Chapter 2

"So Blue, what would you say if I asked you to join my band?"

Jackie stared incredulously at her friend. "I would smile and nod to keep you calm and then, as soon as your back is turned, call the men in white coats to take you away."

"Oh, you're a riot – move over, Bill Cosby. I'm being serious here. I'm forming a rock band with Chip and Dave. All we need is a drummer and I think you just might be up to our standards."

"As great an honour as it is to be up to the standards of a bunch of pasty faced teenage Mick Jagger wannabes, I'm gonna have to pass on the grounds that you're out of your freakin' mind! The only people who know that I can tell the right side up of a drumstick are you, me and your Dad – and that's two more people in on this secret than I'm comfortable with."

Trevor noted the stubborn set of Jackie's jaw and knew he was going to need to pull out all the stops to get her on board with his plan. Perhaps a little emotional blackmail would do the trick. He heaved a regretful sigh.

"I guess it was a crazy idea. I just thought how cool it would be to have my old Camp Pukawangi sister by my side, just like the old days."

"Don't go there, Trevor," Jackie warned. "That was a long time ago."

"Seems just like yesterday when we met at good old Pukawangi," reminisced Trevor. "All that summer you and me was like peas and carrots…"

6 years ago

It was hard work being a rebel, 10 year old Jackie Burkhart decided as she froze in the darkened hallway outside the girls dormroom. First you had to keep yourself awake until all the other girls had fallen asleep, then there was the difficult task of getting dressed in the dark – she hoped she was wearing her pink and white T-shirt but she had a sinking feeling it could be her buttercup t-shirt in which case she was clashing horribly with her purple cords. Finally, sneaking out silently over creaky timber flooring was no easy task. When she was sure no-one had heard the door close behind her, Jackie exited the bunkhouse with a feeling of victory.

"No leaving dorm rooms after 9.30, hey?" Jackie muttered to herself. "Well, what do you call this, Tupperman? Come and get me, suckers!" For some reason, the laying out of the Camp Pukawangi rules of conduct by head camper Tupperman had been a red flag to Jackie. Not that anyone would know that by looking at the demure girl sitting with perfect posture in the front row of the assembly hall. Yet rage seethed behind her pretty young face as another grown-up ordered her life for her. Perhaps it was because there was a superficial resemblance between the pontificating Tupperman and her father when he had informed her that instead of taking Jackie to Europe with him and her mother as he had promised, he was sending her to a camp in upper Wisconsin for the summer where he was sure she would have a fine time and bring credit to the name of Burkhart. She had been so flabbergasted that he could break a promise which had meant so much to her (she had been looking forward to having her parents to herself for once) that she had not even had the opportunity to protest, cry and sulk. Before she knew it, the chauffeur was dumping her at this bug-ridden hell hole in the middle of a passell of strange kids who had no idea of her importance. What's more, when she had made some constructive criticisms regarding their clothing, language and bathing habits, they had become downright nasty to her.

I should run away, Jackie thought to herself as she slipped into an empty building on the other side of the camp. Yes, I'll work out how to do it tonight – case the joint – and then I'm leaving for Point Place.

The young girl gave an involuntary shiver as an owl hooted in the silence. She suddenly felt her fear of the dark starting to creep up on her. She sang an old Beatles song under her breath to keep the eerie silence at bay. "I was alone, I took a ride, I didn't know what I would find there," she quavered in a forlorn little voice. She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard behind her "Another road where maybe I could find some other kind of life there." She spun around as the light came on to find a tow-headed boy of about her own age staring at her. From the look on his face he looked about as unnerved as herself to be alone in the darkness. They regarded each other for a good 30 seconds, making the rapid character assessments children are so good at, before their faces each offered a smile of understanding to the other. Of one accord they sang,

"Ooh! Then I suddenly see you.

Ooh! Did I tell you I need you,

Every single day of my life!"

They both broke into hilarious laughter, as much to release the nervous tension as appreciation of the joke. By the time they had stopped laughing, they were friends. Still, there were formalities to go through.

"I'm Jackie."

"I'm Trevor," the boy responded.

"What are you doing here?" Jackie asked curiously.

"Come with me – I'll show you," Trevor had said mysteriously. It seemed entirely natural for Jackie to take his hand as he led her to a heavy oak door with the sign "Music Room" emblazoned on it. He ushered her into a room inhabited by a piano, brass instruments, flutes, guitars and drums. Trevor made a bee-line for an acoustic guitar and immediately started strumming, getting to know the guitar's sound and quirks. His face had a single-minded intensity as he played that shut out his new companion. Jackie did not like being ignored so she sat down at the piano and started to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", the only tune she knew, so this strange boy would not think he was the only musician around.

"Stop, stop," Trevor ordered. "That was terrible! Stop playing before the Society Against Cruelty to Pianos hears you and locks you up."

His words hurt Jackie's feelings. All of the stresses of the day all came to a head as tears welled up in her big eyes and splashed onto the keyboard. Just when she had thought that maybe she had found an ally in this hateful place she had made some wrong move to make him dislike her just like all the other kids.

"Hey, don't cry," the boy said, regretting his joke. "The piano's not easy to learn – I'm no good at it either."

"Really?" Jackie said, daring to peek at Trevor from behind her curtain of hair.

"You know what is easy," Trevor said, looking around the room frantically for an instrument she might be able to handle. "Drums! Drums are easy! Why, I'd bet you'd be a natural at it." Trevor crossed his fingers as he said this. Truth be told, his Dad had tried to teach him to play the drums but he had never been able to get beyond the basics. His talents lay elsewhere. Still, it was the kind of instrument everybody thinks will be easy and he decided this time he would keep unkind remarks on Jackie's playing to himself – he could not stand to see a girl cry.

Jackie sat herself down on the wooden stool and surveyed the dusty drum set. "What do I do?" she asked.

"Just pick up those drumsticks there – that's right – and tap the skins with the sticks."

"That's all?"

"That's all. Nothing to it."

Tentatively Jackie tapped one of the drums with her stick. It made a funny hollow sound; not bad, she thought. She tapped another drum, then another, then another, going a little faster, a little harder each time. The sound was hypnotic, like her own heartbeat, and she forgot about her new friend as she experimented with the different noises each drum would make. She found her mind drifting as she played. As she thought of her parents lying in deck chairs on the beaches of Monte Carlo without her, her playing became more forthright, even savage. It was a good thing the music room was soundproofed and set well apart from the dorms because her drumming became louder and angrier as all her suppressed hurt rose to the surface. Trevor stared at the pint-sized dervish slaughtering the drum set – of course, there was no beat or music in what she was playing, but she had a natural speed and dexterity with the sticks. When she finally paused and became aware of her surroundings, he picked up his guitar again and played the same Beatles tune they had sung together in the hallway.

"Jackie, you know this song, right?" She stared at him with wide eyes and then slowly nodded. "Can you hear the music in your head?" She nodded again – she had always been able to replay songs in her head. When she was a little girl she had played a game with her nanny who would play the beginning of a song, then Jackie would walk around the house for two minutes singing the song to herself and then come back to the nursery for the end of the song – if she came in with the right timing, she had won the game.

"Okay, now the music in your head - can you hear what the drums are doing?"

Jackie concentrated, separating the drums from the other sounds in her mental replay. Trevor began to play "Got to Get You Into My Life" at a slow pace. Tentatively, she played the accompanying beat using just one drum. As she became more confident, she quickened the beat so it was at normal pace and Trevor sped up to match her playing. When she finished the song with only a couple of minor errors, she felt the most amazing sense of accomplishment that she had actually made music!

"You are a natural," Trevor said with some awe. It had taken him three months to get to the same point that she had arrived at in just one night, and she had a much better sense of timing than he ever had. Jackie glowed at his praise.

"Can you teach me how to play properly?" she pleaded.

"I can teach you what I know," Trevor said. "But I've got a feeling we'll be passing that point long before the summer is over."

"We should meet like this every night," Jackie said excitedly. "We can make music together and no-one will know."

So it had been that strange and wonderful summer. Jackie and Trevor would meet at midnight every night, sneak off to the music room and play for 3 to 4 hours, which would mean they were both yawning all the rest of the day but camp life was not too strict and there were hammocks around for afternoon sleep catch-ups. They had soon found that their friendship as well as their music had to be kept secret, as their camp mates were still at that age where a friendship between a boy and a girl was "gross" (to the girls) or "sissy" (said the boys). But by the time Jackie's chauffeur arrived to take her away, a friendship had been forged in music between them that would not be easily broken. They had already made plans for Jackie to sneak over to his house so his Dad could teach her more about the drums than he was able to – his personal knowledge had been exhausted by the second week.

Back to the present day

"Look Trevor, you must see it's impossible for me to be part of your band," Jackie implored, but her position had switched from dismissive to defensive. "If I was playing in front of people my parents would be sure to hear about it eventually and I'd be grounded for life. You know the one time I even dared ask if they would buy me a drum set they came down on me like a ton of bricks and said no daughter of theirs was going to play such an unladylike instrument. It was one of the few things they ever agreed on."

"I have a plan," Trevor said with a smug smile.

"Oh, you have a plan? And does this plan protect me from public humiliation if anyone ever saw Jackie Burkhart, captain of the cheerleading team by the largest majority in Point Place history, banging away on some dirty old drums and getting all…"

"Sweaty?" finished Trevor.

"Glisten-y," she finished with a frown.

"So your main objection is that it is impossible for Jackie Burkhart, perfect daughter and pure as snow cheerleader, to compromise her reputation by getting involved with a rock band."

"That's right."

"Then I have some good news. Jackie Burkhart won't have to put her reputation on the line. Jackie Burkhart won't have anything to do with this band. But my girl Blue will!"

"What are you babbling about?"

"Secret identity, kid," Trevor explained. "A different name, a wig and dark glasses and you can be the girl of your most rebellious fantasies."

"A disguise? Trevor, come on! Do you really think this" making a sweeping gesture of her form "can be disguised?"

"Hey, if a business suit and a pair of glasses worked for Clark Kent, I should think a girl who is a past master at hair and make-up could make herself look like Susanne Summers if she wanted."

That idea caught Jackie's interest. It would certainly be a challenge worthy of her talents. Still, the idea was ridiculous.

"Trev, you read too many comic books. There's no way we could pull off such a con."

"Come on, Jackie, you know how much you love jamming with me," Trevor wheedled. "Think how much better it would be setting the beat for a complete ensemble. You need to stretch your talent – and you are very talented, my friend."

Jackie was tempted – she had felt confined in her playing lately. What was she thinking, she was supposed to be giving up this illicit pleasure. Regretfully, she shook her head, laid down the drumsticks and walked towards the door.

Trevor was disappointed. "Man, I should have known you would be too square to go for this."

Jackie froze in her tracks, slowly turned around and fixed Trevor with a steely look. "Square?" she said, temper rising. "Did you just call me a square?"