I Heart Band (13 page)

B
y the time I left Julia's house, she'd almost beaten me at the history game twice. Since she and her parents were going to visit her aunt on Sunday night, I watched
Deep Cove
with Chad. We'd just gotten to the creepiest part where this guy goes down to the basement of the theater where he works and this giant marionette from the show is down there and it starts moving even though there's no one controlling it and the guy starts to run but he trips and gets tangled up in all the string that's connected to the marionette and it's getting closer and closer and opening its mouth really,
really
wide, when the doorbell
rang.

“Chad, I think your friends are here!” Mom called from the kitchen.

Groaning, I muted the computer. “Toby and Leon?”

“Yeah.” Chad stood up and stretched. “We're ordering pizza, if you want some.”

“Thanks,” I said, getting up. “Let me know when it's here. I'll be in my room practicing.”

“Oh, come
on
,” Chad moaned. “Why do you have to—”

“Because I have another chair test Tuesday,” I interrupted. “What's the big deal? Just hang out downstairs.”

“You know Dad's watching the news.” Chad glared at me. “Just, like, practice quiet or something, okay? Leon's bringing another movie.”

“I can't just practice ‘quiet.' It doesn't work that way,” I informed him. “And what movie?”

“Don't know.” Chad squinted. “I think he said it's something about ninjas and robots. Sounded kind of stupid, actually.”

I blinked. “You mean
Cyborgs versus Ninjas
?”

Chad looked surprised. “Yeah, that's it. Have you seen it?”

“No, not yet,” I said with a grin. “Let me know what you think, though.”

I heard footsteps on the stairs and hurried to my room before Toby and Leon appeared. They weren't mean or anything, but when the three of them got together it was like they all lost whatever IQ points they had left. A girl could only take so much trollishness.

But I took my horn and music and went downstairs. Not because I was worried about annoying Chad—actually, I'd prefer to—but because I could hear the movie through the wall and I didn't want to cheat on my deal with Owen.

“Hey, Mom?”

Mom glanced up from her laptop. “Yes? Oh, hang on!” she exclaimed before I could speak. Shuffling through a stack of papers on the kitchen table, she pulled out a yellow envelope and handed it to me. “This came in the mail for you yesterday. I completely forgot.”

“Ooh!” Setting my horn on the table, I turned it over eagerly. When I saw the name on the return address, my mouth dropped.

Natasha Prynne

“I'm assuming this is the Natasha you were telling me about, right?” Mom was watching me carefully.

“Yeah.” I ripped the envelope open, pulled out the card, and stared at it in disbelief.

“What is it?”

“It's, um . . .” I flipped the card over, then read it a third time just to be sure I wasn't hallucinating. “She's having a birthday party next Saturday.”

“Interesting. And you're invited?”

“I guess . . . yeah.”

Mom looked like she was trying not to smile. “Interesting.”

I glared at her. “You already said that.”

She laughed. “So, are you going to go?”

Shrugging, I tossed the invitation onto the table. “Maybe. Anyway, can I practice in your and Dad's room?”

“Sure.” Mom glanced at the ceiling. “More of those stupid horror movies?”

“They aren't stupid,” I said defensively. “And no, they're watching one about robots and ninjas. Which
is
stupid.”

“And possessed dolls aren't?”

I rolled my eyes. “Mom. They're
marionettes.
” She raised an eyebrow, and I shook my head, turning to leave the kitchen. “Whatever, you don't get it.”

I heard her snort as she started typing again.

“Got that right.”

Before school Monday, I dropped my horn off in the band hall and checked Julia's cubby. Her clarinet case was there—she must have come in early for tutoring. I wondered how pathetic it would be to go wait by her locker on the off-chance I'd see Aaron. Quite pathetic, I decided. But of course I was going to do it anyway.

Outside of the band hall, I ducked into the girls' room to check my hair. Ponytail or no ponytail? I was staring in the mirror, ready to pull out the elastic band, when I heard sniffling coming from one of the stalls.

Someone was crying.

I turned around and hesitated, wondering if I should say anything. Glancing down, I saw a pair of mint-green sandals with lots of straps laced around the ankles.

Someone with
really
cute shoes was crying. Clearly I had to do something.

I knocked lightly on the stall door. “Hey, are you okay?”

A few seconds of extra-hard sniffles passed before I heard a wobbly “Yeah.”

“Okay.” I waited a few seconds, then started to walk away.

“Oh, darn it!”

I stopped. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, just . . . I'm out of tissue.”

“Got it.” I grabbed a bunch of paper towels and turned just as the stall door swung open and the girl stepped out.

Natasha.

We both froze, me still holding the towels out. Natasha's eyes were red and puffy, and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Five of the most awkward seconds in the history of the world passed.

“Um . . . thanks.” With her other arm covering her shirt, Natasha stuck one hand out, and I remembered the towels.

“Oh! Yeah, you're welcome.” I stood there uncertainly as she wiped her eyes. Her fingers were smudged with something black. “So, uh . . . what's wrong?”

Swallowing, Natasha glanced at me. “Nothing. I'm okay.”

I immediately felt stupid for asking—why would she tell me? We weren't friends, even if she had invited me to her party. She'd probably just done that so Julia wouldn't be upset, anyway. I turned to leave, then remembered what Julia had said.

Why do you think I got along with her so well at band camp, anyway? She reminded me of my best friend.

Ugh.

Sighing, I faced Natasha again.

“Are you sure? You don't seem okay.”

She stared at me, then let out a shaky laugh. “Okay, this is really stupid, but . . .” Natasha dropped both of her arms to her sides. Her white top was damp and smeared with black—it was totally ruined. I cringed.

“What happened?”

“I was doing my homework on the bus and my pen just exploded all over my shirt,” she explained, wiping at it with the paper towel. “I came in here and tried to get it out, but the water only made it worse.” Smiling tightly, Natasha looked up at me. “I know crying over a shirt must sound pretty stupid, but I've just had a really bad morning.”

“It's not stupid,” I reassured her. “On the first day of school my brother spilled orange juice all over my shirt
and
my backpack. I changed shirts, but I had to use his old backpack for a week.”

Natasha's eyes widened. “Oh yeah—the Superman one, right?”

I laughed. “Batman, yeah. Believe me, I wasn't trying to make a fashion statement with that thing.”

“Oh.” Smiling, Natasha threw the paper towels away. “Anyway, it's not just the shirt. I completely forgot to do that essay for Spanish this weekend, so I was trying to write it on the bus. But I didn't finish it, and the stupid pen ruined what I wrote anyway, so I've got nothing to turn in. I've never gotten a zero on an assignment before.”

“Spanish isn't till sixth period!” I said encouragingly. “You can do it during lunch. I'll help if you want.”

Natasha looked surprised, but smiled. “Okay, thanks.” We were both quiet for a few seconds, although it wasn't quite as awkward this time. Then she blurted out: “I'm really sorry about what happened at the band party. You know, with Aaron.”

I stared at my shoes, feeling my cheeks redden. “It's okay. And I'm—I'm sorry about your shoes. You know, the spit valve. I, um . . . it wasn't an accident.”

“Oh.”

“It was so dumb, I can't believe I did that,” I went on, unable to tear my gaze off the floor. “I mean, the whole thing with Aaron—I know you didn't
actually
do it on purpose, just to make me—”

“No, I did.”

I looked up. Natasha's face was red, too, but she continued. “You were right. I was just flirting with him because I knew it would bother you. I . . .” Her eyes welled up with tears, and she blinked rapidly. “Ever since I met Julia, she's talked about you practically nonstop. I was really nervous about meeting you. I was really nervous about
everything—
my old school was a lot smaller than this one, the band was a
lot
smaller too, and . . . I don't know. It was kind of scary.”

Swallowing, she reached for more paper towels. “You know that debate meet last week, during the pep rally? I totally bombed it. It was seriously awful. And then I forgot about this Spanish assignment . . . and I'm
so
nervous about the football game. I'll probably screw up the solo too, just like I've been screwing up everything else.”

With a shaky sigh, she ran the towels under the faucet and wiped at her cheeks. I stared at her dumbly. All that know-it-all talk—Julia had been right. Natasha was just insecure.

It took me a few seconds to find my voice.

“You won't screw it up,” I told her. “And even if you do, it won't be nearly as bad as me at the pep rally.”

Natasha smiled. “Sophie told me about that. But you're really good, Holly. I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think it was.”

“Oh no,” I said emphatically. “It. Was.
Bad.
” We both laughed as the first bell rang.

Groaning, Natasha gestured to her shirt. “I can't believe I have to go around looking like this all day.”

“Yeah, that—oh, wait a minute!” I exclaimed, unzipping my backpack. “Here, use this.”

Natasha took my red hoodie, her eyes wide. “Seriously?”

“Yes, take it.” I glanced down at her feet. “Sorry it doesn't go with your sandals, though.”

She giggled, slipping the jacket on. “Yeah. Although it totally matches my bag!”

I grinned, watching her pick up the light blue backpack with red trim. “It does. Actually, I've got a lot of outfits that match it perfectly, especially this one top. That's the same bag I had that my brother ruined.”

“Are you serious?” Natasha laughed again. “I guess we kind of have the same taste.”

“Yup—
good
taste.”

We stepped out into the crowded hall and looked at each other. “See you in band, I guess,” I said.

“Okay. And thanks again for the hoodie,” Natasha added.

“Anytime.” I started to turn, then stopped. “Hey, I got the invitation. For your party Saturday.”

“Oh, right.” Natasha adjusted her backpack and smiled uncertainly. “I . . . I really hope you'll come. If you like these sandals, I've got another pair that would match that yellow dress you wore last week. We're probably the same size.”

“Ooh, thanks!” I said excitedly. “And I'll bring that red top. Oh, and we've got the same boots, only mine are brown and yours are black—we can swap!”

“Yeah!” Natasha's eyes got big and round. “Wow. We could double our wardrobe.”

I stared back at her. “Whoa, we could!”

“So . . . you're coming, then? To the party?”

I grinned. “I'll be there.”

When I walked into English, Gabby stared at me. “What are you so happy about?” she asked around a mouthful of M&M's.

I shrugged, still smiling. “Nothing. Just having a good day so far.”