Audition & Subtraction (22 page)

“No,” I said. “We are friends again. But it's different now.” I leaned my head against the wall. “I depended on Lori too much—you were right about that. Then she started changing, and I got worried that she didn't need me for a friend like she used to … which made me feel like I needed her even more.” I drew in a breath. “So I said yes to Lori and no to you, and I forgot how to listen to myself. But I won't do that again. In fact,” I said, “I'm going to speak up for what I want, even if it means
dragging someone into a closet to do it. So,” I added, my heart racing, “I like you, Aaron. I'd like to hang out with you. And if you still want to go out, great, but if not—”

“I never stopped.”

He said it so fast, I wasn't ready. “Oh,” I said weakly. “Well.” My cheeks registered a thousand degrees again. “Good.”

I heard him shift before I saw him, but then he slid forward. I could see the slant of his jaw, the glow of his eyes. He wasn't smiling now.

“So if I tried to kiss you, would you freak out again?”

“I didn't freak out.”

“Tay,” he said softly.

And I stopped arguing and closed my eyes.

It was like before, only not so fast. His lips were soft on mine and so warm I felt it like a flush on my skin. His hands slid over my shoulders and—

The door flew open with a bang. I jerked back, the light stinging my eyes.

Tanner gaped at us. “I thought you guys were just friends?”

I scrambled up and pushed past him, Aaron right behind me.

“You thought wrong,” Aaron said. And he grabbed my hand.

By the time Mr. Wayne walked into the ballroom at 8:00 a.m., a crowd had gathered, most of us with red eyes and pillow hair. I stood in a quiet circle with Kerry, Misa, and Lori. We'd pulled on crumpled T-shirts, sweatpants, and flip-flops. Aaron had joined up with Michael, Tanner, Brandon, and José. Tanner had a stack of three doughnuts in one hand while he stuffed a fourth into his mouth. There was a continental breakfast set up in the lobby, but I hadn't wanted to eat.

Mr. Wayne smiled as he walked past. “I hope you all had a wonderful evening.”

I snuck a look at Aaron and caught him smiling at me. A tingle worked its way down to my bare toes. Aaron had been right about one other thing—there really was great star-watching out here.

I'd gotten back to the room before midnight curfew,
but just barely. Kerry and Misa were just getting in bed—Kerry had offered to share with me because Misa kicks like a dolphin when she sleeps—we call her Flipper. Lying in the dark, I'd told them the whole closet story, in detail, which was like watching a favorite movie for the second time—it's even better because you're not worrying about how things will turn out.

The Lori stuff was more complicated. I tried to explain why we'd made up but I was still in their room. At least I had auditions to distract them, and we ended up talking for a long time about how each of us had done.

Even though I should have been tired, I woke before the alarm went off and watched the clock tick through the minutes. Finally, we'd gotten up, and met Lori to come down to the ballroom.

“Remember, checkout is at ten,” Mr. Wayne said. “You need to make sure I mark you off my sheet before you leave with a parent.” He opened a folder in his hand and pulled out a single piece of paper—the list of who made it.

And who didn't.

I waited for a panic attack, but nothing. The new me was thinking positive.

Either that, or I was so tired my nerves were numb.

Mr. Wayne tacked the sheet to a display case and then fought his way out as everyone surged forward. I went left and hit a wall of tuba players. I tried shifting right, but the crowd was at least three people thick. No
way I could read the print from here. I'd gotten separated from my friends, and I still couldn't find a way in. Then I felt a hand grab my elbow. I turned.

Michael gave me a half smile. “Come on. Might as well see it together.”

He shoved his way to the front, pulling me along with him. I stepped on someone's foot and took an elbow in my ribs. But then we were at the case and there it was—the list of names typewritten on smooth white paper. It was broken into sections. Flutes, Saxophones, Trumpets—I lowered my eyes to the subheading: Clarinets.
There.

Aaron Weiss. Angela Liu. Brooke Hart.

I blinked.

I read through the list again. I searched under French horns and tubas and trombones. My name … where was my name?

“Brooke freaking Hart?” Michael muttered.

I read the names for a third time, and finally it sank in. My name wasn't there. Neither was Michael's.

“Everyone said she'd be out of town,” he growled.

“She was,” I said. “She is, I mean.” I rubbed at my face, a little dazed. “Something must have changed. She never said.”

I didn't make it.

Around us, more bodies pressed to get close. I shoved people away, suddenly claustrophobic. I needed to breathe. And maybe, to cry. I fought my way free
and stood there a second, frozen. From the corner of my eye, I saw Aaron looking for me. I didn't want to talk to him yet—I needed some time. I needed to breathe.

I couldn't
breathe.

I rushed to the nearest door and shoved it open. Warm air hit me. The smell of flowers and grass. A flagstone walkway angled to the right of a fountain that gurgled and splashed drops of water on the path. My eyes had blurred with unshed tears, but I didn't need to see where I was going. I just needed to
go.

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
.

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.