Off the Charts Page 3

  Nick rolled his eyes. “The only thing you were about to do was pass out. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because I have an idea and it’s foolproof.”

  Kevin straightened his shoulders. “That means even I can’t mess it up!” He smiled. That was always a good plan.

  Nick explained his idea. “We let Macy record, but we don’t use her voice on the song,” he said. “She won’t know the difference, so she won’t get her feelings hurt.”

  “And what about Malcolm Meckle?” Kevin asked.

  “Malcolm Meckle mustn’t meet Macy Misa!” Nick declared. Then he grinned. “See what I did there? With all the M’s?”

  Joe and Kevin sighed. “Yeah, yeah . . .”

  “Anyway, we’ll bring Macy in early,” Nick went on. “She’ll be gone before Malcolm even gets there.”

  Joe clapped him on the shoulder. “Bro, you are a genius!”

  “Actually, three points shy of a genius.” Nick shrugged modestly. “But who’s counting?”

  By later that afternoon, Frankie had another T-shirt ready. He pulled it on, paused just long enough to admire himself in the mirror, then went to show it to his father. This shirt consisted of a nice photo of all four brothers together and a caption reading TEAM JONAS.

  “You know what?” Mr. Lucas said when he saw the design. “I like it! You’ve captured the family team spirit perfectly. Great job!”

  Frankie looked down at the T-shirt. He could hardly believe his ears. After all the rejection, the humiliation, the petty criticism, was his genius finally going to be recognized?

  “For real?” he demanded.

  “So real, we have a deal,” his father said.

  Frankie held up a contract. “Sign here,” he ordered. He had come prepared.

  Mr. Lucas took the papers and smiled. “You’re adorable!” he exclaimed. Then he signed on the dotted line.

  “Aaaaaand here,” Frankie said, pointing to another dotted line.

  Mr. Lucas signed again. Suddenly a stuffy-looking man in a suit walked in. He looked over the contract, then stamped it repeatedly with an official-looking seal. Without a word, he turned and exited.

  Mr. Lucas was a little startled. A notary? Where had Frankie found one on such short notice?

  “Thank you, sir,” he stammered. “I mean, Frankie.”

  Frankie grinned. Then he turned to exit with the contract tucked under his arm. Mr. Lucas was now staring off in the direction in which the notary had gone, so he didn’t notice the back of Frankie’s T-shirt.

  That was probably just as well. The back of the shirt was completely taken up by a gigantic picture of Frankie’s face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Later that afternoon, the loft was prepped and ready for a serious recording session. The glassed-in, soundproof recording booth was lit up. The mixing board was humming. Nick and both his brothers were sitting at the board making last-minute adjustments.

  “Okay, Macy,” Nick said, pressing the TALK button on the mixing board. “We’re about as ready as we’re ever going to get out here.”

  Macy was inside the booth looking excited. “I can’t believe I’m actually in the JONAS recording studio!” she squealed over the speaker.

  “Neither can we,” Joe muttered. Nick had stopped pressing the TALK button by now, which meant that Macy couldn’t hear them from inside the booth. They could speak freely—and safely.

  Nick glanced over at Kevin. “Run us through it one more time,” he said. “She opens her mouth, and . . . ?”

  “First you feel it more than hear it.” Kevin shuddered as the memory overwhelmed him. The horrible, horrible memory. “Then there’s a blinding white flash, which means you’ve got about ten seconds before you pass out.”

  “But no symptoms of vertigo or nausea?” Nick asked.

  “Nope,” Kevin replied. “I just got real dizzy and puked.”

  Nick stifled a groan. It wasn’t worth explaining to Kevin that he had just defined vertigo and nausea. They didn’t have the time. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  The guys hit a few more buttons and adjusted a few more levels. Finally everything was perfect. Hitting one last button, an instrumental track began to play.

  As the guys focused on the board, an imposing-looking man entered the loft. It was Malcolm Meckle, the record executive.

  “Hey, there are my boys,” Malcolm announced proudly, tapping his foot in time with the track. “Listen to that sound. That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

  The three brothers jumped in surprise and spun around.

  “Malcolm Meckle!” Joe blurted out.

  Nick looked nervous. And a little sick. “We weren’t expecting you for another hour.”

  Just then, from inside the booth, Macy started to sing. If you could call it that.

  All three brothers cringed. Malcolm flinched as if somebody had just punched him in the ear. Both ears. Really hard.

  Joe knew they had to do something. Fast.

  “So,” he began, speaking as loudly as he could to cover the sound of Macy’s “singing,” “how was the traffic?”

  Seeing what his brother was doing, Kevin did his best to help out. “Did you know the blue whale is the world’s largest mammal?” he said conversationally.

  But their distraction didn’t work. Malcolm barely heard them. His ears were focused on the noise assaulting them.

  “What is that?” he exclaimed. “That is not what I’m talkin’ about!”

  Malcolm’s legs suddenly felt shaky. Too shaky to hold him up. He collapsed to his knees.

  “Make it stop!” he wailed wretchedly. “Make it stop!”

  Just then, a panicked-looking Mr. Lucas rushed in. “Everyone out of the building!” he shouted. “Sounds like a gas main just blew!”

  Joe raised both hands. “Everybody calm down!” he cried. “Just calm down!” Then he pushed the TALK button and spoke calmly into the mic. “That was great for us, Macy,” he said. “Just a sec.” Then he let the button go.

  “Great?” Malcolm cried in disbelief. “Do you know what you’re talkin’ about? I don’t think that’s what you’re talkin’ about, ’cause that is not what I’m talkin’ about!”

  “Look,” Nick said, “we know she sounds awful, but she’s a friend and we said we’d let her record.”

  “We’re never going to use this stuff on our CD,” Joe added.

  Malcolm hesitated. His ears were still ringing with that . . . that . . . Well, you certainly couldn’t call it singing. . . .

  “We’ve got to talk about this,” he told the guys grimly.

  Kevin hardly heard him. He’d just noticed where Joe was sitting. “Dude!” he cried in a panic, shoving him out of the way. “You’re sitting on the TALK button. She can hear everything you’re saying!”

  Joe shook his head, glancing at the console. “No, I’m not,” he said. “The button is over there.”

  He pointed to the actual TALK button. Kevin heaved a huge sigh of relief.

  “Phew! That was close,” he said. Then he turned back to the problem at hand. “So Macy isn’t the greatest singer,” he told Malcolm. “As soon as we finish the recording, we can erase her voice, and no one will ever have to hear her singing again. We just want to get through this without hurting her feelings.”

  While Kevin talked, an odd expression crept over his father’s face. He was staring at something behind Kevin and the others.

  “That’s really considerate of you guys,” he said, speaking up. “But she’s standing right there.”

  Kevin and his brothers whirled around. Sure enough, Macy had stepped out of the soundproof recording booth while they weren’t looking. Now she was right there, looking crushed.

  Kevin held his breath. How much had she heard?

  Macy burst into tears. Before anyone could say a word, she raced out of the room, sobbing loudly.

  Apparently she’d heard enough.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next morning Kevin stood at his locker at school p
ulling out greeting card after greeting card. His mother had taught him it was always best to be prepared. Nearby, his brothers stood waiting.

  “‘Happy Groundhog Day,’” Kevin muttered, tossing one card aside. “ ‘Congratulations on Your New Nose.’ ‘Happy Belated Wednesday.’” He tossed those cards aside, too, and reached for another. Suddenly his expression brightened. “Hey, how about this one?”

  He held up the card. Joe took it.

  “ ‘Sorry we crushed your dream of singing,’ ” Joe read aloud.

  Nick shook his head, glancing at the card. “While this is freakishly accurate, I don’t think a greeting card is going to make everything okay,” he said.

  Just then Stella walked up to them, an annoyed expression on her face. “Great job, guys,” she said. “Macy’s devastated.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joe told her. “We feel just as terrible as you’d hope.”

  Nick nodded. “Actually, we feel worse.”

  “I ate three gallons of chocolate-coma ice cream last night,” Kevin added.

  Stella sighed. “I have to admit, I feel better that you feel terrible,” she said. “But now that I feel better, I feel guilty for feeling good that you feel bad.”

  “What?” Nick asked, completely confused.

  Joe looked smug. “I got it,” he said proudly.

  Stella smiled at him. Then she sighed again. “What I’m trying to say is, I’ll talk to Macy for you and try to make everything better.”

  She started to walk away. But Kevin held out a hand to stop her.

  “Wait,” he said, squaring his shoulders bravely. “I’ll talk to Macy. It’s what I should have done in the first place.”

  He looked around, sort of hoping that Macy might be home sick today. Or maybe on vacation in Tahiti. Like, for the rest of the year. That might give him enough time to prepare himself.

  But no, there she was. She was shuffling down the hall, dragging a javelin behind her and looking utterly dejected.

  “Here I go,” he said, trying to sound determined.

  “Good luck,” Nick told him.

  “Thanks. I can do this.”

  “No, I meant good luck because she’s carrying a javelin,” Nick clarified.

  Kevin decided to ignore that. He walked over to Macy, who had just stopped and opened her locker.

  “Hey, Macy,” he greeted her. “Listen, about yesterday. You know how sometimes . . . Um, the thing is . . . It’s funny, really, but . . .”

  Once again, his attempt to be honest wasn’t going well. Kevin decided to start over.

  “I want to apologize,” he said. “All I was trying to do was not hurt your feelings, and I just made it way worse. I should have been straight with you from the beginning.”

  For a moment, Macy didn’t speak. “I can’t believe it,” she finally said, sounding touched. “An actual JONAS feels terrible for me?” For a second she looked excited. Then that look faded and she went back to looking devastated. “Aw, I feel bad that you feel terrible!” she exclaimed.

  “Okay, okay, okay!” Kevin said quickly. “Let’s both stop feeling bad for each other and start again from a good place. Friends?”

  “Yay!” Macy cried, instantly going back to looking excited.

  In fact, she was so excited that she accidentally slammed her locker door shut with her javelin. Right on Kevin’s hand.

  He grimaced at the pain. Oh, well. At least it wasn’t his foot this time.

  “Sorry!” Macy squeaked.

  Stella had been watching the whole exchange. Now she walked over, looking puzzled.

  “Hey, Macy,” she said. “What’s going on? I thought you’d still be really upset.”

  “I feel better because Kevin apologized,” Macy explained. Then she frowned slightly as she realized something. “And Stella, none of this would have happened if you hadn’t told me I was a good singer in the first place.”

  Stella gulped. “But you’re so sensitive,” she protested.

  Macy shrugged. “I can handle a little criticism. Remember that basketball game when I missed the shot at the buzzer and we ended up losing by one point?”

  Stella shuddered at the memory. “Of course I do,” she said. “You were on the front page of every newspaper in the county. We had to eat lunch under the bleachers for two weeks.”

  “The point is,” Macy said, “now I’m the leading scorer in the state. You don’t have to treat me like a little helpless bunny.”

  Stella looked surprised. And also impressed. “You got it,” she promised.

  Meanwhile, Kevin was still trying to extract his hand from the locker door. Everything he did made it hurt even more.

  “And from now on,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’m only going to tell the truth. Even if it hurts.”

  “Really?” Stella said. “So then tell me what you honestly think of my sweater.”

  She whipped The Sweater out of her bag. That horrible, horrible sweater.

  Kevin squirmed, averting his eyes. “I— um, I, uh . . .” he stammered. Then his voice went all high and squeaky. “I love it!” he exclaimed.

  Stella shook her head. Then she and Macy started to walk away.

  “It’s so obvious he doesn’t like it,” Macy commented.

  “I know,” Stella replied. “His voice gets high when he’s lying.”

  Both girls laughed and glanced over their shoulders at Kevin. His hand was still stuck in the locker door.

  “Don’t worry about me!” he called after them, his voice higher than ever. Pain also made him go squeaky. “I’m fine! Doesn’t hurt a bit!” As soon as the girls were out of earshot, he lowered his voice and glanced at his brothers. “Little help here?”

  A couple of days later, Kevin slunk through the school hallways trying not to meet anyone’s eye. That had nothing to do with his hand, which had almost returned to its normal size and color by now. It had everything to do with the sweater he was wearing. It looked exactly like Stella’s sweater. Her horrible, horrible sweater.

  Macy was heading toward the atrium carrying a small radio when she spotted him. She took a deep breath to calm herself down. Even after all that had happened, she still practically fainted every time she spotted a JONAS. Let alone tried to talk to one.

  “Hey, Kevin,” she said. “Nice sweater.”

  Kevin sighed, sounding defeated. “Stella made it especially for me because I said I liked hers so much.” He shot a dull look at Macy’s radio. “Where are you headed?”

  “I was thinking,” Macy replied, “I love singing so much, I don’t see why I have to stop just because I’m terrible at it.”

  Kevin brightened a little. He was glad to see that Macy hadn’t been scarred for life by what had happened. Unlike his hand. And his eardrums. And his retinas . . . He glanced down at his own sweater before quickly looking away again.

  “That’s a great attitude,” he told Macy. “Share your passion with the world!”

  Macy smiled. “Well, maybe not with the whole world.”

  Before Kevin could ask what she meant, she hurried ahead into the atrium. She closed the door behind her and hung a sign on it reading DANGER—DO NOT ENTER.

  Then she hit PLAY on the radio. Kevin watched as she opened her mouth.

  Fortunately, the glass kept him from hearing a note. But he could tell that she was singing. Leaves started falling from the trees, flowers wilted all around her, and several passing birds thudded to the ground.

  And all the while, Kevin just smiled, happy to see his friend happy.

  Joe and Kevin Lucas put on their best fake smiles— Stella Malone is approaching, and she does not look like her usual fashionable self.

  Nick tells his brothers and Stella that their favorite JONAS backup singer is sick!

  “Macy, remember the drill. Deep breaths,”

  Stella tells Macy Misa, who tends to lose her cool around JONAS.

  Kevin thinks a crisis is the perfect moment to practice a new song.

  Macy
practices her singing . . .without a clue that she’s totally off-key.

  Joe tries—and fails—to tell Macy that her singing isn’t exactly up to JONAS standards.

  Nick has the perfect card for Macy. It says:“Sorry we crushed your dream of singing.”

  Oh, no! Macy accidentally closes a locker door on Kevin’s hand!

  Joe, Nick, and Kevin have all ordered pizza from the same restaurant . . . but why?

  Maria, the delivery girl, arrives with the pizzas. Now Mr. and Mrs. Lucas understand all the orders!

  “That’s the Jawbreaker,” Joe tells his dad.“I ordered that one.”

  “If you guys don’t cut back on the pizza, you’re

  going to have to go out onstage in sweatpants!”Stella scolds her friends.

  The JONAS Book of Law clearly states that no member of the band

  may ask a girl out if another member has a crush on her.

  Kevin is ready for his date with Maria. Little does he know

  that both his brothers have dates with her, too!

  “I feel like I bought myself a ticket on the crazy

  train!” Maria tells the boys when they all confess their crushes.

  It’s Stella’s turn! She swoons as she answers the door—the delivery boy is totally cute!

  PART

  TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was almost dinnertime at the converted firehouse the Lucas family called home. Tom Lucas and his wife, Sandy, were in the kitchen. So was their youngest son, Frankie.

  “Hey, hon,” Mr. Lucas said hungrily, “how about you whip up a batch of your famous spaghetti with Sandy sauce for dinner?”

  Mrs. Lucas shot him a look. “By ‘whip up a batch,’ you mean stand over a boiling pot for six hours sweating my freckles off?”