“Does that mean you understand now?” I asked hopefully.
“No,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “You can’t just change everything last-minute.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Unless. Was this your plan all along? Work up a solo in secret to get the edge?”
The thought of it was so insane, I actually laughed. “Lori, no.”
“Oh, so it’s funny now? Ha-ha, joke’s on Lori. Is that it? Is this your way of getting back at me for trying to do a duet with Michael?”
“No!” I stood up, holding tight to Mr. Wayne’s desk. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you—or Michael.” I tapped my chest. “It’s me, Lori. I should have been doing a solo all along. If I want to be serious about music, I have to get over my fear. You of all people should understand.”
“What about Michael?” she asked. “He’s going to be so pissed.”
And in the instant it took for her words to sink in, I was pissed. Hadn’t she heard me at all? I’d finally spoken up, and it was like I’d said nothing. “Then tell Michael to get over it,” I snapped. “You’re not in the middle of this anymore, and it has nothing to do with you.”
“He’ll still blame me,” she said, her eyes suddenly shiny with tears.
I let out a growl of frustration. “Why?”
“Because I told him you’d do it.”
“You told him—” But I couldn’t say another word or I’d scream. I swear I’d scream loud enough to bring Mr. Wayne sprinting from the office.
She held her palms up helplessly. “I thought you would,” she said. “Now what do I do?”
“What do you do?” My voice crackled I was so hot. “Jeez, Lori. Is that all you can think about? You and Michael?”
She blinked, seemed to get herself under control again. “Sorry. You’re right. If you want to do your best, I understand. I’d feel the same way. So we’ll just go back to how it was. You’ll do your duet like we planned. Michael can do his solo. Whoever gets in, gets in. At least that way Michael won’t think this was my idea.”
“I can’t go back,” I said. “I already told Mr. Wayne.”
“So untell him.”
“I don’t want to.”
Her eyes widened with hurt. “That’s it? No? Doesn’t our friendship mean anything to you?”
“Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”
She breathed in, and I heard the tremble. If only she’d be okay with this … But then her chin lifted, and with it, my heart sank.
“I’m not the one doing this,” she said coldly. “You want to do a solo, be my guest. Go solo for the whole weekend for all I care. Go solo forever.”
“Come on,” I said, my voice shaking. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh yeah, I do. If this is who you are, then we can’t be friends. This, the way you’re acting, it’s not the Tay I know.”
Maybe not, I thought. Maybe I was finally changing, too. Still, my throat closed with fear at the thought of losing my best friend.
Everyone is scared. That’s what Mom had said. But that’s not how it felt. It felt like I was the only one with weak knees and a spine of pudding. I wanted to be fearless, but I couldn’t help it—maybe I’d always be afraid.
But that didn’t mean I had to back down. Not now. Not ever again.
“Okay,” I told Lori. “I’ll see if I can share a room with Kerry and Misa.”
Shock flashed in her eyes. Her mouth dropped open but not a sound escaped, as if her voice had frozen along with the rest of her. Then she grabbed her flute and backpack.
“Hope you’re happy,” she said. And she walked out.
I’d just called in the Winds of Change and blown off the best friend I’d ever had. Happy? Not hardly. But I was still standing.
“You need anything?” Dad asked.
I looked up in the middle of a breath, then lowered my clarinet. “Don’t you knock?”
“I did,” he said. “You didn’t hear me. You’ve been in this closet for so long, I thought you might be thirsty.” He held up a bottle of water.
I reached out a hand. “Thanks.” The plastic was cold and slick.
“The solo sounds good,” he said. “From what I can hear through the door.”
I unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. “It’s getting better.”
“Can I stay and hear you play it all the way through?”
“No.” I set the bottle down at my feet.
“Okay. You’re the boss.” The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled. “I’m proud of you, Taters.”
“I haven’t made it yet, Dad.”
“It doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t. I’m proud of you for trying.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s one of the annoying things about you and Mom splitting up.”
“What?”
“I have to hear the exact same things in two different houses.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you wanted to come tonight.”
“I’m not sleeping over.”
“I know,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “But you’re here now, and I was thinking we could do a night hike a little later. We haven’t taken the telescope out in a while.”
I pointed to the music stand. “I have to practice, Dad. And I can’t be up late—I need a good night’s sleep. Auditions are tomorrow.”
“Right.” He nodded seriously. “So I’ll just leave you alone.” But it sounded like a question. “You might want to practice in front of an audience—”
“Good-bye, Dad,” I said.
He grinned and backed out. Before the door closed all the way, I called out, “Dad?”
He peeked his head in. “Yeah?”
“A night hike would be cool, though.”
“Next week?” he asked.
I nodded. “Next week.”
“My hiking boots are ready whenever you are.” He winked and closed the door softly behind him.
The walls creaked, and I could hear my dad’s footsteps fading down the stairs. I breathed in the musty warmth of the air mixed with the woodsy smell of my clarinet and reed. I wasn’t sure how, but it was starting to feel like home.
I rubbed my sore lips and began again.
Chapter 26
One foot in front of the other.
Mom liked to say that was all you could do sometimes. Put one foot in front of the other and eventually you’d come out the other side.
Eventually? What was that supposed to mean? Math problems did not end in the word “eventually.” As in, A2 + B2 = C2 eventually.
I wanted to know exactly when I’d feel okay again. When I’d stop reaching for my phone to call Lori before I remembered that we weren’t talking. When I would crack a smile and not have to think about making it look real.
Most of all, when would this awful day end?
And it had only just begun.
Today was Saturday—District Honor Band auditions and Band Night Out. Early this morning, Mom had dropped me off at the Sunfire Hotel. It wasn’t one of those splashy new hotels, but I liked how the adobe buildings felt like part of the desert. Two tall Saguaro cacti towered over the entrance, and inside the lobby, it felt like an old Spanish village. A sign stood by the registration desk welcoming Dakota band members and directing us to the Conference Center for auditions.
Officially, I hadn’t switched out of my room with Lori. I didn’t want to explain things to Mr. Wayne, and I guess Lori didn’t, either. So when I checked in, the desk clerk handed me a key to room 307—the room we would have shared. I stuck it in my bag, and headed to Kerry and Misa’s room. They’d been great about letting me share with them.
“Not that you’ll stay,” Misa had said.
“You’ll fix things with Lori before the night is over,” Kerry added.
“Why do you say it like that?” I had asked, a little annoyed. “That I’ll fix things.”
“Because you always do,” Kerry said with so much certainty I half expected her to offer me a money-back gu
arantee.
When I knocked on the room door, Kerry flung it open, the inrush of air fluttering the hem of her black dress. “Don’t talk to me,” she said. “I’m too stressed. I’m going to find a practice room.”
She took her sax case and left a minute later. Misa was going to get ready at home, and we’d see her this afternoon.
I did a thirty-second tour of the room. Not bad. Purple comforters, piles of pillows, and a big TV above a counter with drawers. From the window, I could see the parking lot, but also some of the surrounding desert. I wondered if Lori was in room 307 by now. Was she looking out the window, too? Was she wanting to fix things, or was she waiting for me to fix them like Kerry had said?
I took a deep breath, dumped my overnight bag on the bed, and got busy.
Twenty minutes later, I’d slipped on my audition dress—a black V-neck that swirled around my ankles as I walked. I’d gathered my hair into a pony, then pinned it flat into a bun. I had enough bobby pins jammed into my scalp that if I connected them end-to-end, I’d have a jump rope. For two. Still, I studied myself in the mirror and smiled. I could pass for a concert-band diva.
Now, I just had to play like one.
There were practice areas for warm-up, but I stayed in the room and ran through my scales. My lips were still puffy from so many hours of practice, and my right thumb ached from holding up two pounds of clarinet. Finally, it was time to go. I just had to get through the piece one more time. For Dr. Hallady.
Dad said to embrace my nerves—that the adrenaline would give me a boost. Either that or a heart attack—which was feeling pretty possible as I headed to the audition room. Sweat popped out on my forehead, and my breath sounded like a horror-movie sound track.
Outside, the day was bright and sunny, but in here, the hallway was long and lit only by yellowish overhead lights. The air smelled like it had been recirculated so many times the oxygen had gone out of it. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t get a full breath.
Behind one of the closed doors, I could make out the sounds of a trombone playing. Dr. Hallady would audition all the wind players while someone else did the percussion and the brass. They had it worked out down to the minute. And I was running out of them.
One foot in front of the other.
It’s not easy to drag your feet in heels, but I managed. Maybe I could snag my shoe on a loose carpet thread and suffer a concussion? Then I could spend a relaxing night in the hospital.
It sure beat this.
Lori and I hadn’t talked since Thursday. We couldn’t exactly avoid each other, since we still sat together in English and I saw her in band every afternoon, but we pretended not to notice each other. Lunch was worse. I’d skipped the cafeteria Thursday and Friday, using the excuse of needing to practice. But what would I do next week when auditions were over?
When auditions were over. By tomorrow morning, we’d know who made it. Then what? Would Lori want to be friends again if I got in? Or only if Michael did? I wondered if things would ever go back to normal. I squinted, trying to picture it in my mind, but I couldn’t. As if “normal” was a place that didn’t exist anymore.
Kind of like Aaron and me.
Aaron. Even thinking his name hurt. He seemed thrilled with his new seat in band. Steph, our oboe player, sat to the left of Aaron now, and I’d noticed how her chair kept inching closer to his each day. Then yesterday, he’d put Sudoku up on his stand, and she’d giggled like a hyena.
That stung. Less than a week since our date—our kiss—and he was playing Sudoku with Steph. Deep down, I couldn’t even be mad at him. Not really. I’d pretty much acted like an idiot. Still, I thought he’d say something about my doing a solo. He had to know with the audition schedule posted on Mr. Wayne’s door.
I shook my head, trying to clear my brain of all that. I wasn’t doing this for Aaron. I was doing this for me.
I looked up, shocked to see room 105 dead ahead. A second later, the door slid open with a soft whoosh. Brooke came out, her cheeks flushed and her short hair sticking up as if she’d run her hands through it. As soon as she saw me, she let out an exaggerated silent breath.
“Thank God that’s over,” she whispered. She stuck her thumb up. “Good luck.”
Then she pulled off her spiky-heeled pumps and ran back down the hall, her dress billowing up around her knees.
I had the incredible urge to run with her.
Instead, I gulped in some air and pushed open the door. It was a small conference room, dark and cold, with a long table, a bunch of chairs, and a whiteboard on the back wall. When I stepped in, Dr. Hallady looked up for a second from a chair at the far end. He was writing notes on a clipboard.
“A moment, if you please,” he said.
His deep voice never varied from a bored monotone. He wore a black suit with a white shirt that matched his skin. Even with his face tilted down, he kept his mouth pursed. As if he was ready to be disappointed.
Finally, he looked up. His eyes were dark ovals under bushy eyebrows. “And you are?”
“Tatum Austin.” If my heart had been a metronome, it would be beating allegretto. Too fast. Way too fast.
“And your piece?”
“Clarinet Concerto by Mozart, second movement,” I said, setting my music on the stand.
He draped one thin leg over the other and balanced his clipboard on a knee. “You may begin when you’re ready.”
I blew out a practice note and then wet my reed again. It sounded so fuzzy. I glanced at Dr. Hallady, then wished I hadn’t. He looked so … impatient.
“If you get nervous,” Mom had said, “visualize Dr. Hallady wearing footie pajamas with bunnies on them. It’ll help you remember that he’s just a man like any other.”
Except there was a good chance that Dr. Hallady wasn’t human. Did vampires wear footie pajamas? And why was I thinking about sleepwear for vampires a second before I started my audition?
Panic rose like a lump in my throat. I had a sudden flash of an image: Me. Running. Away. I even reached for my music, but I bumped the stand and it wobbled. I grabbed it and righted it. Somehow, that made me feel better. I might be just as wobbly as the stand, but I was still on my feet, wasn’t I?
I thought back to the first time I’d played this piece in Dad’s closet. There’d been no one but the shadows to listen. I looked at Dr. Hallady again. I’d gone through so much to get here—and why? For him? For his puckered face and his clipboard? I wasn’t going to let him scare me now. I’d play for myself, to prove I could do it, and Dr. Hallady could turn into a bat and fly away for all I cared.
I visualized myself sitting on an old camp chair in a warm, dark closet. I took a deep breath and began.
Chapter 27
The cool thing about auditioning at a hotel with the whole band was that when you kicked butt, you could find someone to brag to around every corner.
The lousy thing was if you’d totally sucked wind, it was almost impossible to hide. I fled down three halls before I found an empty room with the door unlocked.
Not that I’d sucked wind.
Not totally.
I ducked into the room and looked around. Four cushioned chairs circled a round table. Along the back wall stood a bar area with a minifridge and coffeepot. But the pot was empty, and the counters were all clean. It didn’t look like anyone was using the room.
I dropped into one of the chairs, shoved off my sandal straps, and let my shoes fall to the floor. I curled my achy feet under my legs and buried my face in my hands. Why couldn’t life be more like the movies? In the movies, I’d have started my solo and a whole orchestra would miraculously have joined in. Tears would have flooded Hallady’s eyes with the beauty of my playing. “I must have you in my band!” he would have cried.
A sharp click burst my movie-dream bubble. I looked up as the door handle turned. I grabbed my sandals and tried to stuff my feet back in. Great. Busted.
Only, it wasn’t a hotel person who walked in.
It was M
ichael Malone.
Surprise flashed on his face when he saw me. He did a quick scan of the room. “You hiding out?”
“No.” I let my shoes drop again. “I just wanted a little privacy. So …,” I added pointedly.
He ignored the hint and walked in, closing the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He headed for the fridge. “Is it locked?”
“I don’t know.” I twisted in my chair.
He tugged the door open—“Empty”—then circled back and dropped into the chair across from me.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Not really.”
“So why don’t you find Lori?”
“She’s auditioning soon.” He stuck his feet on the table—there was a price tag on the bottom of his right shoe. He’d yanked his dress shirt out of his pants, and it hung down in a million wrinkles. A yellow-striped tie hung loose around his neck. He looked as relaxed and confident as he had that first day at the car wash. I’d hated him on principle that day. Now I just hated him.
“So how did your audition go?” he asked.
“Fine,” I snapped. “How did yours go?”
Michael’s audition had been scheduled for fifteen minutes after mine. He must have just finished.
“Great,” he said. “No big deal.”
“No big deal?” I repeated. Could you stab a hole in someone’s heart with a pair of two-inch heels? “Then why don’t you find Brandon and brag to him?”
“It’s more fun to brag to you.” He grinned, but I recognized a forced smile when I saw one. He scanned the room again, even though there was nothing to look at but framed pictures of blue and green squares.
And suddenly I knew. I just knew. “You bombed it,” I said.
“I did not!” His eyes shot back to mine, but only for a second.
I sat forward. “Yeah, you did.”
“You’re the one who bombed it,” he returned. “Why else are you hiding out?”
“I’m not hiding out.”
“Then how did you do?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “If you really want to know, I played well.”
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