Crash (Band Nerd Book 3)

by Danica Avet

  Humming under my breath, I can’t help but think being in the ensemble is going to change my life. Not just because of the whole first trumpet thing, but because of the sense of camaraderie that the group shares. I’m not a part of that yet, although I don’t think it’ll take long for them to take me into the fold. It’s just a different atmosphere, more relaxed and laid-back. There was a lot of joking, laughing, and light-hearted ribbing, but most of all, there’s a solid bond between those players.

  Well, except with Bryce. I’m not sure if he was in the ensemble last year or not and that’s why there’s no bond, or if the others are angry at him for starting an unfounded rumor, but he wasn’t included in the fun.

  But the best part of ensemble, as far as I’m concerned, is the music. I let out a blissful sigh. When Daddy came home, he’d sometimes listen to jazz, which is why I chose to play the trumpet. His approval made his absences easier to bear, but once I truly started delving into the electric, fascinating world of jazz, I learned to love it for myself. Having the opportunity to play the same songs I enjoy listening to is better than winning any beauty pageant Mama put me in.

  Not that I’d ever tell her that. Mama’s still sensitive about the topic of me retiring from pageants at the age of ten.

  A buzzing in my pocket jerks me out of my euphoria. Pulling out my phone and glancing at the screen, all my happiness crumbles. Josef. I shake my head. No, he’ll be thrilled for me because he loves me and wants me to be happy. That’s what I hope, at least. My heart knows better.

  Swiping my finger to accept the call, I lift it to my ear and say, “Josef! You’ll never guess what—”

  “Where are you?” he demands, his voice so hard, I freeze in place right there on the sidewalk.

  And when I speak, it’s in a whisper. “Almost to my dorm.”

  “Where have you been? I’ve called you a dozen times and left you twice as many texts,” he spits out angrily.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I rush to say, feeling my heart drop. How could I have forgotten to let him know I was going to be late? “Josef, I’m sorry. I guess with all the excitement—”

  “Like fucking your professor, you mean?”

  Is it possible to feel the blood leaving your face? Because I know I have to be as pale as paper right now. “Josef, you know me better than that. It was just another guy who was jealous that I—”

  “What, you were fucking him too?” I’ve never heard him so enraged and my heart trips over itself. “I knew you were a dumb blonde, but did you think I was dumb as well?”

  “Josef,” I whisper, tears clogging my throat. “I wouldn’t do that to you, to us. I love you.” He says something and I flinch. I don’t know what he said, but it sounds ugly. “I was at practice, I swear. I-I made Jazz Ensemble and it’s right after Symphonic Band. I should’ve called to let you know, but I got sidetracked. It won’t happen again. I’ll—”

  He sucks in a sharp breath that has me falling silent. “So you auditioned anyway,” he says flatly. “And you did not tell me.”

  “I was going to,” I cry out, tears beginning to trickle down my cheeks. “I was, but things got crazy and I just didn’t get a chance.”

  “Quit.”

  This time it’s my turn to inhale sharply. “What?” I whisper.

  “Quit this ensemble and maybe I will forgive you for being a whore.” Something in the way he said that word sounds different. Well, I mean, it’s a horrible word, especially when your boyfriend calls you that, but it’s weird, like he lost his accent.

  I shake my head. I need to concentrate on the important things right now. Like this relationship. But it’s as though I’m right back where I started before auditioning. This time though, I know I’m good enough for ensemble. And yet, he’s asking me to give it up.

  “Josef, you don’t understand,” I say softly, trying to explain. “This group is the best of the best in the entire university. This is huge for me to even be a part of.”

  “Is it more important than me?” he asks harshly.

  My throat tightens. “No.”

  “Then quit. Quit and I will forgive you.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong. Why won’t you believe me? And I don’t want to quit. Music completes me; I need to play it like I need to breathe,” I say, echoing Crash’s words from our argument. “I need it the same way you need your photography and painting. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you just be happy for me instead of making me choose between it and you?”

  “Choose now.”

  Forget my heart tripping over itself, it’s galloping like a wild horse from a forest fire. This is a do or die moment, one I never thought I’d face because I thought he wanted me to be as happy as I want him to be. But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

  Maybe if I hadn’t made the ensemble and won over the guys who thought I slept my way into the lineup, it would’ve been an easy decision. I could’ve convinced myself the way I did before, that this ensemble doesn’t mean as much to me as Josef does. But I did make it and I did show those guys I belong right alongside them.

  It should be a moment of triumph and celebration. My boyfriend should be congratulating me, suggesting we go out to mark the occasion. Instead, he’s forcing me to choose.

  And for once, it isn’t fear of being alone that fills me. It’s fear that giving up the ensemble will damage something inside me. Music really is my life. Leaving it behind because I don’t want to lose Josef seems fundamentally wrong. Like cutting off my nose to spite my face. Especially when I think about how happy I was before this phone call. Before Josef accused me of cheating on him without hearing my side of the story, before he put me in the impossible position of sacrificing my future for him.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep, steadying breath and release it slowly. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I choose music.”

  There’s a moment of shocked silence on the other end of the phone. Then, “I always knew you were nothing but a trailer park whore,” he growls, his accent going strange again. “You will regret this. I promise you that.”

  The line goes dead and I’m alone again. Always alone. And terrified of what he meant by his parting shot. I trusted him with parts of my past. Not all of it because I didn’t want him to look at me with contempt, but some of it. And a tiny voice in the back of my mind knows that’s going to come back to haunt me. But then, my past always does.

  “Hey, are you okay?” a soft voice inquires somewhere nearby and I look up blindly to see a girl I don’t know standing a few feet away, an uncomfortable expression on her face.

  Swallowing hard, I nod. “Fine,” I rasp.

  She looks undecided a few more seconds before she scurries across the parking lot, no doubt more than ready to get away from the girl crying hysterically on the sidewalk. And I don’t blame her. I probably look like a mess. Not just from all the tears still seeping from my eyes, but I have no doubt I probably look like I’m in shock. In fact, I feel a little lightheaded from the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on.

  Giving my head a shake, I make an attempt to wipe my tears away but more replace the ones I remove. Oh well. Hopefully no one’s hanging out in the lobby when I finally make it inside the dorm.

  The first few steps I take in the direction of my dorm are shaky at best, but even those stop when I realize Kimber might be up there. Bile rises in my throat. Oh god. Kimber. Ms. Doom and Gloom and Hatred. She’ll take one look at me and laugh. I know she will. She hates everything about me and doesn’t make any bones about it.

  I should just go to Tauzin Hall, hide in one of the practice rooms until I know she’s either asleep or out for the night. But I want my bed. I want to bury my head under my pillow and pretend the last twenty minutes never happened.

  Which is how I find myself standing outside my dorm room door, staring at it as though I could tell Kimber’s mood through the aluminum barrier. I managed to stop crying continuously somewhere on the stairs, so at least I have that going
for me. Yet when I finally work up the nerve to step inside the room I share with her, it’s to hear her angry music playing.

  A quick sweep of the area shows her sitting tailor style on her bed, reading a textbook. When she hears the door open, she looks up at me, her eyes already darkening with hatred. If Kimber ever smiled, or lost some of her attitude, she’d be a beautiful girl. Well, I suppose she’s still beautiful, if not scary, but I’ll never tell her that.

  Because she seriously hates me for some reason.

  Just as the thought crosses my mind, her lip curls. “Well, you look like you were rode hard and put away wet,” she mocks, throwing her highlighter onto her book. “Let me guess, you had a two-for-one special today on your corner.”

  I flinch at her words, her implying I’m a whore so soon after Josef, hurting more than usual. I do my best to hide my reaction, pulling my years of acting around me like a shield, but she sees it and goes in for the kill.

  “Or did you just give it away for free? Girls like you always do,” she mutters, dropping her gaze back to her textbook as though I don’t matter.

  I stand there for a few seconds, absorbing the blows to my self-esteem before I shuffle to my side of our room. I go through the motions of putting my trumpet case away, placing my backpack next to my desk, all without looking at or speaking to her. It doesn’t matter anyway. Just like with Josef, Kimber’s already made up her mind about me and there’s no changing it. All I can do is lock away the hurt and pretend she didn’t draw blood.

  Crawling into my bed fully clothed, I pull the covers and the pillow over my head. She mutters something under her breath, but the down feathers mercifully muffle it. I will get over this. I made a hard decision, won the respect of people who actually matter in the grand scheme of things. I have my music and a future I’m forging for myself.

  Trying to find the silver lining, because there has to be one, I realize that now Josef doesn’t want me anymore, I’ll have more time for my music, more time to devote to practicing and being the best musician I can be. I’ll tap into this hurt and betrayal when I play, exorcise the demons the way I always have, through song. The same way musicians and songwriters have since the beginning of time.

  Burrowing my head deeper into my mattress, I tell myself I don’t need a man to complete my happiness. I can be alone, without that close connection to a boy.

  Right?

  Jolene

  Sunday

  After my shift at the library, I almost cancel on the get together tonight. I’m not in the mood to pretend happiness and that everything’s just wonderful. But life goes on, right? The world won’t stop spinning just so I can bask in my self-pity. My friends want to get together to chat and laugh, so that’s what we’ll do.

  Do I plan to tell them about what happened?

  Absolutely not. One thing I learned from Mama, other than how to apply makeup, tease my hair, and attract all the wrong sorts of men, is that a true southern lady doesn’t burden others with her problems. That’s what alcohol is for. Well, alcohol and country music. But since I don’t drink and I have an acute loathing for country music, I’ll just let it stew and pour it out into my own performances.

  Nodding to myself, I knock on Beau’s door. That’s exactly what I’ll do. Keep it all quiet and eventually, when I’ve rebuilt those defenses of mine, tell my friends that I’m now single. Traveling light. Unattached. Alone. Companionless. No one’s own. It’s just me and my shadow. And I’m perfectly okay with—

  The door opens and Lena’s smiling at me with a greeting on her lips. Seeing her face, so friendly and warm and happy breaks me.

  “I broke up with Josef,” I wail.

  Somehow, I’m not sure how because I’m blubbering like a two-year-old at bedtime, but I soon find myself in the middle of a huddle of my best friends. The story, all of it from the letter I received from Dr. Klauss to Josef’s ultimatum to Kimber’s snide comments, pours out of me so fast I trip over my words. Or that might be the sobs that punctuate every other sentence.

  “And he’s been texting and calling me all weekend,” I hiccup, my face buried in Nessie’s generous chest. She’s soft. It’s almost like being hugged by Mama when she was sober and not so angry. I nestle a little closer. Someone rubs my back and someone else is holding my hand. “I’ve never been single before. Not since Billy asked me out when I was thirteen.” I sniff hard. “But they’ve all left me; all of them. I’ve never been the one to break it off before and if this is how it feels, I don’t know how they did it.”

  “Because men are assholes,” Becca chimes in calmly.

  “Anders isn’t an asshole,” Lena says defensively.

  “Fine, he’s the only non-asshole with a dick.”

  “Appreciate that, Becca,” a deep voice says from nearby.

  Embarrassed to be caught sobbing out my heart by a boy, I finally pull away from Nessie just in time to have a carton of chocolate ice cream thrust in my face. Leaning back, I look up from the carton to see the Viking my best friend is dating, standing there looking uneasy, but concerned. As though he isn’t sure if I’m going to keep crying, or start railing against all men.

  “I read girls like ice cream and chocolate,” is all he says, shuffling his big feet. He reaches into his back pocket, producing a massive spoon. Practically a serving spoon. “Here. You need this.”

  Lena sighs and to be honest, I echo her. Why can’t I meet a sweet, handsome boy like Anders “Root” De Groot instead of boys who just want to use me?

  “Because assholes outnumber the good ones,” Becca says wisely, making me aware I asked the question out loud.

  Root’s face looks a little rosy, but he doesn’t run. Just thrusts the ice cream at me with the spoon. “Eat it.”

  I take the offering from him. He’s a man of few words, but his heart is in the right place. I give him a smile although I doubt it’s my best. Not with my eyes all swollen, my nose red, and probably snot running down my face. But he gifts me his own sweet smile before he kisses Lena’s forehead, mutters something under his breath, and abandons the house.

  We watch him leave, the front door closing behind him.

  “I hope you realize how lucky you are,” I tell Lena as I pry open the top of the carton.

  Her secret smile is answer enough. She knows.

  I close my eyes and take my first bite of frozen goodness. Mama would have a fit if she saw me indulging like this. Pickering women do not eat their depression away. Drink it away yes, but eat? God forbid. How could you catch another man if you gained weight? Vodka has barely any calories and is therefore the perfect solution to being left. Again.

  “You’ve never been single?”

  I pause with another heaping spoon of ice cream halfway to my mouth and glance up to see all three of my friends staring at me. My stomach churns, the treat hitting bottom like a rock. I never told any of them about my past, about Mama and my sisters, about the people of Pepper Ridge. Because I worry they’ll use it against me. Even though I know they aren’t like that.

  But you thought the same thing of Josef and look how that’s turning out.

  Nessie seems to realize my conflict because her face falls. “We’re your friends,” she says softly, firmly. “And friends support each other no matter what. If the fact that none of us said much about Josef, even though we all secretly hated him, doesn’t show how much we love you and just want you to be happy, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

  I lower the spoon. “You hated Josef?” I ask. Three heads nod. “All of you?”

  “He’s a dick,” Becca says bluntly. “You could do a million times better than him. A billion times better.”

  “Only an asshole would make you choose between your love of music and him. He never would’ve made the same sacrifice for you,” Nessie points out and I nod. I know that. “He’s selfish and misogynistic, expecting you to give up what has to be the most prestigious opportunity a freshman musician at Sauvage could be offered. But he wanted
you to do that to prove yourself.” She sniffs.

  “I hate to say it,” Lena inserts with a gentle smile. “But she’s right. He wasn’t very nice, especially to you. He always talked down to you like you were stupid. Someone who loves you doesn’t do that. They support you, help shore your confidence, not tear it down.”

  The way Root did for Lena. She’s changed a lot since they started dating. There’s a new strength about her which isn’t just because her mom’s in jail after trying to help her stepdad kidnap her. No, this is the kind of metamorphosis that comes from knowing someone will always have your back, will fight for you, love you no matter what.

  Blinking, it hits me that these girls do that for each other. And for me.

  “You love me,” I whisper more to myself than them.

  “Well, duh, of course we do. What, you think we hang around with people we don’t like?” Becca holds up her hand. “Except for Josef, but we only did that because you were so crazy about him. I never liked him. He looks like a ferret with his beady little eyes.”

  My eyes water again, but this time from happiness. “I love y’all too.”

  We share another hug before Nessie jumps up to get three more spoons. As we huddle around the carton, taking scoops of what has to be the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted, I tell them about Pepper Ridge.

  When I finally finish, the carton is empty and we’re sprawled out on the sofas. A thoughtful silence fills the air and I fight the urge to fidget.

  “I think I know what the problem is,” Nessie says.

  “Thank fuck, because I’m just like… Wow,” Becca mutters. “I thought the women in my family had bad luck, but damn. I mean, y’all already know I think men are assholes—some worse than others—but it’s like y’all have bad water over there or something.” She shakes her head before getting a squinty look in her eyes. “Maybe someone should test it. Could be mercury poisoning makin’ everyone crazy stupid. Like the Mad Hatter.”