In the summer of 1976, Scoob, a young musical prodigy, dreams of becoming a jazz legend. But first, she needs to get off the streets. After landing a paying gig, Scoob thinks her luck is about to changeâshe gets to play in front of a famous band leader with his own TV show. This could be her big break! But Scoobâs older brother, RC, drags her along on an unwelcome road trip. Broke and struggling, they find themselves stuck in the small town of Rexburg, Idaho. The community is buzzing with controversy over a newly built dam, with residents divided over the safety of the structure.
Scoob tries her best to get back home to California and her audition, confused as to why her brother doesnât want to leave. RC's hiding something, and Scoob soon discovers he hasn't been honest. On a warm summer morning, Scoob decides to head home on her own, but that very day, Rexburgâs new dam springs a leak. Within a few hours, a wall of water is rushing toward the tiny town, destroying everything in its path. Scoob must fight for her life and face mounting odds as she tries to decide what really matters.
In the summer of 1976, Scoob, a young musical prodigy, dreams of becoming a jazz legend. But first, she needs to get off the streets. After landing a paying gig, Scoob thinks her luck is about to changeâshe gets to play in front of a famous band leader with his own TV show. This could be her big break! But Scoobâs older brother, RC, drags her along on an unwelcome road trip. Broke and struggling, they find themselves stuck in the small town of Rexburg, Idaho. The community is buzzing with controversy over a newly built dam, with residents divided over the safety of the structure.
Scoob tries her best to get back home to California and her audition, confused as to why her brother doesnât want to leave. RC's hiding something, and Scoob soon discovers he hasn't been honest. On a warm summer morning, Scoob decides to head home on her own, but that very day, Rexburgâs new dam springs a leak. Within a few hours, a wall of water is rushing toward the tiny town, destroying everything in its path. Scoob must fight for her life and face mounting odds as she tries to decide what really matters.
Sunday, May 30th, 1976
Santa Monica, California
Countdown: Six Days
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The restaurant was quiet except for a few muffled shouts and squeals coming from kids riding the carousel on the pier. Red floor tiles cooled my bare feet. The place smelled like garlic, and bread, and the fishy ocean breeze that blew through the open windows. If I hadnât been so nervous, it would have made me hungry. I hadnât eaten since yesterdayâs stale donut.
I fingered my trumpet keys, clicking them softly, waiting for Salvatoreâs answer. He rubbed his shiny bald skull and gave me a squinty-eyed look with his head cocked to one side, like a shady character from an old black-and-white gangster film.
âYou sure youâre up to it, Scoob?â
âYeah, Sal. I know every song your band plays.â I lifted my head like that would somehow stretch my eleven, no, twelve-year-old frame and make me taller. I could claim twelve, because my birthday was tomorrow. My heart fluttered. Getting this gig would be the best birthday present ever!
âI know them by heart.â
That was no lie. Iâd practically grown up inside Salvatoreâs Trattoria, listening to my dad play in the jazz band. My father taught me to play the trumpet before I was big enough to hold the thing in my hands. Heâd made me a tiny stand out of some driftwood when I was three, so I could hit the keys without having to hold up the weight of the heavy metal instrument. Now, I was better than most of the other musicians on the Santa Monica pier. Even the grownup musicians. That wasnât bragging. Just the truth.
Sal chuckled as he grabbed a chair and sat. He motioned to Xavier, the bandâs piano player, whoâd come in early to get extra practice on a new number. âWanna play along?â
Xavier sighed and lifted his spidery fingers from the black-and-white keys, where heâd been plunking the tune to âYou Made Me Love You.â His dark eyes studied me for a second or two, then he shrugged. âSure.â
Grinning widely, Sal motioned for me to start. âOkay, young lady. Prove it.â
After a deep breath, I raised the trumpet to my lips. He was giving me a chance! Time to show him what I could do.
âPlay Moon River.â
The first few measures of the song meandered from the piano, moving like a raft wandering the gentle Missouri. The languid notes floated into the air as I closed my eyes and played, adding a nice vibrato to give color to the melody the way Dad had taught me.
Music has color, kid. It has a feel, you know, like something you can touch with your hands. It even has a flavor. You can play all the notes right, but unless you add personality, youâre just tooting a tin horn.
With Dadâs words in my head, I put every ounce of my personality into that boring, old-fashioned song that was a favorite of the boring, old people who came to Salâs place to eat. After a few bars, I sped things up a bit, adding a flourish and hurrying Xavier along. Sure, the song was at a relaxed tempo, but the piano man was playing at a speed slower than molasses in January.
Sal waved his hand to stop us.
âA Taste of Honey.â
I licked my lips and started again, not waiting for Xavier to do his intro on the piano. I punched out short, staccato notes, smiling on the inside. This had been one of Dadâs favorite tunes. Ba-Bap! Ba-Bap!
Sal folded his arms and bobbed his head in time to the music. Xavier did his best to keep up with me. Once again, Sal cut me off before things really got swinging.
âNow play Mas que nada.â His dark eyes sparkled.
No problem! My lips curved in a wide smile. A great idea for adding more life to this new number fizzed inside my head. Improvising was my thing. Dad had taught me to do my own stuff ever since I could remember. I started adding some of my favorite jazzy trills and was getting into a groove when the man waved a hand to stop me.
âYou got the job, kid.â He shook his head. âAh, Madonna, I never knew you got this good. Your dad would be proud.â
My smile practically split my face in two. Behind me, Xavier snorted and slammed the piano lid, then went to pour himself a drink. A prickle of guilt hit me. Iâd ignored the accompaniment from the piano, desperate to show Sal what I could do. Anyway, Xavier would get over it. He would understand, being a musician and a performer.
âThanks, Sal! You wonât be sorry!â
My hands shook as I stuck my trumpet back into its battered case. Salâs jazz band played in his restaurant every night, and they got salary and tips! Iâd be rich! My brother would be so stoked! Maybe sometime soon we could get our own place to live again. Sleeping on the beach wasnât too bad, but nothing beats having your own bed. And a roof.
âSince youâre underage, Scoob, I canât pay you salary. Weâll give you a cut of the tips. And dinner.â
Oh. My mood only deflated a tiny bit before I filled with bubbling happiness again. It didnât matter! Salâs place was no disco with a silver ball that flashed over a dance floor filled with trendy teenagers showing off their moves. No, Salâs place was all class. People came for the great food and then stayed all night for the band. Iâd seen men and women in fancy suits and swanky dresses drop fives, tens, and even twenties into the jar on the piano. A cut of that wouldnât be bad. Not bad at all for a kid like me, playing the trumpet in a jazz band filled with grownups!
Besides, Salâs place had the best spaghetti carbonara anywhere on the pier. Even better, the trattoria had recently become a favorite haunt of someone Iâd been dying to meet my whole life: Chuck Warren, the jazz musician and television star, who happened to have his own show in L.A. Heâd launched the careers of tons of jazz greats like Bob McCrae and Lino âThe Bambinoâ Valente.
My hands shook. Regular meals and tips, and a chance to play in front of Chuck Warren? My heart fluttered. What if he invited me to be on his show? Heâd done it before. Lino earned the nickname âThe Bambinoâ because he started out when he was just fourteen. I smiled to myself. What would Chuck Warren think of me, an eleven, no; twelve-year-old kid who played just as well as Lino, and maybe even better? Iâd be the new and improved Lino. The youngest kid ever to perform on Chuckâs show!
âHere.â Sal put a small basket filled with rolls on a table next to me. âYesterdayâs bread. Hope it ainât too dried out.â He went on pulling chairs off tables while I tore into the tough bread. It was the best thing Iâd ever tasted in my life. I gorged on my breakfast as Sal made his way back through the maze of dark wood tables and red leather booths. Plastic palm fronds waved from every nook, and the heavy stained-glass light fixtures kept the place just bright enough to see your filet mignon but dim enough to keep your eyes drawn to the brightly lit stage. Where Iâd be performing!
My fourth roll had just disappeared when my brother showed up.
âHey, Sal!â RC waved and wove his way among the tables, brushing his black hair off his forehead. When his eyes landed on me, he smiled big, showing off the deep dimples that girls always seemed to think were so cute. I did a check of the vast dining room to make sure Rita, Salâs prettiest waitress, wasnât around. My nineteen-year-old brother had a thing for her, but aside from Sal and Xavier, the place was empty. Why the dimples?
âThought Iâd find you here.â RC squeezed my shoulder.
âWell, if it isnât the rock star. Howâs it going, kid?â Sal chuckled.
âFar out.â RC stuck his thumbs into his belt loops and beamed again. âThings are looking up.â With one hand, he snagged the last roll and ruffled my hair with the other. âCome on. I got a surprise for you.â His eyes gleamed.
Chewing my last mouthful of bread, I picked up my trumpet case and hugged it. âI have a surprise for you, too.â
âOh, yeah? I dig that!â He jogged to the street entrance, motioning for me to follow. âHurry!â
Waving at Sal, I followed my brother to the door. âSee you later!â
âSeven oâclock,â Sal yelled after me. âDonât be late! Oh, and wear a dress or something!â
âUm, okay. Iâll wear something nice.â
I bit my lip. Iâd said âsomething niceâ because, well, Iâd never owned a dress. But Sal didnât need to hear that, or he might just âun-hireâ me minutes after offering me a job! Of course, my cutoff jean shorts and t-shirt would have to go. Maybe RC and I could round up enough change to pay for a pretty blouse at a thrift store, and I had a pair of black pants without any holes, stashed with our stuff. Salâs was a classy place, after all. No cutoff jeans. And you had to wear shoes. I glanced at my dusty toes.
Please let me find my missing sandal.
My brother waited outside in the bright sunlight. After spending time inside the dim restaurant, I had to blink a few times until my eyes adjusted to the bright California summer sky. My jaw dropped. RC was leaning against an old brown station wagon and all his white teeth flashed in a huge smile.
âWhat do you think?â He patted the slightly dented and very scratched hood like he was petting his favorite dog. âMeet our new ride.â
âItâs ours?â I squealed. âOur very own car?â
âOur very own car.â My brother opened his arms, and I ran into them.
âI promised Dad to take care of you, Scoob.â RC squeezed me tight. âAnd Iâm trying. I know things have been rough.â
âYou do take care of me, RC.â
âI sure try, Scoob.â He brushed the hair away from my face. âWeâre solid. Right?â
I laughed and lightly punched his arm. âSolidâ was RCâs favorite word. It meant different things according to whatever he happened to be talking about. His favorite songs were âsolid,â musically and lyrically. His guitar had âsolidâ acoustics. And we were âsolid.â We were family, each the only family member the other one had left.
âYou got it.â
Happy tears filled my eyes. RCâs surprise turned out to be way better than anything Iâd been thinking, and I got a paying job. My brother was going to freak at the news!
RC opened the passenger door and waved me inside with a flourish, like one of those fancy suited-up chauffeurs you see on TV. Except that RC wore his old bell-bottomed Leviâs, and his hair hung past his shoulders. His t-shirt was almost as old and worn out as mine. He wasnât wearing shoes, either. Also, this wasnât a fancy ride like a Rolls Royce or a Corvette, but we had a car. Weâd never had one before. And we could sleep in here when the cops chased us off the beach.
Laughing, I jumped into the passenger seat and held my trumpet case on my lap. âDo you want to hear my surprise?â
âYou bet.â RC closed the door and hurried around the car to the dented driverâs side door. He wrestled with the warped metal for a few seconds.
While he yanked on the handle, I spied a man crossing the street a block ahead. His thin frame, tan skin, thick black hair, and the swing of his walk totally reminded me of Dad. My heart made a funny leap the way it did every time I clapped eyes on someone who looked like him.
When the father-like stranger reached the sidewalk and swiveled to walk in the opposite direction, the side view of his face ruined the illusion, but nothing could ruin my mood. RC finally wrenched the car door open and plopped down inside.
âAlright, spill. Whatâs the news?â RC started the engine, and we pulled onto the street. âHow do you think youâre going to top my surprise?â
I bounced in my seat. âI got a job!â
RC blinked and his jaw dropped. âSay what?â
I giggled. âIâm playing with Salâs band, just like Dad used to. Starting tonight. Salâs even going to pay me!â I hugged my trumpet to my chest. âThis is the best day of my life!â
RCâs mouth trembled for a moment. Then he chuckled. âYouâre joking, right? Thatâs a good one, Scoob.â
âItâs no joke. Salâs had a tough time keeping a trumpet player ever since Dad died. They need me. Sal gave me the job right before you came in.â
RCâs laugh died away. He glanced at me as he maneuvered the station wagon onto a busy highway. âBut youâre a kid.â
âSo what? Sal didnât care.â Cars whizzed by in a blur. And RC didnât say anything. He just kept chewing his lip and holding tight to the steering wheel.
âRC? Whatâs going on?â The station wagon sped up. We were on the freeway. And we were leaving Santa Monica. The bread suddenly felt heavy in my stomach.
RC sighed. âLook, Scoob. Iâm proud of you, kid. Really.â He gave my arm a gentle squeeze. âI know how amazing you are with that trumpet. See, the thing isâŚâ His voice died away, and he chewed on his lip again.
âWhat?â My stomach gurgled, and I put a hand on my gut, now feeling a bit sick.
âI have a paying gig in Montana for a few weeks. Thatâs where weâre headed now, as a matter of fact. Itâs a real sweet deal, and it will help us get back into an apartment.â
âSo will my job, RC, and itâs right here in California!â
Facing forward, RC gunned the engine. His chin jutted out. His smile was gone, and tears appeared in his deep brown eyes. He cleared his throat.
âMy gig wonât wait. Salâs will. Iâm sure it will. When we stop in Vegas for the night, give him a call and let him know you canât start for a few weeks. No problem.â
âA few weeks?â
âItâll be fine, Scoob!â
My eyes stung with the used-to-be-happy tears turning sour and burning like acid.
âNo, it wonât! How could you do this to me?â
âIâm sorry,â RC mumbled. âI am.â He switched on the radio. The song âSaturday Nightâ blared from the speakers. I dug the singerâs voice but hated disco. It had nothing on jazz. And right now, I hated that song with everything in me.
âRC!â
He didnât answer.
âCome on, RC! Talk to me!â
My brother turned the radio up full blast. The city disappeared, and we entered the desert, leaving civilization behind. We didnât say another word all the way to Vegas.
How had the best day of my life changed into the absolute worst, most rotten, most my big-brother-just-ruined-my-life forever kind of day?
In Summer of Mud, our protagonist Scoob is a determined, musically talented 12-year-old girl who has faced many hardships for her age. I often found myself feeling bad for her because I felt like she never had a voice or a break and was always being told what to do. However, her character blossoms from angsty and rebellious to a compassionate, kind-hearted young girl who finally learns what it means to be a part of a family and a community.
I really enjoyed the adventure that Scoob and RC endured from California to Idaho. Although Scoob rightfully does not want to be on this road trip, we are able to see and understand the bond between the two and how important they are to each other, seeing as they are each other's only family. I felt like I was watching a movie when I was reading the scenes of them traveling. From eating together, to fleeing gas stations, and everything in between. The author does a fantastic job with imagery; I felt like I was always right there next to Scoob and on the journey with her.
This story was also rich with musical elements which was refreshing to read. Scoob and RCâs father was often mentioned throughout the novel in little flashbacks to remind her of her love for music when things would get tough. I loved that even though we are told that their father passed away, he is still a very present figure throughout the story. Scoob mentions her favorite Jazz artists throughout and does quite a bit of performing, really driving home the fact that she is a prodigy and that music is what makes her truly happy and connected to herself and to her father.
This story is definitely one that will tug at your heartstrings. All of the characters are so lovable and relatable, and the story is filled with adventure and intrigue. I highly recommend taking the time to read this if you enjoy coming-of-age novels!