty of room in the den, as long as you don’t mind a few mushrooms. Want to follow me? I’ll get you all set up.”

  Off they went. “Katie—” Mom began.

  “Oh, dear, is that the time? I’m so very tired,” I said.

  And before she could stop me, I was racing back up the stairs to my room and ignoring Amanda, who was staring out the window at the rain. I pulled my cover over my head and stuck my headphones on my ears, noticing as I did that I had twenty-five missed calls from Lacey.

  Was I in the mood to hear how fabulous her evening had been?

  No.

  No, I was not.

  I lay there, in the dark, hearing my breath flutter, in, out, in, out.

  Dad was back. Here.

  Home.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad birthday after all.

  My Dad

  My dad rocks hard

  My dad is ace

  My dad plays lead guitar

  And drums and sax and bass

  My dad’s way cool

  My dad’s so fine

  My dad lives his dream

  And shows me mine

  Wish I’d seen his stateside pad

  Yeah, I bet that place was rad

  I’m glad

  So glad

  He’s my dad

  My dad was gone<
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  My dad went away

  My dad, across the ocean

  And the sky turned gray

  I think of what we had

  And all I feel is sad

  But I’m glad

  So glad

  He’s my dad

  My dad was lost

  My dad’s been found

  My dad spins the world

  With his unique dad sound

  My sister says he’s bad

  And he makes my mother mad

  But still, I’m glad

  So glad

  He’s my dad

  I’m glad

  So glad

  He’s my dad

  “Wake up, K.”

  I opened my eyes to see a sliver of morning sun, which was being blocked out by Amanda’s great big face, so close that I could see the pores all around the edges of her nose. Pores that could use a wash, if we’re being honest, which I was about to be, when—

  “Can we talk? Or are you going to dive back under your duvet again?”

  Diving under the duvet didn’t sound half bad, but in the interests of sisterly cooperation, I didn’t.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Dad. He’s here. In this house. Downstairs. Right now.”

  I remembered and grinned, giving Mands an eyeful of my morningy teeth. “Isn’t it the best?”

  “No,” said Amanda. “It isn’t. It’s the opposite of that. Mom’s a wreck. And she said that you told him it would be okay to stay? What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that it would be nice for us all to be together again,” I said.

  “So you weren’t thinking,” said Amanda.

  She was trying to look into my eyes, and I thought how strange it was that she couldn’t see that this was Dad we were talking about. Our dad. Mine and hers. How strange and how sad.

  If she didn’t understand this, then really, there was nothing else to say.

  So I broke her gaze and turned away to get dressed.

  By the time I finished, she was gone.

  Probably for the best, I thought as I went downstairs. And there he was!

  “Morning, my darling,” said Dad, sitting at the breakfast table and buttering himself a cinnamon bagel.

  “Morning!” I sang, giving myself a celebratory double helping of Cocoa Krispies.