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"You know it's not a real word, don't you?" the interviewer asked, his tone the epitome of polite. Wen felt himself freeze, the unstoppable, obvious red flush creeping up his cheeks.
"Artistic license. Next question," Olivia answered. Her words came immediately, like she hadn't been the first one to point this out, like she hadn't sat in the shade of the tree in her yard and asked, "what about the other people who know it isn't a word?" Wen remembered how he'd shrugged. Then, feeling that wasn't enough, he'd said, "whatever. Either they get the song or they don't."
The interviewer, thrown for a loop, blinked down at his flashcards. Wen concentrated on the joke Charlie had whispered as they sat down ("do you think he wrote the questions on his hand?") and willed his red cheeks to fade back to freckles. He was okay with freckles; he'd accepted they were his lot in life. He wasn't okay with everyone tuned in to this morning talk show being able to read his mind, or know how embarrassed he now felt about those lyrics--even if he still loved performing the song.
"Of course, of course. How did the five of you discover your...artistic side?"
Wen wondered at the hesitation, like the interviewer had thought about something else. He wondered if the interviewer thought they were ignorant or uneducated, but the guy couldn't be much older than they were, and chatting with celebrities didn't seem like a job that anyone should feel superior about. He mulled this over as Stella rapidly spoke in the background, saying how "we started with a shared message" and "we wanted our voices heard." They were pre-written talking points from their manager, except they weren't; Stella would have said all that anyway.
Mo leaned forward and spoke for the first time.
"Perhaps we were writing to teenagers, but we were teenagers, and we said what we felt was needed. You know it resonated. And of course, our fans--" and here she looked directly at the camera "--all of them are teenagers, or were at some point, or will be. Those messages are universal. We are determined, and we will determine our future."
Wen ducked his head to hide his grin. Without endorsing his poor grammar--and Mo was a straight-A student, she never would--she'd succinctly defended their song more eloquently than he ever could. He wished for her confidence, sometimes, except he knew she didn't feel the beat the way he did, and he'd never give that up. When they played, she swayed, drew out notes; he felt the rhythm in his bones. They'd created some great hits mixing her vocals with his rap, and he was proud of that.
"Right. And what's in the future for Lemonade Mouth? You've slowed down with your most recent album, releasing it two years after your previous three. What's changing with the band?"
"We've grown," Charlie answered. He had that little crease between his eyebrows that meant he was worried, but worried he would have to fight, and dreading it. Wen was surprised he could recognize that particular expression, but then, he'd seen Charlie with it more frequently than anyone would want to know. "Life has changed a lot for us since we started our band. After the first three albums, we needed some space to breathe, and think. We weren't shouting to a void anymore; we had an audience, and we knew our messages had an impact. We wanted to be sure of what we said."
Charlie had shared more than the interviewer realized, Wen thought. There had been a two-month fall-out, where no one spoke to each other and Wen couldn't sleep at night, turning his band mates' personalities over and over in his mind like worry stones. A shouting match had led to a whispered confession from Mo that she wouldn't do as her parents asked and go to college. Wen had seen people quoting his lyrics online, using his words as evidence of the opposite of what he'd meant, and couldn't set pen to paper for six months. Olivia had solved it, one day, by bringing over her favorite poetry book and making up tunes as she sang rhymes aloud. After that, he'd worked with a trickle, single lines coming at moments of inspiration but never the gushing flow of muse and energy he'd felt before. Even Stella, proud of their impact in their high school, had struggled to face the problems of adulthood. Have a voice and use it, that was her mantra, except then she could vote and nothing seemed simple and she didn't know what to use her voice for. Every time she tried, it came out wrong, until she all but stopped speaking for a few weeks. She came back from it voraciously reading nonfiction but less absolute whenever she expressed her thoughts. They all still worried about her, except the lyrics she jotted on receipts and bookmarks were just as forceful as they'd always been.
"I see. Wen, can you elaborate on that?"
Wen looked up to all eyes on him. Even the bright studio lights seemed to be rotating toward him, baking him in their scrutiny.
"What Charlie said. We've grown. We're all proud of the songs we created five years ago, but there are so many new things for us to speak up for now that we've determinated our path." He listened to his four bandmates laugh around him, in on the joke. "Our new album, it's bigger and smaller. We're talking about things we see in the world, but also things we see in ourselves. When we were touring, we met all sorts of people, and we learned about ourselves, as individuals, as a band, away from our families, and away from our homes. Now we've had time to examine all that, and I think we've found some really powerful things to say." He paused. There was a producer behind the camera, signalling that the interview was almost over. "Lemonade Mouth has always, first and foremost, stood for friendship and taking care of each other. We may have a slightly different sound, now, but our fans will find the same heart, support, and love in our songs that they always have."
He didn't notice the interviewer speaking to the camera, wrapping things up, and the signals from the crew. Instead, he saw the curl of Charlie's smile, the brush of Mo's eyelashes against her cheek as she somehow gave him the equivalent of a supportive nod, the piercing blue of Olivia's eyes as she looked at him, and Stella's celebratory head-bop, as though he'd summoned the music and she was already dancing along. With a smile, Wen stood beside his bandmates and felt the warmth of their unshakable connection flow through him.