Audition & Subtraction (19 page)

“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 guarantee.

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.

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 Michael 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.”

“
Well?
” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Very well. Extremely well. In fact,” I said, “Dr. Hallady smiled when I finished.”

Michael grunted. “Now I know you're lying. That guy couldn't smile if you grabbed both sides of his mouth and stretched.”

Startled, I met his eyes. And I realized that Hallady freaked him out, too. I looked away. I didn't want to be on the same wavelength as Michael Malone. “Whatever,” I muttered.

“Maybe it just looked like a smile,” Michael said, “because he was farting under the table.” Then he launched his chair into a spin.

I straightened my dress over my knees and fought the urge to laugh. I wasn't a big fan of fart jokes, but Hallady tooting like a baby … yeah, that warmed my heart.

When Michael stopped spinning, I was smiling. And so was he. The smirk had disappeared, and it felt like a different guy sitting there. The Michael I'd gotten a peek at in the practice room. The one with friendly eyes, an easy smile, and a tiny face-scrunch line between his eyebrows. It was much harder to hate this version.

He stuck his feet back up on the table. “So does Hallady always look like that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Was he wearing lipstick?”

“I don't think so,” I said. “It's just because his skin is so white.”

“White? I think the dude might glow in the dark.”

“Lori thinks he's cool.”

“In a freaky, creeper way,” he said. “He stared the whole time I played. Like Dr. Freak-enstein.”

“More like Count Freakula.”

Our eyes met and I knew he understood. Maybe in a way no one else could have. “Did he ask you to repeat your name after you finished?” I asked.

“Yeah, what's up with that?”

“I don't know. He has our names on his clipboard.”

“Did he write a lot while you played?”

I thought a minute. “I don't think so. Why? Did he write a lot for you?”

Michael's eyes dipped, and he shrugged.

A thought zinged from my tingling toes all the way to the ends of my curly hair. Michael was just as worried as I was. Worried because of
me.
Because he thought I was
good.
Why else would he want me to mess up? I don't know why I hadn't thought of that before, but I thought about it now.

And I liked how it felt.

Which one of us had done better? Which one of us would be on the list tomorrow? Which one wouldn't? The questions were like a lit match burning a hole inside me.

The fridge hummed a little, and the air conditioner kicked on with a whir. I strained to hear any outside noise, but there was nothing. Still, I knew that every
fifteen minutes someone else headed into room 105 for their turn. Lori might be playing right now. I'd always been outside her room, waiting.

I picked at the edge of my thumbnail. “So will you tell me the truth about something?”

“What?”

“Was it really your idea to have me mess up? Or was it hers?”

He ran his fingers through his smoothly brushed hair, letting it fall into messy waves. “It was mine.”

I glared at him in disgust. “You're a jerk, you know that?” But I couldn't work up any real anger. I was too relieved it wasn't Lori—I hadn't been completely sure. “I'm surprised you didn't just get her to dump my duet for yours.”

“I tried,” he said.