Julia laughed. “But that’s your idea of fun!”
I smiled a little. “True. So . . . have you talked to Natasha?”
“Nope,” she replied. “I was going to call her later. You?”
“Nah,” I said, chewing my lip. “I, um . . . I saw her and Aaron leaving school together Wednesday.”
“Yeah.” I could hear the sympathy in Julia’s voice. “I told you, they’ve got class right next to each other seventh, remember?”
“Yeah.” I hesitated. “Do you know if . . . are they . . . you know, dating?”
“I don’t think so,” Julia said. “I mean, Natasha hasn’t said anything other than they’re going to the dance. I don’t think they’ve hung out outside of school. Well, except for baking all that stuff for the fund-raiser—but that was with a bunch of people.”
“Oh.”
“Holly, are you okay? Really okay?”
“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes—that sounded unconvincing, even to me. “No, I’m not. I’m not mad at her or anything,” I added quickly. “I just feel so dumb. I can’t believe I thought he liked me. And I just . . . ugh. I don’t even think I want to go to the dance anymore.”
“I’m really sorry.” Julia sighed. “If it helps, I know Natasha feels really weird about it, too. She would have told him no if you wanted.”
“I know,” I said, ignoring a small flash of irritation. “But come on, how pathetic would that be? They like each other, they should go to the dance together. It doesn’t really matter how I feel.”
“It matters to Natasha,” Julia said softly.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I know.”
“If you don’t go to the dance, I’d totally understand,” she continued. “But I really hope you do. I think it’d make you feel even worse if you weren’t there. I missed the band party, remember? It was so depressing, being at home, thinking about all of you guys out having fun. And you know the dance is going to be awesome, right?”
She had a point. “Right,” I said.
“So you’re still going?”
I laughed. “Yeah. I’m going. And you’re still asking Seth,” I added. “I’m holding you to our pact.”
Julia groaned, but I could tell she was smiling. “Okay, okay,” she said. “And hey, I got a dress this morning! I can’t wait for you to see it!” She started describing her dress in detail, and her shoes, and her new earrings. Her enthusiasm was pretty contagious, and by the time we hung up, I was grinning.
Maybe the dance would be fun. Maybe I’d get a new dress, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see Aaron and Natasha together. Dancing. Holding hands, even.
Well, I could at least pretend it wasn’t so bad.
Sighing, I flipped my TV back on and watched about a minute of Cyborgs before turning it off again. I was supposed to watch this with Owen, and thinking about that just bummed me out even more. After a few minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I got up to go see if I could talk Chad into fifteen bucks for a lesson.
Laundry night with my brother. What a great Thanksgiving break this was turning out to be.
Chapter
Twelve
How great would it be if someone invented a “get over it” button? You just press it and that’s it—whatever’s bothering you, whatever you’re worried about, whatever guy with beautiful brown eyes and a smile you can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard you try . . . gone. You’re over it.
I got to school Monday morning determined to press that button, real or not. My crush on Aaron couldn’t last now that I knew he liked someone else, right? There wasn’t any point. And it wasn’t like he was the only cute, nice guy out there. I knew tons of them. (Okay, maybe not tons. But some.)
So before the first bell, I went to Julia’s locker as usual. And there he was, cramming books into his bag, loose papers falling to the floor. He glanced up and smiled at me.
“Hey, Holly! Have a good break?”
“Yup! Did you?” I asked, hating the butterflies flapping around in my stomach. He likes Natasha, I told them, willing them to fly away. They didn’t.
“Pretty good. Oh, thanks,” he added when I caught a folder sliding out of his locker. His fingers grazed mine when I handed it to him, and my face got warm.
Yeah, there was no such thing as a “get over it” button.
“See you in band,” Aaron said, and I said, “See you.” It wasn’t until he’d gone around the corner that I remembered the DVDs. He’d probably forgotten about them. Maybe they were lost forever in the pits of his messy locker.
I had the sudden, horrifying realization that Aaron’s room at home very possibly resembled Chad’s. But no, there was no way Aaron was that much of a slob—he always smelled good. He still owned clean clothes. (Even if his mom probably still did his laundry.)
“You have the weirdest look on your face.”
Startled, I realized Julia was standing next to me, giggling. Natasha was there, too, and I felt a brief second of panic—had she seen me talking to Aaron? Not that I wasn’t allowed to talk to him or anything. But I definitely didn’t like the idea of Natasha seeing me blush when I handed him his folder.
“Hey! I didn’t see you guys there,” I said. Julia spun the dial on her locker.
“So what were you thinking about? You looked really grossed out.”
“Oh, I was . . .” I hesitated, then realized I could tell the truth, mostly. “I was thinking about my brother’s room.” I filled them in on Chad’s disgusting laundry situation and my considerate and selfless offer.
“Wow, ten bucks a load,” Julia said, laughing. “Not bad.”
“He still hasn’t accepted,” I replied. “I’d rather just teach him to do it—money or no money, I don’t want to do his laundry every week.”
“Yeah, think about it,” Natasha said. “You’d have to touch his underwear.”
They both burst out laughing at my expression.
“Oh my God.” I shook my head frantically. “No no no, I didn’t even think about that. Okay, new plan. I’m telling him tonight that for every day he waits, I’m adding a dollar to the price of letting me teach him. Tomorrow, it’s twenty-one bucks.”
All morning, I tried not to dread band. I told myself that the Triangle of Extreme Awkward was all in my head—after all, Natasha and I were friends, Aaron had no idea I liked him, and everything with Owen was pretty much back to normal. Nothing to get anxious about. But apparently the butterflies knew something I didn’t, because they were flapping away when I walked into the band hall.
Now that my excitement over being first chair had died down (at least a little), it felt really weird. I was even more hyperaware of every note Natasha played than usual, and I couldn’t help but compare her playing to mine. I knew she was doing the same thing, even though she didn’t say anything. And every time I flubbed something, even just the smallest mistake, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was really, truly fair that I was first chair and she was second. Maybe I’d done better on my all-region audition than Natasha, but even though I hated to admit it, I still wasn’t sure I was actually better than her.
I was putting my horn away, going over our last run-through of “Festive Yuletide” in my head and counting my mistakes, when Victoria’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“Can I get directions to your place for tomorrow, Owen?”
“Yeah, just a sec.” Owen grabbed a piece of paper and pencil, and Victoria noticed me watching.
“You’re in this group, too, right, Holly?”
“What?”
“You know, to bake stuff for the game on Wednesday,” Victoria said.
“Oh!” I ducked my head, pretending to search for something in my cubby. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I knew we were all meeting at Owen’s tomorrow to get ready for the volleyball tournament. But for some reason, when
Victoria asked Owen for directions I’d had this sudden mental image of the two of them playing Prophets and a very strong and unpleasant feeling had swept through me. Kind of like jealousy. Okay, maybe it was jealousy. Friendship jealousy, like the way I used to feel when Julia hung out with Natasha.
“So?” Owen said to me, once he’d handed the directions to Victoria. I glanced at him in surprise.
“So . . . what?”
He was giving me this expectant look, like I was supposed to know already. I just stared at him.
“Cyborgs. The ending,” Owen said at last. “You said you were going to watch the first half over the break.”
“Oh!” I stopped myself just in time from slapping my own forehead like a dork. “Right. I sort of, um . . . forgot.” And I’d rather watch it with you, I wanted to add. But I figured that would probably freak him out.
Owen shrugged, turning back to his cubby. “Oh, okay.” For some reason, he looked totally unsurprised. Like he knew I’d flake out.
“I started to!” I told him. “My brother had the DVD, and I put it in but then Julia called and—”
“Holly, don’t worry about it.” Owen’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”
But it was, I could tell. Maybe it wasn’t the movie, but there was something between me and Owen, something keeping our friendship from actually going back to normal. I watched him leave the cubbies, thinking hard. It couldn’t just be my big overreaction to him asking me to the dance—he’d be over that by now. Was it that I’d said no? Did he want to go with me that bad?
I really didn’t think that was it. Not unless Owen really did like me like me, which I was pretty sure he didn’t. But whatever was bothering him, it definitely was a big deal.
Even though we joked around like normal in science class, I was still nervous about asking Owen if our regular Thursday Prophets hang was back on. (And honestly, I was kind of worried about the concert programs, too. Without Owen’s drawings, they’d be really lame.)
But I was too chicken to mention any of that to him, so we didn’t talk about it. And that made going to his house after school on Tuesday to bake stuff for the fund-raiser kind of weird.
The Gradys had a big kitchen, but it was still pretty crowded with all of us there, even after Mrs. Grady gave everyone something to do. Brooke and I were making bowl after bowl of cookie dough, which we’d pass over to Dawn Palmer and Javier Vega, who rolled them into balls and placed them on baking sheets. Another small group on the other side of the kitchen was working on Mrs. Grady’s cream-cheese brownies, and Owen was with everyone else at the table, frosting cupcakes. Trevor and Victoria went back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room, wrapping all the finished sweets and boxing them up. Mrs. Grady supervised all of us in between sliding trays in and out of the oven.
With the warm, sugary scent in the air and everyone chattering away, it was hard to feel bummed about anything. Still, I was very aware of Owen over at the table, and the fact that he hadn’t said much more than “hello” to me. And when Mrs. Grady offered everyone drinks, I turned so red remembering how I’d spit my Coke out right here in the kitchen that she asked worriedly if I was getting sick, checking my forehead for signs of a fever.
“So are you excited about all-region?” Brooke asked, ripping open another bag of chocolate chips.
“Yes . . . although I’m starting to get nervous,” I admitted. “I don’t know how I ended up in the top band, seriously.”
Brooke waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t be nervous,” she said. “I was in the second all-region band last year. It’s fun, I promise.”
I stopped stirring the batter, staring at her. “You made all-region last year?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to kick myself. Brooke had been third chair to me and Natasha all year, but I didn’t mean to sound so obnoxious about it. “I mean—I’m not surprised, I just didn’t know—”
Dumping the chips into the batter, Brooke laughed. “No worries, I’m not offended. I was alternate, and this guy from Forest Hill got sick, so I ended up getting to do it.” She glanced at me. “I practiced for the auditions a lot more last year.”
My face still warm, I focused on stirring again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Like I think you aren’t good enough, or . . . I mean . . . you know . . .” I trailed off, groaning inwardly. And the award for most awkward girl ever goes to . . .
But Brooke was smiling. “It’s okay! Yeah, I just spent so much time on elections this year that I kind of blew off the all-region music.”
“Oh, that’s right!” I vaguely remembered the student-council election last month. Brooke’s name, the one right next to President, had been literally the only one I knew on the ballot. I’d voted for her, of course. “Well, it was worth it, I guess. How’s it going?”
“Great! I love student council.” Brooke swapped our full bowl with an empty one next to Dawn, then measured a few cups of flour. “It’s crazy busy, though. A few weeks ago we all had to go to this leadership camp all weekend, which was so fun. And we’ve got a huge fund-raiser going on to help pay for all the big events this year, like both the dances, and the Earth Day activities, stuff like that. That’s why I didn’t offer to be in charge of this one,” she added, shaking the bag of chocolate chips. “I’ve probably done enough fund-raising to buy myself a car, I swear.”
I laughed, ignoring the knot in my stomach that had tightened at the mention of the dance. “So what was leadership camp like?”
For the next ten minutes, Brooke eagerly described everything they’d done that weekend—picnics, team-building games, some sort of practice marketing campaign where they’d designed logos and ads . . . Brooke and some of the others had even given speeches in front of almost a hundred other kids and counselors. By the time she finished, I was mentally trying to determine how hard it would be for me to run for student council next year and still keep up with band and all-region auditions. Student Council President Holly Mead. I could make business cards.
“Okay, let’s put a hold on the cookies for a few minutes,” Mrs. Grady called, taking another sheet from Dawn. “We’ve got a line of stuff waiting for the oven.”
I went to the bathroom to wash my hands (the kitchen sink was overflowing with dirty bowls and cupcake tins) and passed the dining-room table, where Trevor was stacking brownies in Tupperware containers.
“Hey, Trevor.”
“Hey,” he replied. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
I stopped with my hand on the bathroom door, staring at him. He had a weird, smug little smile on his face. “What are you talking about?”
Trevor shrugged, fitting the lid on a container. “Nothing. Hey, you missed out big time the Thursday before Thanksgiving. We got to level ten.”
It was like a slow punch that hit a few seconds later, hard. The Thursday before Thanksgiving—the day Owen had told me his stepsister had a recital and I couldn’t come over to play Prophets. He had lied to me, after all.
I opened my mouth, closed it, and then went in the bathroom and shut the door firmly. But not before seeing how pleased Trevor looked at my reaction. Leaning against the door, I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was all blotchy, some parts pale and some parts red.
I told myself that Trevor was a jerk—because he kind of was—and that maybe he was lying. Maybe Owen hadn’t made up Megan’s recital. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding.
But telling myself that didn’t make me feel any better, because I knew it wasn’t true. I wasn’t sure why, but it looked like Owen really didn’t want to be friends anymore.
Chapter
Thirteen
The second volleyball game felt even more hectic than the first. Probably because this time, I was in the main gym instead of the auxiliary gym, and it looked twice as crowded. The line at our table was constant, and I was glad—all
the work was a distraction from the fact that Aaron and Natasha were both right there with me, thanks to the booster parents who assigned everyone spots. Owen was back in the auxiliary gym, and so was Trevor. I was torn between hoping nothing traumatic happened to their table and kind of wishing Trevor would get knocked over with a volleyball again.
Julia was in the main gym, too—the woodwind table wasn’t too far from ours. Next to her, Gabby kept hiding a tray under the table and replacing it with cookies, then putting it out again whenever a booster parent came around to check on them.
“Her mom’s tofu bars,” Natasha explained with a grin. “She made them last time, too. Gabby said people kept thinking they were cheesecake bars. Then they’d ask for their money back after they took a bite.”
I laughed, handing a woman a brownie and her change and trying to ignore the way Aaron’s arm kept brushing against Natasha’s when he reached for the cash box. I was pretty sure it was intentional—he’d been standing on her other side ever since we set the table up, talking to her every chance he got. I was trying to ignore it. Weirdly, it seemed like Natasha was acting kind of standoffish with him, too. But that was probably just my imagination.
“If Mr. Gordon just took charge and baked all of their stuff, the woodwinds would win for sure,” I said.
Natasha made a face. “They’re winning, anyway. Sophie told me their average. And the percussionists aren’t far behind them.”
“Great.” I sighed, opening another box of brownies. Thanks to Trevor, the brass section was so behind I wasn’t sure we even had a chance at winning anymore.
I knew it wasn’t actually Trevor’s fault, but it made me feel better to blame him. Especially when I thought about how smug he looked at Owen’s house yesterday. And besides, I’d really wanted to get to level ten first.
“So what do you recommend—the brownies or the cookies?”
Startled, I looked up to see a boy about my age at the front of the line. Correction: an extremely cute boy with thick black curls and very long eyelashes.
Friends, Fugues, and Fortune Cookies Page 9
