I wiped at my eyes and let the path lead me away from the ballroom.
I didn’t make it. After all of that, how could I have not made it?
If Lori had done the duet with me.
If Michael hadn’t moved here.
If I’d started practicing my solo sooner.
If Hallady wasn’t so scary, I wouldn’t have been so nervous.
If. If. If.
The word swirled around my brain as tears trailed down my cheeks. What did any of it matter? I’d tried everything I could. I’d pictured Hallady in footie pajamas. I’d practiced so much I had a permanent callus on my thumb, and my bottom lip was now the biggest muscle in my body. I’d done everything Mr. Wayne had said, and even playing to my strengths, I just wasn’t good enough.
Somehow, I’d forgotten that fact while I’d been so busy practicing and thinking positive and visualizing good things.
As if that actually works.
A crunch of gravel startled me. I looked up just as a man appeared from a bend in the path. I sucked in a breath. Hallady.
Dr. Freakula.
He walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his white pointy chin in the air. His black sneakers hit the flagstone in measured, rhythmic steps while his dark sunglasses reflected sunlight like two mirrors. Had he stayed the night? Or had he come back to watch the effects of his dirty work?
He likes to see kids cry. Hadn’t someone said that about him? I stepped off the path and kept my head down so he could pass by. But as soon as his shoes came into view, he stopped.
I looked up. The mirrors focused on me.
“Miss Austin, is it?” he asked.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I nodded, my throat clogged with new tears.
“I assume from your expression that Mr. Wayne has posted the results for District Honor Band.”
No duh.
“It’s a shame that not everyone can make it,” he said then, his voice so cold and snooty. “But hard work is the answer.”
In the split second it took for his words to sink in, I lost it. Completely, totally, lost it. It was as if I’d been standing on a cliff and with one little finger, Hallady had just pushed me off the edge. Rage screamed through me. Maybe I hadn’t been the best player. Maybe I wasn’t a natural. But I’d worked my butt off, and I was too tired and upset to put up with a lecture from a pointy-faced vamp.
“You want to know something?” I bit out, my hands on my hips, my fingers balled into fists. “I did work hard. I put everything I had into this audition.” I stuck out my right thumb. “Just look at that! I dare you to find a clarinetist in there with a bigger callus.”
He slid the sunglasses off his face and blinked at my shaky thumb. “Impressive.”
Is he making fun of me? Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes. I knew I was out of control, but I couldn’t stop myself. “If all it took was hard work, then my name would be on that list.”
“If you had let me finish, Miss Austin, I wasn’t faulting your work ethic. In fact, I applaud it.” He looked down at the thumb I still had shoved in his face. “And your callus,” he added drily.
I stuck my hand behind my back.
“I spoke with Mr. Wayne about your situation. He explained your last-minute switch to a solo and your dedication to your instrument. I commend you. Performing a solo is an important step for every musician and especially important for those who wish to continue to play.”
“But”—I swallowed and stared at the top button of his shirt; that was about the only part of him that wasn’t scary looking—“I didn’t make the band.”
“No,” he said. “Your performance had merit, but in the end you came up short.”
And this was Dr. Hallady being nice?
“However,” he added, “I was impressed with your musicality and expression. And you demonstrate a certain fearlessness that I respect.”
Fearlessness? Me? I looked into his eyes. They were an ugly dark gray—but at least they weren’t red or flaming.
“Not many would dare to confront me. I like confidence in my students.”
I hoped he also liked slack-jawed idiots, because that’s what I felt like. Fearless and confident?
“Your performance wasn’t quite there this time. But you do get credit for effort, Miss Austin. It seems that you may have potential if you plan to continue.”
“I do,” I said breathlessly. “Plan to continue.”
He slid his sunglasses back on. “If you work hard enough to double the size of that callus by August, you may call my office and arrange an audition before school begins. I will be making the final list for Wind Ensemble at that time.”
I broke into a smile. “Thank you. I will.”
“Now,” he said, “if you’ll kindly step out of the way.”
And he proceeded on, his arms still behind his back, his shoes slapping the ground in precise steps.
I stared after him until he was gone. Me, Wind Ensemble? I couldn’t wait to tell Aaron and Lori and Kerry and Misa and Mom and Dad and everyone. Hard work paid off. Just like I’d always known.
And, I thought with a grin, it didn’t hurt to be fearless.
Chapter 32
The Desert Rose Nursing Home had spared no expense for the production of Harry and the Heiress. The assembly room couches had been pushed back, making room for five rows of folding chairs and a space in front for wheelchairs. Someone had thrown a sheet over the vending machine, and the TV screen was covered with a sign that said QUIET! UNWRAP COUGH DROPS NOW BEFORE THE SHOW BEGINS. Gray shower curtains hung from rods, hiding the raised platform stage. A CD player balanced on the edge of a folding chair, and scratchy piano music filled the room.
In other words, it was majorly lame.
“Sorry,” I said to Aaron as we stood at the doorway. “It’s not exactly Broadway.”
He slid his hand into mine, and I wrapped my fingers through his, loving the scratchy feel of his palm. It was Friday night, less than a week since Band Night Out. Having a boyfriend still felt new and unreal sometimes.
He looked so good in black jeans and a white polo that I kept sneaking glances at him. I’d straightened my hair and worn a dress. Mom insisted Andrew and I look nice for the theater. Technically, this shouldn’t count, since it was a dress rehearsal at a nursing home, but I didn’t argue.
Andrew leaned in from just behind me and said, “We dressed up for this?”
“Quiet,” Emily said. I heard Andrew grunt, which meant she’d just jabbed him with an elbow. Emily Moira, Andrew’s girlfriend and lover of the smelly musk, had a way of keeping him in line.
Except when it came to the chin hair.
Adobe’s baseball team was now seven for their last seven games. Playoffs started next week, and the Beard had become the team’s good-luck charm. Andrew’s chin hair had continued to grow with the disgusting addition of a kink near the bottom. As if the hair had reached a certain length and taken a sharp right turn.
“This is sweet,” Emily said. “Look at how excited these people are.”
“They’re a hundred years old; they get excited about bowel movements,” Andrew said.
I turned in time to catch her glare at him. “Do you want me to pull that hair? Because I can.”
“It’s not a hair,” he said. “It’s a full beard, and you’re not coming near it.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” she returned. Then she gave Aaron a measured look. “I hope you’re not planning on growing one of those things.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you plan,” he replied.
“Jealous,” Andrew said, “you’re all jealous.” He ran his fingers beneath the so-called beard, as if you could fluff up one hair.
Emily rolled her beautiful brown eyes. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
Andrew shifted the camera bag on his shoulder. “Guess I’d better set up. You wanna kiss my beard first?”
“Gross,” she said, shoving his chest with one hand. “Go.”
> Andrew had just finished a multimedia class, which apparently qualified him to be the official videographer for the production. Yesterday, the playwright had dropped off an old-school camera and a tripod so Andrew could “practice.” Of course, he’d never unzipped the case.
We followed him down the back row of chairs until he reached the middle aisle, where he took the end seat and set up the tripod. Emily sat next to him, then me, then Aaron. People turned in their chairs to look at us, smiling and nodding with watery blue eyes. Did everyone’s eyes fade to blue when they got old?
I settled in, missing Dad only a little. Mostly, I missed the idea of him—and us—as a family. It made me sad to think that we would never be one again—at least not like before. But it was getting easier. And when Andrew went to spend the night this past Tuesday, I went with him.
I ran a hand over the gold charm bracelet around my wrist. Dad had flown to China two days ago, but he’d left the velvet jewelry box for me. When I opened it, I found the bracelet with the heart charm, but a new message had been engraved: FEARLESS. I hadn’t taken it off since.
The music stopped, and there was a buzz in the room as everyone hurried to sit down. “This camera is ancient,” Andrew muttered, holding it up to show Emily. “There’s no display. I’m going to have to focus through the eye piece.”
“You’ll look like a movie director.”
“Yeah?” Andrew thought for a second and then grinned. “Cool.” He leaned in to attach the camera to the tripod, and I looked up front, wondering if Mom stood behind the shower curtain, waiting for her cue. This might not be Broadway, but she’d still been a nervous wreck all week. I’d come down for a snack yesterday and caught her pacing around the kitchen island murmuring, “Your love may never die, Harry, but you will. Back away and drop the cane.”
It was her big line in the play when her true identity was revealed. Yesterday, Andrew had startled her in the garage, and she’d spun around and yelled, “Drop the cane!”
Looking now at the old people—at least two of them were snoring—I didn’t see what she had to worry about. They weren’t exactly theater critics. But at the same time, I kind of understood. This audience was Mom’s Dr. Hallady—only with hearing aids and gargling coughs.
I looked up as a short woman in a flowery dress and black loafers walked to the center of the room. “Welcome,” she said. “Thank you so much for joining us for this sneak-peek performance of Harry and the Heiress. I’m Anita Weebans, the playwright, and I do hope you’ll enjoy the show. And now, with no further ado.”
She slid back the shower curtains, the metal rings clanging as she revealed the set. It wasn’t much: one easy chair on the left, a patio chair on the right, and a folding screen set up between them to represent a wall between indoors and outdoors. A huge square had been cut out of the screen for a window.
A minute later, there was Mom in her getup as Nurse Welty. She tucked a shawl around the shoulders of a white-haired lady and helped her to the easy chair on the left. I recognized the old woman as Mom’s friend Mrs. Lansing, who had been decked out in a white wig, pearl necklaces, and rings as shiny (and as big) as mirrors. Way better costume than a nurse.
“You have thirty minutes until lunch,” Mom/Nurse Welty said. I wondered if Andrew was catching Mom’s foot on tape. When she got nervous, she tapped her foot. Right now, it was going so fast the hem of her nurse dress fluttered. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the view.”
Someone in the audience burped and someone else coughed. Andrew leaned forward, the camera pressed to his face, as an old guy playing Harry walked on, his cane hitting the floor with each heavy step. He lowered himself in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m Harry Adelman,” he said. “Just moved in.”
Margaret, the heiress, turned her head just enough so you knew she was ignoring him.
“Nice view,” Harry said.
“It was,” she said stiffly.
Then I got caught up as Harry charmed Margaret into talking and then flirting. The man playing Harry was good—funny. Before too long, he and Margaret were meeting at the window each day. The first act ended as Harry proposed marriage and Margaret accepted. Then Nurse Welty took center stage—she had the last line of the act, and my heart thumped a little as she held a flip phone with one hand.
“Don’t worry,” she promised, pretending to talk into the phone. “Your mother will never marry that man. I’ll end the romance. Permanently, if I have to.” Then, she held up a loaded syringe and pressed the plunger just enough to let out a spray of liquid. The audience gasped, then broke into applause.
It was kind of … well, it was good. Mom was good.
By the second act, her foot had stopped shaking completely, and her voice seemed stronger as she plotted Harry’s demise while keeping her secret identity secret.
Andrew had his face glued to the camera as her big moment came.
“Your love may never die, Harry, but you will,” she said. Then she bent over and yanked up her skirt.
What?
A leather holster strapped tightly to her thigh—a gun gleamed at the top. I groaned, but the sound was drowned out by gasps. Around me, the audience’s attention was glued to the stage. To Nurse Welty, Secret Bodyguard. Mom’s voice dripped venom. “Back away and drop the cane.”
Goose bumps ran down my arms. More than a few people slapped hands to their mouths.
A funny feeling worked its way through me. I was … proud. Of my mom.
Of course, it turned out that Harry had been in special forces a century ago, and he unarmed Mom with a fancy twirl of his cane. The play ended as Harry leaned toward the window and Margaret leaned toward the window. I held my breath like everyone else, waiting for the kiss … waiting. …
A sudden scream of pain echoed through the room. I jerked, startled, then horrified. It wasn’t a random scream—it was Andrew.
As if Mom had recognized his shriek, the curtains flew open and she ran out—right through the nearly kissing Harry and Margaret. “Andrew?” she called.
He jumped up while everyone turned to stare. His face had frozen in terror, his eyes locked on something in the palm of his hand.
“My beard,” he cried. “The camera yanked out my beard!”
Mom stopped short, her chest heaving as she took a long breath.
And next to me, with a huge smile, Emily stood up and began applauding.
As if that were some kind of cue, everyone else joined in. Mom climbed back on stage as applause rocked the place. No one clapped louder than I did. I wasn’t even sure what I was clapping for—Mom, Andrew … maybe just for life in general.
Finally, after a last bow, Mom raised her head and our eyes met. I flashed her a thumbs-up. She grinned, and even with purple makeup and smashed hair, I thought she looked beautiful.
Maybe this play stuff hadn’t been so lame, after all.
But no way was she keeping that thigh holster.
Chapter 33
Today, the cafeteria smelled like potatoes—a definite improvement over the usual aroma of mystery meat. I unwrapped my lunch bag while I half listened to Aaron and Brooke. They were arguing over who would win in a fight—a Ringwraith or a Death Eater. Aaron sat across from me, a fistful of cookies in one hand. Lori sat next to me, then Kerry, and then Misa. Across from them sat Michael, Brandon, and Tanner. Somehow, we’d taken over the whole table. A band table.
In the month since auditions, Lori and I had gone back to our usual routine. Kerry and Misa still called us Tay-Lo, we talked every day, and sent eye messages across the band room. She’d even slept over on Saturday night. Everything seemed the same, but it was different. I couldn’t explain it exactly, but where we’d always been shoulder to shoulder—no room between us—there was just a little space now.
Maybe because I’d stopped leaning on her so much.
Mom’s play had gone over so well, the cast had started touring retirement villages on the weekends. Half the time I came home to find Mrs. Lansing and the ot
her cast members sipping coffee in the kitchen and reliving the latest performance. I still wished it were Dad sitting there, with his coffee mug and the place mat in his old spot at the table. But the house was always noisy and someone was laughing. Usually Mom.
My family of stars had shifted around some—but the Austin family constellation hadn’t exploded. Maybe Dad’s star had drifted farther out, but I knew he was still there. And now there were new stars—Emily, who had sewn Andrew’s chin hair into the brim of his baseball hat and saved the entire season (according to Andrew), because without that hair he’d never have pitched so well in the playoffs. And Aaron, whose star had been there all along, if only I’d focused a little better.
Other things had changed in the last couple of weeks, too. For one thing, Michael had turned out to be okay. I’d told him about my talk with Dr. Hallady, and he was all fired up about auditioning, too. Since neither of us had made District Honor Band, he wanted to get together the weekend of the concert and have our own mini–practice camp. I thought maybe I’d say yes. Brooke felt bad about how things had turned out, but it wasn’t her fault. Just bad luck. Her grandma had broken a hip, so her family had to cancel their trip back East, which meant Brooke could participate, after all. And she’d made it, fair and square. But one day I was going to challenge her—and win.
I was still bummed about District Honor Band, but Wind Ensemble was my new goal. And I had more confidence now. I might still squeak with nerves, but I’d finally figured out that everyone worried as much as I did. Some kids just hid it better.
“I think a Death Eater would win,” Brooke was saying. “I’m going to use that for my language-arts essay.”
“You’re wrong, but it’ll make a good topic,” Aaron said.
Brooke sighed. “Except I’m supposed to support my position. With facts.”
“You could add up the number of fights they had in the movies,” I offered. “Figure out the number of people each of them killed and who has the highest percentage.”
Brooke’s eyes widened. “Cool, but way over my math IQ.”
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