I Heart Band (7 page)

I
called Julia twice on Saturday and she never called back. So Chad and I watched all three
Watch the Fog
movies, and then he went out with his friends and I did nothing.

On Sunday, Dad took us to the lake. As usual, he and Chad ignored me every time I told them to put on more sunblock. And as usual, by the time we got home they were both practically purple.

“Ice,” groaned Chad, lumbering like a zombie over to the freezer. He grabbed a bag of frozen chicken nuggets and held it to the back of his neck. I rolled my eyes.

Dad headed into the laundry room with a bag full of wet towels and bathing suits. “Holly, will you check the messages?”

“Sure.” I walked to the phone as Chad rubbed the bag of nuggets on his face.

“Chad, gross!” Mom appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. “Next time just listen to your sister and put on the sunblock.”

I smiled smugly at Chad, and he stuck his tongue out.

When I pressed play on the answering machine, it beeped once. “Hey, Holly, it's Julia. Call me back!”

“Let me know when you're off the phone,” Mom said as I hurried up to my room.

“Okay!” I yelled back. But when I closed my door, I pulled Owen's cards out of my backpack without even looking at my phone. It wasn't that I didn't
want
to talk to Julia. But my stomach was starting to knot up about this test tomorrow, and I figured a last-minute cram session couldn't hurt.

And anyway, maybe I would call Julia back if she'd bothered to return my call yesterday. But she hadn't, so I wasn't going to, either.

The knots got tighter and tighter all Monday morning. By the time band rolled around, I was too anxious to think of a retort when Natasha cattily pointed out a tiny rhythm mistake I made in the march. At lunch, I got through half my sandwich before giving up and shoving everything back into the sack.

And then I was at my desk, listening to Mrs. Driscoll tell us to get out our pencils and put everything else away. I shuffled through the cards one last time, and Owen smiled at me.

“Good luck!”

“Thanks, Owen.”

Mrs. Driscoll handed me the test—three pages, holy cow—and I took a deep breath.
Here we go.

1. Centrioles are found in:

A) plant cells

B) animal cells

C) both

D) neither

I pictured the blade chopping the onion and grinned, my stomach knots loosening a tiny bit. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

I got to first-period English ten minutes early on Tuesday. Gabby was already there, ripping open a bag of M&M's.

“M&M's for breakfast, Red Hots for lunch?” I asked, tossing my bag down on the desk in front of hers.

“The Red Hots aren't my
lunch
, Holly,” Gabby said around a mouthful of chocolate. “They're to help me not starve to death
before
lunch.” She swallowed, then gave me an innocent look. “Lunch is peanut butter cups.”

I laughed, then swiveled around when Mr. Franks entered the room. My eyes zeroed in on the packet in his hand.

Progress reports.

“I really hope he hands them out at the beginning of class.” I didn't even realize I'd spoken out loud until Gabby responded.

“You worried?”

I turned away from Mr. Franks. “No, not
worried.
Just, um . . . curious.”

Yeah, right. Curious. There was no way I could make it till the end of class without knowing my grade in science. By the time the bell rang, I had a half-formed plan that involved asking to go the bathroom, distracting Mr. Franks by knocking over his coffee, and stealing that packet.

Fortunately, I didn't have to resort to that.

“When I call your name, please come get your progress report.”

While Mr. Franks called the first lucky half of the alphabet, I stared at my desk and went through the science test in my head. Yesterday, I'd felt pretty good about it—there'd been a lot of questions I knew the answers to for sure. But now, all I could focus on were the ones I hadn't known. And after a minute, I'd pretty much convinced myself that all the ones I was positive I'd gotten right were totally wrong, too. When Mr. Franks finally said, “Holly Mead,” I'd all but accepted that I failed.

I walked up to the front, took my progress report without looking at it, then sat back in my chair. Fingers shaking, I spread it out on my desk and looked.

Science (5th, Driscoll): 80

I stared at the number hard, as if it were going to change right in front of my eyes. Eighty.
Eighty.
That wasn't just passing, it was a B! Still the lowest grade I'd ever gotten on a progress report, but the relief was so great it felt like I was floating.

I pretty much checked out for the rest of class. In my head, I was at the band party wearing my new dress. By the end of third period, I'd even worked up the nerve to have a real conversation with Aaron. I was so distracted that when I walked into the band hall it took me a minute to notice Julia talking to Mr. Dante by his office.

She was crying.

I hovered there for a second, torn between rushing over to her and not wanting to interrupt. Finally, I ran to my cubby and got my horn out as fast as I could. When I left the cubby room, Mr. Dante was back in his office. Julia was over in the corner with Natasha, wiping her eyes.

I hurried over to them. “What happened?”

Julia sniffled and wordlessly handed me a piece of paper—her progress report. I scanned it, and my eyes widened.

History (1st, Peterson): 64

Oh no.

“Mr. Dante said I can still play during rehearsal,” she whispered. “But not at the pep rally. If I'm passing on my report card, I'll at least be able to play at the football game, though.”

“I'm really sorry, Julia.” I didn't know what else to say. Natasha just stood there, staring at the floor. Glancing back at the progress report, I realized history was one of the classes they had together. Natasha had probably known for weeks that Julia was having trouble with history.

“I don't know what to do, though,” Julia went on. “I passed the first quiz, but the second one was way harder. I've been going in for tutoring in the morning, but we had a test last week and I just . . .” Her voice broke. “I don't know if I'll even be able to pass on my report card.”

Suddenly, I wanted to kick myself. This whole time Julia had been acting so weird, I'd thought she was upset with me. But she'd been worried about history, just like I'd been stressing over science. She hadn't been avoiding me before school—she was going to history early to get help.

I gave her a hug. “You're going to pass,” I said firmly. “Maybe you can't go to the pep rally, but you're definitely coming to that football game with us. Okay?”

“Okay.” Julia smiled briefly, then it faltered. “But still, Friday . . .” My stomach dropped as I realized what she meant.

Julia couldn't go to the band party.

S
ince Owen and I weren't studying after school, I took the bus home. I walked in and went straight upstairs and into my room and lay facedown on my bed. Almost an hour later, Mom called me from downstairs, jolting me awake.

I trudged into the kitchen. “Hi.”

“Help me put the groceries away?” she asked. Nodding, I grabbed a plastic bag and started pulling out chicken and tomatoes and sour cream. “I thought I'd try making fajitas tonight,” she said cheerfully, and I burst into tears.

“Holly? What is it?”

She sat across from me at the table, looking concerned. I pulled my progress report out of my pocket and handed it to her. Scanning it, she fixed me with a stern glare.

“Holly, if you're actually getting this upset about an eighty, we need to have a serious talk.”

“No, it's not that.” I wiped my face on my sleeve. “Actually, I'm happy about it. I, um . . . I actually failed my first quiz in science. Like, mega-failed.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Did you go in for tutoring?”

“Well, not exactly,” I said. “But . . . you know how I've been going to Owen's house after school? He's been helping me—we're lab partners. And I had a test yesterday, and I passed.”

Sitting back in her chair, Mom pursed her lips like she was trying not to laugh. “Wow, what a horror story. I can see why you're so upset.”

I rolled my eyes. “It's not that. I'm upset because . . . well, you know Mr. Dante's rule? If you're failing a class, you can't participate in band stuff. And Julia . . . she's failing history.” The tears started welling up again, and I swallowed. “So she can't go to the party this Friday, or play at the pep rally. Maybe not even at the football game.”

Mom nodded slowly. “That's a shame. I'm really sorry, I know how much you're looking forward to the party. It won't be the same without Julia.” She paused for a moment. “But, Holly, what's really bugging you?”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, Mom stood and started putting away the groceries. “You know exactly what I mean. Since school started, I haven't seen Julia over here once, and you haven't been over there. Sunday night when she called you, you didn't call back—yes, I noticed,” she added. “What's the deal?”

So I told her. Mom put away cans of beans and tortillas and shredded cheese, and I sat there and talked about everything. Seeing Natasha on the first day of school with Julia. How they'd met at band camp. How Julia had kissed some guy named Garrett and hadn't even told me. How she'd invited Natasha to the movies before me. How Natasha had beat me for first chair in band.

“She's just . . . stealing
everything
from me.” My voice sounded thick, and I was relieved Chad hadn't come downstairs yet. “I don't know why Julia likes her so much.”

Mom closed the fridge and sat down. “Done?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Mom clasped her hands on the table. “Holly, I don't think the question is why Julia likes Natasha. I think the question is, why don't you?”

I stared at her. “Why don't I
like
her?” I sputtered. “Okay, for one thing, she's totally stuck-up. She never shuts up about herself, how
easy
her classes are, how
easy
our band music is, how
good
she is on the stupid debate team. And, oh my God, and she cuts her sandwich with a knife and fork, it's so stupid. And she—”

Mom shook her head, laughing. “Okay, okay. Maybe you're right—although keep in mind, this girl just started at a new school, and Julia was the only friend she had. So maybe you should cut her a little slack. She might not be as bad as you think.”

Yeah, right.
I didn't say that out loud, but I knew Mom knew I was thinking it.

“Okay, never mind about Natasha,” she said. “What about Julia? You say she's been acting distant, but haven't you been doing the same to her?”

When I opened my mouth, I was going to say no. But I couldn't. Because as much as I hated to admit it, Mom was right. I didn't go to Julia's locker in the morning anymore. I hadn't called her back last weekend. I said no to the movie and to fajitas. I hadn't worn the turtle necklace in over a week. And I couldn't even be upset that she hadn't told me about failing history, because I hadn't told her about failing science.

Mom glanced at the clock. “Dinner's at six thirty,” she said, standing up. “Plenty of time to go over there and talk to her now, if you want to.”

“Okay.” I stood, still sniffling. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled at me. “Anytime.”

Julia's house was a fifteen-minute walk from mine. By the time I knocked on the door, I'd worked out what I wanted to say. Sort of.

“Well, hey, stranger!” Mr. Gordon stepped back to let me in, smiling broadly. “Feels like I haven't seen you in ages!”

“Hi, Mr. Gordon,” I said. “Is Julia home?”

“Yup, she's in her room.” He lowered his voice. “You have history with Julia, right?”

“No, sir.”

“Ah.” His smiled faded. “Well, she's pretty upset about her progress report—and so am I. Julia's never failed a class before.”

“I know,” I said. “But she can still pass on her report card. She will, I know it.”

Mr. Gordon nodded. “I'm sure she will.”

The door to Julia's room was open a crack. I knocked twice and pushed it open. She was sprawled out on her bed, earphones in, magazine open.

She didn't notice me come in. Not until I grabbed her foot, anyway. Then she screamed loud enough to rival any horror-movie star and chucked the magazine across the room.

I sank down on her bed, laughing. “Sorry, couldn't help it.”

“Jeez, Holly!” Julia sat up, ripping the earphones out. “Give me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” I said again. But I couldn't stop giggling, and she threw a pillow at me.

“What are you doing here?”

I held the pillow in my lap, twirling the fringe around my fingers. “I just wanted to see how you're doing. I'm really sorry about the history thing.”

Julia sighed. “It's my fault. I just . . . I don't know. I tried to study, but the book is so. Boring.”

“I know what you mean,” I admitted. “I kind of almost failed science, too.”

“Really?” She looked surprised. “You didn't tell me that.”

“Yeah. I got really behind on the first day and it just got worse from there.” I glanced up at her. “I failed this one quiz, and Mrs. Driscoll said I had to pass this test we had yesterday to pass on my progress report.”

“Yikes,” said Julia. “But you did, obviously.”

“Only because Owen helped me. I've been going over to his place after school to study.”

“Oh.”

“He really helped me a ton.” I hesitated, thinking. I really didn't want to suggest this, but Julia passing history was more important than everything else. “Isn't there someone in your history class that can help you? Isn't . . . isn't Natasha in that class?”

Julia examined a fingernail. “Yeah, she is. But I . . .” She stopped, then shook her head.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Anyway, I can't believe I'm not going to the party Friday.”

So apparently she didn't want to talk about Natasha. I turned my attention back to the pillow fringe.

“I know. I don't even want to go without you.”

Julia laughed sadly. “You have to, though. Maybe something will happen with Aaron.”

Heat flushed my face, and I stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Now she was laughing for real. “Oh, come on, Holly. I know you.”

I smiled despite myself. “Yeah, I guess you do.” Then I threw the pillow at her. “And by the way, how could you not tell me his locker is right next to yours?”

She grinned. “Why, did you talk to him?”

“As a matter of fact, he talked to me first.” I sat up straight. “
And,
he said he liked my necklace. The turtle one you gave me.”

“Really?” Julia said. “Guess you owe me one, huh?”

“Guess so.” I smiled, suddenly feeling better than I had in weeks. She was smiling, too. Then it faded.

“I've got to pass history. Maybe I have to miss the party, but I can't miss the football game, too.”

“You'll pass,” I said firmly. “I'll help you.”

“Me too.”

We both looked up in surprise.

Natasha stood in the doorway, light blue backpack slung around her shoulder.

“Hey!” Julia sat up. “I didn't know you were coming over.”

“We've got a history quiz Friday.” Natasha dropped her bag on the bed and unzipped it, giving me a sickeningly sweet smile. “And Holly's right—you're going to pass.” She pulled out her textbook. “I got a hundred on our last quiz—I know I can help you.”

It took massive effort not to roll my eyes.
Why don't you rub it in a little.
I hopped off the bed.

“You're leaving?”

The look on Julia's face was hard to read. Not angry, but disappointed, confused . . . maybe hurt?

I tried to sound normal. “Yeah, Mom's making dinner.” Pausing in the doorway, I watched Natasha flip open her notebook. “Good luck, Julia.”

“Thanks!” said Natasha, giving me her biggest fake-smile yet. Julia's smile was much smaller.

“Thanks, Holly,” she said quietly.

On the walk home, I focused hard on counting the number of rocks I kicked. My eyes were dry by the time I got home.