I Heart Band (4 page)

“U
nlike animal cells, plant cells are surrounded by a protective cell wall, which is made up of cellulose. Plant cells also have organelles, such as chloroplast and . . .” I stopped, squeezing my eyes shut. “Wait, what's an organelle?”

I flipped to the glossary in the back of my textbook and read aloud. “‘
Organelle
: a specialized part of a cell with a specific function.' Oh, I totally get it now. Thanks.”

It was Saturday afternoon, and I was lying on my bed talking to my science book. Clearly, my weekend had been stellar so far.

Flipping back to the first chapter, I started reading the same paragraph. For the third time. It was still pretty much meaningless.

The phone rang, and I tossed my book in the air.
“I got it!”
I hollered, lunging for the phone on my night table. “Hello?”

“It's me!”

At the sound of Julia's voice, I smiled for what felt like the first time in a month. “Hey! What's up?”

“Want to go to the movies? My dad offered to drive.”

“Yes yes yes yes
yes.
” I was already on my feet and heading to the closet. “I'm dying to see
House of the Wicked,
I saw this one scene online and—”

“Nooo!” Julia wailed, and I grinned. “No horror movies, I'm begging you. Besides, Natasha wants to see
Seven Dates.
”

I froze, a pink-striped sleeve clenched in my hand. “What?”

“I know it's not your thing,” she went on quickly. “But it looks really cute, and I kind of want to see it, too. You might like it if you give it a shot! Even though there's no possessed people or creepy girls crawling out of holes in the ground.”

“Um . . . hang on a sec,” I said, then pressed my hand over the mouthpiece. I stared at the pink shirt, still dangling crookedly off the hanger.

Natasha was going. I should have known.

I had a tendency to overthink stuff a little bit. According to Mom, anyway. But I couldn't help it. And in about three seconds, this was what went through my brain:

1. Had Natasha called Julia and asked her to see a movie, and then Julia called to see if I wanted to come?

2. Probably not, because Julia said her dad was going to drive them. So seeing a movie had been Julia's idea.

3. But when she called, she already knew what movie Natasha wanted to see. Therefore:

4. Julia invited Natasha to go before she invited me.

I swallowed hard, then pressed the phone to my ear.

“Hey, I'm back. Um . . . my mom says I can't go. I forgot we, um . . . we're all supposed to go out to dinner tonight. You know. Family thing.”

“Oh.” Julia sounded disappointed. I wondered if she knew I was lying. “Yeah, okay. Maybe next weekend.”

“Sure, yeah. Have fun!”

“Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“All right.”

I flopped back on my bed and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. Okay, like half an hour. I was almost asleep when Chad slammed the door downstairs, jolting me awake. (I knew it was Chad because everyone else in the house knew how to close a door without the whole neighborhood hearing it.)

I had to do something. I had to do something that was
not
studying science. Imagining Julia and Natasha hanging out was driving me nuts. Watching some sappy romance movie, to make matters worse.

“Gee, I wonder what happens,” I said, standing up. “I bet there's a guy who likes a girl, even though she's boring as dirt. And she likes him back, even though he's boring as dirt, too. But there's some big misunderstanding that keeps them apart.”

I kicked my science book, sending it skidding over to my bedroom door. “So one of them probably ends up dating some jerk, even though everyone in the movie knows they're a jerk. But by the end they figure it out and the guy and girl end up together, just like every single person in the audience knew they would.”

Talking to myself was not helping me feel better. My gaze fell on my horn case. Chair test this week. Without wasting another second, I pulled out my horn and music and sat at my desk.

Twenty minutes later, I'd played the part Mr. Dante chose for the horn test ten times in a row perfectly. (It was pretty easy, honestly—I was surprised he hadn't picked a harder test.) Natasha was going down. Just thinking about getting first chair and seeing the look on her face made me smile. I lifted up my horn and started again, but only got about three measures in before my door flew open.

“Chad!” I yelled. “You're supposed to knock.”

He fell down on his knees and put his hands together like he was praying. “Please, Holly. I'm begging you. I can't watch a movie when it sounds like there's a constipated moose in the room next door.”

I rolled my eyes. “Deal with it. I have to practice.”

“All day?” he whined.

“Seriously, Chad, it hasn't even been half an hour.” Holding my horn over the trash can, I pressed a valve and water dripped onto a few crumpled tissues.

Chad stared. “What are you doing?”

“Emptying my spit valve.”

He made an exaggeratedly grossed-out face. “That's your
spit
? Nasty!”

It was unbelievable that this guy was almost four years older than me.

“Chad, get out. I have a chair test this week.”

He started to whine again but got cut off by a hand smacking the back of his head. “Ow!”

“Leave your sister alone.” Mom pushed past him and stepped into my room. “She needs to practice.”

“But I'm trying to watch a—”

“Use your headphones.” Turning her back on Chad, Mom held out a shopping bag. “Sorry I couldn't get to the store this week! Work's been crazy. They didn't have the light blue, but I thought this one was cute.”

I reached into the bag and pulled out a turquoise backpack with purple pockets. Quickly, I scanned through my closet in my mind—I had six outfits that would go with this. No, seven. “Thanks, Mom!”

“Anytime.” She backed up and nearly tripped over Chad, who was still kneeling on the floor like a moron. “Would you get up already?” Mom cried, ruffling his hair. Then she spotted my science book. “Holly, what's that doing on the floor?”

“Oh—whoops.” I picked it up hastily.

“Oh my God, you were studying, weren't you. On a Saturday.” Chad shook his head, heaving himself to his feet.

“Something you should try sometime,” Mom chided him. She glanced at me. “Are classes going okay, honey?”

I smiled tightly. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Of course.” She smiled back. “Pizza tonight. I'll call Spins at around six for delivery—meaning, please don't eat an entire bag of Cheetos at five thirty,” she added, giving Chad a Look before slipping past him and heading downstairs.

Chad started to leave, but I stopped him. “Hey, what movie are you watching?”

“
Watch the Fog
. The second one.”

“Ooh, that is a good one.” (Besides our blue eyes, awesome taste in movies was the only thing my brother and I had in common.) “Hey, want to go see
House of the Wicked
?”

Chad squinted. He did this pretty much every time he had to think, which wasn't too often. Like he needed to physically squeeze his brain into action. “Can you get into that one?”

“Yup, it's PG-13. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I've got plans at three. We could do an earlier show if you want.
Not
before noon,” he added. “You know I need my beauty sleep.”

“Chad, all you do is sleep.” I smiled sweetly at him. “I don't think it's working.”

He made a face. “Have fun blowing spit all over the place,” he said, then shut the door before I could retort.

Well, at least the weekend wouldn't be a total bust. Seeing a good movie with my loser brother was better than seeing stupid
Seven Dates
with a girl who probably got all weepy at the mind-numbingly happy ending.

I glared at my music for a minute, then realized my fingers were drumming rather loudly on the bell. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed my horn and took a deep breath. Time to practice.

“C
ome on, Julia. Where are you?”

I glanced at my watch, then at the clock on the wall. (Still synced.) Ninety seconds before the first bell, and Julia still wasn't here. I started fiddling with my necklace—a silver chain with a little turtle made of colored glass. Julia got it for me at the beach. She had a matching one, except hers was a starfish.

It was Wednesday. Julia had been acting kind of weird all week. She'd probably picked up on the fact that I didn't like Natasha. I couldn't help it—I tried. But I was stressed out enough without having to deal with Natasha the Perfect.

This afternoon was the dreaded science quiz, and apparently I was more than a little anxious, because my stomach was doing this squirmy thing. Aaron Cook did not help matters one bit when he walked down the hall looking far cuter than any boy had the right to.

I stared at the floor, watching him from the corner of my eye. Here I was, standing alone at a locker that wasn't even mine. And now he was slowing down. He was slowing down. He was
stopping right next to me.

I forced myself to look up. Aaron was spinning the lock on the locker two away from Julia's. How? How had I been in school a week and a half and only just now was learning that my best friend's locker was right next to Aaron Cook's?

Briefly, I considered opening Julia's locker and burying my head in it. I knew her combination.

Don't be a chicken.
I stood there dumbly, still twisting the little glass turtle.
Just say something.
He was alone, which was pretty unusual. The perfect opportunity.

Okay, here I go
. I took a deep breath.
No, I can't do it. Yes, I can. No, I can't. Yes, I
—

“Hey, Holly.”

Oh my God.

I glanced up and tried to look like I hadn't been extremely aware of his presence for the past minute. “Hey, Aaron. What's up?” Not bad
.
Okay. I could do this.

“Not much.” Aaron stuffed a book into his bag and smiled at me. “Cool necklace.”

Oh. My. God.

“Thanks!” My voice sounded weirdly high. Probably because I'd stopped breathing entirely. “I . . . um . . .”

“Aaron!” I was saved by the tallest eighth-grader I'd ever seen in my life. He was like a red-haired giant. “Coach wants to see you before lunch.”

“About what?” Aaron shut his locker. The giant shrugged.

“Practice after school, I think. We're supposed to bring . . .”

I didn't hear the rest of the conversation because they were walking away and I was still standing at Julia's locker turning purple from oxygen deprivation.
Breathe, dummy.

I inhaled, exhaled, and laughed. Aaron Cook had talked to me. Again. And I talked back. And he
liked my necklace.
I resisted the urge to kiss the little glass turtle. I had to tell Julia about this immediately.

But when the bell rang a minute later, I was still standing at her locker alone, because she'd never shown up. My smile faded, and I picked up my bag and headed down the hall. No sign of Natasha, either, and they had history together first period.

I wondered if Julia was avoiding me.

Something was definitely up. Julia seemed okay during band, but at lunch I could tell there was something she wasn't telling me. When something bothered Julia, she would pick her food apart with her fingers before she ate it, and her laugh would change. It'd turn into this forced, high-pitched noise.

Five minutes into lunch and she'd broken a chocolate bar into about a dozen pieces and giggled at three things Natasha said (none of which were funny). Like I said, something was definitely up.

Then again, I wasn't exactly feeling normal, either. I'd never really had to worry about a class before. I'd spent Monday and Tuesday night trying to read my science textbook, and I was pretty much ready to set it on fire. I'd been skating by on the labs thanks to Owen, but I had to face facts. It wasn't just that I might not ace the quiz; I was totally lost in that class.

By the time I got to science, my stomach was churning so much that I probably could've gotten away with just going to the nurse's office.

“Hi, Holly!”

“Hey, Owen.” I slid into the desk next to his and tossed my backpack down. He glanced at it and made a weird face. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Owen said. “Just, um . . . what happened to the Batman bag you had last week, anyway?”

I snorted. “I was only using that because my brother ruined my real backpack. This one's new.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed, for some reason.

“Sorry,” I said teasingly. “Didn't realize you were such a big Batman fan.”

Owen blinked rapidly. He did that a lot when he was confused, I'd learned. “I'm not, actually. Just thought it was kind of cool that you were.”

Huh. Apparently Owen and I had pretty different definitions of “cool.”

While Mrs. Driscoll took roll, I flipped through the chapter on cells in a desperate last-minute attempt to learn . . . well, anything. Then she was handing out the quizzes. I held my breath as she placed one on my desk. Multiple choice! Score. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

 

1. A mitochondrion is a type of:

A) cell

B) lipid

C) organelle

D) chloroplast

 

Oh no.

My heart started pounding as I scanned the rest of the questions. This had never, ever happened to me before. I had no idea what to do. Panicked, I gripped my pen and glanced furtively around the room.

Next to me, Owen's pencil was scratching away. Every time he read another question, he tapped the eraser against his mouth.

When he did it again, his hand moved up and I could see his paper.

I looked back at my own quiz quickly. No, I couldn't do that. I couldn't cheat—I'd
never
cheated.

But I didn't know what else to do.

Mrs. Driscoll was walking slowly up and down the aisles. I waited until she passed me, then glanced at Owen again. His pencil was moving, then it stopped . . .

Suddenly, even though he didn't look right at me, I knew he knew what I was doing. He hesitated, his hand hovering over his paper. Trying to decide whether or not to let me copy. He was probably two seconds away from blinking his eyelids right off.

I looked back at my own paper quickly. I couldn't use Owen like that. Guilty tears burned in my eyes, and I set my pencil down to rub them away.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Driscoll collected our quizzes and I felt like I had a rock in my stomach. There was no way I'd passed, and I couldn't even look at Owen. When class ended, I hurried up to Mrs. Driscoll's desk as everyone else filed out.

“Mrs. Driscoll, can you please grade my quiz now?” I asked in a rush.

She smiled. “Worried, Holly? You shouldn't be—I hear you're an excellent student.”

“I am—I mean, thanks,” I said, blushing. “But I . . . this chapter was kind of confusing.”

“Well, let's see how you did.” Mrs. Driscoll found my quiz and picked up her red pen. I watched as she read, then marked an
X
. Then another. Then another. After the sixth one, she looked up at me, her smile gone.

“I failed, didn't I?” My eyes were burning again. Mrs. Driscoll nodded sympathetically.

“But, Holly, this is only the first quiz,” she added. “Your lab grades have been fine so far! You can still bring up your grade.”

“In time for the first progress report, though? Because if I'm failing this class on my progress report I can't go to the band party or play at the pep rally, and if I fail on the report card I can't play at the football game and—”

“Holly!” Mrs. Driscoll held her hand up. “Listen, you're going to be fine. We're having a test in less than two weeks. So long as you pass that, you'll have a passing grade on your progress report. My tutoring hours are Tuesdays and Thursdays before school.” She patted my hand in what I guessed was supposed to be a reassuring way. “Don't worry, it'll be okay.”

“Okay.”

But by the time I got to sixth period, I felt anything but fine. One test in science was going to determine whether or not I could go to the band party. And I had less than two weeks to figure out how to pass it.