Evil Robot Theory
by J. Robbins
"Let's try it one more time, guys," Lautrec Sugarbaker called out. His fledgling band, Evil Robot Theory, was scheduled to play in the high school talent show in two days, and they were struggling to get ready. Lautrec's best friends and band mates reluctantly left the cool outside air and returned to the stifling garage. He handed each of them a piece of paper with lyrics scribbled on them.
"This looks pretty good," admitted Urbana, the bass player. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes and began playing the chorus of Lautrec's new song, "Pleasant Valley Tuesday."
"I like it, big L," Indio agreed as his fingers raced along the keyboard. Skyler, who never spoke if she didn't have to, tapped an approving rhythm on her drums. The band began to play, and Lautrec started to sing the lyrics he had just written. Suddenly, the garage was flooded with a pulsing blue and red light.
"Evening, kids," said a bored police officer as he approached the band members. Lautrec groaned aloud.
"Is there a problem, sir?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer.
"We've had several noise complaints from the neighbors," replied the officer. "You are going to have to shut it down."
"You can't do this to us!" cried Indio in despair. "If we can't practice our song, we'll be the laughingstock of the talent show." Across the garage, Skyler banged her drumsticks on her cymbals in frustration.
"I understand, but the law is the law," the officer told them and quickly left the unbearable heat of the garage.
"I know who is behind this," seethed Lautrec. "It's Mrs. Gretsky from next door. She hates my family because we won't cut down that huge oak tree in our backyard."
"That's ridiculous," Urbana said. "Why don't you go over and apologize to her so we can finish our practice?"
"I can't," replied Lautrec. "She never answers her door. We'd have better luck cutting down the oak tree by ourselves."
"I guess that's the end of Evil Robot Theory," Indio groused. "The greatest garage band that never was."
"Maybe we can do a ventriloquist act at the talent show instead," joked Urbana as she packed her bass carefully in its case.
"Or a four-person production of The Sound of Music," Lautrec suggested with a bitter smile.
"Why don't we move our practice to my house?" a soft voice interjected. Skyler stood shyly behind her drums and smiled at her band mates. "My parents won't mind if we use the basement, and we don't have any neighbors who hate us."
"Um, that's a great idea, Skyler," stammered Lautrec, trying to hide his shock. He'd been friends with the drummer for four years and had never heard her speak more than one or two words at a time.
"Right on, girl!" Urbana yelled and gave Skyler a high-five. The four of them quickly packed their equipment and closed up the garage. Lautrec glanced over at Mrs. Gretsky's house and saw her sour face peeping through the front window. He sighed and made a mental note to talk to his dad about calling a tree removal company. This neighborly feud had gone far enough.