I Heart Band (5 page)

“I
t was
so
easy. I mean, like, kindergarten easy.” Natasha stabbed a piece of sandwich with her fork. “I can't believe I was so worried about being in advanced math.”

I wanted to puke. And it had nothing to do with my lunch.

But I just smiled and peeled my orange. “That's awesome, Natasha! I know what you mean—I was kind of nervous about that Spanish essay yesterday. But I ended up getting a ninety-eight!” I chewed on an orange slice, enjoying the way her face tightened.

“Oh. Good for you, that's great.”

(I didn't normally brag like Natasha. But we were in the same Spanish class and yesterday Mr. Hernandez had asked me to pass everyone's essays out, so I knew Natasha only got a ninety-two. And she
knew
I knew. Take that, Miss Perfect.)

“Did you guys watch
Save Me
last night? New episode,” Julia said abruptly. I glanced down; there was a pile of cracker crumbs on her napkin, and she was in the process of destroying another one. I felt a pang of guilt.

“Yeah, I did. Can you believe they—”

“Julia!” Natasha interrupted with a squeal. “There's Seth!”

We all turned to look as Seth Anderson joined the lunch line. He
was
pretty cute, I had to admit. I tried not to think about Garrett of First Kiss Fame and smiled at Julia.

“You've got PE with him, right?”

Her face was pink. “Yeah. He's in the orchestra, too. Cello.”

“Too bad he's not in band,” Natasha said. “Then you'd see him at the party. Hey, do you know what you're wearing yet? That sort of flowery dress you wore to the dance at band camp would be perfect!”

And we were back on Lake Lindon.
Again.
I forced myself not to scowl—Natasha always did this on purpose, and I refused to let her know it got to me. She and Julia started talking about who wore what at the oh-so-epic dance that I didn't get to go to. Sighing, I surveyed the cafeteria. Staring at Aaron Cook would keep me entertained.

But I saw Owen first. He hadn't acted weird during band, but with Brooke between us, it wasn't like we got to talk a lot. Every time I thought about what I'd almost done in science, the knot in my stomach would tighten. I glanced at Natasha, who was now describing the outfit she was wearing to the band party in way too much detail.

“Be right back, guys.” I got up quickly and headed over to Owen before I could change my mind.

“Hi, Owen.”

He looked surprised when I slid into the seat next to him. On his other side, Trevor was arguing with a few boys I didn't know. A pile of cards with elves and swords and stuff on them were spread out in the middle of the table. I grinned.

“He's losing again, huh?”

Owen laughed. “Like always.” He was doodling something on the back of a napkin. It looked like some sort of troll.

“So, Owen, um . . .” I paused, unsure of what I even wanted to say. “Promise you won't tell anyone this.”

“Um, okay . . .”

I lowered my voice.

“I kind of massively failed that science quiz yesterday.”

Owen blinked. “What? How do you know?”

“I asked Mrs. Driscoll to grade it after class.” I swallowed. “Come on, Owen—you know I have no idea what's going on in there.”

“Well . . .” He glanced at me. “I guess I didn't know you were having that much trouble with it.”

“If I don't pass the test we're having the week after next, I'll fail on my progress report. And you know Mr. Dante's rule about band.”

His gray eyes widened in understanding. “Oh. Okay.” Owen paused, tapping his pencil on the troll drawing. “Well, if you want, I can help you.”

I let out a breath. “I was hoping you'd say that. But seriously—I'm really,
really
lost.”

Owen shrugged. “It's only been a week and a half. You can catch up.” He glanced at the pile of cards, brow furrowed. “Actually . . . I have an idea. Can you come over Friday after school?”

“Yes. Definitely.” I leaned back in my chair, relieved. “Thanks, Owen.”

“You're welcome.”

“And hey, how do you know my brother?”

“Huh?”

I tapped the troll on the napkin. “Dead ringer, seriously.”

Owen laughed, and the knot in my stomach finally started to loosen.

My science-quiz nerves were nothing compared to how I felt before band on Friday. The chair test was a totally different thing—unlike science, I actually knew what I was doing in band. I could play the test from memory, and I sounded good.

But this wasn't about sounding good. It was about sounding better than everyone else. And by everyone, I meant Natasha.

I grabbed my horn and music folder and started heading out of the cubby room. Julia was already in her chair with her reed in her mouth, and Natasha was kneeling next to her. They were giggling about something. I turned abruptly and headed back to my cubby.

On the surface, everything was fine between Julia and me. We had computer lab together last period, and we talked and joked around like nothing was weird. But she was still picking her food apart at lunch, and she still looked sad sometimes when she thought I wasn't looking. Whatever was bothering her, she didn't want to talk about it with me.

Which meant
I
was the thing that was bothering her.

“Hey, Holly?” Gabby was standing by the trash can, a box of Red Hots in her hand. “Did you write down the essay assignment for English tomorrow? I spaced out.”

“Yeah. ‘Compare and contrast your favorite season with your least favorite.' No, thanks,” I added when she offered the box.

“Cool, thanks.” Polishing off the candy, Gabby tossed the box into the trash and knelt down at her cubby. As she hung the strap around her neck, I peered curiously inside her case.

“Why is your reed already on your mouthpiece?” I asked. “I thought you guys were supposed to take everything apart every day, like the clarinets do. And, like, clean it and stuff.”

Gabby shrugged. “Yeah, we are. But it's faster this way.”

“Ew!” I exclaimed. “Didn't Mrs. Wendell tell your class about what could happen if you don't clean your instrument every day?”

Grinning, Gabby slid her case back into her cubby. “I guess I forgot. What happens, Mrs. Mead?”

I decided to ignore that. “Gunk builds up inside and could even start growing mold.
Mold,
Gabby.”

Gabby clapped her hand to her cheek. “Oh, the horror!”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Why are you laughing? Are you seriously not grossed out about putting a moldy mouthpiece in your mouth?”

But she was still laughing as we headed to our seats.

A few of the trumpet players were playing through the chair test. Suddenly, a fresh wave of nervousness hit me. I'd been so focused on beating Natasha that I kind of forgot we had to play the test in front of everyone.

Mr. Dante started the chair test right after our warm-ups, thank God. I'd have died if he'd waited till the end of rehearsal.

Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes as the flutes played one at a time, then the clarinets. It took a massive effort to keep my fingers still. When Julia's turn came, I opened my eyes.

She did pretty well, but I could tell she was nervous. The whole clarinet section
was
pretty amazing, though.

The saxophones were up next. There was only one bari sax and one tenor sax player, but Mr. Dante made them do the chair test anyway. Then there were three alto saxes—two eighth-graders and Gabby. She gave me a little grin right before her turn.

“Wish me luck,” she whispered.

It took about three seconds of her playing for me to forget about her gross no-cleaning policy. Gabby was
awesome.
I knew the music for this test was pretty easy, but she made it sound so . . . effortless.

I was so wowed that I almost forgot about my turn.

“Holly?” Mr. Dante prompted me.

Blinking, I sat up straight and adjusted my music stand. I tried to pretend I was back in my room, but honestly, it was impossible not to be aware of the forty-something kids sitting all around me in dead silence.

I gave myself a split-second mental pep talk.
You did not spend all those hours practicing just to get freaked out because people can hear you. People are
supposed
to hear you. That's why you're in band.

Then I played.

It was over in about twenty seconds. And I totally nailed it.

I sat back in my chair, trying not to look smug. But seriously—I'd played it perfectly.

“Nice job,” Gabby murmured, and I grinned.

“You too.”

I kept my eyes fixed on my horn while Brooke played, trying to keep the smile off my face. She sounded fine, but she flubbed one tiny part. Owen sounded a lot better than he did last year, but he messed up a measure and had to play it again.

Time for Natasha to play. I held my breath as she lifted her horn.

She was good.

Okay, she was really, really good.

Still, by the time she finished, I wasn't convinced she was better than me. Leaning back in my chair again, I bit my lip. Natasha hadn't made any big mistakes, but she'd sounded . . . different than I had. And I'd played exactly what was on the page.

So I must have sounded better. Mr. Dante had to have noticed. I relaxed a little bit. By the end of rehearsal, I was feeling good about my chances at first chair again.

After I put my instrument away, I hurried over to Julia's cubby. “Well, that wasn't too bad.”

Julia made a face. “I was awful. Last chair, here I come.”

“No you weren't!” I meant it—maybe Julia wouldn't be first chair, but she'd sounded fine. “Anyway, everyone in your section is really good. And we'll have another chair test in a few weeks, so things could change.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. You sounded great, though!”

I beamed. “Thanks!”

Julia placed her reed in its little case, then wiped her mouthpiece before putting it away. (I should ask her to give Gabby cleaning lessons.) “Yeah, you and Natasha were best in your section for sure.”

Suddenly, smiling was a little harder to do.

“Hey, I almost forgot!” Julia straightened up, pulling her backpack on. “Want to come over after school today? Dad's making fajitas.”

“Awesome!” Julia's dad was an amazing cook. “What time? I can . . .” I trailed off when I noticed Owen chatting with Trevor by his cubby. We were supposed to study today. I'd totally forgotten.

“Um, I . . . I can't,” I said lamely. “I have to—”

“Look at this!” Natasha appeared out of nowhere next to Julia, flapping her hand around. “I just chipped my nail on my case.”

Julia examined her finger. “It's not that bad. Can you bring some polish tonight? We'll fix it.”

“Definitely.” Natasha gave me her best fake smile. “You're coming too, right, Holly? Fajita night?”

“I asked her during first period,” Julia told me hastily. “So you can't come, really? Why not?”

Great. I so wasn't about to tell Natasha that I was getting tutored in science. “I'm, um . . . my uncle's in town. We're going out to dinner.”

I hated lying to Julia. Like, really, really,
really
hated. And I knew she could tell I was lying.

“It's okay,” she said as the bell rang. “Maybe next time.”

We squeezed out of the band hall into the already crowded halls. “See you seventh period!” I tried to sound normal.

Julia waved. “See you!” She was trying to sound normal, too. Neither of us did, though.

I joined the horde of bodies moving toward the math hall and wondered if our friendship would ever really be back to normal.

B
y the time Owen and I got to his house, I was feeling pretty rotten. When Owen opened his front door, we were immediately attacked by a fuzzy black-and-tan blob. It turned out being sad was pretty much impossible with a puppy licking my face.

“His name's Worf,” Owen said as I plopped down on the floor. Worf leaped into my lap and I started scratching his belly, giggling when he squirmed and made these little whimpering noises.

“How old is he?”

“Just a few months.” Owen picked up a rubber bone and squeaked it. We laughed as Worf ran in circles, barking frantically. “We got him over summer break.”

“Owen, is that you?”

“Hi, Mom!” Owen tossed the bone down the hallway, and Worf took off after it. “This is Holly.”

Owen's mom had the same light blond hair as him, except it looked like she actually combed hers. They had the same smile, too. “Ah, the lab partner. Nice to meet you, Holly.”

I scrambled to my feet. “Hi, Mrs. Reynolds. Nice to meet you.”

“It's Mrs. Grady, actually,” she said kindly, glancing around. “No Trevor today?”

“I told him to come over later,” Owen said, picking up his bag. I grabbed mine, too, relieved that Trevor wouldn't be studying with us. The fewer people that knew I was actually failing a class, the better.

“Is Steve still at work?” Owen asked.

Mrs. Grady nodded. “He'll be home in a few hours. Have fun, you two!”

I followed Owen upstairs. “Who's Steve?”

“My stepdad,” he replied. “So this is the game room,” he added when we reached the top of the stairs. I looked around.
No kidding
.

One long sofa sat in the middle of the room facing an enormous TV, with at least three different game consoles and, like, twenty controllers on the floor in front of it. Next to the TV were stacks of shoe boxes stuffed with discs and cartridges. The computer desk along the right wall was cluttered with even more games. I couldn't even see the surface of the coffee table because it was covered in those cards he was always playing with at lunch. Posters of robots and dragons and spaceships were tacked up all over the walls, and I had to shove aside a dozen comic books just to sit on the sofa.

This place was like Nerd Central.

I got out my science textbook while Owen cleared the coffee table. Carefully, he divided the cards up into two stacks. Then he held one stack out to me.

“Um, Owen?” I said, eyeing the cards. “I thought you were going to help me with science.”

“I am!” He set the cards down on my book. I picked up the top one and examined it. These weren't the same cards from lunch, although at first glance, they could've been. The first one had a picture that kind of looked like one of the cell illustrations in our textbook, except it was floating in what I was pretty sure was supposed to be a witch's cauldron. I flipped the card over.

 

CENTRIOLE

Pair of organelles found in animal cells

 

There was a whole bunch of other stuff written on it, none of which I understood. I looked at Owen uncertainly.

“Okay, say you play that card first.” He took it from me and placed it on the table. “My turn.” He held up a card with a picture of a long, curved blade chopping an onion. I raised my eyebrows.

“Remember the onion skin lab we did?” Owen asked.

“Yeah . . .”

“So is an onion a plant or an animal?” I glared at him without answering, and he laughed. “Okay, so I have a plant cell, and you have a centriole. Are there centrioles in plant cells?”

Okay . . . Owen was nice, but maybe he was kind of insane, too. I looked at my centriole card again. “It says it's in animal cells. So . . . no?”

“Right!” He slid his onion card next to my card. “So you win that hand. But if I'd picked this one”—he waved a card with a mouse wearing a wizard's hat on it—“then I would've won. Get it?”

“Sort of.” I narrowed my eyes. “So hang on—you let me win?”

Owen shrugged. “Just this hand, to show you how—”

“Don't do that anymore.” I sat up straight, shuffling through my cards. “Okay, let's play.”

Ten minutes later, this game was actually starting to make sense. After a while, I was kind of rocking it.

“Ha.” I slapped down a card with a leaf triumphantly. “I'll take that chloroplast card, thank you very much. What?” Owen looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Nothing.” He grinned. “Just . . . I bet you really hate losing, don't you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Does anyone
like
it? Who wants to be a loser?”

“Like it or not, everyone's a loser at some point.” Owen tossed his cards down, glancing at the clock. “Want to take a break? We could play a video game.”

I was startled to realize we'd been playing for way over an hour. Mr. Gordon was probably heating up the grill for fajitas right now, while Julia and Natasha painted each other's nails. I pushed that image out of my mind.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Which one?” Owen asked, kneeling down next to the stacks of shoe boxes.

“Doesn't matter.”

He glanced at me, but didn't say anything. I picked up one of the cards and examined it while Owen put in a game and plugged in the controllers.

“Owen, did you make these?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? And what's with all the dragons and swords and stuff?”

He turned on the TV and plopped back down next to me. “Last year I had Mr. Adams for history—did you?” I shook my head. “His class was really hard. I failed two tests in a row because I couldn't keep all the dates and names straight. My mom kept saying it was ridiculous that I couldn't remember who was president during World War I, but I have all seventeen of the forbidden spells memorized. From Warlock,” Owen explained, handing me a controller. “So I made a card game for history, kind of based off that game. I think part of the reason I can remember all that stuff in Warlock is the pictures. I thought it might help you, too.”

I stared at the cards. “Owen, that is really . . . cool.”

He turned a little red. “Yeah, right.”

“No, it really is!” I meant it, too. Sure, making an elaborate card game to study ranked Owen pretty high on the dork-o-meter. But hey—I finally knew what an organelle was. “Thanks for doing this.”

“You're welcome.”

I glanced at the TV. “
Prophet Wars
. So . . . is this more warlocks?”

“Nope.” Owen picked up his controller. “Aliens.”

“Nice.”

It didn't take long to realize I was a spectacular failure at this game. In five minutes I'd gotten blown to bits, like, eight times. I ground my teeth, thumbs flying over my controller.

Make that nine.

“Wow, you're really bad at this.”

I glanced up in surprise and crashed my tank into the side of a building. A bunch of aliens crawled out and dragged me away from the wreckage. Trevor flopped down on the sofa between me and Owen, and I glared at him.

“That one was your fault.”

He snorted. “Yeah, because you were doing so awesome before.”

“Shut up, Trevor.” Owen got up and grabbed a third controller, but I handed Trevor mine.

“It's okay, I've got to go. My mom said she'd be here at five.” I definitely was not in the mood to get my butt kicked again, and especially not by Trevor. “Thanks, Owen.”

“Sure.” He followed me downstairs. “So we just studied the first chapter today, but I think the test will cover three.”

“Right.” I smiled as Worf came bounding out of the kitchen. “Um, so . . . can I come over again next week? To study?”

“Yeah! I'll make more cards.”

I knelt down to scratch Worf one more time. “I can't believe I'm so nervous about this stupid test. I'm actually more worried about it than I was about the chair test in band.”

Owen looked surprised. “Were you nervous today? I couldn't tell.”

“Really?” I laughed. “I was. I was
really
nervous.”

“Well, you sounded great.” Owen grabbed a piece of rope and started a tug-of-war with Worf.

“Thanks!” I hesitated, watching him. “I . . . I really want first chair.”

He dangled the rope in the air, and Worf danced around on his hind legs. “I bet you get it.”

I smiled, fiddling with the straps of my backpack. “You don't think . . . you don't think Natasha will get it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.

Owen just shrugged. “Well, maybe. She's really good, too.”

Ugh.

I stayed quiet a little bit too long, and he gave me a curious look. “I mean, you're both good. It doesn't really matter who's first and who's second, does it?”

I smiled tightly. “Nah, I guess not.” Shouldering my backpack, I opened the front door. “See you Monday, Owen.”

“See you.”

On the ride home, Mom turned on the radio. But in my head I heard myself play the chair test, and then Natasha, over and over. I'd sounded better. I
had
. I wondered if she was obsessing over it, too. I wondered if she was asking Julia who sounded better right now over fajitas.

Everyone's a loser at some point
. I stared at the window and made a face at my reflection.

Maybe everyone had to lose every once in a while. But when it came to band and best friends, I was so not losing to Natasha.