Sleepovers, Solos, and Sheet Music

by Michelle Schusterman

  I gave her the side-eye, and she and Natasha snickered. Owen glanced up.

  “Yeah, I’ll go,” he said immediately. “The first one was really cool.”

  “Okay.” I handed Julia a cursed-vault card and pretended not to see the two of them wearing those goofy smiles again.

  Unfortunately, the bus made it all the way back to Millican without any problems. No potential encounters with zombie farmers this time. Although I had new appreciation for the frigid air conditioning, especially since Trevor’s shoes stayed on. Owen spent the last few hours sketching, while Julia, Natasha, and I made plans to have a belated birthday sleepover for Julia that night. When we pulled into the parking lot, I glanced out the window and grinned.

  “Seth’s here,” I told Julia. Her face lit up.

  Mrs. Park insisted everyone clean up the inside of the bus before we unloaded, which was a good call, to be honest. Let’s just say not everyone was capable of spending over nine hours on a bus without making a pretty ridiculous mess. (It was easy to spot Gabby’s seat, thanks to the M&M’s scattered all over the floor.)

  “Oh man,” I cried when I stepped off the nice, clean bus. “I have to ride home in the trash mobile?” Natasha laughed when she saw Chad’s car on the other side of the parking lot. We lagged behind Julia, who was already hugging Seth and talking a mile a minute.

  “Is the inside really that bad?” Natasha asked.

  “Last time my mom drove it, she spent half the day at work with a wrapper covered in melted chocolate stuck to the back of her skirt until her boss told her,” I said, and Natasha wrinkled her nose, laughing. “Hi, Seth!”

  “Hi!” Seth smiled at me. “I brought you something. Since you liked those Edgar Allan Poe stories, I thought maybe you’d like these, too.” He held out a book called Great Tales of Horror, by H. P. Lovecraft.

  “Awesome!” I flipped through it eagerly. “Thanks!”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to Julia. “So do you want to come over for dinner tonight? My sister’s here this weekend—she said she’d take us to Spins.”

  “Oh, um . . .” Julia tucked her hair behind her ear. “Actually, I’m spending the night at Holly’s. Kind of a belated birthday party. How about lunch tomorrow instead?”

  “Sure!”

  Glancing across the parking lot, I noticed Owen’s whole family had come to pick him up. Mrs. Grady was handing him a big yellow envelope—even from here, it was easy to see she was really excited about something.

  “See you guys tomorrow, okay?” I hurried over to Owen, dragging my suitcase behind me. He was staring at a piece of paper and blinking. A lot.

  “Hi, Holly!” Mrs. Grady beamed at me.

  “Hi!” I waited for Owen to look up, but he seemed sort of paralyzed. “What’s going on?”

  “Apparently, he entered an art contest and didn’t tell anyone,” said Mrs. Grady. She didn’t sound at all upset—in fact, she sounded proud. “And . . . go on, tell her!” She nudged Owen’s arm, but he didn’t move.

  Megan sighed loudly and impatiently. “He won!” she cried, thrusting her fist in the air.

  “He’s one of five winners,” Mrs. Grady interjected quickly. “They’ve invited him to a workshop in San Antonio!”

  “Owen!” I yelled, throwing my arms around him. “I knew it! I told you!”

  Red-faced, Owen laughed and hugged me back. His mom was still talking.

  “The letter says there were hundreds of entries. And Owen is the youngest winner—I spoke to the contest coordinator on the phone. She said the judges were really impressed, and—”

  “Okay, Mom.” Owen’s face seriously could not get any redder, but he was smiling.

  “It’s pretty amazing,” Steve said, and I was pleased to see he looked proud, too. “Why didn’t you tell us you entered?”

  Owen shrugged. “I don’t know . . . I guess I figured it was a long shot.”

  “When’s the workshop?” I asked, bouncing up and down on my toes. Owen read the letter again.

  “The weekend after next.” He looked at Mrs. Grady. “Is that okay? It says they provide rooms and food and everything, but we’ll still have to drive there.”

  “Of course it’s okay!” Mrs. Grady exclaimed, while Steve leaned over to peer at the letter.

  “Hang on . . . the first day is a Friday,” he said. “That’s the second-to-last baseball game.”

  Mrs. Grady waved her hand. “We’ll talk to the coach about it. I’m sure he’ll understand if Owen misses one game for something this important.”

  “I think he would.” Owen swallowed. “And, um . . . there’s something I need to tell you guys.”

  I held my breath.

  “I don’t like baseball,” he said. “I’m not going to quit or anything, but—but I don’t want to try out again next year. Or for basketball, or anything else. I just . . . I don’t like sports. Sorry,” he added, staring at his shoes.

  Mrs. Grady shook her head. “Owen, you have nothing to apologize for. Right, Steve?”

  I watched Steve’s face carefully. He looked surprised. Surprised, but not upset or angry.

  “Right,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about it, Owen. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to try out.”

  Owen’s shoulders sagged in relief. “It’s okay.”

  “Besides,” Mrs. Grady added, tapping the letter. “You need to focus on this! Did you read about the workshop?”

  “Yeah, it’s about animation right?” I asked eagerly, leaning close to look.

  “Yeah.” Owen scanned the letter again. “The basics of animated videos—cartoons and stuff like that.”

  “Whoa.” I stared at him. “Hey, maybe you could do something like that for our science fair project! You know, make like a cartoon Alien Park commercial or something.”

  He grinned. “Maybe!”

  After I said good-bye to Owen and his family, I grabbed my luggage and headed over to the trash mobile.

  “About time!” Chad watched in the rearview mirror as I gingerly placed my suitcase on the pile of napkins and soda cans covering the backseat. “Mom and Dad went to some craft show after lunch and got stuck in traffic coming home.”

  “Thanks for cleaning the car for me,” I said as sarcastically as possible, setting my horn case on the floor.

  “You’re welcome for picking you up,” Chad replied just as sarcastically. “Hurry up, okay? I’ve got to be at work in an hour.”

  “All right, all right.”

  I shut the back door and heard someone call my name. Turning, I saw Owen hurrying across the parking lot.

  “What’s up?” I asked when he reached me.

  “Um . . .” Owen paused, like he wasn’t sure what to say. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were bright. “Just . . . well, thank you. You know, for making me enter that contest. And for convincing me to tell my parents I hate baseball,” he added, and I laughed.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I waited, because he looked like he wanted to say something else. And after a moment’s hesitation, Owen held out the big yellow envelope. “This is for you.”

  I took it, confused. “Is this the stuff about the workshop?”

  “No, I took all that out to use the envelope.” Owen stuck his hand in his pockets. “It’s kind of a thank-you present, I guess.”

  “Holly, come on!”

  Looking down, I was horrified to see Chad sticking his head out of the passenger window. He squinted at the envelope in my hands, then eyed Owen suspiciously. “Hey.”

  Owen blinked. “Um, hi.”

  Sighing, Chad arched an eyebrow. “Okay, Holly. Which one’s this?”

  “Chad, this is my friend Owen. Owen, this is my brother, Chad. Okay, we’re done here.” Placing my palm flat on Chad’s face, I pushed him back i
nside the car.

  “Hey, it’s my right to interrogate this guy!” His voice sounded muffled against my hand. “Especially if he’s the one with half my movies.”

  “Knock it off!” I hissed, then turned to face Owen. “Sorry.”

  He looked rather terrified. “It’s okay. I’ll see you Monday. Prophets after school, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  With a last smile, Owen turned and headed back to his mom’s car. Opening the door, I brushed all the empty cartons and wrappers off my seat and sat down.

  “Finally,” Chad muttered.

  “You know what?” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “You really don’t have to try and scare every guy I know to death.”

  “Why not? It’s fun terrorizing your boyfriends.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Chad, you do know that just because I’m friends with a boy, it doesn’t make him my boyfriend, right?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Once Chad had turned up the radio, I opened the yellow envelope. Inside was a single, thick sheet of paper. I pulled it out carefully and gasped.

  “What’s that?” Chad glanced over, but I didn’t answer.

  The white alligator sketch. Owen had colored the habitat—all the different shades of green in the water and the bluish-gray rocks made the alligators look even more ghostlike. But there was something else, something I hadn’t seen when I’d watched him draw it because his hand kept blocking the right side of the page.

  It was me.

  I mean, I couldn’t see my face, but it was obviously me. Standing in front of the habitat, hair in a ponytail, red hoodie, hands in my pockets. I remembered how mesmerized I’d been, watching the alligators. And that whole time, Owen had been sitting behind me, drawing the whole thing. I pictured the intent expression he always got when he worked on a sketch and felt a funny little flutter in my chest.

  “Hang on.” Chad leaned over to look, and I realized we were at a stoplight. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah.” I tucked the drawing back into the envelope to keep it safe from all the greasy cartons and dirty napkins.

  Chad was still staring. “Did that guy draw that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And he gave it to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Chad let out an unimaginably loud snort. “Oh no, he’s not your boyfriend. Yeah ri—”

  “Green light,” I interrupted, pointing. Then I cranked up the radio as loud as I could stand it. Chad was still laughing at me, but at least now I couldn’t hear him.

  I wasn’t all that irritated, though. Actually, I felt kind of giddy. Tapping my fingers on the envelope, I wondered what Julia and Natasha would say tonight when they saw Owen’s sketch. There would be more teasing, more jokes about crushes, more goofy smiles. But I wouldn’t mind.

  Actually, I realized with a smile, I couldn’t wait to show them.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my editor, fellow band geek, and cabaret artist extraordinaire Jordan Hamessley for reliving countless Texas band stories with me. And enormous thanks to editor in chief Sarah Fabiny for all her support.

  Thank you to Sarah Davies—superagent, hippie guitarist, support counselor, and all-around amazing person.

  Thank you to art director Giuseppe Castellano, designer Mallory Grigg, and illustrator Genevieve Kote for making this series sparkle.

  Thank you to production editor Rebecca Behrens for her keen eye, for teaching my clueless self what “stet” means, and most likely for catching mistakes on this very acknowledgments page.

  Thank you to Amanda Hannah, Kate Hart, Kirsten Hubbard, and Kaitlin Ward, for all the things.

  Thank you to my parents, John and Mary, and my sister, Heather, for being band supporters for the last twenty-something years.

  Thank you to Josh, for constantly encouraging me with both writing and music. Thank you to Adi, for singing along.

  And thank you to any bus driver who has ever worked a band trip. Heroes, all of you.

  “Doesn’t count.”

  “Does so.”

  Julia glared at me, twirling the combination on her locker. “Does not. I cannot believe I let you talk me into watching that movie.”

  I grinned. “Hey, I gave you fair warning. And there was plenty of romantic junk.”

  “Holly, for the last time . . .” Shaking her head, Julia started cramming books into her backpack. “It doesn’t count as a kissing scene when the guy’s eyes turn black and bees come out of his mouth.”

  “Wow, which movie’s that?”

  Julia and I turned, startled. Aaron Cook smiled at us as he opened his locker, which was right next to Julia’s.

  “Dark Omnibus. It’s pretty good,” I told him, right as Julia said, “It’s horrible.”

  Aaron laughed. “Mixed reviews.”

  “Horrible,” Julia hissed again, and I giggled.

  “How was your spring break?” Aaron asked.

  “Pretty good,” I replied. “Went to the lake with my parents and brother. Nothing too exciting. How about you?”

  “It was all right.” Aaron caught several folders and books as they tumbled out of his locker. “Spent a few days in Austin with my older sister and her family. And—” He stopped, a weird look on his face, and I turned around.

  “Hi!” Natasha was smiling, but she looked uncomfortable, too. Slamming her locker shut, Julia spun around with a squeal and threw her arms around Natasha.

  “How was your trip? What time did you get back? Did you get my message last night? We kept texting you, but I guess you were still on the plane, and then Holly made me watch this horrible movie, and I’m totally traumatized and—”

  Laughing, I pushed her away. “Julia, get a grip!” I hugged Natasha, then glanced at Aaron, who looked pretty focused on shoving his jumble of folders back into his locker. Aaron and Natasha had been dating ever since winter break, but she’d broken up with him on the band trip to New Orleans. A nice break-up, not like a fight or anything. But still a break-up.

  Aaron finally got his locker closed, then gave us all a quick smile. “See you guys in band!” he said before taking off down the hall.

  “See you.” I turned to see Natasha fidgeting nervously with the strap on her backpack. “Well. That was awkward.”

  She made a face. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “I’m sure it’ll get better,” Julia said. “Don’t you think?”

  Natasha sighed. “I hope so—I mean, we’re going to see each other every day in band. I hope he doesn’t hate me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you,” I assured her. “I’m sure things will go back to normal soon. So how was Florida?”

  “It was amazing!” Beaming, Natasha pulled out her phone and started flicking through photos. “Check it out! I took one of every roller coaster I rode.”

  My eyes widened as she scrolled past what looked like a creepy old hotel. “Hang on—you actually went on that ride?”

  Natasha nodded proudly. “Yup! You’d love it.”

  Grabbing Natasha’s phone, Julia groaned. “Oh my God, is that, like, a haunted house? What happened to the girl who was properly scared to death of all this stuff, like me?”

  “It’s not a haunted house—it’s a drop ride,” Natasha explained. “You know, where you free-fall. Although it was pretty creepy, too,” she added as an afterthought. “The lights flicker on and off, and the elevator goes black right before it drops. You should’ve seen my parents’ faces when I got in line. Actually, my whole family was kind of shocked.”

  “This is your fault.” Julia poked me in the shoulder. “You dragged her onto that roller coaster in New Orleans. You created this monster.”

  Still scrolling through the photos, Natasha bounced on her toes. “I started making a list of amusement parks we sho
uld go to this summer,” she told me, just as the bell rang.

  Grinning, I picked up my backpack. “Awesome. Maybe we can find a good haunted drop ride for Julia.”

  “Nooo . . . ,” Julia moaned. I waved as Natasha dragged her down the hall to their history class.

  When the bell rang to end third period, I bolted from the gym to the band hall so fast I probably broke my own sprinting record in PE. The chair test results were posted outside on Mr. Dante’s office door.

  FRENCH HORN

  Natasha Prynne

  Holly Mead

  Owen Reynolds

  Brooke Dennis

  Relieved, I headed to the cubby room. Natasha and I were competing constantly for first chair. It was a friendly rivalry, though. I still had another chair test before the end of the year—I could try for first chair one more time. And besides, I wasn’t exactly bummed about sitting next to Owen.

  A few kids already were getting their instruments. I waved to Victoria Rios, who already had her trumpet out. She was talking to Max Foster near the trombone section’s cubbies. Just as I was closing my case, I heard a couple familiar voices.

  “I’m telling you, it’s not cheating. It’s just adjusting the rules a little.”

  “Swapping half of your deck in the middle of a game is cheating, Trevor.”

  Shoving my case back into my cubby, I hurried to the entrance. “Owen!”

  Owen’s eyes lit up. “Hi, Holly!” We had a brief, weird moment of almost hugging but just standing there smiling at each other like dorks instead. Then I thought what the heck and hugged him anyway, which was kind of awkward since I still had my horn.

  “Hi, Holly,” Trevor Wells said pointedly.

  “Hey, Trevor,” I said before turning back to Owen. “Okay, tell me about San Antonio! How was the workshop?”

  Rolling his eyes, Trevor headed for his cubby. Owen’s cheeks flushed as he pulled his sketchbook out of his backpack.

  “It was great! Most of the work I did was computer animation, but I’ve got some stuff here. And I had a lot of ideas for our science project. Maybe—”