The Devil on Kazoo

9: The New Plan

Syl snickered at that. "And we don't only love music, we make music. That's why our station's special."

Bash let out a long sigh. Then, like the dawning of the morning sun, his expression changed from sadness to hope.

He shot to his feet. "We make music! That's why our station is special!"

Syl squinted one eye. "Considering that that's exactly what I just said, I would agree."

"We make music!"

"I feel like I am just hearing the same words," Syl said, baffled. "Are there different tones in English that I don't know or something? What is it that you are thinking, Bash?"

"I don't know," Bash replied truthfully. It was as if he was on the brink of...something. But he couldn't tell what just yet.

Bash took in a breath try and explain explain, but something stopped him. He and Syl had grown close over the years, being the two oldest Crumbs, and he'd gotten used to telling her most things. But there was only one person in the entire world to whom Bash told everything.

He needed to talk to Smiley first.

So instead of explaining, he said, "We're going to be okay, Syl. I can feel it."

Syl gave him a suspicious once over, but if there was one thing Bash could always count on her for, it was not prying.

He realized he was still holding her hands and immediately dropped them, clearing his throat. "I just have a few things to run by Smiles first," he said.

Syl shrugged. "All right, keep your secrets. I have a painting to finish."

"Good luck."

"Good night." Syl turned to leave, and Bash watched as she opened the hatch and disappeared down into her room.

He couldn't help but feel like he'd seen a different side of Syl tonight. A Syl that was, for once, vulnerable. Scared. Just like he was.

It was as if he'd been unexpectedly handed a key to yet another corridor of Syl's mind; a key he would add to his collection. Maybe one day he'd receive the last one and finally unlock the mystery that was Syl herself.

He ran his hand through his hair and went down to their rooms. Smiley's cot sat in the corner of a perfectly organized space. There were exactly three books stacked on his nightstand from largest to smallest, his clothes folded neatly in the corner, and his school backpack hung up on a peg.

Bash never remembered being so orderly when he was Smiley's age. He always kicked his shoes off in haphazard ways (that purposefully annoyed his mother), left his schoolbooks on the kitchen table, and his room, he recalled, always smelled faintly of socks and ancient tombs.

Bash was surprised Smiley was asleep. He and Kathy must not have had their evening argument, which meant they were both in lower spirits than Bash first thought.

"Smiles, wake up," he whispered, jostling his brother's shoulder.

Smiley sat bolt upright; his eyes bleary with sleep but wide open. "What? Have the Mad Teddy's attacked already?!"

He flung off his covers before Bash could respond and went to his cabinet. To Bash's shock, Smiley pulled out a baseball bat with nails sticking out of the sides.

Smiley gaped at Bash, half-asleep and bewildered. "Well? Where are they?"

Bash held up his hands. "There's no attack, mate. I just wanted to have a chat. Where did you get that thing?"

Smiley drug his arm over his eyes and yawned, seemingly disappointed that he wasn't going to be able to use his weapon.

"I made it," he said.

Bash decided not to press any further.

Smiley followed him up to the wheelhouse since a slight chill had settled outside. They sat at the breakfast table near the window, beyond which was darkness. The moon wasn't out that night, so the floodlights from the boat were the only thing that illuminated some of the water around them.

"I know how we can save the station," Bash began.

What was left of Smiley's drowsiness immediately evaporated. He smoothed his flop of hair away from his eyes to reveal a look of hope and skepticism on his face. "How?"

"When we started this station, the only edge we had on our competitors was that we're a youth-operated radio. Young music brought by young people, right?"

"As I recall, that is correct."

"Now, of course, there are new cats in town."

"So I've heard."

"Which means we need a new angle." Bash rubbed his hands together conspiratorially. "And I believe that new angle is to play music."

"Play...music?"

"Yes, play music." Bash got up from his seat, unable to stay still any longer. "We already make our own music. All we need to do is perform it for other people. Not even Radio Carolina has anything like that."

Smiley squinted an eye. "You mean a concert?"

Bash nodded. "We could have it here. On the boat. The people would love it and we'd be advertising the station the whole time."

Smiley considered his brother heavily. Whenever his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth turned down as he thought, Bash saw their father, which brought a familiar twinge to his heart.

"Also," Bash added before Smiley could reply, his voice soft, "I think maybe Mum and Dad would want us to. We'd be bringing music into people's lives, no matter who they are or where they come from."

Smiley picked at his cuticles. "You think it'll really help the station?"

"What do we have to lose?"

Bash was surprised to see doubt in Smiley's face.

Smiley shifted in his seat, not meeting Bash's gaze. "You think...do you really think we're good enough?"

Bash put his hand on Smiley's arm.

He said, "I do, Smiles. I really do."

The Mad Teddy's had every advantage possible, except for this. Music was something nobody could imitate with money or an inflamed ego. Music was like a chromosome–some had it and some didn't.

Smiley's chin firmed with resolve. "Alright, then. A concert it is."

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Hey guys! I hope you're having a good week!

~What do you think of Bash's new idea?

~How will the other Crumbs respond?

~General thoughts?

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