by Danica Avet
Parking in the mostly empty lot outside my hall, I stare up at the light in my third floor window. Kimber’s in. Wonderful.
For the longest time, I just sit in my car, thinking. If I try out for ensemble, it’ll be like giving in to Crash’s ham-handed coercion, but if I don’t, it’ll prove to him that I really am a coward, too scared to step out of my comfort zone, to try new things. It’s a dilemma, but I already know I’m going to audition. I have to.
I’ll just face the consequences of the auditions. Good or bad.
Levi
January
When I enter the band annex for the first Symphonic Band rehearsal of the semester, it’s to see a massive body of students crowding around the notice board. The Jazz Ensemble list must’ve been posted.
It’s weird how every muscle in my body gets tight. Not out of concern for my own place in the lineup, but because I don’t know whether Jolene auditioned or not. In fact, I’ve made it a point not to think about her since dinner last week. She wants to stick her head in the sand and play like it’s normal to sacrifice for someone who doesn’t give a shit about her, then it isn’t up to me to tell her any different.
At least that’s what I’ve convinced myself. Plus, that dig she made about me wanting to get in her pants pissed me off. Because fuck if it isn’t true. I want to bend and twist her in every position known to man with my cock somewhere in her body. It’s like an obsession of mine, one I’ve tried to fuck away with a different girl every night since the dinner party. But no matter how many times I come, Jolene’s right there in my brain, mocking me with her blue eyes and pretty lips.
She’ll never grace my bed. It has nothing to do with her band chick status either. No, she’ll never let me touch her because I saw the hurt in her eyes when I called her a coward. So unless she really is some kind of emotional masochist, she wouldn’t let me near her with a ten-foot pole. And that pisses me off too.
All these emotions over a girl has had me going through four drumsticks because I’ve beat the shit out of my kit. And run my roommates out of the house. Or that might’ve been their social life. The only thing I know is I haven’t been the most pleasant person to be around since that goddamn dinner and it’s Jolene’s fault.
Still, that doesn’t stop me from making my way to the front of the crowd hanging around the notice board. I exchange greetings, belated holiday wishes with everyone, absently doing the good band member thing as I move like a salmon swimming upstream.
Finally making it to the board, I scan the list of names.
“Worried you didn’t make it this semester?” someone jokes and I glance over to see it’s Cube.
I laugh, although I can tell it sounds hollow and fake. My buddy gives me a strange look I choose to ignore in favor of checking out the list. They went with a twelve-person ensemble this semester. The usual suspects minus Pierce who’s got the baby on the way and Brandon and Heather, who just graduated in December. And then my gaze lands on the third to last name on the list.
Jolene Pickering (Freshman - Trumpet 1)
Holy fucking shit. She did it. I mean, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she could, but she hadn’t just auditioned, she’d scored the top spot.
“Crazy, huh?” Cube asks quietly. “She must be kick ass.”
“She is,” I murmur without looking away from the list.
“It’s bullshit,” another voice mutters, finally drawing my attention from the proof that Jolene is as good as I know she is.
Turning to see who spoke, I’m unsurprised when I recognize Bryce Haynes. He’s a junior now, I think. Decent player, motherfucker to everyone, which is hard for me to say about a fellow band member. I try to give everyone a shot and even when they fuck up, I’m civil to them. That whole no drama in the band thing extends to the guys too. Unfortunately, Bryce is the exception to my no-drama rule because everything about him is drama.
Still, I nod. “Bryce, congrats on making the ensemble.”
A quick look at the roster shows why his face is so sour. Bryce Haynes (Junior - Trumpet 4). I fight a grimace. That won’t sit well with him. He’s the reason why kids of band directors get a bad reputation, but he doesn’t seem to realize it.
“She must be fucking Klauss,” he hisses angrily, his muddy green eyes dark behind his glasses.
No. No way did he just say that. I blink a few times and tilt my head. “What?”
“That freshman chick. Jolene,” he says her name like a curse. “She’s gotta be fucking Klauss, or blowing him or something. The last time a freshman made Jazz Ensemble was in 1993 and that guy transferred to Juilliard after.”
It isn’t funny, but it sort of is. Because I’m the calmest motherfucker you ever did meet. Things don’t get to me because other people’s opinions don’t matter. I’ve even been accused of being a stoner despite never touching a joint in my life, that’s how chill I am. Until recently. Until I got tangled up in Jolene and she made me feel things I don’t want to for any girl, much less a band chick.
So I don’t take Bryce’s words kindly and my expression must convey the level of my pissed offness because he takes a half step back. “C’mon, you don’t honestly believe she got that spot fairly,” he protests.
Aware that several other students are paying attention to the idiot, probably even heard what he accused Jolene of, I growl, “She’s a goddamn phenom.”
“It’s true,” Pierce pipes up next to me. I wasn’t even aware of him coming over, but my frat brother has my back—and Jolene’s as well. “I didn’t audition, so Klauss let me sit in and she’s fucking amazing. Best player I’ve ever heard.”
From Pierce who’s been the trumpet section leader several semesters in a row, that’s a rousing endorsement. Unfortunately, Bryce isn’t buying it.
“Whatever, I’m sure she’s really good at blowing,” he says snidely and some people choke on their laughter. “It’s okay though, if she’s as good as y’all seem to think, then she’ll be able to take a challenge. Maybe then I’ll see what all the fuss is about.”
Before I can take a step forward and clean his fucking clock, people suddenly go silent, the air thick with tension. Looking over his head, I see Jolene standing behind him with Becca. I swear the girl has the worst timing in the fucking world, somehow always managing to be where someone’s talking shit about her.
Any hopes I had that she might’ve just walked up, or hadn’t heard Bryce’s comments are dashed when I see how pale her normally sun-kissed complexion is. Not only that, but Becca—or Short Fuse as Rien calls her—looks as though she’s trying to figure out which end of her clarinet she wants to shove up Bryce’s ass.
With all of these people watching, having heard what Bryce said, I wouldn’t have blamed Jolene for making a run for it. But she doesn’t. Why the hell doesn’t she ever do what other girls do? Or what I expect her to do?
Instead she does this thing where she looks down her nose at Bryce, like a queen observing a smudge of shit that somehow got on her shoe.
“Excuse me,” she says coldly, pushing forward with Becca flanking her like a pint-sized bodyguard.
Bryce at least has the good grace to look embarrassed to be caught talking shit and move out of the way, but the resentment burning in his eyes has me tensing. You know, just in case he does something even dumber than run his mouth. Jolene sails forward, walking toward me with the kind of grace that has me wondering if she went to some finishing school or something. I could see that. It’s as though no matter what shit’s thrown her way, she still maintains her ladylike composure.
Well, except when she’s practically telling me to fuck off.
The scent of sweet peaches accompanies her as she stops right next to me without looking at me once. I stare at her profile as she studies the list, so I’m able to watch as her face goes through a gamut of emotions. Elation and joy for sure, but then a strange expression that almost looks like fear before she wrestles it all under what I’m starting to realize is her social mask.
&nbs
p; “Well I’ll be,” she murmurs, darting a look at me from the corner of her eye. “Guess y’all need prissy little girls after all.”
My lips twitch, but before I can come back with a response, Frosty breezes into the lobby. “What’s everyone standing around for? Aren’t we practicing today?” she asks, her voice effectively motivating the crowd to stampede for the practice room, their whispers like hissing snakes.
All amusement at Jolene finding her balls fades because while Pierce may have backed her up, Bryce planted a seed in the heads of our fellow band students. I love these guys. I truly do, but I know how gossip travels and grows like a wildfire. Maybe it’s because we spend so much time together, but I know what Bryce said is going to pass around and grow, poisoning people toward Jolene, even though most of them know it isn’t true. Despite everyone knowing Klauss is so straight-laced and repressed we all wondered—silently—how he ever managed to get married, the thought of a student fucking a professor is so torrid, it’s too tempting not to share with others. Again and again.
Frosty approaches, her gaze going from the slow moving students to me, Cube, Jolene, and Becca. “Is there a problem?” she asks bluntly.
God, I love Frosty. Not in a pervy-wanna-marry-her kind of way though. Not just because she’s marrying a huge ex-football player turned coach either. She’s just cool and practical, not to mention one of the most talented percussionists I know. There’s no bullshit with her either, which I like.
“That mother—” Becca started, but was cut off by Jolene’s hand across her mouth.
“Everything’s fine, Ms. Frost,” the Georgia peach says with a smile.
Frosty’s eyebrow goes up. See? No bullshit.
I should tell her what Bryce said. The gossip is going to spread and it could cause trouble, not just for Jolene with the other students, but also with Klauss. This is the kind of shit that rolls uphill and could get him fired if it travels far enough up the chain of command. But Jolene shoots me a pleading look, silently begging me to leave it alone.
My heart thumps hard at her asking me for something. Even if it’s not cool to keep our professor in the dark, Jolene is finally looking at me with something other than disgust or dislike and my dick likes it so much, I fold like a house of cards.
“Just jealousy,” I say instead of laying it all out.
The relief on Jolene’s face makes me feel a little better about omitting all the ugly details Of course when Frosty’s other eyebrow joins the first, I know she suspects more to the story, but I just shrug. She’ll hear about it eventually.
Finally, she lets it go. For now. “Well, congrats to the both of you for making Jazz Ensemble,” she says slowly before a smile crosses her face, lighting her green eyes as she looks at Jolene. “I knew when I heard your audition last spring that you were going to go places, Jolene. I’m so glad you proved me right.”
The flush that rises in Jolene’s cheeks makes skin glow and her eyes dance with happiness. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Nodding, Frosty steps back. “Well, let’s get this practice started. Ticheli waits for no one.”
We wait for her to leave, but she doesn’t budge. Obviously she’s not going to give any of us a chance to talk about the shit storm brewing. I heave a sigh and nudge Cube with my arm.
“Let’s go before Frosty gets on a tear.”
Jolene
Stepping into the practice hall is hard. Clutching my case in my hand, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, Becca glued to my side. We both heard what Bryce said. I hadn’t even realized I made Jazz Ensemble until then. Not exactly the way I wanted to find out either. Especially with everyone gaping at me as though looking for the scarlet letter they seemed to think I should be wearing.
So to say my emotions are all over the place is an understatement. I’m beyond thrilled that I made the ensemble. I was so nervous during the audition, I thought I might faint, but pouring that fear into my music seems to have worked because I not only made the ensemble, I also made first spot. Which means I get more solos.
My heart leaps with the thrill of it, before crashing again. Because I didn’t tell Josef that I was auditioning. I hope that with the new semester starting, and the big art expo he wants to enter, he’ll be too distracted to resent the lack of time we have together. But I doubt that’ll happen. Since dinner at Beau’s place, Josef has been abrupt and impatient with me and I have no idea why.
With all of this swirling around my head, it’s a little easier to ignore the suspicious looks aimed my way. But then Becca and I part ways as she ducks into the clarinet row, leaving me alone.
At least I thought so, but then I feel Crash’s presence. Yes, I feel him nearby and the terror threatening to swarm me abates some. He didn’t reveal what Bryce said to Ms. Frost. I don’t know if it’s because he understood I want to keep it quiet, or if he has his own agenda, but he held his tongue and boiled the ugliness down to what it really is. Jealousy. That he even defended me to Bryce—him and Pierce—eases some of the sting from Bryce’s accusations. But it’s Crash’s presence and belief in me that steadies me enough to continue on.
Glancing over my shoulder at him, it’s to see him eyeing the band like a gunslinger. Those amazing eyes squinting slightly, his face set in hard lines that make him look older, more dangerous. As though he’s just waiting for someone to say or do something before he pulls his guns.
Okay, I may have spent too much time watching old Westerns with Josef throughout the fall semester. But this is a side of Crash I’ve never seen before and that he’s showing it for me—because of me—makes my stomach do a somersault. Stupid me. He’s just trying to keep the peace, I’m sure. It has nothing to do with me. Besides, even if he was trying to protect me, it still doesn’t mean anything. I’m a band chick twice over now, and I’m also in a relationship.
Still, we sort of walk together to the symphonic band circle. Me, Crash, and Cube, bypassing the saxophones until I reach the trumpet section. Pierce and Princess give me bright, welcoming smiles as I scoot down the row. The rest of them though, eye me suspiciously. Fifteen critical faces stare at me as though I’m a piece of white trash despite what I know are my superior acting skills.
While I’m not very good friends with all of them, I’ve chatted with them during practices and at games enough for their judgment to hurt. Sitting between Paul and Ben D., I hurriedly open my case and fit my mouthpiece to my trumpet without looking at anyone else. Then both guys shift away from me as though I have a communicable disease.
My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach. Well this is going to be fun.
An hour and a half later, our first symphonic band rehearsal is over and I’ve never been so glad for the end of a practice before. I grimace down at my shoe where Ben D. kept emptying his valve. I know he did it on purpose too because I moved my foot several times, but he always managed to find it. Good thing I don’t wear sandals often, otherwise I’d have to go bleach my toes.
Then there was Bryce, who sits three chairs down. Every time I happened to glance his way during rests, he was either glaring at me, or whispering with Terry, then they’d both look at me speculatively. Like they were either trying to imagine me naked, or dead, or both. I don’t know, but I’m seriously tired and I still have Jazz Ensemble practice to get through.
When the other students start packing up and heading for the exit, I hop out of my chair and scoot to the end of the row, nearly tripping over Bryce’s foot. I pause and look down my nose at him. His smirk tells me he did it on purpose, but there’s no use in calling him out about it because it could have just been an accident.
Yeah right. I sniff and pick my way down the rest of the row, careful not to stumble over anything else. I just need to get out of the room for a minute, compose myself. If the rest of this semester is going to be like this first rehearsal, I need to reinforce my shields so nothing people say or do hurts. It’s an impossible task, I know that, but I’m going to try anyway.
“Jolene?” I hear just as I make the end of the row.
Looking up, I see Dr. Klauss standing in the doorway of the room. Lots of people who were trying to leave, suddenly start slowing down, shuffling along like snails.
“Could you meet me in my office before practice?” Dr. Klauss asks with a friendly smile that I understand was meant to reassuring, but I’m sure everyone else interprets as salacious.
Nodding mutely, I watch him turn around and walk back out of the room. Someone behind me makes a disgusting slurping sound, like they’re sucking on something and my back stiffens.
“Sounds like it’s time for someone to earn their keep.” I recognize Bryce’s muttered voice, but it’s soon drowned out by muffled laughter.
My face heats as anger and hurt combine into a sickening mixture, but I don’t give him the response he seems to want. Instead, I walk with as much dignity as I can muster, heading for the ladies’ room. By the time I step out of the practice hall, Becca, Nessie, and Lena are right behind me, their silent support practically daring anyone else to say something.
When we get to the restroom, there are a few girls already in there, chatting. But that dies away as soon as they realize I just walked in. Wonderful. Everyone’s talking about me.
Avoiding all eye contact—not that it seems anyone wants to meet my gaze anyway—I hurry to the first available stall and close the door behind me. I don’t have to use the toilet, I just need to be out of sight for a few minutes, work on rebuilding the shields I created back in Pepper Ridge. I never thought I’d need them here, but apparently you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park stench off of her.
I lean against the stall, arms wrapped around my stomach and stare at the opposite wall. Should I drop out of the ensemble now? Would that make all of this go away? Thinking it through, I know it won’t. Once a rumor starts, it grows and spreads like cancer until it either runs out of strength, or something kills it.
