I Heart Band (11 page)

E
verything was totally messed up. And obviously it was all Natasha's fault.

Julia never said anything to me about my fight with Natasha at the band party. It should have been a relief, but it wasn't. I figured she just didn't want to hear me complain about Natasha again. Or maybe she just didn't care at all anymore. After all, Julia hadn't said anything about me not eating with them in the cafeteria all week. And somehow I didn't think she believed my lame excuse about practicing.

Only one thing made me feel a tiny bit better—Julia was kind of acting weird around Natasha, too. And Natasha had definitely noticed, because she'd been pretty subdued. Even better, I didn't have to see her at all on Thursday, thanks to the debate meet. But I couldn't even enjoy it because I was so nervous about the pep rally.

I'd practiced the solo for “Galactic March” every single night this week
while Chad banged on the wall and yelled at me to stop. I could play it frontward and backward. But literally the entire school would be at the pep rally. And the gym made everything so . . .
loud.

I had to nail it, though. I wanted Mr. Dante to realize that I should've been first chair all along.

“You'll do fine,” Julia said as she turned yet another cracker into dust. “You sounded great today in band.”

“Thanks.” My own lunch bag sat unopened on the table. I was so nervous, I couldn't even enjoy eating at an actual table again, instead of my usual bathroom stall. “It's just a little scary. I mean, this is our first real performance—it's a big deal!”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to hit myself. It
was
a big deal—and Julia couldn't be a part of it.

“Sorry,” I started, but she waved me off.

“It's okay.”

“You'll get to play at the football game, though,” I said firmly. “I know it.” I started to ask how history was going, but stopped at the dejected look on her face.

Apparently, it wasn't going well.

I felt even worse during computer lab seventh period when the vice-principal's voice crackled over the intercom, asking teachers to release the football players, cheerleaders, and band members to get ready for the pep rally. Julia wished me luck, and I had to leave her there doing our stupid spreadsheet activity.

By the time I pushed the doors open to the band hall, my stomach was doing massive flip-flops. Everyone chatted noisily as they put their instruments together, but I stayed silent. Vomiting was totally a possibility if I opened my mouth.

Besides, there wasn't anyone to talk to. Julia was stuck in class. Gabby didn't seem mad, but she wasn't exactly going out of her way to talk to me (not that I could blame her).

And Owen . . . yeah, that was still all messed up too. On Monday in science, I'd waited until Mrs. Driscoll had us start our labs. Then as soon as I sat down at our workstation, I'd started to apologize.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you at the party. I was . . .” And then I'd stopped, because really, I had no idea what else to say. I didn't want to tell him about Natasha, and there was no
way
I'd ever tell him about Aaron.

So I just sat there like an idiot with my mouth open until he'd said: “It's okay.”

But all week, we just did our labs and barely talked about anything but science stuff. I hadn't even asked about studying together again. Our video game hangs were probably over.

The thought made me sad.

When I got to the gym, Mr. Dante was organizing us into rows up the bleachers. By the time we finished warming up, students were filing in, and my stomach started a new bout of flipping. (Seeing Aaron in his football jersey so did not help that one bit.)

The pep rally started, and we played the fight song while the cheerleaders did their routine. Then the coaches started talking while my fingers tapped away nervously on my horn. Squinting at the bleachers opposite us, I spotted Julia.

All of a sudden, I missed her so much it hurt. I missed her more than I had when she was at Lake Lindon. Like she was across the state right now, instead of across the gym.

Next to me, Gabby was twisted all the way around, talking to Victoria. I glanced on the other side of Brooke and saw Owen facing the row behind us, too. He, Trevor, and another trombone player all had their heads lowered. Leaning back slightly, I noticed the Warlock cards spread out over the bleachers and smiled to myself.

Just for a second, though.

“All right, folks—‘Galactic March'!” Mr. Dante stood up in front of us, and my heart leaped into my throat.
Not yet, I'm not ready!
I wanted to scream, but instead I opened my flip folder to the march and took a deep breath.

I tried to focus, vaguely aware of Aaron hurrying up the bleachers and taking his seat with the trumpets behind me. Mr. Dante lifted his hands, I lifted my horn, and the song began.

Halfway through, my fingers were actually shaking, which made pressing down valves a lot harder than it should've been. The whole march seemed to fly by, and when we finally got to the solo, the heartbeat in my ears was louder than the whole percussion section.

I just had to get through that first measure—the part where the whole band stopped. If I could nail that, I'd be okay.

But I breathed in too much and too early. And my lips felt numb. And even though my brain said to press down two valves, I pressed three.

So when the band paused, the sound that came out of my horn was pretty much exactly how my brother described it.

A constipated moose.

Mr. Dante continued conducting as if nothing had happened, and the low brass and percussion came in right on time. But there was no horn solo, because I was frozen. A statue of the world's worst French horn player, sitting right there on the bleachers in the Millican Middle School gym.

A few of the clarinet players glanced back at me, and I heard laughter over the music. Mr. Dante was looking at me as he conducted. He didn't look angry, just quizzical.
Are you going to play, Holly?

Somehow I managed to inhale, move my fingers, and play. But I was so freaked by what had just happened that my tone was weak and shaky, and I missed three notes.

It was literally the worst performance ever. Not just
my
worst performance. The worst performance in all of music history. It had to be.

When “Galactic March” ended, I put my horn in my lap and stared at it, waiting for the entire band to crack up. A few of the flute players were looking at me and giggling, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Gabby watching me. But other than that, everyone was just back to talking.

As far as I could see, anyway. I so wasn't about to turn around. If Aaron was laughing at me, I didn't want to know.

Even though it was no more than ten minutes, the rest of the pep rally seemed to drag on forever. As soon as Mr. Dante dismissed us, I flew down the steps without looking around and practically ran out of the gym.

I beat everyone back to the band hall, packed up my horn, grabbed my backpack, and hurried back into the halls just as the bell rang. When I spotted Gabby and a few others from band coming down the corridor, I ducked out the closest exit.

I leaned against the brick wall, trying to make myself invisible as students swarmed out of the building and toward the buses lining the curb. My face was hot with humiliation. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them away.

Normally after something this traumatic, I'd go over to Julia's and she'd make me laugh so much I'd forget about whatever happened. But I couldn't do that, because Natasha might be there. I knew she'd hear the whole story eventually, but there was no way I could deal with her smug face right now.

Besides, things were so weird with Julia, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to confide in her right now.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath. I needed someone to talk to, and something fun to take my mind off the fact that I'd just made a complete idiot of myself in front of the entire school.

I needed a friend. And maybe a few aliens to blow up.

I watched as my bus pulled away from the curb. Then I picked up my case and my bag and started walking.

When I knocked on Owen's door, a tall, broad-shouldered man answered.

“Can I help you?” he asked. A little girl with reddish hair and purple paint smudged on her face peered at me from behind his legs.

“Uh . . .” I wasn't sure what to say—who were these people? Glancing around, I wondered if I'd knocked at the wrong house. “Is, um . . . is Owen here?”

He smiled. “He sure is. And you are?”

“That's Holly, Steve!”

I breathed a sigh of relief when Mrs. Grady appeared. “One of Owen's friends from school. Come in!”

“Thanks.” I stepped into the foyer and set my horn case by the door.

“That looks like Owen's,” said the little girl, and I nodded.

“Yup, we both play French horn.”

“Holly, this is Owen's stepsister, Megan,” said Mrs. Grady. “And this is my husband, Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Grady.” I shook his hand just as Worf bounded down the stairs. “Hi, Worf!”

“Owen's in the game room,” Steve said. “Come on up.”

I followed him upstairs, Megan and Worf in tow. Owen was so focused on whatever he was doing on the computer that he didn't notice us.

“Owen, you've got company,” Mr. Grady said, picking up a basketball on the floor next to the couch.

Owen swiveled in his chair. “Oh! Um . . . hi, Holly.” That was followed by about a million blinks.

“Hi,” I said nervously.

“Hi,” said Megan, and I couldn't help but giggle.

“All right, Megs. Let's go finish up with finger painting.” Mr. Grady turned back to the stairs, still holding the basketball. “Hey, Owen—want to shoot a few hoops after dinner?”

“Uh . . .” Owen glanced back at his computer. “Sure, maybe. If I finish this.”

I leaned on the couch's armrest and waited until Mr. Grady and Megan were downstairs and out of earshot. “So . . . you like basketball?”

Owen sat back down in his chair, watching Worf attack his shoelaces. “It's okay.” He paused. “Actually, no. I hate it. But Steve really wants me to play.”

“Oh,” I said. “He and Megan answered the door. I thought I was at the wrong house for a minute.”

“Steve usually works till seven, but he got off early today,” Owen replied. “Megan lives with her mom half the time.”

“Oh.”

Cue the awkward silence.
Just apologize,
my brain yelled, and I swallowed.

“I had this big fight with Natasha at the band party and I know this sounds stupid but she made me so mad I just had to leave and I didn't want to cry in front of everybody and that's why I yelled at you but I didn't mean to and I didn't mean what I said and I'm really really
really
sorry.”

It all spilled out in one breath. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd laugh at the expression on Owen's face. He kind of looked terrified. But really, I
had
sounded pretty psychotic.

“Okay.” Blinkblinkblink.

“I mean it,” I said emphatically. “And today was pretty much awful, too, and if it's okay with you I'd really like to play
Prophets
. Please.”

Owen stared at me for another second, then laughed. “Okay.”

Relieved, I flopped down on the couch as he grabbed the controllers off the floor. “So tell me the truth. Was everyone making fun of me after the pep rally?”

“What?” Owen paused with the remote aimed at the TV. “No, why?”

“You know why!” I exclaimed. “‘Galactic March'! The solo, I totally screwed it up.”

“Oh, that.” Owen shrugged. “No, I didn't hear anyone say anything.”

“Seriously?” I wondered if he was just being nice. Again. “But it was so awful!”

“It wasn't
that
bad.”

“Owen.” I gave him a stern look. “I sounded like a constipated moose.”

He burst out laughing, and after a few seconds I was grinning, too.

“Okay, so you messed up,” he said after a minute. “But I bet it wasn't as bad as you think it was.”

I snorted. “If you say so.”

But I felt a little better. And after forty-five minutes of total alien carnage, I felt a
lot
better. When Trevor showed up, I jumped up off the couch.

“You always leave when I get here,” Trevor said, grabbing my controller. “Look, I won't say anything about how bad you are at this. Even though you're bad. Really,
really
bad.”

I glared at him. “Put my controller down—I'm not leaving. I was just going to call my mom and ask her to pick me up at five thirty.”

I raced down to the kitchen, made the call, and raced back up to the game room.