Face the Music by Brian Weisfeld

Author:Brian Weisfeld
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Imprint

13

Harriet found her brothers collected around the park bench and decked out in concert garb, which consisted of denim for Larry, fake leather for Joe, and huge amounts of hair gel for Sam.

Joe sat cross-legged on one end of the bench, his eyes closed and his hands palms up in a meditative pose. Sam sat next to him, swiping at his phone. Larry knelt on the ground, frowning and fiddling with an amp.

“Hi, guys!” Harriet chirped.

Joe snapped his eyes open and glared at her. “Harry! What are you doing? You know I’m in the zone!”

“I know. I just wanted to see how it’s going,” Harriet said. “And see if I could get you guys to sign this—”

“So stupid!” yelled Larry, standing and giving the amp a kick.

“I’m sorry!” said Harriet. “But you don’t have to be mean—”

“Not you,” Larry said. “The amp. It keeps glitching, turning on and off.”

Sam glanced up from his phone for a second. “Did you try unplugging—”

“Of course I tried unplugging it!” Larry interrupted.

“What about jiggling the—” Sam said.

“Sam! I tried jiggling the thing!” Larry was fully exasperated. “It’s fried! The stupid thing’s more fried than a drumstick at Nantucket Fried Chicken!”

“You mean Kentu—” Harriet started.

“Everyone,” Joe scolded, eyes squeezed tight. “Respect the zone!”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about the amp now,” said Sam in a whisper. He touched the top of his hair gently to make sure it was still shellacked into place. “We don’t have another one.”

Larry sighed loudly. “I’ll go set this up on stage. But I wanna go on record that this is going to be a disaster.”

“It’s on the official record,” said Sam.

Harried jumped in front of Larry and shoved the T-shirt and gold marker into his hand.

“Before you go, sign this super fast, would you?” she asked. “Use my back.” She spun around and flattened her back into a suitable writing surface.

Larry sighed again, even louder this time, but he dutifully signed, then handed the marker to Sam, who did the same without even taking his eyes off his phone.

“Give Joe the marker,” Harriet told Sam.

“He’s in the zone,” Sam warned.

“He’s in zone overtime!” Harriet replied. “The show was supposed to start twenty minutes ago.”

Sam pressed the marker into Joe’s open palm. “Harry says you gotta sign the shirt.”

Joe opened one eye, then the other. He looked accusingly at Harriet, who, still in flattened-back position, shuffled over to the bench so that Joe didn’t have to move.

“Remember our show at the Salt Factory?” he asked Harriet. “Last spring?”

“Yeah,” Harriet replied. “But, Joe, that was because you had a sore throat. It would’ve happened no matter what.”

“It was because I was in the zone and I got interrupted!” Joe snapped. “So I got jinxed, and I sounded like Kermit the Frog. And let me remind you that I did not choose those words—the reviewer did when she blogged about it.”

“I know—” Harriet said.

“Kermit the Frog,” Joe repeated, uncapping the marker. “Those were her exact words.”

He leaned over and signed his

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