Girl vs. Boy Band (15 page)

Lark hurried into the house. She couldn't wait to Skype Mimi and tell her all about rehearsing with Teddy.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard piano music coming from the living room.

The melody was terrific. And familiar. In fact, it was
very
familiar.

Lark spun on her heel, flew down the steps, and stomped into the living room, just in time to hear her mother gushing with delight.

“Aidan, it's wonderful!” Donna cried. “You've completely nailed it. This is the new song we've been waiting for. I think we can definitely make this one of the tracks on Abbey Road's first album.”

“What's going on?” Lark demanded, her eyes shooting across the room to lock on Aidan's.

“Lark,” said her mother, “Aidan was just playing me ‘Missing You.' It's his new song.”

“Was he?” Lark seethed. “And how exactly is he defining it as ‘his'?”

“As in he wrote the song himself, of course.” Donna beamed at Aidan, who was seated at the piano. “Go ahead,” she said. “Play your song for Lark.”

Without even flinching, Aidan swiveled around and played the song—“Homesick”—he'd stolen from Lark's songwriting journal.

He'd made a few subtle changes here and there, to create a pop-ier sound, but there was no doubt that Aidan was performing her song and claiming it as his own!

Lark's head was spinning. How dare he? Along with her fury came a crushing sense of mortification, as she realized that “Homesick” wasn't the only thing he would have found in her journal. All her secret poems about Teddy were written down in there, along with her silly little “Lark and Teddy” doodles.

When he finished playing, Aidan turned to Lark. His expression was infuriatingly composed. His dark eyes gleamed, almost as if he were challenging her to say something.

Did he really think she
wouldn't
? Was he so arrogant that he actually thought he could get away with this?

She swallowed hard, struggling to find her voice, her whole body shaking with anger. It was as if Aidan had stolen away not only the words to her song, but every other word she'd ever known as well. Because suddenly, she couldn't manage to formulate a single sound, let alone an accusation. She simply stood there, overwhelmed with fury and completely mute.

“I know!” her mom said, mistaking Lark's silence for awe. “It leaves you speechless, doesn't it? Since Aidan and Ollie couldn't seem to agree on anything, I was beginning to worry that we wouldn't have enough material for an album. But it seems Aidan works better on his own. He's saved the day with this gem of a song!”

“Must be all the lovely sunshine that's inspired me,” Aidan said, his voice dripping with false modesty.

“I told you it would come,” Lark's mom gushed. “All writers get writer's block from time to time.”

“One minute there was nothing, and the next, I had a whole song.”

There's a word for that
, Lark thought bitterly.
It's
“
plagiarism.
”

All she had to do was say it. All she had to do was tell her mother the truth and Aidan Harrington would be on the next plane back to London.

And that, of course, was the problem. The realization hit Lark like a punch. Aidan had already been warned about his reckless conduct; there was no way her mother would tolerate another instance of bad behavior. And ripping off the manager's daughter certainly qualified. If her mom knew Aidan had stolen Lark's work, surely she'd send him packing and that would be the end of Abbey Road. All the time and money she'd already invested would have been wasted. Any possibility of Lotus Records' turning a profit would be destroyed. She wasn't ready to do that to her mother.

“Lark, where are your manners?” her mother prompted, laughing. “Tell Aidan what you think of his song.” Then she headed out of the room, shouting over her shoulder, “I'm just going to call the office and tell them the good news—we have a future hit on our hands!”

Lark clenched her fists and took a deep breath. “I love the song,” she said through gritted teeth. “In fact, I couldn't love it more if I had written it myself.”

Aidan replied with a triumphant smirk.

The subtle route clearly wasn't going to work. “You stole my song,” she accused him.

“Prove it,” Aidan challenged her. “Go get your little diary and show your mummy. I'm sure she'd be
very
interested to read all about your crush.”

Lark's cheeks burned with embarrassment and indignation. She felt sick at the thought of Aidan laughing at her lovesick doodles—and even sicker at the thought of showing them to her mom.

“I did us all a favor,” Aidan hissed. “We need a hit—your mom more than anyone. So what if I got a little, er,
inspiration
from your notebook. If you rat on me, we don't have a song. And if we don't have a song, we don't have an album, so you can kiss this fancy house good-bye.”

Lark stared at Aidan, speechless at his audacity. Then she bolted from the room before he could see her tears. She knew what this could mean for Lotus Records—and for her mom—but she had to do what was right. She couldn't let Aidan get away with this.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

“He is
such
a jerk!” said Mimi. Her face on Lark's computer screen looked angry and concerned. “Why didn't you tell your mom he was lying?”

Lark drew a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She'd already been crying for half an hour when the distinctive Skype chimes had alerted her to Mimi's call. She'd answered with a fresh burst of sobs that had Mimi fearing the worst—that things with Teddy had been a disaster.

But a tearful Lark had informed Mimi that the first Reese-Campbell collaboration had been nothing short of perfection. It was the rest of the afternoon that had totally sucked. Then, with her stomach churning and her heart aching, she'd told Mimi about Aidan ripping off her new song.

“You can't let that thieving creep do this, Lark,” Mimi advised. “You have to tell your mother the truth!”

“I know, but what difference would it make? Aidan would just say I was the one who was lying and make me prove I wrote the song.”

“Which you can do easily enough by showing your mother your songwriting journal.”

“You know I can't do that,” said Lark with a quiver in her voice. “I'd die of embarrassment. She'll tell me I'm too young to be thinking about boys. Then she'll take all my songs, add a techno backbeat, and sell them to some ditzy blond pop-star wannabe for zillions of dollars.”

“I seriously doubt that,” said Mimi, rolling her eyes. “But just out of curiosity, which scares you more? Your mom knowing you like Teddy, or your mom knowing you write awesome songs?”

“The Teddy thing, I guess,” Lark confessed. “I mean,
maybe
I could bring myself to prove Aidan stole my song if there was a way to do it without handing over my private journal. But it's too humiliating. I mean, c'mon. I bet you didn't tell your mom you have a giant crush on Ollie.”

“I didn't have to,” said Mimi. “The eight million pictures I now have hanging all over my room sort of gave it away.”

Lark giggled despite her horrible mood and considered her options. “I suppose my mom wouldn't exactly be shocked to find out about my songwriting. I
am
my dad's daughter, after all. She probably suspects I've got a song or two in me.”

“A song or
two
? Girlfriend, you are a bottomless pit of music and lyrics!” Mimi laughed, then tilted her head thoughtfully. “Could it be that it's not the thought of some ditzy blonde singing your songs that scares you? Maybe what really terrifies you is knowing that if your mom did find out how much talent you've got, she'd be doing the same thing to you that she's doing to Abbey Road. She'd be doing everything in her power to make
you
a star.”

Lark bit her lip. “Maybe. I guess.”

“For most singers, that would be a dream come true.”

“Yeah, well, for me, it's my worst nightmare.”

Mimi was quiet for a moment. “Lark,” she said at last, “did you ever think that maybe this is all happening for a reason? I know Aidan did a crummy thing, but won't you even entertain the possibility that this is just the universe's way of telling you it's time to let the whole world know what a super-gifted singer-songwriter you are?” Mimi shrugged. “I'm just sayin' . . . it might be time for you to face this crazy stage fright of yours and sing in front of people.”

“I'm playing guitar in the talent show,” Lark said, hating the whine in her voice. “Isn't that enough?”

“Yeah, about that . . .” On the computer screen, Mimi's expression showed a flicker of hurt.

“What's wrong?” asked Lark.

“Well, it's just that, when I asked you if I could premiere our music video as part of the talent show, you flat-out refused because you didn't want to be on display. But when Teddy came along and batted his big blue eyes at you, you jumped at the chance.”

Lark frowned. “He didn't bat. And I didn't jump. It was just . . . I don't know . . . different.”

“Right,” Mimi grumbled. “Different.” She sighed and shook her head. “I gotta go,” she said curtly. “Homework.”

“Meems, wait . . .”

But Mimi was gone.

“Could this day get any worse?” Lark asked out loud. “I mean, really. What else has the universe got planned for me today?”

It was at that moment, as if the so-called universe had decided to answer her, that Lark's phone dinged, alerting her to a new message.

It was from Mimi. So maybe her best friend wasn't as angry as she'd seemed.

With a surge of hope, Lark opened the message, then frowned in confusion at the YouTube link Mimi had sent her. “A video?”

She looked at the message Mimi had included: SHOW THIS TO YOUR MOM. I'LL TAKE IT DOWN AS SOON AS YOU DO. Lark smiled as realization dawned. “A
video
!”

Lark sprang off the bed, ran down the hall, and flew down the stairs.

She burst into her mother's office with one word on her lips. “‘Homesick'!” she cried, holding out her smartphone.

Donna looked up from a pile of paperwork at her desk. “Still? Well, I'm sorry honey, I know you miss Nashville, but this is where we live now.”

“No!” said Lark. “I'm not telling you that I
am
homesick . . . I mean, I
am
, but that's not the point. I want you to see a video. Of a song called ‘Homesick.'”

She thrust the phone under her mother's nose.

“What's this?” Donna smiled in anticipation. “A new act you want me to see?”

“
God
no!” Lark ground her teeth in frustration. “It is definitely not a new ‘act.' Heck, is that all you ever think about? Business? For once, can something
not
be about an act or a deal or a brand marketing strategy?”

“Lark,
what
are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about
this
,” Lark hollered, shaking the phone. “I'm talking about me!”

Hand trembling, she hit the Play arrow and handed the phone to her mom. The tiny screen came alive with an image of Lark strumming her guitar as she ambled across the lush green grass of the backyard.

“
If home is where the heart is . . . if that's what people say . . .
”

Donna could only stare, her eyes wide, her mouth opened into a small O of surprise.

“
I can't feel the rhythm, and I can't hear the rhyme . . .
”

Lark couldn't stop her own feet from tapping, and by the second chorus, she noticed that her mother's were, too. It wasn't until she heard her own voice singing the final lyrics that Lark realized she had been holding her breath. The music faded away with a close-up of Lark's face against the brilliant blue of the sky.