I Heart Band (9 page)

I nodded fervently. “Yes, sir.”

Back out in the empty band hall, I grabbed my horn and hurried to the cubby room. I meant what I said to Mr. Dante, sort of. No way was I going to try to be friends with Natasha—that was a lost cause. But I'd definitely try to pretend to get along with her during band if it would make Mr. Dante happy. Mrs. Wendell had told him I was one of her best students, and I was going to start acting like it.

I was also going to start color-coding my music, like, immediately.

Outside the band hall doors, a voice interrupted my mental music highlighting.

“So what
was
that?”

Startled, I turned to see Julia leaning against the wall.

“Oh! You scared me,” I said lightly, but she didn't smile. Actually, she looked pretty upset.

Uh-oh.

“What
was
that in there?” she asked again. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

“Um, what was what?”

Julia rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what. Did you seriously
spit
on Natasha's shoes on purpose?”

“I didn't
spit
on them,” I said defensively. “I—it was from my horn, and—”

“Whatever.” Julia's arms were tightly crossed over her chest. “So was it on purpose?”

I waited a second too long to respond. My stomach dropped at the look on her face.

“Oh my
God,
Holly.” Julia closed her eyes briefly. “I mean . . . why would you do that?”

I swallowed hard, but it wasn't enough to stop the lump rising in my throat.

“I don't know,” I said at last, my voice all wobbly and weird. “I wasn't thinking, I was just . . . I was upset.”

“Why?” She said it flatly; no sympathy. I took a deep breath and thought about what Mr. Dante said.

“Because Natasha kind of . . . pushes my buttons. Sometimes.”

“What?”

“Come
on,
Julia,” I cried, exasperated. “You can't seriously be this blind. She's awful! She's full of herself, she's obnoxious, she's constantly talking about—”

“Holly!” Julia was gaping at me. “Look, I just left the cafeteria because Natasha and Sophie were bad-mouthing
you.
But I'm not going to stand here and listen to you say all this stuff about Natasha, either!”

“But what
I'm
saying is actually true!” I said, my eyes burning with tears. “She's—”

“No, what
they're
saying is true,” Julia snapped. “That you were so jealous of Natasha that you actually dumped spit on her shoes. Right?”

“Jealous?” I wiped my eyes furiously. “I'm not jealous—see, she thinks she's—”

“Really? You're not jealous she got first chair?”

I just stood there, mouth open.

This was unreal. It's not like Julia and I had never fought before . . . but it was never anything like this. And she was actually
defending Natasha.

“Look, Holly.” Julia's eyes were watery, too, but her voice was firm. “I told Natasha and Sophie I thought it was an accident. I told them you'd never do anything so disgusting. And I'm not going to listen to Natasha say things like that about you, ever.”

When I didn't reply, she continued.

“But I'm not going to listen to
you
talk about Natasha like that, either. She's my friend, too, Holly. And I . . .” Julia looked away for a second. “I just can't deal with the two of you . . . being like this.”

I stared at the linoleum, Julia's words ringing in my ears.

She's my friend, too, Holly.

Never mind the third-grade talent show, the countless sleepovers, the four years of best friendship. Two weeks with Natasha at Lake Lindon had been enough. It didn't matter that the girl clearly hated me—Julia still considered her a friend.

So what did that make me?

“Fine,” I said at last. “But you know what, Julia? She's not
my
friend. And if hanging out with her is that important to you, maybe you should just do it without me.”

Julia looked surprised for a second, then her mouth set in a firm line.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Turning, I headed to the bathroom without looking back.

B
y the time Mom dropped me off at Spins for the band party, it was already pretty crowded. I hovered in the entrance, looking for familiar faces. Spins was part pizza buffet, part arcade, and it was kind of dimly lit. There were definitely a lot of advanced-band members here already, and I recognized a bunch of seventh-graders who were in symphonic band. There were several kids I didn't recognize, but judging from their height, I figured they were in beginner band. (Seriously, was I that short in sixth grade?)

Mr. Dante was in a booth chatting with the parent chaperones. For, like, the millionth time, I thought about Julia sitting at home and tried to push the image out of my mind. I couldn't believe I'd yelled at her like that after band. At the same time, I was still a little too hurt by what she'd said to call her (although I'd picked up the phone without dialing about a dozen times before leaving for Spins).

Ignoring yet another wave of guilt, I spotted Gabby and a few girls by the drinks. I started heading their way, then stopped.

By the time I'd gotten home from school, I'd convinced myself that what happened during band wasn't that big of a deal. But now . . . Half the kids in this room had been there to witness my humiliation. I edged back toward the doors, a blush heating my cheeks. I couldn't face everyone. Maybe I should just quit band and join the choir or something. My singing voice wasn't bad.

Then I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. Like I would ever do choir.

“Hey, Holly!” Gabby waved, holding a plate piled high with cinnamon breadsticks from the buffet in her other hand. Next to her, Victoria Rios, a trumpet player, and Leah Collins, a percussionist, were eating slices of pizza. Taking a deep breath, I headed over.

“Hey,” I said nervously. Gabby smiled at me.

“Love your dress.”

Inwardly, I sighed in relief. She wasn't going to mention the spit-valve thing.

“Thanks!” I couldn't help but stare at Gabby's plate. “Seriously, do you ever eat anything but sweet stuff?”

“Nope,” Victoria answered immediately. “One time in fifth grade I dared her to eat a pickle at lunch because she'd never had one.”

“You were in fifth grade the first time you ate a
pickle
?” Leah exclaimed, picking the olives off her pizza.

Gabby nodded, swallowing. “Yup. Vic bet me a week's worth of chocolate pudding that I couldn't eat the whole thing. So I did. Then I puked. Totally worth it.”

We laughed. “You can't blame her for all the candy, though,” Victoria added. “You should see the food situation at her house.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, and Gabby's eyes widened.

“My mom is
insane
,” she said emphatically. “There is, like, zero sugar in our kitchen. And, oh my God, the stuff I have to eat for dinner. You would
die.
”

I giggled. “It can't be
that
bad.” But she and Victoria both shook their heads.

“Holly, you know what my mom made for dinner last night?” Gabby paused, wrinkling her nose. “Tofu lentil casserole and beet salad.”

Leah and I looked at each other. “Okay, that sounds pretty gross,” Leah admitted.

“And I have to drink carrot juice with wheatgrass every morning before school.” Gabby pointed her cinnamon stick at each of us in turn. “Any of you ever tasted wheatgrass?” We shook our heads. “Pick a bunch of grass from your front yard and stick it in a blender with some carrots.
That's
what it tastes like.”

I made a disgusted face. Suddenly Gabby's Red Hots obsession was making a lot of sense.

“Hey, there's Natasha!” Leah said suddenly.

I glanced up, heart pounding. Natasha was standing alone at the entrance, apparently oblivious to Leah's frantic waving. Squinting, I realized her dress was a lot like mine. Too much like mine. It was pink instead of blue, and the little belt was brown instead of black, but other than that they were almost identical. Ugh, she was even wearing boots kind of like mine.

“Gonna spit on those boots, too?”

Alarmed, I stared at Victoria, but she was laughing. “What? No!” I cried, the stomach knots back in full force.

“Oh, leave her alone, Victoria,” Leah said, smiling at me. “Holly wouldn't do that on purpose! That was an accident, right?”

“Right.” I smiled back shakily. Gabby gave me a sideways look, cramming an entire cinnamon stick into her mouth. As soon as Leah and Victoria started talking to a few guys getting sodas, Gabby leaned closer to me.

“Okay, so what's up with you and Natasha? Seriously.”

“Oh, just . . . nothing.”

Choosing another cinnamon stick, Gabby rolled her eyes. “Holly.
Seriously
.”

I sighed, exasperated. “Look, have you ever talked to her? I mean,
really
talked to her? She's, like, the most stuck-up person on the planet!”

Now Gabby looked totally mystified. “Really? We sit next to each other in computer lab. I thought she seemed pretty cool.”

She couldn't be serious. For a moment, I was too shocked to say anything. It was one thing that this girl had Julia fooled. They shared a cabin at band camp; they kind of
had
to become friends. But I thought it had to be pretty obvious to everyone else that Natasha was a mega-phony.

“Look how she is in band,” I said when I finally found my voice. “She's such a know-it-all! Always talking about how easy everything is—she even said “Labyrinthine Dances” was easy, remember?”

Gabby shrugged. “I don't know; I guess I never noticed.” She dragged the last cinnamon stick across her plate, scraping up all the frosting. “Holly—and don't take this the wrong way—but are you maybe just mad that she got first chair instead of you?”

I crossed my arms. “Well, technically I
did
play the chair test better.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I cringed. Did that sound obnoxious? It was true, but still.

But Gabby just looked thoughtful. “You sounded great, definitely. But, I mean, so did Natasha.”

Sighing, I glanced over at the booth where Mr. Dante was sitting. “But, Gabby, I played it
perfectly
. I'm not saying Natasha isn't good, but she didn't play it exactly right like I did. I don't . . . I don't understand why Mr. Dante gave her first chair.”

Gabby set her plate down next to the stacks of cups. “Okay, so you played exactly what was on the page. But you know, it's not always about that.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. It must have showed on my face, because Gabby laughed.

“Look, you and Natasha both sounded awesome,” she said. “And it's really not that big a deal, right? First chair, second chair, whatever.”

Um, it was kind of a
huge
deal. First was better than second. Duh.

But I just smiled at her. “Yeah, right.”

Aaron was standing over by the air hockey table on the opposite side of the room. I couldn't help but notice his shirt was the same color blue as my dress. We matched. It was a thought so dorky, I wasn't even sure I'd tell Julia if she were here. And if we were on speaking terms.

Aaron watched the game intently, high-fiving Brooke when she scored one on Liam Park. I could see the smile parentheses from here.

“Oh my God, just go
talk
to him already.”

Gabby was grinning at me. I felt my cheeks burn.

“What?”

“Go talk to him,” Gabby repeated, looking pointedly at Aaron. I shook my head.

“Why not?” she said. “He's really nice.”

“I know he is,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I've talked to him before.”

“So go do it now.”

I looked over at Aaron again, and my stomach started flip-flopping. I shook my head again, toying with my turtle necklace.

“Nope. Too nervous.”

Gabby rolled her eyes. “Come on, Holly. He's just a guy.” She pushed me, and I stumbled forward a few steps.

“Fine!” I tried to glare at her. “But if you see me standing over there drooling like a moron, you'd better come save me.”

“Deal.”

I had to navigate around the growing line at the buffet and the cluster of people waiting for their turn at Skee-Ball. By the time I got to the air hockey table, Brooke had apparently beaten Liam, because Gabe Fernandez had taken his place. Aaron was still standing by the table, but he wasn't paying attention to the game anymore.

Because he was talking to Natasha.

I stopped, staring at them. Why was she talking to Aaron? Why was she giggling at whatever he was saying? Why was she
touching his arm
?

Gabe scored a goal to scattered applause, and Aaron glanced back at the game. When he did, for the briefest of seconds, Natasha's eyes flickered in my direction.

And she smiled.

It happened so fast, I almost didn't catch it. Then realization dawned, and my stomach clenched.

Before rehearsal, in the cubby room. Julia had been teasing me about hanging around her locker. Natasha must have realized we were talking about Aaron. Either that, or she'd managed to get Julia to tell her that I . . . how I felt about him.

She was doing this on
purpose
.

I walked away from the table. My face felt like it was on fire. I leaned against the entrance to the arcade room, listening to the beeps and pings and yells and trying to think clearly.

But thinking clearly was hard at this level of apoplectic.

It wasn't enough that this girl was first chair. It wasn't enough that just two weeks at band camp had bumped her to best friend status with Julia. It wasn't enough that her grades were perfect and her hair was perfect and her dress and boots were almost exactly like mine.

She had to steal Aaron, too.

Not that Aaron was
mine.
But did Natasha even
like
him, really? Or was she just doing this to get revenge because of a little spit on her shoe? I mean, she'd never mentioned liking him before.

I pictured the way she'd glanced at me and smiled just now, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

Applause broke out again around the air-hockey table. Judging from the high fives, it looked like Brooke had beaten Gabe, too. Aaron said something to Natasha, then moved to the end of the table. I waited until he and Brooke started to play before walking over and tapping Natasha on the shoulder.

She turned, and her eyes widened. “Oh! Um . . . hi.”

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” I kept my voice light, but Natasha glanced around nervously.

“Yeah, okay.”

We left the table and walked over to a pinball machine no one was playing. I took a deep breath. Maybe I was angry, but I wasn't about to embarrass myself in front of everyone by crying or screaming or something equally stupid.

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and faced Natasha.

“First of all, I'm sorry about today. With the spit valve. It was an accident.”

“Okay.” I could tell by her smirk that she didn't believe me. “Is that all?”

“No.” Steeling myself, I took a deep breath. “Why were you talking to Aaron just now?”

Natasha shrugged. “Why not?”

“I just think it's kind of weird,” I said slowly, “considering you've never mentioned him before. Did Julia tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Stop playing dumb,
I wanted to scream. But I kept my voice calm. “That I . . . you know. Did she tell you I like him?”

Natasha chewed her bottom lip. “Do you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do
you
? Or are you just flirting with him to make me mad?”

Her mouth fell open. I was kind of surprised I said it, too. But I kept my face neutral. After a second, Natasha closed her mouth. Then she smiled.

“Jeez, Holly.” Her tone was different, suddenly. She was talking to me like I was five years old, and it was making the thudding in my ears even louder. “You
really
don't like competition, do you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Be honest.” Natasha examined her fingernails, which were the exact same shade of pink as her dress. “You've been acting a little weird since the whole chair-test thing. It really bothers you that I beat you, doesn't it.”

It wasn't a question. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“That's why you're always on my case in band,” she continued, wearing an expression of mock sympathy. “Trying to suck up to Mr. Dante, pointing out every mistake I make.”

“
Me
?” A few kids by the air-hockey table glanced over at us, and I lowered my voice. “
You're
the one who—”

“That's why you emptied your spit valve on my shoe.” She shook her head sadly. “Come on, Holly. No way was that an accident. Everyone knows it.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.