Chapter 2
Chapter
The Henry Adams kids in Ms. Clark’s class always sat together for lunch.
The boys—Wyatt Dahl, Lucas Herman, Alfonso Acosta, and Devon—all thirteen years old, took one side of the table.
The three girls, lovingly dubbed the Supremes by Roni Garland—twelve-year-old Zoey Raymond Garland and ten-year-olds Jasmine Herman and Maria Acosta—claimed the other side.
The oldest in their cadre, seated as far away from the others as the bench allowed, was fourteen-year-old Tiffany Adele Clark.
By all rights, she should be sitting with her sister and the older teens, but Tiff wouldn’t take school seriously, so she still hadn’t been promoted to Mr. James’s class.
As they got situated and opened their lunches, Wyatt glanced across the room to where Leah and her classmates sat eating. “Next year, we’re taking their table. After Leah and Preston go away to college, Amari will be the only one of them left. He can’t keep us from claiming it with no backup.”
Devon asked, “Why do you want their table?”
Wyatt opened his juice pack. “It’s the seat of power. If new kids move to Henry Adams over the summer, they’ll need to know who’s in charge.”
Jasmine appeared skeptical. “In charge of what?”
“Everything,” her brother Lucas explained. “Like where you can sit in the cafeteria and at the Dog.” The older kids had their own booth there, and none of younger ones were allowed to sit with them unless invited.
Zoey bit into a carrot stick and studied them. “How are new kids going to know about this power if they’ve never been here before? Are you going to get in their faces and be rude if they sit in the wrong place?”
Lucas and Wyatt shared a look.
When they couldn’t come up with an answer, Zoey advised, “Y’all might need to put down those game controllers and go outside and touch some grass. This is a school. The Marie Jefferson Academy. Not Call of Duty.”
“Zoey’s right,” Alfonso pointed out, surveying them through his owlish, black-framed glasses. “But I like the idea of running things. I say we do it.”
His crew grinned and bumped fists.
“Boys,” Zoey muttered. Jasmine and Maria rolled their eyes in solidarity.
Tiffany boasted, “If you were an influencer like me, you’d know how to show power.”
They turned her way. Tiff had a way of getting on everyone’s nerves, and since she’d taken on the self-proclaimed persona of social media influencer, nerves were stretched even thinner.
“Like the power of not being able to find Brazil on a map?” Wyatt asked. He, like the rest, refused to give her a break, because she was such a major pain in the butt, and often mean.
“Nobody cares about Brazil.”
“How about being able to pass a math test?”
Snickers followed.
“Influencers don’t care about that either. Passing a math test won’t increase your followers.”
“How about we talk about something else?” Zoey asked pointedly. “Devon, did you tell your parents we’re practicing after school?”
“You don’t get to control the conversation, Zoey,” Tiffany snapped.
“I think I just did.”
Ignoring Tiff’s resulting glare, Zoey waited for Devon’s answer.
“Yeah, I told them.” And he wondered if now might be the time to discuss the name change, but held off until he gathered his courage.
After discussing practice, talk moved to the latest challenges and dances on TikTok and opinions on whether the new streaming version of the show based on the book The Lightning Thief was any good or not. The answer was yes!
At the next break in the conversation, Dev said to Zoey, “I got something I want to talk about.”
“Like what?”
“I’ll tell you at rehearsal.”
“Does it have to do with the songs we picked?”
He shook his head.
“Then what?” she asked curiously.
He looked around the table and, seeing everyone’s attention focused his way, the plan he’d felt so confident about at breakfast now felt less solid. However, he swallowed his misgivings. “I think we should change the band’s name.”
Wyatt was the band’s manager. “To what?”
“Devon the Anointed and the Exodusters.”
Jaws dropped.
Zoey stared as if he’d suddenly turned into Willie Wonka. “Why?”
“Because I think people are really coming to see me, so my name should be first.”
“Really?” she asked in a voice as icy as her brown eyes.
“Yes.” He smiled, hoping it might smooth things out.
“Do your parents know you’re doing meth, because that has to be the only reason you’d say something so dumb.”
“It’s not dumb!”
“It’s dumb, and you’re dumber if you think I’m changing the name of my band to that!”
“Zoey, look.”
The buzzer sounded, announcing the end of lunch, and Zoey snatched up her belongings. “You go look for a brain, Devon July!” And she stormed off.
He saw no support on the faces of the others. In fact, each left the table without a word. Deflated, he gathered his things. He passed his brother on the way to the trash can.
“Just saw Zoey,” Amari said. “Sorry things didn’t go the way you wanted.” There was empathy on his face and in his voice.
“Leave me alone!”
Taken aback, Amari studied him. “My bad for caring. Won’t happen again.” He walked away.
Miserable, Devon headed to his classroom alone.
For the rest of the school day, Zoey ignored Devon.
She wouldn’t look at him, speak to him, or acknowledge him in any way.
When time came for dismissal, instead of her waiting for him as usual, she got her stuff and left.
Wyatt did wait, and as they exited the building and headed down the street to rehearsal at the recording studio belonging to Zoey’s mom, he asked, “You know you hurt Zoey’s feelings, right? ”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You had plenty to say at lunch, Dev.”
Devon didn’t hide his annoyance. “Zoey knows I’m right. People come to see me.”
“No. They come to see the whole band, and she’s worked really hard to make it that way. It’s not just about you.”
Devon disagreed. “Before you and Ms. Gemma moved here, I had a lot of people wanting to be my agent. The only reason I don’t have one is because my mom said no.”
“And Zoey has had one since last year because of the tons of music stuff she does. All the things she’s learned from her mom and her bio rocker family about staging, sound, and performing make us a better band.
On her dad’s tour last summer, she hung out with the roadies so she could learn how to get instruments ready so they don’t get banged up when the bands travel, and how to store them on buses and planes. ”
“I know that.”
“Then why try and take over?”
“I’m not trying to take over, I just want respect for how important I am to the band.”
“You sing, Dev. That’s all. There’d be no band without Zoey.”
“There’d be no band without me.”
“Hubris much?”
Devon shot him a look. He hated it when Wyatt sounded like Amari.
“As people say on the internet: You keep digging that hole,” Wyatt advised sarcastically.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Zoey’s bio aunt, the leather-wearing Cassie Sullivan, produced and managed Zoey’s famous mom, Roni Garland. Cass often helped with Zoey’s band, too, and was in the sound booth when Devon and Wyatt arrived. “Hey, guys. How are you?” she asked in her lilting Irish voice.
“Hi, Ms. Cassie,” Devon replied.
“You look down, Dev. Are you okay?”
He nodded.
“Hey, Ms. Cass.” Wyatt removed his coat and took his usual seat on one of the stools in front of the soundboard.
Zoey came in and gave Devon a withering look. “Did you go see the wizard about a brain?”
“You’re the one needing a brain. You just don’t want to admit that I’m right.”
“You wish.”
Cassie looked between them. “What is this about?”
“Ask him,” Zoey replied, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“You’re the one with the problem, you tell her.”
“It’s your stupid idea. Own it.”
Cassie turned to Wyatt. “Interpreter, please.”
“Devon wants to change the band’s name.”
“To what?”
“It’s stupid,” Zoey interrupted angrily before Wyatt could respond.
“No, it’s not!” Devon replied.
“Yes, it is!”
“Both of you hush. Wyatt?”
So, he told her.
Cassie raised an eyebrow.
Zoey said, “See? Stupid. He thinks the only reason people like our band is because of him.”
“I’ve learned not to weigh in on a band’s internal issues,” Cassie explained. “So, you guys settle this. I’m going to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. Come get me when you’re ready to rehearse.”
“There’s nothing to settle,” Zoey countered. “I’m not changing the name. If he doesn’t like it, he can bounce.”
“Change the name, or I quit.”
“Bye.”
His eyes widened. “Wait—I—”
She leaned in. “Bye. If you’re all that, start your own damn band.”
Devon looked Wyatt’s way and received a shrug and a slow shake of his head that said: Told you so.
He turned to Cassie, who answered softly. “I’m not in this. Once you two cool off, I’m sure you’ll find a solution.”
“I’m not changing the name,” Zoey repeated firmly. “Let’s start rehearsal, Aunt Cass.”
Devon didn’t know what to do. He didn’t really want to quit, but he wasn’t about to beg Zoey to let him take back what he’d said. “I’m going home, then!”
Without commenting, Zoey exited the booth. Through the glass, he watched her walk over to where the other members were waiting with their instruments. Devon angrily picked up his coat and backpack. When the band began playing the opening chords of Olivia Rodrigo’s “Drivers License,” he left.
Devon arrived home to find his dad seated on the sofa viewing his laptop. “Hey, Dad.”
He looked up. “Hey, Devon. Rehearsal over already?”
Devon flopped down on the sofa beside him. “Zoey kicked me out of the band.” That wasn’t the truth, but it made him feel less bad about the real reason.
“Why’d she kick you out?”
“Because she thinks my idea about changing the band’s name is stupid.”
“The conversation didn’t go well, I take it?”
He shook his head.
“Sometimes friends disagree on things, Devon. And she did start the band.”