Sleepovers, Solos, and Sheet Music

by Michelle Schusterman

  “Okay, okay!” I lowered my voice as a few kids passed us. “He asked if he could call me, so I—”

  “Freaking awesome!” Gabby yelled before I could finish. I tried to shush her, which was hard because I couldn’t stop laughing. “Let’s go tell Julia.” She pulled me down the stairs, but I tugged my arm away.

  “My parents are right there,” I told her, pointing to where Mom and Dad were waving. Chad was still in his seat, and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Then I noticed Dad’s video camera and grinned. I could watch our whole performance as soon as we got home! And again tomorrow. Who was I kidding—I’d probably watch it a dozen times before Monday. “I’ll tell Julia about Nick later, okay?” I said, suddenly itching to find out if “Lenore Overture” really sounded as amazing as I thought.

  Gabby made a face. “Okay, okay. I guess I should find my mom, too.” She dug a package of peanut butter cups out of her pocket and ripped it open. “Gotta eat the evidence first,” she said, and I laughed. Gabby’s mom was a huge health nut, which was why Gabby ate pretty much nothing but sugary stuff when she wasn’t at home.

  She offered me one of the peanut butter cups, then held hers up like she was making a toast. “To all-region band . . . a great place to meet boys.”

  I shook my head, laughing, and we clinked our peanut butter cups together like glasses.

  The next two weeks were a blur. All-region might have been over, but between Solo and Ensemble and the band trip coming up, plus an increasingly ridiculous amount of homework, I felt busier than ever. And it didn’t help that me and Owen’s Prophets-playing days were temporarily over thanks to his baseball practices after school. Blowing up alien pods really would’ve helped me manage my stress levels. We’d split up the work on our science fair project, but working on it together had been a lot more fun.

  Honestly, I just really missed hanging out with him. Maybe more than I’d admit to Julia or Natasha.

  At least the trio was coming along okay. Actually, rehearsing with Aaron and Liam was pretty fun. And a few days before Solo and Ensemble, we played “Triptych” all the way through for Mr. Dante. He helped us with a few of the harder spots, but overall, we sounded pretty good. Apparently Mr. Dante thought so, too.

  “I’d like you three to perform this on the band trip,” he told us. “We have enough time for a few ensembles to play in addition to our three songs. It’d be nice for someone other than the Solo and Ensemble judges to hear this, right?”

  “Cool!” said Aaron, and I nodded enthusiastically. Liam yawned, but he looked interested, too.

  Since Mr. Dante seemed so confident about the trio, I wasn’t too nervous about our performance. My solo was a different story, though. I had it memorized and could play it backward and forward, but Thursday after school was the first time I’d try a run-through with Mrs. Benitez accompanying me.

  Nervously, I watched her arrange her sheet music on the piano. “Ready?” she asked with a smile, and I nodded. Through the window to his office, I saw Mr. Dante get up from the computer and stand in the doorway to watch. There’ll be a judge on Saturday, I reminded myself. This is a good dress rehearsal.

  “Pastorale for Horn” started with four measures of piano. After about a minute of playing, I relaxed. The piano didn’t mess me up—it helped. Mrs. Benitez harmonized the melody in the horn part, and hearing all the chords while I played really helped me stay in tune. When we finished, Mr. Dante was smiling.

  “I’ll have to find a more challenging solo for you next year,” he said, and I blushed.

  After I packed up my horn, I met Natasha outside of the band hall and we walked to the baseball field together. Owen’s first baseball game was today, and even though he said he’d probably spend the whole time on the bench, I wanted to go. Since Aaron was on the varsity team and their game was right after the JV team’s, Natasha had decided to come with me. I’d asked Julia during seventh-period computer lab if she wanted to come, but she had a history test tomorrow and her parents had put her on some sort of study lockdown. No phone calls or anything.

  “She’s not failing again, is she?” I asked Natasha. They were in the same history class.

  Natasha shook her head. “No, but she got a C on the last quiz. Apparently, her parents weren’t too happy about it.”

  “Oh.” I frowned. “I hope they’re still okay with her surprise party.”

  “I’m sure they will be!”

  I spotted Owen’s family in the bleachers right away. They were kind of hard to miss in their bright red Millican baseball jerseys. Owen’s five-year-old stepsister, Megan, even had a little Millican flag, which she waved frantically as Natasha and I climbed the steps to join them.

  “C’mon, I’ve seen better swings on a porch!” Megan hollered. I glanced down at the field, but the game hadn’t even started yet. Sighing, Steve leaned down and turned Megan to face him.

  “We’ve been over this, sweetie,” he said seriously. “I know you hear Daddy yell those things when he watches baseball on TV, but you can’t yell them here. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Megan slumped down in her seat, but her face brightened when I sat next to her. “Hi, Holly!”

  “Hi,” I said with a grin. “Nice flag.”

  “I feel like we haven’t seen you in ages.” Mrs. Grady smiled at me. “How are you?”

  “Good, thanks.” I introduced Natasha to Owen’s family right as the players started walking out onto the field. Megan shot to her feet.

  “Owen! Ohhhhhhhhwen!” she yelled, her flag a red blur. Natasha and I giggled, and Mrs. Grady shook her head.

  “She’s a little excited,” she said, ruffling Megan’s hair fondly.

  But I could tell she and Steve were excited, too. In fact, the only person who didn’t look excited was Owen. He spent the first four innings on the bench, watching the game with a glum expression. I wondered if he was wishing he’d brought his sketchbook.

  Natasha leaned closer to me. “Doesn’t really look like he’s having fun,” she whispered. I nodded in agreement, glancing at Owen’s parents. They didn’t seem to notice at all. And when Owen finally did get up to bat in the fifth inning, they whistled and cheered like crazy. I cheered, too, but I couldn’t help picturing that sketch Owen had drawn of the baseball glove-claws. Between that image and the way his shoulders slumped while he walked to the plate, I felt like I was watching him head to the guillotine.

  When the pitcher wound up to throw, I winced in anticipation. Owen swung and missed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least the ball hadn’t knocked him over.

  We kept cheering even after he struck out and went back to the bench. But I couldn’t help sneaking glances at Owen’s parents. It was nice that they were so supportive, but couldn’t they tell Owen was miserable?

  When the game finally ended, Natasha stood and stretched. “If we’re staying for another game, I’m definitely going to need nachos,” she told me as we followed the Gradys under the bleachers.

  “Get me some, too!” I handed her a few bills, and she headed to the concession stand while I joined Owen and his family outside the locker rooms.

  “Really good effort,” Steve was saying. “Maybe we’ll head back to the batting cages tomorrow after school to work on your swing.”

  “Tomorrow? I can’t, I . . .” Blinking furiously, Owen shot me a pleading look. “We have plans to work on our science project tomorrow. Right, Holly?”

  “Um, right.” I nodded and tried to smile at Steve. But as soon as the Gradys started heading to their car, I tugged Owen’s arm to hold him back. “Um, Owen?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “But there’s no practice after school tomorrow, and I really don’t want to spend it at the batting cages. Besides, we should probably compare notes on our project. I mean, if you really can come over.”

  “I can, but Owen—why don’t you just tell your p
arents the truth?” I asked. “They won’t be mad if you just say you don’t like baseball.”

  Owen sighed. “I know they won’t be mad. But they’ll be disappointed.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, then glanced at his family in their matching red jerseys. Megan was still waving her flag as Mrs. Grady buckled her into the backseat of their car.

  “Okay, so maybe they’ll be disappointed,” I admitted. “Still . . . what are you going to do, just pretend to like baseball all through eighth grade, and then high school? That’s another five years of baseball, Owen.”

  He made such a sour face, I couldn’t help but giggle.

  “No way am I doing this next year,” Owen said fervently. “But I can’t just quit now that I’m on the team—that wouldn’t be right.”

  “It wouldn’t,” I agreed. “You could tell Steve you don’t want to spend all your free time doing something you hate, though.”

  Owen shrugged, and we stopped next to the car. Megan stuck her flag out the window and bonked him on the head.

  “Batter up!” she yelled.

  “All right, I’m coming.” Swatting the flag away, Owen smiled at me. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

  “Sure,” I said. “It was fun.”

  “Fun?” he repeated, and I grinned.

  “Well, it was less boring than a romance movie.”

  Owen laughed. “See you tomorrow, Holly.”

  “See you.”

  On Friday, Mr. Dante showed us the schedule of our performance times for Solo and Ensemble Competition that weekend. My solo was at nine in the morning, but our trio wasn’t scheduled till after eleven.

  “Hallelujah,” Liam said when he saw the list. “And my solo’s in the afternoon. No waking up at the crack of dawn like all-region auditions.” Then he gave me a sympathetic look. “Sorry your solo’s so early.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied. Actually, I was relieved. The later the performance, the more time I’d have to get all nervous and freak myself out completely. Just like all-region auditions, Solo and Ensemble was for all the middle-school bands in the district. We weren’t exactly in competition with one another, but I figured the judges would only give Superior ratings for the very best performances. Considering the cartwheels my stomach was turning when Mom dropped me off at Ridgewood on Saturday morning, it was a good thing I didn’t have Liam’s solo time. I’d never make it without puking.

  I did a quick warm-up in the cafeteria and played through “Pastorale for Horn” once, then found the classroom that had been next to my name on the schedule. Mrs. Benitez held the door open for me.

  “First solo of the day!” she said cheerfully. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, stepping inside. When I saw who was sitting behind the judge’s table, I stopped in my tracks. “Ms. Hunter!”

  “Hi, Holly.” The Bishop assistant band director glanced up from her papers and smiled. “How are you?”

  “Good, thanks.” I sat down in the chair next to the piano, still staring at her. “I didn’t know you’d be . . . wait, do all the band directors in the region judge Solo and Ensemble?”

  Ms. Hunter nodded. “Pretty much. Not for our own students, of course.”

  Huh. Since she was a horn player, it made sense that she’d be my judge. I wondered if Mr. Dante was judging in one of the low-brass rooms.

  It helped a lot that I knew Ms. Hunter already. By the time Mrs. Benitez played the first few measures of “Pastorale,” I was pretty relaxed. And not to brag or anything, but I kind of nailed my solo. When we finished, Ms. Hunter was grinning.

  “Are you sure you have to go to Ridgewood?” she asked teasingly.

  I blushed, laughing. “Yeah.”

  When I got back to the cafeteria, I spotted Owen and Max at one of the tables.

  “How’d it go?” Owen asked, shuffling his Warlock cards.

  “Great!” I told him about Ms. Hunter, since she’d be his judge, too. We played Warlock until it was time for Owen’s solo. Not long after that, Natasha showed up, and she and Max went to warm up with Gabe and Victoria for their quartet. I got to see Julia for a few minutes before she played, and I talked Gabby out of devouring a package of M&M’s before her solo. When I went to buy a soda, I ran into Nick’s friend Rachel from Forest Hill at the vending machines. She told me he wasn’t scheduled to play until later that afternoon, which was kind of a bummer. Although he hadn’t called me after all, so maybe it would’ve been weird to run into him.

  At ten forty-five, Liam joined me, plunking his tuba case down on the table.

  “Hey, Holly,” he said. “Have you seen Aaron yet?”

  “Nope,” I replied, fiddling with my bracelet and trying not to sound too nervous. We still had twenty-five minutes—plenty of time to warm up and make it to our room.

  But that quickly went down to twenty minutes, then fifteen. Liam and I tried playing through “Triptych” once, but it sounded weird without the trumpet part. And ten minutes before our time slot, just as I was about to have a heart attack, Aaron hurried into the cafeteria.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said, and Liam shrugged.

  “It’s okay, you made it.”

  I smiled at Aaron, but I couldn’t help feeling annoyed as we left the cafeteria. It would have been nice to at least play through the trio once together before the real performance.

  Outside the classroom, Aaron set his case down and started rummaging through his backpack. His expression grew more and more troubled.

  “I can’t find my music,” he said at last. “I swear I put it here yesterday . . .”

  He emptied the contents of his bag onto the floor, and he and Liam started sorting through all the crumpled-up papers. I glanced up at the clock on the wall.

  Six minutes. Stellar.

  “Did you leave it in the practice room?” Liam asked.

  “No . . . well, maybe.” Aaron shook his head, flipping frantically through a binder. “I don’t know, but it’s not here.”

  Taking a deep breath, I glanced down the hall and spotted Ms. Hunter at a vending machine.

  “Be right back,” I told the guys before sprinting down the corridor.

  I explained everything to Ms. Hunter, and she brought me to the band hall and found one of Ridgewood’s band directors. He went straight to one of the filing cabinets in his office, and a few seconds later, he handed me the trumpet part to “Triptych.”

  “Just make sure you bring it back,” he said with a smile.

  “I will, I promise! Thank you!” Then I raced back to the classroom and thrust the part at Aaron just as the door opened and the room monitor stepped out.

  “You guys ready?” he asked, giving me a strange look. Probably because I was doubled over, wheezing.

  “Yeah.”

  Aaron stared at me. “Where did you get this?”

  “Borrowed it,” I said shortly, because I was still trying to catch my breath. And maybe I was a little irritated, too. I mean, how hard is it to just keep your music in a folder?

  We walked into the classroom and took our seats. My heart was pounding way too fast, and Aaron and Liam both looked frazzled, too. So when we started “Triptych,” the first few measures were a little shaky. But we settled into it, sort of. By the time we finished, I had no idea what to think. It wasn’t a bad performance at all. It definitely wasn’t our best, though.

  “Nice job,” the judge said with a smile. I wasn’t sure I agreed.

  “Man, I’m really sorry,” Aaron said the second we were back in the hall. “I can’t believe I lost my music.”

  “It’s okay, it happens,” Liam replied, setting his tuba down. “No big deal.”

  Aaron glanced down at the trumpet part, then looked at me. “Who should I give this to?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, holding my h
and out. “I got it from Ridgewood’s band director—I’ll bring it back.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Aaron handed me the music. “And thanks for getting it, Holly. Sorry about all this.”

  “It’s okay.” I meant it, too, because he looked like he felt really bad.

  Besides, we’d get another chance to perform “Triptych” on the band trip. That’s what I told myself as I walked back to the band hall. Still . . . I couldn’t help being bothered by the fact that after how much we’d practiced the trio, Aaron’s lack of organizational skills might have cost us a good rating.

  I worked on my research paper for English on Sunday afternoon until my brain started turning to mush. The first draft wasn’t due for another week, but that was the band trip, so I had to have it done by Friday. Which wasn’t exactly fair, in my opinion. I figured getting out of school to go to New Orleans would be totally worth it, though.

  After three straight hours of reading about Eleanor Roosevelt’s role in the civil rights movement, I closed my library books and threw myself facedown on my bed. When the phone rang, I grabbed it and held it to my ear without moving my head.

  “’Erro?” My face was half-smushed in my pillow.

  “Hi, is Holly there?” It was a boy.

  “This is Holly.”

  “Oh, hi! This is Nick. From all-region.”

  I sat up straight, accidentally knocking the pillow off my bed. “Oh! Hey,” I said, flustered. “What’s up?”

  “Not much,” Nick replied. “I looked for you yesterday, but Rachel said your solo time was really early. How’d it go?”

  “Pretty good,” I said. “But the trio I was in ended up being kind of a train wreck.”

  “What happened?”

  I told him the whole story. It felt kind of good to gripe about it, honestly. I didn’t want to complain to Natasha about Aaron, and when I’d tried to call Julia last night, her dad said she was at the movies with Seth.

  “It’s just kind of frustrating, because we could’ve played it so much better,” I finished. “Our rating probably won’t be very good.”