Friends, Fugues, and Fortune Cookies

by Michelle Schusterman

  He was still looking.

  “Oh no,” Natasha said suddenly. “I left my Spanish book in the band hall.” She stood quickly, glanced at the clock, and crumpled her paper bag into a ball. “I’m going to run and get it before the bell rings. See you guys!”

  “Bye!” Julia called after her, then she turned and gave me an expectant look. “Okay, what’s going on? You look like you’re going to bust!”

  I bounced up and down on the bench next to her. “Aaron’s going to ask me to the dance,” I said in a voice that was supposed to be hushed but came out kind of like a shouted whisper.

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious? How do you know?”

  I filled her in on everything Gabby told me. By the time I finished, Julia was beaming.

  “I’m not surprised, though,” she said right as the bell rang. We both stood up and headed for the trash cans.

  “Why?”

  Julia looked pointedly over at Aaron’s table. “I’m not blind, Holly. He spent, like, the whole lunch period staring over here.”

  I pretty much floated to science class.

  After school, I met Owen right outside the band hall and we walked to his house together to make up for the Prophets time we lost thanks to the volleyball game. Mrs. Driscoll had handed out a whole bunch of papers about the science fair today in class. The fair wasn’t until May, but Owen already couldn’t stop talking about it. Actually, it was the grand prize he couldn’t stop talking about—a private tour of the NASA Space Center in Houston.

  Okay, even I had to admit that was pretty cool.

  “You can watch astronauts—real ones—training to go to the space station,” Owen was saying, reading one of the brochures Mrs. Driscoll had given us as we walked. “And there’s a rocket simulation! And—oh, wow, Holly, we could actually see Gemini V, like the actual one that went into space, and . . .”

  He was like that pretty much the whole walk, tripping over his own feet every other minute because he couldn’t take his eyes off the brochure. Then again, I probably didn’t look any less goofy. I couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron, I couldn’t stop smiling, and my fingers kept grazing the secret-admirer fortune in my pocket.

  I hadn’t seen Aaron for the rest of the day, but then again, I usually didn’t—his classes were nowhere near mine. But I wasn’t too disappointed. Not when I had actual proof he liked me. Thank you, Sophie Wheeler, for being so wonderfully nosy.

  When we got to his house, Owen finally put all the science fair stuff away. Since we didn’t have any science homework, we blew up alien pods for a solid two hours.

  “Level eight!” I yelled triumphantly, tossing my controller down and rubbing my eyes. “Ow. I think I need a break.”

  “Me too.” Owen stood up and stretched. “Want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  We headed downstairs to the kitchen and found Worf with his head in the trash can.

  “Hey!” Owen cried, pulling him out. Worf clutched a soggy paper towel in his teeth, tail wagging furiously. “Mom, Worf’s in the trash again!”

  “Well, get him out!” Mrs. Grady called from her office. “And Owen, don’t ruin your dinner—I’m ordering pizza in a few minutes.”

  “Can Holly stay?”

  “Of course!”

  “If you want,” Owen added, picking up the trash on the floor and throwing it away. “We could put in Cyborgs.”

  “Only if you’re ready to lose,” I said with a grin. At the beginning of the year, Owen had bet that I couldn’t guess the ending of his favorite movie, Cyborgs versus Ninjas. (Yeah, right.)

  Owen was laughing. “If you say so. We can probably watch about half before the pizza gets here.”

  “Okay! I just have to call my dad—he’s supposed to pick me up.” I watched Worf bat an empty soup can around the kitchen floor. “Pizza, huh? What happened to your mom’s diet?”

  Owen glanced in the direction of his mom’s office and lowered his voice. “No diet on the weekends.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged, getting a bottle of soda out of the fridge. “Dunno. Last Saturday we grilled burgers, and Sunday morning she bought a giant box of doughnuts. But then Monday she got all strict again and made this massive salad for dinner. It’s like on Mondays she hits the diet-reboot button.”

  “Weird.”

  Owen handed me a glass of soda, then pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the counter. “So, got any ideas for our science fair project?”

  I groaned. “Owen. It’s not until May!”

  “Yeah, but we’re supposed to start working on them right after winter break!” Owen said. “Besides, I thought you’d be into this.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I do okay in science now, but it’s not exactly my favorite subject.”

  “Yeah, but come on, Holly.” Owen grinned at me. “The fair’s a competition. A big one, too. The whole school district.”

  He had a point.

  “Okay,” I said. “Is there a theme or something?”

  “Life,” Owen said simply. “It’s pretty open. We could do something on plant life, or animal life—we can’t use live animals, though, or—”

  “Aliens,” I interrupted. “Could we do one on alien life?”

  He laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Why not?” I said, warming to the thought. “Like what kind of alien could live on Venus or something. Or what you’d need to build a city on Mars! We could ask Mrs. Driscoll, at least.”

  “Okay!” Owen looked excited. “Maybe we could even get started on it before winter break.”

  “Sure!” I said. Worf finally settled down at my feet, chewing on a shoelace. “It might be hard to find time, though. Thanksgiving’s the week after next, then all-region, the winter dance, the concert, and that’s the end of the semester.”

  “Yeah, true.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that I’d just spent my entire Friday afternoon playing video games, and now I was planning a science project six months in advance. What a geek, I thought, sipping my drink. But it didn’t really bother me. Maybe being a geek was cool.

  “Holly, would you go to the dance with me?” Owen said suddenly. I spit out a mouthful of soda and sent Worf into another frenzy.

  “What?” I wasn’t entirely positive I’d heard him right.

  Owen’s eyes went wide with alarm, and he held his hands out like a crossing guard. Stop.

  “No, I don’t mean, you know, like a date or anything!” he said hastily. “I meant just as friends. Just friends. If you want to. I thought it’d be fun.”

  Grabbing the paper towels, I wondered which one of us had the redder face. “Oh! Yeah, that would be fun!” My voice came out all weird and high and loud, like a cheerleader on a caffeine rush. “But—”

  I paused, head ducked as I wiped up the soda on the floor, mind whirling. Help help help.

  I didn’t want to hurt Owen’s feelings by just saying no, but I couldn’t say yes because technically I would have a date soon. If only Aaron had actually asked me, then I’d have a real excuse.

  Then again, if I was totally positive Aaron was going to ask . . .

  Straightening up, I tossed the paper towels in the trash can and forced myself to smile at Owen. “But the thing is, I’ve already got a—um—a date.” Ugh, why did my voice have to sound so strange?

  Owen was suddenly very busy getting the soda back out of the fridge. “Oh, okay!” he said, and his voice was all weird, too. “I didn’t know, sorry.”

  “That’s okay!”

  The way he was focused on pouring more soda, you’d think he was performing brain surgery. I pressed a clammy hand to my cheek, willing my face to return to a normal shade. Worf’s tongue lolled out as he looked back and forth between us, like this was the most entertainment he’d had in days.

  When Mrs. Gr
ady entered the kitchen, we both jumped. “So, Holly, you staying for pizza?” she asked cheerfully.

  “Oh!” I realized I’d never called Dad to ask. “I’d love to, but . . . um . . . I just remembered my aunt’s supposed to come over for dinner tonight, so I can’t.” Never mind that she lives in Boston.

  “Ah, well, maybe next time.” Mrs. Grady started rifling through a drawer, then pulled out a menu. Owen and I looked at anything but each other.

  “I guess I should be going,” I said to Worf.

  “Okay, I’ll walk you out,” Owen said to the soda bottle.

  We walked out of the kitchen and through the foyer in silence. Owen pulled the front door open all formally for some reason. I had a weird moment where I couldn’t remember how we usually said good-bye. Hug? Shake hands? For a split second I lost my head entirely and started raising my hand to high-five him, then tucked my hair behind my ear instead.

  I swallowed, hoping to get rid of that horrible cheerleader voice. “Well, see you tomorrow!” I squawked. Ugh.

  “Sure, see you!”

  Our eyes met just for a second, then he shut the door and I spun around and started walking. Fast.

  Why why why why why why why. Why did Owen have to ask me to the dance? Not that I was mad that he did. Actually, I was kind of flattered, although right now that particular emotion was buried under a huge pile of horror at how awkward everything had become.

  My head was buzzing. Did Owen like me? Like, like me like me? I picked up the pace, my feet matching the rapid pounding of my heart. I pictured how panicked Owen had looked. The way he had held his hands out, as if to say stop!

  I meant just as friends. Just friends. If you want to. I thought it’d be fun.

  I slowed down a little bit, replaying the whole thing from the beginning. Owen had asked me to go to the dance with him. Specifically, he said Would you go to the dance with me? Not be my date or anything like that. And I had spit soda all over the kitchen. I groaned out loud, my face heating up all over again.

  I was so busy wallowing in my own humiliation that when a car pulled up next to me and honked, I just about jumped out of my skin.

  “Dad!”

  He rolled down the window and gave me his Explain Yourself Young Lady look. Glancing around, I suddenly remembered where I was. I never walked home from Owen’s, it was too far from my house. It also dawned on me that I was freezing.

  “Where were you going?” Dad asked when I slid into the front seat. “You knew I was picking you up at six thirty. And where’s your jacket?”

  “I’m sorry, I just . . .” I shook my head, staring out the front window. “I was walking home. I forgot my jacket.”

  Dad glanced at me. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “What? Nothing!” Stupid shrill voice.

  “Did you have a fight with that boy—Owen?”

  “What? No!” I exclaimed. “I just . . . I don’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, I really am.”

  Dad waited a few seconds, then sighed and pulled away from the curb. “Well, it’s a good thing I happened to pass you,” he said, but he didn’t lecture me anymore after that. For the moment. I was pretty sure he was saving it for later, though. And Mom was going to flip out when she found out I was just wandering around completely alone outside at night.

  At home, I sprinted up the stairs, shut my bedroom door, grabbed my phone, and dialed Julia’s number before Dad had even made it inside the house.

  “Hello?”

  “Julia, it’s me. I was hanging out with Owen after school, and out of nowhere he asked me to the dance, and now everything is insanely weird, and I don’t know what to do!”

  I took a deep breath, waiting for her to say Oh my God! or Are you serious? or something like that.

  “Aww!”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear for a second and stared at it like it had grown fangs. “Did you just say aww?” I said in disbelief.

  “Yes.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Aww as in awwkward?”

  “No,” she said, laughing. “Aww as in aww, that’s so cute!”

  “Cute?!” I sputtered. “No, Julia, he—we—I just—”

  “Holly, breathe,” Julia ordered. Obediently, I inhaled, then exhaled. “Okay, now start from the beginning.”

  I did. I told her the whole thing, every single humiliating detail. When she finally spoke, I could tell she was trying not to laugh again.

  “Do you think he likes you?”

  “No,” I said, and I meant it. “I really do think he meant just as friends. But then I freaked out and spit Coke all over the place, so now he probably thinks I think he likes me. We could barely even look at each other, Julia.”

  “Okay, so it’s awkward right now,” Julia said. “But it was just a misunderstanding, and you both know it. I’m sure things will go back to normal soon.”

  I wished I was as sure of that as she sounded. “I guess. I feel really bad about lying to him, though.”

  “You lied?”

  “Well, sort of, yeah.” Cradling the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I started reorganizing my dresser. “I mean, I told him I had a date, right? But I don’t, not yet.”

  “True,” Julia said slowly. “But that’s kind of a technicality, though. I mean, you know Aaron’s going to ask you, and he’s the one you really want to go with.”

  “Right.” I felt marginally better. “And saying I have a date is a whole lot less embarrassing than saying, ‘Sorry, but I heard this other guy wants to ask me to the dance, and I’m going to say yes because I have a massive crush on him.’”

  Julia giggled. “Does Owen know you like Aaron?”

  “No!” I exclaimed, fumbling with a picture frame. “No, we don’t talk about . . . stuff like that.”

  “Well, either way, it doesn’t really matter,” Julia said. “Aaron’s going to ask you, you’ll say yes, and I’m sure things will be okay with Owen.”

  “Right,” I agreed, but deep down I wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter Seven

  This is how things were supposed to go on Monday: I’d find Aaron at his locker before school and ask him to the dance. If he wasn’t there, I’d ask him right before band.

  Then I’d spend lunch discussing outfit possibilities for the dance with Julia and Natasha.

  Then I’d get to science and joke with Owen about what a spaz I was on Friday so we could laugh about it and go back to normal.

  The thought of asking Aaron out still made me feel like there were hummingbirds zipping around in my stomach, but I was tired of waiting for him to ask me. I had to get it over with. Even if there was a very real chance I’d lose my breakfast all over his shoes.

  As it turned out, that didn’t matter. Because nothing went according to plan.

  I checked the band hall before school, then hung out with Julia in front of her locker (which was right next to Aaron’s), but he never showed up. Then in PE, Coach Hoffman got mad when a few kids kept trying to hang from the hoop during basketball, so she made us all run an extra lap. Which meant I was still changing clothes when the bell rang. I had to sprint to the band hall and barely had time to grab my horn before Mr. Dante started rehearsal.

  “Everything okay?” Gabby asked me as I slid past her and Natasha and slumped down in my chair.

  “Stellar,” I replied, still trying to catch my breath. I snuck a glance at Owen, but he kept his eyes fixed on his folder.

  I wasn’t the only one having an off day. Natasha, who was usually pretty much perfect during rehearsals, kept making the weirdest mistakes. Twice when Mr. Dante asked to hear just the brass, she spaced out and raised her horn up only after the rest of us had started playing. And she kept playing B-flats instead of B-naturals in “Festive Yuletide,” even though Mr. Dante had given us the music a week
ago.

  “Is something wrong?” I whispered to her while he worked with the flutes.

  “What?” Natasha’s face went pink. “Oh no! Everything’s great. I mean, not great. Fine, everything’s fine.”

  Gabby and I shared a look. Something was clearly going on.

  When Mr. Dante told us to pack up, I was hit with a fresh wave of nerves. No excuses this time—I’d just ask Aaron now. In the cubbies, I put my horn away slowly, hoping the crowd would thin out enough so that the whole band didn’t hear what I was about to do. Owen accidentally bumped my elbow with his case, mumbled a “sorry,” and practically sprinted out of the band hall. One awkward thing at a time, I told myself. You’ll fix everything with Owen fifth period.

  Natasha seemed to be in kind of a hurry, too. Usually the three of us walked to lunch together, but she and Julia took off pretty quickly. Julia probably filled her in on my plan, I figured. They knew I’d be more nervous if they were there when I asked Aaron to the dance.

  Taking in a deep, shaky breath, I turned to Aaron. Or rather, I turned to where Aaron had been standing a second ago. Stepping outside of the cubbies, I saw the doors swing closed behind him, Liam, and a few other guys.

  Perfect.

  Julia raised her eyebrows expectantly when I sat down at our table, but I just shook my head. Natasha didn’t seem to notice our silent exchange. She was focused on trying to stab a straw into a juice box.

  “Need some help?” Julia took the straw before Natasha could answer, stuck it in the box, then gave Natasha a pointed look. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?” Natasha’s voice was high and forced and oddly familiar. After a second, I realized why—she sounded just like I had with Owen.

  “Did something happen?” I said. “You were kind of . . . off in band today. It’s really unlike you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She giggled, which made the whole thing even weirder. Natasha took band as seriously as I did. “I guess I’m just nervous. All-region this weekend and all. How are you doing on the fugue?” she asked me.