Friends, Fugues, and Fortune Cookies

by Michelle Schusterman

  “Are you sure you want us to?” Aaron asked. “Because we really like that Mrs. Claus idea.”

  Everyone laughed, but Mr. Dante just smiled. “I’m sure I could pull it off,” he said before heading back into his office.

  When the bell rang, Natasha jumped to her feet. “I forgot I have to stop at my locker before history,” she said quickly. “Want to walk with me?”

  I glanced at Aaron, who was still writing down a few notes. “Nah, I need to get something out of my cubby. See you at lunch!”

  “See you!” Natasha hurried out of the band hall, along with almost everyone else. Ignoring the butterflies swooping around in my stomach, I followed Aaron when he stood and walked into the cubbies.

  “Let me know if you need any help with all this,” I said as casually as possible, pretending to look for something in my cubby. “I’m pretty good at organizational stuff.”

  “Really?” Aaron said as he unzipped his backpack and stuffed the notebook inside. “That’d be great, because I’m kind of . . . not.”

  No kidding, I thought, staring at the inside of his bag. With all the loose papers in there, I wondered why he even bothered buying folders.

  “Hey, do you have any of those Watch the Fog movies on DVD?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got all of them!” I said. (Okay, so technically they were Chad’s, but Aaron didn’t need to know that.)

  “Would it be cool if I borrowed them sometime?” he asked as we walked out of the band hall together. “Or maybe just the first one.”

  “Sure!” I spotted Julia at her locker and waved. “I’ll bring them next week. Are you going to your locker?”

  “Nah, I’ve got everything.” Aaron grinned at me. “Thanks, Holly! See you.”

  “See you.”

  He disappeared around the corner, and I walked over to Julia. Or maybe floated was a better word. She snickered, closing her locker.

  “So what was that about?”

  “Nothing,” I said, trying not to smile (and failing). “He asked to borrow a movie. And I offered to help him organize our bake sale—he volunteered to be in charge.”

  Julia quirked an eyebrow. “Good thing he’s got you, then. I’ve seen the inside of his locker. And apparently his English teacher told him she’d give him bonus points if he ever turned in a paper that didn’t look like it’d been shoved in his pockets for days.”

  I laughed. “How do you know that?”

  “Natasha,” Julia said, slinging her backpack on her shoulder. “She’s got debate last period right across the hall from his English class, so I guess they see each other after school sometimes.”

  “Oh,” I said. Weird that Natasha never mentioned that to me.

  “Anyway . . .” Julia cleared her throat just as the warning bell rang. “So you’re helping him with the fund-raiser, walking to class together, he even has the same creeptastical taste in movies as you . . . maybe you won’t have to go through with our pact, huh? I bet he asks you first!”

  I grinned, the butterflies back in full force. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Chapter Four

  I practiced Fugue in F Minor so much on Saturday that by Sunday morning, even Chad was humming it under his breath. (Until he realized what he was doing. Then he threw a piece of toast at me and told Mom he was soundproofing his room.) So I decided to give them all a break from my practicing, and invited Julia and Natasha over instead.

  “I brought a movie,” Julia said as we entered my room, pulling a DVD out of her purse and waving it in front of my face. I read the title and groaned. “The Lost Journal? Are you kidding me?”

  “You owe us, Holly.” Julia marched straight to my TV and pulled the DVD out of its case. “Consider this haunted-house payback.”

  Nodding fervently in agreement, Natasha grabbed a pillow from my bed and sprawled out on the floor. “For real. I’m still having nightmares about those clowns.”

  I rolled my eyes. “They weren’t that scary.”

  “They didn’t have teeth!” Natasha cried.

  “Exactly!” I said. “Even if one had caught you, it couldn’t bite you. I mean, it could, but it’s not like it would’ve hurt—” I stopped, because Natasha had buried her head under the pillow with a muffled scream.

  Julia giggled, nudging Natasha with her toe. “Give it up,” she told her. “Holly and I have had this argument a billion times.” She pressed PLAY, then sat on the floor and leaned against my bed. Soft orchestral music began drifting out of the speakers, and the words The Lost Journal appeared on the screen in fancy script. “Here you go, Holly,” she added with a grin, tossing me a package of tissues. “You’re going to need these.”

  As if.

  Two hours later, Natasha was weeping into my pillow and Julia was blowing her nose for probably the hundredth time. When the closing credits started to roll, she turned and said something to me.

  “Huh?” Lowering my book, I pulled the earphones out of my ears.

  “You didn’t even watch it!” Julia said accusingly, rubbing her eyes.

  “I watched the first twenty minutes, which was payback enough.” I set the book on my night table and stretched. “Believe me.”

  Natasha sat up, grabbing for a tissue. Her face was red and blotchy. “You should’ve watched the whole thing,” she said, her voice muffled as she wiped her nose. “If you’d seen the ending . . .”

  “I don’t have to see the ending,” I told her. “I know what happens. She dies. His heart’s broken but he patches things up with his family and becomes a better person. The end.”

  Natasha’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It was obvious from the beginning.”

  Julia laughed despite herself. “It’s no use,” she said to Natasha. “I’ve made Holly watch almost all of my favorite movies. She always knows the ending before it’s even halfway finished.”

  “I’ll tell you what a better ending would’ve been.” I grabbed my remote, muting the obnoxious sappy music. “If she’d possessed that journal after she died, then she could hypnotize whoever read it like in Dark Omnibus, then he would’ve been possessed when he found the journal right after her funeral, and—”

  A pillow to the head stopped me from finishing.

  “Fine!” I yelled. “No more horror-movie talk. Even if they are a zillion times better.”

  “Good,” said Julia. “So, any idea what you guys are making for the volleyball game on Thursday? I heard the brass section split into groups, like we did. I’m not on baking duty till the last game.”

  “I’m in the second group,” I said. “Natasha’s in the one for this week though, right?”

  Aaron had given us all a list of the three groups he’d split us into after band on Friday. I was more than a little bummed that he hadn’t put us in the same group. He was in the first one, too.

  “We’re meeting at Liam’s house after school Wednesday,” Natasha told us. “I think Liam said something about homemade doughnuts—I guess his dad makes them a lot. And we’re making cookies and brownies . . . typical stuff.”

  “Don’t even tell us what your dad’s planning on doing,” I said to Julia. “We already know about the s’mores cupcakes.”

  “Okay,” she said with a rather evil grin. “I won’t tell you about the chocolate banana bread. Or the pumpkin streusel muffins, or the cinnamon mini scones, or the—”

  “Yeah,” I interrupted. “We’re dead.” Natasha nodded sadly, and Julia giggled.

  “Sorry, guys,” she said. “This is kind of a cool fund-raiser, though. Better than just selling those plants, like we did in beginner band. And the orchestra is doing a raffle, which is kind of boring.”

  Natasha and I shared a knowing glance. Seth Anderson played cello in the school’s orchestra.

  “They are?” I asked inno
cently. “I didn’t know that. What are the prizes?”

  Julia was busy putting her DVD back in its case. “Um . . . tickets to Splash Park, some gift cards, I think maybe an iPod . . .”

  Natasha cleared her throat. “So how many tickets did you buy?”

  “Just five,” Julia said, then caught herself. She made a face as Natasha and I burst out laughing.

  “So is Seth returning the favor?” I asked between giggles. “He’d better be at the game Thursday, and he’d better buy at least five cupcakes.”

  “Actually, he probably will be there,” Julia admitted, her cheeks still flushed. “His sister’s on the volleyball team.”

  “How convenient.” Natasha propped a pillow up and leaned against the wall. “Seriously, Julia. How long are you going to wait before you just tell him you like him?”

  Julia glanced at me. “Well . . . actually, I’ve decided to ask him to the winter dance in a few weeks.”

  Natasha sat up straight. “Are you really?” she squealed. “Wait—why a few weeks? Why not now?”

  I realized suddenly that Julia hadn’t filled Natasha in on our pact. And as much as I loved Natasha, I still felt a little weird talking about Aaron with her. Back when we were enemies, she’d intentionally flirted with him at the band party just to upset me. She apologized for it and I totally forgave her, but it was sort of an awkward subject.

  “Because I made her promise the other day that if Seth didn’t ask her to the dance by Thanksgiving break, she’d ask him,” I told Natasha quickly. “He likes her—he’s just too shy to ask. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” Natasha beamed at Julia. “This is so cool! What are you going to wear?”

  Julia was laughing. “You guys are acting like we’re already going together!”

  “If you ask him, he’ll say yes,” I said firmly. Natasha nodded in agreement.

  “We’ll see, I guess.” Julia smiled, shaking her head. “What about you?” she asked, nudging Natasha with her foot. “Is there anyone you’re thinking about asking?”

  Natasha shrugged. “Not really.”

  “What about that guy on the debate team?” I said. “What’s-his-name, the really cute one you were talking to after lunch a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh, that’s Brian Sanders,” she replied, suddenly very interested in the back of Julia’s DVD case. “Yeah, he’s cute. Really nice, too.”

  It wasn’t like Natasha to be so evasive. Apparently, Julia was thinking the same thing, since she reached forward and yanked the case out of Natasha’s hands.

  “Do you like him?” Julia asked eagerly. “Come on, spill. I deserve to know after all the teasing I get about Seth. And Holly, too, about Aaron,” she added. “Like last week with Gabby and the folder, remember?”

  I groaned. Gabby was constantly pushing me to just tell Aaron I liked him. Last week she’d taped a piece of pink construction paper on the inside of my band folder that said I <3 U AARON COOK. Mr. Dante asked us to take out our warm-up chorale, I’d opened my folder, and there it was, right where Aaron could see from his chair behind me. Luckily, I’d slammed it shut before anyone (other than Natasha or Gabby) saw a thing.

  “It wasn’t funny,” I protested, because Julia was giggling again. “Just because it’s easy for Gabby to talk to guys, she thinks it should be easy for everyone.”

  “Hey, did you hear Max asked her to the dance already?” Natasha said. “Sophie told me Friday after school. And she said Brooke and Gabe are going together, too.” If there were all-region auditions for gossip, Sophie Wheeler would be first chair.

  “Gabby and Max?” I said, surprised. “She’s never mentioned liking him before.”

  Natasha started to respond, but was cut off by my mom calling up the stairs.

  “Girls, Mr. Gordon’s here!”

  As Julia and Natasha put their shoes on, I grabbed The Lost Journal and held it out like a smelly sock. “Don’t forget this, please.”

  Julia laughed, sticking the DVD in her purse. We headed downstairs, and Natasha and I waved from the doorway as Julia jumped into the front seat of her dad’s truck. As soon as he pulled out of the driveway, Mrs. Prynne’s car pulled up. I turned to Natasha.

  “If you like him, you should tell him.”

  Natasha’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Brian!” I said. “Seriously, if you like him, you should just tell him. Ask him to the dance or something!”

  “Oh!” Natasha smiled, but it seemed a bit forced. “I don’t know . . .”

  “I know it’s scary, but I bet if you ask him, he’ll say yes.” I gave her an encouraging smile. “If you like him, I mean.”

  Mrs. Prynne beeped her horn, and Natasha gave me a quick hug.

  “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Holly!”

  I waved as their car pulled away, then headed upstairs to my brother’s room and knocked on the door.

  “Yeah?”

  I opened the door and stepped inside. Or, more accurately, I kicked aside an empty box of crackers and stepped over a small mountain of dirty laundry. Chad was in front of his TV, game controller in hand, eyes glazed over. I watched the screen as his character launched himself off a building onto a helicopter, which swerved. He’d nearly made it inside when the pilot kicked him in the shoulder. The character plummeted to the ground and the screen faded to black. Chad glared at me.

  “That was your fault.”

  “Yeah right.” I headed over to his movie shelf. “You should get Prophet Wars. It’s a lot better than that game.”

  Chad glanced at me in surprise. “Yeah, I played Prophets once. Toby’s got it. How do you even know about it?”

  “I rock that game.”

  Chad snorted loudly. “Sure you do.”

  “I do,” I said matter-of-factly, searching the shelf and silently wishing Chad would just let me alphabetize it already. After all, I watched these movies just as much as he did—several of them were mine—and it was so hard to find anything. I spotted Watch the Fog 2 stuck between the original version of Carrie and one of those old Nightmare on Elm Street slasher movies. Seriously, even the sequels weren’t shelved together. It made my palms itchy just looking at it.

  A tinny explosion sound from the TV speakers told me Chad had restarted his game. “What are you looking for, anyway?” he asked without looking away from the screen.

  “I need to borrow Watch the Fog. All three of them, actually.” I slid Watch the Fog 2 off the shelf, then stared at Carrie, chewing my lip. “Would it really be so hard to keep these organized? If you’d just let me—”

  “Nope,” Chad cut me off. “The first one’s over there on my dresser. Leon’s got the third one.”

  I hesitated a moment, then took the Carrie DVD, too. Crossing the room, I grabbed the Watch the Fog case, along with two of the fortune cookies scattered across the dresser. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. You going to watch them right now?”

  “No, I’m lending them to . . . someone.”

  Chad paused his game to look at me. “Who? Not Julia or what’s-her-name. I thought they were gonna pass out in the Asylum.”

  “Her name’s Natasha, and no way, it’s not for them,” I said, edging toward the door.

  “Who then?”

  “Just a . . . friend,” I replied. “This guy.”

  Chad squinted. “What guy?”

  Rolling my eyes, I back-stepped over the dirty laundry. “Just a guy, that’s all.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Aaron.”

  “He’s in your class?”

  Oh, great. “No, eighth grade,” I said, then sighed when Chad adopted an expression of mock concern.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Holly. I don’t think I want you using my DVDs to flirt with guys. Especially older guys.”

  “I’m not flirting!” I prot
ested, probably a little too quickly. “I mean, this isn’t . . . we’re just . . . I don’t even . . .”

  “Don’t even what?”

  I groaned as Dad stepped into Chad’s room, making a face as he kicked a few empty Chinese take-out cartons aside.

  “Holly’s lending my movies to her boyfriend, that’s what,” Chad said, snickering when I shot him a death glare. Dad glanced at the DVDs in my hand, eyebrows raised.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “He’s not—” I started, right as Chad said: “He’s in eighth grade.”

  “Really?” Dad nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. “Interesting.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, my face burning. “He’s just this guy in band.”

  “The one whose house you go to every Thursday?” Dad asked.

  “Well . . . no.”

  “Hmm.” Dad exchanged an amused look with Chad, and I edged toward the door. “Maybe we need to meet this guy.”

  “No, you really, really don’t.”

  “Oh, come on, Holly,” Chad said, grinning. “Invite him over for dinner. We could—”

  He stopped, because I’d lobbed one of the fortune cookies at him. I stayed just long enough to watch it bounce off his forehead before I ran out of his room, slamming the door behind me.

  Back in the safety of my bedroom, I slid all three movies into my backpack, then grabbed my book and flopped down on my bed. But instead of opening the book, I set it on my stomach and ripped the plastic off the fortune cookie. The slip of paper was already sticking out of one end. I unfolded it, popped the entire cookie in my mouth, and promptly choked.

  YOUR SECRET ADMIRER WILL SOON BE REVEALED

  The logical part of me knew fortune cookies were meaningless, along with horoscopes, palm readings, and Ouija boards. But that didn’t stop me from squeaking like a clarinet with a broken reed and doing a happy dance that knocked most of the smaller pillows off my bed.

  Briefly, I wondered if I should laminate this little fortune. Then I realized I was being ridiculous. I would just fold it up and carry it like a good luck charm in my pocket tomorrow for when I saw Aaron.