Mr. Dante started the chair test right after our warm-ups, thank God. I’d have died if he’d waited till the end of rehearsal.
Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes as the flutes played one at a time, then the clarinets. It took a massive effort to keep my fingers still. When Julia’s turn came, I opened my eyes.
She did pretty well, but I could tell she was nervous. The whole clarinet section was pretty amazing, though.
The saxophones were up next. There was only one bari sax and one tenor sax player, but Mr. Dante made them do the chair test anyway. Then there were three alto saxes—two eighth-graders and Gabby. She gave me a little grin right before her turn.
“Wish me luck,” she whispered.
It took about three seconds of her playing for me to forget about her gross no-cleaning policy. Gabby was awesome. I knew the music for this test was pretty easy, but she made it sound so . . . effortless.
I was so wowed that I almost forgot about my turn.
“Holly?” Mr. Dante prompted me.
Blinking, I sat up straight and adjusted my music stand. I tried to pretend I was back in my room, but honestly, it was impossible not to be aware of the forty-something kids sitting all around me in dead silence.
I gave myself a split-second mental pep talk. You did not spend all those hours practicing just to get freaked out because people can hear you. People are supposed to hear you. That’s why you’re in band.
Then I played.
It was over in about twenty seconds. And I totally nailed it.
I sat back in my chair, trying not to look smug. But seriously—I’d played it perfectly.
“Nice job,” Gabby murmured, and I grinned.
“You too.”
I kept my eyes fixed on my horn while Brooke played, trying to keep the smile off my face. She sounded fine, but she flubbed one tiny part. Owen sounded a lot better than he did last year, but he messed up a measure and had to play it again.
Time for Natasha to play. I held my breath as she lifted her horn.
She was good.
Okay, she was really, really good.
Still, by the time she finished, I wasn’t convinced she was better than me. Leaning back in my chair again, I bit my lip. Natasha hadn’t made any big mistakes, but she’d sounded . . . different than I had. And I’d played exactly what was on the page.
So I must have sounded better. Mr. Dante had to have noticed. I relaxed a little bit. By the end of rehearsal, I was feeling good about my chances at first chair again.
After I put my instrument away, I hurried over to Julia’s cubby. “Well, that wasn’t too bad.”
Julia made a face. “I was awful. Last chair, here I come.”
“No you weren’t!” I meant it—maybe Julia wouldn’t be first chair, but she’d sounded fine. “Anyway, everyone in your section is really good. And we’ll have another chair test in a few weeks, so things could change.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. You sounded great, though!”
I beamed. “Thanks!”
Julia placed her reed in its little case, then wiped her mouthpiece before putting it away. (I should ask her to give Gabby cleaning lessons.) “Yeah, you and Natasha were best in your section for sure.”
Suddenly, smiling was a little harder to do.
“Hey, I almost forgot!” Julia straightened up, pulling her backpack on. “Want to come over after school today? Dad’s making fajitas.”
“Awesome!” Julia’s dad was an amazing cook. “What time? I can . . .” I trailed off when I noticed Owen chatting with Trevor by his cubby. We were supposed to study today. I’d totally forgotten.
“Um, I . . . I can’t,” I said lamely. “I have to—”
“Look at this!” Natasha appeared out of nowhere next to Julia, flapping her hand around. “I just chipped my nail on my case.”
Julia examined her finger. “It’s not that bad. Can you bring some polish tonight? We’ll fix it.”
“Definitely.” Natasha gave me her best fake smile. “You’re coming too, right, Holly? Fajita night?”
“I asked her during first period,” Julia told me hastily. “So you can’t come, really? Why not?”
Great. I so wasn’t about to tell Natasha that I was getting tutored in science. “I’m, um . . . my uncle’s in town. We’re going out to dinner.”
I hated lying to Julia. Like, really, really, really hated. And I knew she could tell I was lying.
“It’s okay,” she said as the bell rang. “Maybe next time.”
We squeezed out of the band hall into the already crowded halls. “See you seventh period!” I tried to sound normal.
Julia waved. “See you!” She was trying to sound normal, too. Neither of us did, though.
I joined the horde of bodies moving toward the math hall and wondered if our friendship would ever really be back to normal.
Chapter Nine
By the time Owen and I got to his house, I was feeling pretty rotten. When Owen opened his front door, we were immediately attacked by a fuzzy black-and-tan blob. It turned out being sad was pretty much impossible with a puppy licking my face.
“His name’s Worf,” Owen said as I plopped down on the floor. Worf leaped into my lap and I started scratching his belly, giggling when he squirmed and made these little whimpering noises.
“How old is he?”
“Just a few months.” Owen picked up a rubber bone and squeaked it. We laughed as Worf ran in circles, barking frantically. “We got him over summer break.”
“Owen, is that you?”
“Hi, Mom!” Owen tossed the bone down the hallway, and Worf took off after it. “This is Holly.”
Owen’s mom had the same light blond hair as him, except it looked like she actually combed hers. They had the same smile, too. “Ah, the lab partner. Nice to meet you, Holly.”
I scrambled to my feet. “Hi, Mrs. Reynolds. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s Mrs. Grady, actually,” she said kindly, glancing around. “No Trevor today?”
“I told him to come over later,” Owen said, picking up his bag. I grabbed mine, too, relieved that Trevor wouldn’t be studying with us. The fewer people that knew I was actually failing a class, the better.
“Is Steve still at work?” Owen asked.
Mrs. Grady nodded. “He’ll be home in a few hours. Have fun, you two!”
I followed Owen upstairs. “Who’s Steve?”
“My stepdad,” he replied. “So this is the game room,” he added when we reached the top of the stairs. I looked around. No kidding.
One long sofa sat in the middle of the room facing an enormous TV, with at least three different game consoles and, like, twenty controllers on the floor in front of it. Next to the TV were stacks of shoe boxes stuffed with discs and cartridges. The computer desk along the right wall was cluttered with even more games. I couldn’t even see the surface of the coffee table because it was covered in those cards he was always playing with at lunch. Posters of robots and dragons and spaceships were tacked up all over the walls, and I had to shove aside a dozen comic books just to sit on the sofa.
This place was like Nerd Central.
I got out my science textbook while Owen cleared the coffee table. Carefully, he divided the cards up into two stacks. Then he held one stack out to me.
“Um, Owen?” I said, eyeing the cards. “I thought you were going to help me with science.”
“I am!” He set the cards down on my book. I picked up the top one and examined it. These weren’t the same cards from lunch, although at first glance, they could’ve been. The first one had a picture that kind of looked like one of the cell illustrations in our textbook, except it was floating in what I was pretty sure was supposed to be a witch’s cauldron. I flipped the card over.
CENTRIOLE
Pair of organelles found in animal cells
There was a whole bunch of other stuff written on it, none of which I understood. I looked at Owen uncertainly.
“Okay, say you play that card first.” He took it from me and placed it on the table. “My turn.” He held up a card with a picture of a long, curved blade chopping an onion. I raised my eyebrows.
“Remember the onion skin lab we did?” Owen asked.
“Yeah . . .”
“So is an onion a plant or an animal?” I glared at him without answering, and he laughed. “Okay, so I have a plant cell, and you have a centriole. Are there centrioles in plant cells?”
Okay . . . Owen was nice, but maybe he was kind of insane, too. I looked at my centriole card again. “It says it’s in animal cells. So . . . no?”
“Right!” He slid his onion card next to my card. “So you win that hand. But if I’d picked this one”—he waved a card with a mouse wearing a wizard’s hat on it—“then I would’ve won. Get it?”
“Sort of.” I narrowed my eyes. “So hang on—you let me win?”
Owen shrugged. “Just this hand, to show you how—”
“Don’t do that anymore.” I sat up straight, shuffling through my cards. “Okay, let’s play.”
Ten minutes later, this game was actually starting to make sense. After a while, I was kind of rocking it.
“Ha.” I slapped down a card with a leaf triumphantly. “I’ll take that chloroplast card, thank you very much. What?” Owen looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“Nothing.” He grinned. “Just . . . I bet you really hate losing, don’t you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Does anyone like it? Who wants to be a loser?”
“Like it or not, everyone’s a loser at some point.” Owen tossed his cards down, glancing at the clock. “Want to take a break? We could play a video game.”
I was startled to realize we’d been playing for way over an hour. Mr. Gordon was probably heating up the grill for fajitas right now, while Julia and Natasha painted each other’s nails. I pushed that image out of my mind.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Which one?” Owen asked, kneeling down next to the stacks of shoe boxes.
“Doesn’t matter.”
He glanced at me, but didn’t say anything. I picked up one of the cards and examined it while Owen put in a game and plugged in the controllers.
“Owen, did you make these?”
“Yeah.”
“Why? And what’s with all the dragons and swords and stuff?”
He turned on the TV and plopped back down next to me. “Last year I had Mr. Adams for history—did you?” I shook my head. “His class was really hard. I failed two tests in a row because I couldn’t keep all the dates and names straight. My mom kept saying it was ridiculous that I couldn’t remember who was president during World War I, but I have all seventeen of the forbidden spells memorized. From Warlock,” Owen explained, handing me a controller. “So I made a card game for history, kind of based off that game. I think part of the reason I can remember all that stuff in Warlock is the pictures. I thought it might help you, too.”
I stared at the cards. “Owen, that is really . . . cool.”
He turned a little red. “Yeah, right.”
“No, it really is!” I meant it, too. Sure, making an elaborate card game to study ranked Owen pretty high on the dork-o-meter. But hey—I finally knew what an organelle was. “Thanks for doing this.”
“You’re welcome.”
I glanced at the TV. “Prophet Wars. So . . . is this more warlocks?”
“Nope.” Owen picked up his controller. “Aliens.”
“Nice.”
It didn’t take long to realize I was a spectacular failure at this game. In five minutes I’d gotten blown to bits, like, eight times. I ground my teeth, thumbs flying over my controller.
Make that nine.
“Wow, you’re really bad at this.”
I glanced up in surprise and crashed my tank into the side of a building. A bunch of aliens crawled out and dragged me away from the wreckage. Trevor flopped down on the sofa between me and Owen, and I glared at him.
“That one was your fault.”
He snorted. “Yeah, because you were doing so awesome before.”
“Shut up, Trevor.” Owen got up and grabbed a third controller, but I handed Trevor mine.
“It’s okay, I’ve got to go. My mom said she’d be here at five.” I definitely was not in the mood to get my butt kicked again, and especially not by Trevor. “Thanks, Owen.”
“Sure.” He followed me downstairs. “So we just studied the first chapter today, but I think the test will cover three.”
“Right.” I smiled as Worf came bounding out of the kitchen. “Um, so . . . can I come over again next week? To study?”
“Yeah! I’ll make more cards.”
I knelt down to scratch Worf one more time. “I can’t believe I’m so nervous about this stupid test. I’m actually more worried about it than I was about the chair test in band.”
Owen looked surprised. “Were you nervous today? I couldn’t tell.”
“Really?” I laughed. “I was. I was really nervous.”
“Well, you sounded great.” Owen grabbed a piece of rope and started a tug-of-war with Worf.
“Thanks!” I hesitated, watching him. “I . . . I really want first chair.”
He dangled the rope in the air, and Worf danced around on his hind legs. “I bet you get it.”
I smiled, fiddling with the straps of my backpack. “You don’t think . . . you don’t think Natasha will get it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.
Owen just shrugged. “Well, maybe. She’s really good, too.”
Ugh.
I stayed quiet a little bit too long, and he gave me a curious look. “I mean, you’re both good. It doesn’t really matter who’s first and who’s second, does it?”
I smiled tightly. “Nah, I guess not.” Shouldering my backpack, I opened the front door. “See you Monday, Owen.”
“See you.”
On the ride home, Mom turned on the radio. But in my head I heard myself play the chair test, and then Natasha, over and over. I’d sounded better. I had. I wondered if she was obsessing over it, too. I wondered if she was asking Julia who sounded better right now over fajitas.
Everyone’s a loser at some point. I stared at the window and made a face at my reflection.
Maybe everyone had to lose every once in a while. But when it came to band and best friends, I was so not losing to Natasha.
Chapter Ten
On Monday, I got to school early and went straight to the band hall. No chair test results yet. I spent the next three class periods quietly stressing to death. When Gabby shook her box of Red Hots under my nose, I almost puked in my
cubby.
“You okay?” she asked, and I nodded. “You look kind of—oh, hey, check it out!”
Gabby pointed, and I looked out into the band hall. Mr. Dante was taping a piece of paper to his office door; five or six kids were already crowded around.
“Sit in chair order today,” I heard him say, and my heart pretty much stopped.
“Cool, let’s go look!” Gabby hurried out of the cubby room, still hooking her sax to her neck strap. It was hard not to sprint across the room, but somehow I managed. Holding my breath, I reached the door and found my section on the list.
French Horn
1. Natasha Prynne
2. Holly Mead
3. Brooke Dennis
4. Owen Reynolds
This could not be right.
I stared at the results, a wave of numbness washing over me. Turning, I dodged elbows and horns as more kids crowded around the door and walked slowly to my seat.
Sec
ond chair. Second best.
Gabby plopped down in her regular seat. “Congrats!” she said cheerfully, and I looked at her blankly. Was she joking?
“Huh?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Um, congrats?” she repeated. “Second chair, that’s really good.”
Oh my God, she was serious. I forced myself to smile. “Oh, thanks. Congrats to you, too.”
“Thanks!” Gabby was first chair alto sax—no surprise there. I looked down at my horn, very aware of the empty seat between us and the girl who was about to sit in it.
“Take your seats, please!” Mr. Dante called. I closed my eyes as everyone found their chairs. It was bad enough that I’d cried in science—I was not doing it in band. Especially with Natasha right next to me.
I couldn’t ignore her, though. Taking a deep breath, I looked up just as she sat next to me.
“Hey.” My voice sounded normal—cheerful, even. Good.
“Hey.” Natasha fake-smiled, and I fake-smiled right back.
Yeah, this was going to be stellar.
Rehearsal seemed to drag on forever. When Mr. Dante finally told us to pack up, I was relieved for about two seconds. Then I realized I still had to get through lunch with Julia and Natasha. The whole walk from the band hall to the cafeteria, I racked my brain trying to think of something to talk about besides the chair test.
But before I even took out my sandwich, the perfect distraction walked by.
“Hi, Julia.”
The three of us glanced up at Seth Anderson, and Julia immediately turned tomato red.
“Oh! Hi, um . . . Seth,” she stammered, her voice unnaturally high.
The second he was out of earshot, Natasha and I started giggling uncontrollably.
“What?” Julia cried.
“You’re so red!” I exclaimed. She glared at me, which only made me laugh harder. “And what’s up with your voice?”
“‘Hi, um . . . Seth,’” Natasha squeaked, grinning when Julia punched her lightly on the arm. “Did you actually forget his name or something? Or wait—were you trying to play it cool?”
I Heart Band Page 5
