She leaps out of the car and slams the door. “I’m going to find whoever started that damn app and kiss them on the mouth.”
I shut off the engine. “That seems like as good a segue as any. I don’t need to be nervous about putting the three of you in the same room as a couple hundred teenagers, do I? You’ll be on your best behavior?”
The Saints amble to the back of the van. Since I didn’t want to involve any crew on this cheer-up mission, I rented a big white painter’s van to transport us and our equipment. On second thought, it’s probably the wrong kind of car to drive into a school parking lot.
“Of course we will,” Hannah says.
I eye her. “Please explain why you’re this giddy. It’s making me nervous.”
She grins. “Ginny and I graduated from this school by the skin of our teeth. I set the record for most detentions by a single person my senior year, then Ginny beat me her senior year. At one point, Herrera actually banned the entire Cortland family from stepping on school grounds. But look.” She does a little jig. “I’m back.”
“First we’re playing a high school,” Ripper huffs, picking up one of Kenny’s drums. “Now we’re crewing our own shows?”
“It’s like the old days,” Hannah says cheerfully. “Before we were signed. We’re not too good to carry our own equipment.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ripper grumbles, trying to stack instruments in his arms.
I lunge and grab Hannah’s guitar before it falls out of Ripper’s hands. “Hannah’s got the right idea. Tonight is about rediscovering the joy of playing. To take your minds off . . . ” I think back to their fight in the studio, the iciness at the Billboard party, the shittyTimespiece, the pictures of Hannah currently making their way around the internet. “Well, everything.”
Kenny cocks his head for a moment, then says, “I do like the idea of getting back to our roots. Tonight’ll be like the good old days when we first started: weed everywhere, playing so loud the cops show up, nothing but anarchy and chaos.”
“Um, no.” I grab an amp. “Seeing as how I’m personally responsible for this event, none of those things are happening.”
I sigh and remind myself this is what I wanted. They’re excited. That’s why I went to great lengths to plan tonight. I glance at Hannah as we walk across the parking lot, weighed down by instruments. Her gaze is fixed on the glowing auditorium, her expression eager. It’s been a while since I’veseen her happy. I’m worried I would do anything to put that look on her face.
*
“I’m not going to lie to you,” says Principal Herrera, tapping his chin. “I considered not letting Hannah Cortland back into my school, will of the students be damned.”
I’m standing where I usually am when the Future Saints play— slightly offstage so no one in the audience can see me. This time, however, offstage happens to be in the wings of an auditorium with the wordsBonita Vista Fighting Dolphinspainted in blue and yellow letters over the wall, next to a painting of a very muscular-looking dolphin. And instead of Bowie, who’s taking the night off with the rest of the crew, I’m in the company of a high school principal who took one look at me and decided I was the kind of person he could complain to.
I cross my arms. “High school Hannah was that bad, huh?”
The Saints are on a five-minute break before they jump back in for the last set of the night. They’ve absolutely killed it playing a mix of their old and new songs. Sharp instrumentals, crisp singing, all set against a perfect backdrop of balloon arches and tinsel—it looks like an old-school Nirvana music video. Honestly, I’m a little bummed these kids are getting such a great performance. I pray they’re uploading it to social media.
Principal Herrera nods. It’s impossible to tell how old this man is. He has smooth, deeply tanned skin without a single wrinkle, but his hair is pure silver. I can’t tell if he’s old and blessed with great skin or young and prematurely aged by the Cortland sisters.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “I know some might consider it wrong for a grown man to have a high school girl as his nemesis, let alone two high school girls, but I’d challenge anyone to hold on to their sanity against Hannah and Ginny.”
I chuckle and start to make a joke about being Hannah’s manager, but Herrera plunges on. “They used to do this thing called ‘pranking the principal’ Fridays. Got all their little skater friends involved. The burnout kids—you know the type.”
Apparently, it’s obvious I was not part of the cool crowd in high school.
The Saints walk back onstage, and the students stream back onto the dance floor.
“One year,” says Herrera, a faraway look in his eyes, “the Fresno Zoo made the news because a tapir escaped. Do you know where they found that tapir?” He doesn’t wait for me to guess. “In my office, curled up under my desk. Hannah and her minions put it there, I’m sure of it. A decade later, and I’m still afraid to rest my feet on the
floor when I work.”
“Oh . . . shit.”
“No cursing, school rules,” Herrera says automatically. “Hannah’s junior year, I went on vacation. It was the first vacation I’d allowed myself since she was a freshman, mind you. I came back to the news that the school was being investigated by the police for hosting an underground rave in our band room. One guess who orchestrated it.”
“Uh . . . ”
“Tricked you. It was Ginny, God rest her soul. Two years ago, we renovated the band room. Do you know what we found under the lino-leum? Eight bottles of Jamaican rum and three hundred glow sticks.” He shivers. “Even when you think they’re gone, they’re everywhere.”
“All right, Bonita Vista,” Hannah croons. She cups her mic with both hands and tosses her hair. “It’s almost time for this shindig to end and the after-parties to begin. So this last one’s special. Just for you.”
