by Danica Avet
The only way I can think of to stop it from spreading is to face it head-on by showing everyone just how I got that coveted spot in the ensemble. I’m going to have to stop hiding my light under the proverbial bushel and let it shine. Sounds stupid, right? It probably is. I never go out of my way to show the world how well I play my instrument. If anything, I’ve always underplayed to avoid drawing attention to myself because attention is never a good thing when it comes to me.
Yet that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do. I’m going to have to play the way I did in my auditions—for my scholarship and the ensemble, strip myself down to Jolene the musician. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, fear making my stomach tight. This is probably scarier than trying out, scarier even than wondering what’ll happen when I tell Josef about the ensemble. Because baring myself in front of my peers and audiences will rip away the walls I’m supposed to be in here rebuilding.
“Hey,” Becca says loudly, banging on the stall. “Open up, hooker. I’m not gonna let you hide in there anymore.”
Even though she can’t see me, I shake my head. I’ve come to another Decision—yes, I capitalize it in my mind because it’s a big one—but I’m not ready to see anyone yet. “I just need a few more minutes.”
“Here, hold this,” I hear her mutter to either Nessie or Lena.
Seconds later, there’s a heavy thud that makes the door shudder and me jump. Straightening from my slouch, I look up to see tiny fingers gripping the top of the door.
“What are you doing?” Lena exclaims as scrabbling sounds ensue against the sides of the stall.
“Just,” Becca grunts. “Fuck, give me a leg up.”
“Why?” Nessie asks.
“Because she isn’t coming out, so I’m going in,” the girl otherwise known as Short Fuse says as though it’s completely reasonable to scale a bathroom stall door. “Maybe if I put my foot here…” There’s another thud. “Fuck, this is harder than I thought it’d be.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I reach out and turn the lock on the door. I don’t even have to touch it before it slowly swings open with Becca draped on the outside like a coat. She tosses her hair out of her face, peering at me over her shoulder.
“Hey,” she says with a bright smile before releasing her death grip on the door.
“You’re acting crazier than a sprayed roach,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
“What? I wasn’t going under the door. Who knows how well they clean these floors?” Then she abruptly changes subjects. “So I’m thinking Bryce needs to be cut,” she says solemnly. “I can make that happen.”
Nessie and Lena crowd the doorway behind Becca, both of them looking just as serious about inflicting bodily harm on Bryce. A well of love has me reaching out to pull Becca into a tight hug. When I feel two sets of arms wrap around both of us, I almost start crying. Not because of what Bryce said, but because this is the kind of acceptance I’ve always wanted but never had.
If Delia had heard the rumors, she would’ve added her own spin to it, including details she made up just to ‘put me in my place’. I guess she never really got over her jealousy of Mama putting me in pageants because if there’s an opportunity to humiliate me, she takes it. Lucille, Jeanie Marie, Ruby, and Maggie Mae would have sympathized, but they wouldn’t be able to make me feel better because this was just the way things are when it comes to our family. People always treated us like floozies so what Bryce is implying isn’t anything special.
That was pre-LaSalle, Louisiana, though. Now, I have real friends who don’t give a minute’s thought to what some jealous boy says. They’re here for me because they love me. They know I’m not that kind of girl and they’re willing to fight for me.
“I think I forgot to put deodorant on,” Becca mumbles from the bottom of our hug pile.
Her words make me laugh and the group hug is over, all of us stepping back. “Thank y’all,” I tell them sincerely. “I really needed that.” I wave my hand because I’d needed all of it.
Lena grabs my hand. “You’re a wonderful person, Jolene,” she says emphatically. “And as soon as you stop pretending to be a substandard musician, everyone will see how stupid Bryce’s accusations are.”
“They’ll eat their words,” Nessie agrees quietly. “And I can um, talk with someone—” She darts a look at Lena. “We can make Bryce hurt without resorting to violence.”
Becca sneers. “You mean, you’re gonna trade a favor to Terrible for his hacking skills,” she says flatly.
Lena’s eyes widen as she whips her head around to stare at our friend. “Oh no, Nessie. Don’t get involved with him.”
Since I agree, I say, “No. I’ll handle this.”
“You show those bastards,” Becca says before turning a squinty-eyed look on Nessie. “And don’t think we aren’t going to address this asking Terrible for help thing. That sneaky bastard doesn’t help anyone without getting something out of it and knowing him, he’ll want your pussy.”
“Becca!” Nessie shouted, her face turning red.
They’ve been friends since middle school which means Becca has absolutely no filter with Nessie. Not that she uses a filter much anyway, but she’s always brutally honest and in this instance I agree with her. Ivan ‘the Terrible’ isn’t the type of guy who does something out of the kindness of his heart. As my grammy would say, he’s slicker than owl shit. Oh he’s handsome as can be, don’t get me wrong, but that boy ain’t right. He’s bad through and through and if Nessie has any sense, she’ll stay as far away from him as she possibly can.
“Girl, you wanna walk on the wild side, I can hook you up with one of Uncle Johnny’s goons, but you need to leave Terrible alone,” Becca tells her, her eyes dark with sincerity. “He’s bad news.”
Nessie’s lips tighten. “Whatever. I have to go to work,” she mutters, glancing over at me. “You’re okay though? I’ll slash the tires on Bryce’s micromachine if you want.”
Lord above, she’s just as crazy as Becca. “I’ll deal with it,” I promise. “I have to get to Klauss’s office anyway, find out what he wanted to talk about.”
We exchange hugs and promises to get together on Sunday after my shift at the library. When we leave the restroom, the lobby is thankfully deserted although I hear what I guess is the ensemble chatting in the practice hall. The girls and I part ways, them heading out of the building, me dragging my feet to Dr. Klauss’s office.
“Come in,” he calls when I knock on his door. When I step inside, his face lights up. “Jolene! Close the door, I need to talk with you about the referral to the Dean of Arts and Sciences.”
Levi
I’ve never been more ashamed to be a man than I am right now. Sitting at my kit, tightening the keys in preparation for practice, I try to block out the bullshit being bandied about, but it’s almost impossible.
“She’s probably in there right now, sucking him off,” Bryce says loudly, lounging back in his chair like a king with his eager subjects.
I’d like to say the others in our group—the players I’ve been performing with for three years and never had a problem with—aren’t listening to the shit he’s shoveling, but the nods are proof that they are. The only ones who aren’t buying into this theory of Bryce’s is Pierce, who stuck around for some reason, and Princess. Because Princess isn’t a dick and the glower he sends Bryce’s way shows he’s almost at the end of his rope.
“Wouldn’t mind some of that myself,” Bryce continues, not even realizing how tight a rope he’s walking. “Might be nice to have a hot chick like that on the road.”
The chuckles are agreement enough that they all seem to think they’re going to fuck Jolene and it pisses me off enough that I slam my drumsticks on the snare. That gets everyone’s attention, heads turning my way with varying degrees of curiosity.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Bryce?” I demand, standing up. “Are you that insecure that you can’t handle it when a girl bests you? Because that’s what she did and you’re try
in’ to tear her down because of it.”
His face starts to turn red. “No way she played better than me. I don’t care what he,” he says with a hike of his thumb at Pierce. “Or Klauss says. She probably took them both on at the same time.”
“Fuck you, man. I’m a goddamned married man,” Pierce shoots back.
Princess nods sagely. “And Angela would have your ass if you even looked at another girl.”
Bryce snorts. “Whatever. Maybe you just watched, but it doesn’t matter because I’m going to find the silver lining of this whole situation. Or more like the panty lines,” he snickers.
I start to round my kit, my fury well beyond anything I’ve ever felt before. Honestly, it’s like he wants me to put my foot up his ass.
He doesn’t show an ounce of trepidation as he continues, “I’ll challenge her for first part, then when she’s cryin’ ’cause she lost her spot, I’ll comfort her.” He grabs himself lewdly, making a couple of other guys laugh.
“You’re gonna be the one who needs comforting,” a soft drawl interrupts and we all turn to see Jolene standing a few feet away, chin high and defiant. Even worse, Klauss is standing right behind her, his eyes wide with shock and dismay. “Ready to challenge me now?”
Bryce sits up, spluttering, face turning redder than a brick while Klauss looks at the group with something like disappointment on his face.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” our director says slowly, his mild-mannered voice echoing around the space. “But I do know that President Howard has very rigid beliefs about sexual harassment, bullying, and hazing. I will not tolerate that in my ensemble.” His gaze pauses on Bryce. “And I will make sure those responsible for acting in any way that’s a detriment to this ensemble are placed on academic probation until an investigation is conducted.”
No one speaks or moves. Me? I’m a little stunned and fucking impressed by the backbone Klauss is showing. I’ve known him for four years now and this is the first time I’ve ever heard him make threats. If those threats weren’t directed at Bryce simply because Jolene’s a beautiful girl who can outplay the other trumpeters, I’d probably get a kick out of the whole thing.
But I can’t laugh this off. And I have my own threat to make.
“As President of Zeta Chi Mu, I’d like to also remind my frat brothers,” I add with a look at Henry, Gary, Jose, and yes, even Bryce, “that membership can be suspended—and terminated—by special session if a brother is found to have behaved in a manner that’s in direct contrast to our chapter bylaws, which are based on university bylaws and regulations.” I glare at Bryce who only got in the frat because he’s a legacy. “And considering any member’s actions are a reflection of the entire fraternity, the chapter could be at risk of suspension or revocation.”
Silence follows my statement. I don’t usually pull the President card; Zeta Chi Mu is probably one of the most relaxed chapters on campus because we all just want to play music and have fun, but I’m not fucking around with this. The shit Bryce is spewing is uncalled for and bordering on more than sexual harassment. More like terrorizing and I’m not going to let it continue any more than Klauss will.
But I know Bryce. I know how more terrifying for him the threat of being kicked out of the fraternity would be compared to an academic suspension. His fucking dad started Zeta Chi Mu nearly thirty years ago. Suspension would be about as horrible as going to prison.
Klauss abruptly claps his hands. “Now, I do believe I heard something about a challenge?” He looks around and notices everyone pointing at Bryce. “Ah, excellent. Now, it’s unusual for us to have any challenges for parts in Jazz Ensemble, but I understand sometimes the proof is in the pudding. So, with that said, we’ll hold the challenge now and then get to work on our music.” He gestures to the spot next to him. “If Jolene and Bryce will stand here, please.”
Jolene walks across the room to grab her trumpet while the idiot slinks up to the front of the practice circle with his instrument clenched in his fingers. He probably wasn’t expecting the challenge to happen right now, but he should know Klauss well enough by now. The guy is a hard ass when he wants to be and questioning his ability to rank his musicians—not to mention his integrity—would grate on his nerves.
Returning to my kit, I drop on my stool and fold my arms over my chest, smirking. Because I know how this is going to play out. She’s going to kill it and Bryce is going to have to scurry back to his chair, still carrying that Trumpet 4 label, except now everyone will know exactly why Jolene’s got the first part.
Graceful steps bring Jolene back to Klauss’s side and she has that social mask of hers in place again. Nodding to himself, Klauss then turns to the table where he keeps all his sheet music. It’s a mess of papers, organized in some manner only he understands. Sifting through everything until he finds what he wants, he holds out a sheet to Jolene and Bryce.
“I’ll give the challenger a choice. New material, or what you both auditioned with?”
Bryce’s gaze darts from the papers in Klauss’s hand to Jolene. If he were smart, he’d go with sight-reading, but I think it’s already been established that Bryce is a dumbfuck.
“‘St. James Infirmary’,” he says firmly.
Klauss nods and puts the pages on his music stand. “Very well.” He looks out over the rest of us. “To make this completely fair, I’d like all of you to face the wall. The group will have the final vote on who gets first trumpet.”
Well, that’s new. I’ve never been a part of an official challenge before, but the drumming challenge I had with Frosty last year, when I was testing her true mettle as a director and percussionist, was us facing off against each other with everyone looking on. But I think I might’ve underestimated Klauss. Either he suspects the rumors Bryce started, or he’s seriously pissed that his ethics and taste are coming under fire. As far as I know, no one’s ever challenged in the ensemble like this. Sure, there have been a few challenges for chair positions in symphonic band, but this is an entirely different animal and it seems Klauss is ready to tame it.
Already knowing what the outcome will be, I swivel to face the opposite wall. The shifting of bodies and murmurs of surprise tells me the others are just as shocked, but whatever. If this is what it takes to shut Bryce the hell up, I’m all for it.
Once everyone quiets down, Klauss says, “First player.”
I’m not sure how he’s going to switch it up. Technically, the defender would go first, but with this being a mystery audition, Klauss could go either way. Yet the minute I hear that low, warbling tone, I know it’s Jolene.
Closing my eyes, I let the notes wash over me leaving a wake of goosebumps behind. God, she’s phenomenal. Just like the first time I heard her playing solo, she takes the song to an entirely different level, one that does justice to the dirge, to the emotions the songwriter felt when they put notes to paper. Jolene more than deserves first trumpet and she proves it with her performance.
When the last note keens, clear and sharp like a knife, I have to take a shaky breath. Fuck me, but she could bring me to tears if I were prone to crying.
Someone whispers, “Holy fuck,” and I have to agree with them.
“Second player,” Klauss says into the quiet that fills the room following Jolene’s performance.
If I were Bryce, I’d be shitting my pants and trying to figure out a way to get out of the challenge. There’s no competition here and he has to know that.
But Bryce is an arrogant ass. His parents, both of them, were band directors. His mom isn’t too bad. She’d taught me, but when it comes to her son, you’d think the sun rises and sets on his playing. And they make sure Bryce knows it.
When he starts to play, I feel nothing. Oh sure, he’s good. He has the right rhythm, tone, and even puts a little flair in it, but to me his rendition sounds flat and robotic. He doesn’t put an ounce of emotion. He’s just playing the notes as they were composed and it’s nowhere near as good as Jolene’s. And that isn�
�t just me being biased.
The song comes to an end and everyone’s quiet.
“Please turn back around,” Klauss says. When we’re facing the three of them once more, I see the fear in Bryce’s eyes, in the way he shuffles his feet. Yeah, he isn’t dumb enough to think he can compete with Jolene’s playing. “You heard both players. I’ll ask you to raise your hands for the one you feel played best.” Klauss’s sharp gaze flicks over everyone’s faces. “Player one.”
My hand shoots up. I feel like a fifth grader trying to get the teacher’s attention, but that’s how strongly I feel about it. Gut tight, I glance around to see everyone—everyone in the group has their hands up as well. It’s motherfucking unanimous. Just the way I knew it would be.
But Klauss finishes playing it out. “Player two?”
Everyone’s arms drop to their sides. Bryce’s face turns red and his jaw bunches.
Klauss nods. “It’s decided then. Jolene will keep first trumpet, Bryce remains at four.”
I fight the urge to punch my fist in the air as everyone breaks out into excited chatter, congratulating Jolene on her playing, respect shining in their eyes. She looks a little overwhelmed by the attention, but I can see the glow of happiness in her face. She showed them all and they wouldn’t further question Klauss’s decision, or give an ounce of credit to Bryce’s bullshit rumors. By the time symphonic band meets again on Monday, there won’t be a single doubt in anyone’s mind that Jolene earned her right to first trumpet in the ensemble.
She glances over at me as Princess gives her a one-armed hug and I feel that look like a shock of electricity. The happy, soft expression on her face isn’t one I’ve ever had directed at me from her and as I gawk at her, I can’t help but want to see her looking at me like that more often.
Jolene
As I walk to my dorm after practice, I’m almost skipping with happiness. I don’t think I need to worry about those rumors anymore. The cool, suspicious atmosphere I’d felt during symphonic band switched to warm and respectful in the blink of an eye. Oh Bryce kept glaring at me, but he didn’t say anything nasty either, so I’m going to consider that a win.
