So I said,

The next day I picked up my electric guitar and amp at a tag sale. Grandma Dotty loves tag sales, and somehow she managed to bargain with the guy who was selling them, until we paid just three dollars for both. And the rest is history.

Well… it will be history. Once we’re famous.

Naturally, Rafe was furious that I’d actually made friends at Airbrook Arts before he did, which only made me even happier to be in the band. We’re called the Awesomes! It’s our dream to play the school dance this year.

Mom let us keep our equipment in the garage, so we were all set up. “Should we do our theme song?” I asked.

“Let’s jam!” Mari shouted—and we blew the lid off that garage!

We Stink!

Um, did I say we blew the lid off the garage?

Someone knocked on the door between the kitchen and the garage. A second later, Rafe’s messy-haired head was poking into my band’s space.

“Get out,” I said. It’s a reflex.

Rafe ignored me (also a reflex). “Can I listen to you guys practice?”

“No!” I shouted, but Mari had already said, “Sure, Rafe,” and Patti added, “Come on in!” So the next thing I knew, my brother was propped on a folding chair right next to the rack where we keep the extra paper towels and toilet paper. He smiled at me. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“It’s really cool that you guys have started a band,” Rafe said. He looked at me. “I didn’t know you could play guitar.”

“We wouldn’t have a band without Georgia,” Mari said.

“Really?” Rafe smirked in my direction. He tipped back in his chair, and I wished that it would fall over backward, dumping him onto the floor. “So, what kind of music do you play?” he asked.

“Loud,” Nanci told him.

My brother grinned. “My favorite!”

Mari, Nanci, and Patti cracked up. They’re really friendly, which is a pain sometimes. Like when they’re being nice to my brother.

“One!” Mari called. “Two! One-two-three-four!”

We launched into our theme song again. I added a little guitar solo in the middle, but it wasn’t really on purpose. My fingers just got stuck in the strings. Hey, give me a break—I’ve never had a single lesson, okay? I’ve been teaching myself by watching music videos. I can jump, twirl, even crawl on my knees while playing. I just can’t really make the notes come out right.

When we finished our song, Nanci twirled a lock of blue hair nervously. She has black hair with turquoise streaks and likes to wear torn jeans, combat boots, and T-shirts with cartoon superheroes on them. “So—what did you think?” she asked my brother.