“But I’m trying to watch a—”
“Use your headphones.” Turning her back on Chad, Mom held out a shopping bag. “Sorry I couldn’t get to the store this week! Work’s been crazy. They didn’t have the light blue, but I thought this one was cute.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out a turquoise backpack with purple pockets. Quickly, I scanned through my closet in my mind—I had six outfits that would go with this. No, seven. “Thanks, Mom!”
“Anytime.” She backed up and nearly tripped over Chad, who was still kneeling on the floor like a moron. “Would you get up already?” Mom cried, ruffling his hair. Then she spotted my science book. “Holly, what’s that doing on the floor?”
“Oh—whoops.” I picked it up hastily.
“Oh my God, you were studying, weren’t you. On a Saturday.” Chad shook his head, heaving himself to his feet.
“Something you should try sometime,” Mom chided him. She glanced at me. “Are classes going okay, honey?”
I smiled tightly. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Of course.” She smiled back. “Pizza tonight. I’ll call Spins at around six for delivery—meaning, please don’t eat an entire bag of Cheetos at five thirty,” she added, giving Chad a Look before slipping past him and heading downstairs.
Chad started to leave, but I stopped him. “Hey, what movie are you watching?”
“Watch the Fog. The second one.”
“Ooh, that is a good one.” (Besides our blue eyes, awesome taste in movies was the only thing my brother and I had in common.) “Hey, want to go see House of the Wicked?”
Chad squinted. He did this pretty much every time he had to think, which wasn’t too often. Like he needed to physically squeeze his brain into action. “Can you get into that one?”
“Yup, it’s PG-13. Maybe tomorrow?”
“I’ve got plans at three. We could do an earlier show if you want. Not before noon,” he added. “You know I need my beauty sleep.”
“Chad, all you do is sleep.” I smiled sweetly at him. “I don’t think it’s working.”
He made a face. “Have fun blowing spit all over the place,” he said, then shut the door before I could retort.
Well, at least the weekend wouldn’t be a total bust. Seeing a good movie with my loser brother was better than seeing stupid Seven Dates with a girl who probably got all weepy at the mind-numbingly happy ending.
I glared at my music for a minute, then realized my fingers were drumming rather loudly on the bell. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed my horn and took a deep breath. Time to practice.
Chapter Seven
“Come on, Julia. Where are you?”
I glanced at my watch, then at the clock on the wall. (Still synced.) Ninety seconds before the first bell, and Julia still wasn’t here. I started fiddling with my necklace—a silver chain with a little turtle made of colored glass. Julia got it for me at the beach. She had a matching one, except hers was a starfish.
It was Wednesday. Julia had been acting kind of weird all week. She’d probably picked up on the fact that I didn’t like Natasha. I couldn’t help it—I tried. But I was stressed out enough without having to deal with Natasha the Perfect.
This afternoon was the dreaded science quiz, and apparently I was more than a little anxious, because my stomach was doing this squirmy thing. Aaron Cook did not help matters one bit when he walked down the hall looking far cuter than any boy had the right to.
I stared at the floor, watching him from the corner of my eye. Here I was, standing alone at a locker that wasn’t even mine. And now he was slowing down. He was slowing down. He was stopping right next to me.
I forced myself to look up. Aaron was spinning the lock on the locker two away from Julia’s. How? How had I been in school a week and a half and only just now was learning that my best friend’s locker was right next to Aaron Cook’s?
Briefly, I considered opening Julia’s locker and burying my head in it. I knew her combination.
Don’t be a chicken. I stood there dumbly, still twisting the little glass turtle. Just say something. He was alone, which was pretty unusual. The perfect opportunity.
Okay, here I go. I took a deep breath. No, I can’t do it. Yes, I can. No, I can’t. Yes, I—
“Hey, Holly.”
Oh my God.
I glanced up and tried to look like I hadn’t been extremely aware of his presence for the past minute. “Hey, Aaron. What’s up?” Not bad. Okay. I could do this.
“Not much.” Aaron stuffed a book into his bag and smiled at me. “Cool necklace.”
Oh. My. God.
“Thanks!” My voice sounded weirdly high. Probably because I’d stopped breathing entirely. “I . . . um . . .”
“Aaron!” I was saved by the tallest eighth-grader I’d ever seen in my life. He was like a red-haired giant. “Coach wants to see you before lunch.”
“About what?” Aaron shut his locker. The giant shrugged.
“Practice after school, I think. We’re supposed to bring . . .”
I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because they were walking away and I was still standing at Julia’s locker turning purple from oxygen deprivation. Breathe, dummy.
I inhaled, exhaled, and laughed. Aaron Cook had talked to me. Again. And I talked back. And he liked my necklace. I resisted the urge to kiss the little glass turtle. I had to tell Julia about this immediately.
But when the bell rang a minute later, I was still standing at her locker alone, because she’d never shown up. My smile faded, and I picked up my bag and headed down the hall. No sign of Natasha, either, and they had history together first period.
I wondered if Julia was avoiding me.
Something was definitely up. Julia seemed okay during band, but at lunch I could tell there was something she wasn’t telling me. When something bothered Julia, she would pick her food apart with her fingers before she ate it, and her laugh would change. It’d turn into this forced, high-pitched noise.
Five minutes into lunch and she’d broken a chocolate bar into about a dozen pieces and giggled at three things Natasha said (none of which were funny). Like I said, something was definitely up.
Then again, I wasn’t exactly feeling normal, either. I’d never really had to worry about a class before. I’d spent Monday and Tuesday night trying to read my science textbook, and I was pretty much ready to set it on fire. I’d been skating by on the labs thanks to Owen, but I had to face facts. It wasn’t just that I might not ace the quiz; I was totally lost in that class.
By the time I got to science, my stomach was churning so much that I probably could’ve gotten away with just going to the nurse’s office.
“Hi, Holly!”
“Hey, Owen.” I slid into the desk next to his and tossed my backpack down. He glanced at it and made a weird face. “What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Owen said. “Just, um . . . what happened to the Batman bag you had last week, anyway?”
I snorted. “I was only using that because my brother ruined my real backpack. This one’s new.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed, for some reason.
“Sorry,” I said teasingly. “Didn’t realize you were such a big Batman fan.”
Owen blinked rapidly. He did that a lot when he was confused, I’d learned. “I’m not, actually. Just thought it was kind of cool that you were.”
Huh. Apparently Owen and I had pretty different definitions of “cool.”
While Mrs. Driscoll took roll, I flipped through the chapter on cells in a desperate last-minute attempt to learn . . . well, anything. Then she was handing out the quizzes. I held my breath as she placed one on my desk. Multiple choice! Score. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
1. A mitochondrion is a type of:
A) cell
B) lipid
; C) organelle
D) chloroplast
Oh no.
My heart started pounding as I scanned the rest of the questions. This had never, ever happened to me before. I had no idea what to do. Panicked, I gripped my pen and glanced furtively around the room.
Next to me, Owen’s pencil was scratching away. Every time he read another question, he tapped the eraser against his mouth.
When he did it again, his hand moved up and I could see his paper.
I looked back at my own quiz quickly. No, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t cheat—I’d never cheated.
But I didn’t know what else to do.
Mrs. Driscoll was walking slowly up and down the aisles. I waited until she passed me, then glanced at Owen again. His pencil was moving, then it stopped . . .
Suddenly, even though he didn’t look right at me, I knew he knew what I was doing. He hesitated, his hand hovering over his paper. Trying to decide whether or not to let me copy. He was probably two seconds away from blinking his eyelids right off.
I looked back at my own paper quickly. I couldn’t use Owen like that. Guilty tears burned in my eyes, and I set my pencil down to rub them away.
Twenty minutes later Mrs. Driscoll collected our quizzes and I felt like I had a rock in my stomach. There was no way I’d passed, and I couldn’t even look at Owen. When class ended, I hurried up to Mrs. Driscoll’s desk as everyone else filed out.
“Mrs. Driscoll, can you please grade my quiz now?” I asked in a rush.
She smiled. “Worried, Holly? You shouldn’t be—I hear you’re an excellent student.”
“I am—I mean, thanks,” I said, blushing. “But I . . . this chapter was kind of confusing.”
“Well, let’s see how you did.” Mrs. Driscoll found my quiz and picked up her red pen. I watched as she read, then marked an X. Then another. Then another. After the sixth one, she looked up at me, her smile gone.
“I failed, didn’t I?” My eyes were burning again. Mrs. Driscoll nodded sympathetically.
“But, Holly, this is only the first quiz,” she added. “Your lab grades have been fine so far! You can still bring up your grade.”
“In time for the first progress report, though? Because if I’m failing this class on my progress report I can’t go to the band party or play at the pep rally, and if I fail on the report card I can’t play at the football game and—”
“Holly!” Mrs. Driscoll held her hand up. “Listen, you’re going to be fine. We’re having a test in less than two weeks. So long as you pass that, you’ll have a passing grade on your progress report. My tutoring hours are Tuesdays and Thursdays before school.” She patted my hand in what I guessed was supposed to be a reassuring way. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”
“Okay.”
But by the time I got to sixth period, I felt anything but fine. One test in science was going to determine whether or not I could go to the band party. And I had less than two weeks to figure out how to pass it.
Chapter Eight
“It was so easy. I mean, like, kindergarten easy.” Natasha stabbed a piece of sandwich with her fork. “I can’t believe I was so worried about being in advanced math.”
I wanted to puke. And it had nothing to do with my lunch.
But I just smiled and peeled my orange. “That’s awesome, Natasha! I know what you mean—I was kind of nervous about that Spanish essay yesterday. But I ended up getting a ninety-eight!” I chewed on an orange slice, enjoying the way her face tightened.
“Oh. Good for you, that’s great.”
(I didn’t normally brag like Natasha. But we were in the same Spanish class and yesterday Mr. Hernandez had asked me to pass everyone’s essays out, so I knew Natasha only got a ninety-two. And she knew I knew. Take that, Miss Perfect.)
“Did you guys watch Save Me last night? New episode,” Julia said abruptly. I glanced down; there was a pile of cracker crumbs on her napkin, and she was in the process of destroying another one. I felt a pang of guilt.
“Yeah, I did. Can you believe they—”
“Julia!” Natasha interrupted with a squeal. “There’s Seth!”
We all turned to look as Seth Anderson joined the lunch line. He was pretty cute, I had to admit. I tried not to think about Garrett of First Kiss Fame and smiled at Julia.
“You’ve got PE with him, right?”
Her face was pink. “Yeah. He’s in the orchestra, too. Cello.”
“Too bad he’s not in band,” Natasha said. “Then you’d see him at the party. Hey, do you know what you’re wearing yet? That sort of flowery dress you wore to the dance at band camp would be perfect!”
And we were back on Lake Lindon. Again. I forced myself not to scowl—Natasha always did this on purpose, and I refused to let her know it got to me. She and Julia started talking about who wore what at the oh-so-epic dance that I didn’t get to go to. Sighing, I surveyed the cafeteria. Staring at Aaron Cook would keep me entertained.
But I saw Owen first. He hadn’t acted weird during band, but with Brooke between us, it wasn’t like we got to talk a lot. Every time I thought about what I’d almost done in science, the knot in my stomach would tighten. I glanced at Natasha, who was now describing the outfit she was wearing to the band party in way too much detail.
“Be right back, guys.” I got up quickly and headed over to Owen before I could change my mind.
“Hi, Owen.”
He looked surprised when I slid into the seat next to him. On his other side, Trevor was arguing with a few boys I didn’t know. A pile of cards with elves and swords and stuff on them were spread out in the middle of the table. I grinned.
“He’s losing again, huh?”
Owen laughed. “Like always.” He was doodling something on the back of a napkin. It looked like some sort of troll.
“So, Owen, um . . .” I paused, unsure of what I even wanted to say. “Promise you won’t tell anyone this.”
“Um, okay . . .”
I lowered my voice.
“I kind of massively failed that science quiz yesterday.”
Owen blinked. “What? How do you know?”
“I asked Mrs. Driscoll to grade it after class.” I swallowed. “Come on, Owen—you know I have no idea what’s going on in there.”
“Well . . .” He glanced at me. “I guess I didn’t know you were having that much trouble with it.”
“If I don’t pass the test we’re having the week after next, I’ll fail on my progress report. And you know Mr. Dante’s rule about band.”
His gray eyes widened in understanding. “Oh. Okay.” Owen paused, tapping his pencil on the troll drawing. “Well, if you want, I can help you.”
I let out a breath. “I was hoping you’d say that. But seriously—I’m really, really lost.”
Owen shrugged. “It’s only been a week and a half. You can catch up.” He glanced at the pile of cards, brow furrowed. “Actually . . . I have an idea. Can you come over Friday after school?”
“Yes. Definitely.” I leaned back in my chair, relieved. “Thanks, Owen.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And hey, how do you know my brother?”
“Huh?”
I tapped the troll on the napkin. “Dead ringer, seriously.”
Owen laughed, and the knot in my stomach finally started to loosen.
My science-quiz nerves were nothing compared to how I felt before band on Friday. The chair test was a totally different thing—unlike science, I actually knew what I was doing in band. I could play the test from memory, and I sounded good.
But this wasn’t about sounding good. It was about sounding better than everyone else. And by everyone, I meant Natasha.
I grabbed my horn and music folder and started heading out of the cubby room. Julia was already in her chair with her reed in her mo
uth, and Natasha was kneeling next to her. They were giggling about something. I turned abruptly and headed back to my cubby.
On the surface, everything was fine between Julia and me. We had computer lab together last period, and we talked and joked around like nothing was weird. But she was still picking her food apart at lunch, and she still looked sad sometimes when she thought I wasn’t looking. Whatever was bothering her, she didn’t want to talk about it with me.
Which meant I was the thing that was bothering her.
“Hey, Holly?” Gabby was standing by the trash can, a box of Red Hots in her hand. “Did you write down the essay assignment for English tomorrow? I spaced out.”
“Yeah. ‘Compare and contrast your favorite season with your least favorite.’ No, thanks,” I added when she offered the box.
“Cool, thanks.” Polishing off the candy, Gabby tossed the box into the trash and knelt down at her cubby. As she hung the strap around her neck, I peered curiously inside her case.
“Why is your reed already on your mouthpiece?” I asked. “I thought you guys were supposed to take everything apart every day, like the clarinets do. And, like, clean it and stuff.”
Gabby shrugged. “Yeah, we are. But it’s faster this way.”
“Ew!” I exclaimed. “Didn’t Mrs. Wendell tell your class about what could happen if you don’t clean your instrument every day?”
Grinning, Gabby slid her case back into her cubby. “I guess I forgot. What happens, Mrs. Mead?”
I decided to ignore that. “Gunk builds up inside and could even start growing mold. Mold, Gabby.”
Gabby clapped her hand to her cheek. “Oh, the horror!”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Why are you laughing? Are you seriously not grossed out about putting a moldy mouthpiece in your mouth?”
But she was still laughing as we headed to our seats.
A few of the trumpet players were playing through the chair test. Suddenly, a fresh wave of nervousness hit me. I’d been so focused on beating Natasha that I kind of forgot we had to play the test in front of everyone.
I Heart Band Page 4
