Audition & Subtraction (3 page)

“Clarinet lips?”

“Yeah. From practicing all the time.”

“You want to know about your lips?”

“No.” I folded my arms over my middle. “Can we stop talking about lips?”

“You brought them up,” he said.

“I was asking if you thought Michael would be any good.” I shifted to face him. “Aren't you worried that he might be better than you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But we won't know until Monday when he auditions for Mr. Wayne. Why freak out about it now?”

“Because that's what normal people do,” I said. “Not that you'd know that because you're a freak.”

Aaron grinned. He was impossible to insult. In fact, Aaron actually
was
a freaking genius. He was in all my honors classes, plus the only guy in science club to build a rocket that actually launched.

My ears registered a laugh just then, and my eyes tried to follow. Lori was doubled over with laughter as Michael said something. I wished I could read lips. A deaf person would know exactly what he was saying, but to me it looked like “pickle wee chicken.”

“If Mr. Wayne does put him behind us, I hope he's not a spitter,” Aaron said. “You never know with those
pouty lips.”

I smacked him.

“Ow,” he said, pretending to be hurt. “You better watch it, or I won't share the extra cash with you.”

“What extra cash?”

“The extra cash we're going to collect for a tub of Baskin-Robbins brownie chunk ice cream.”

I glanced behind us. I could see the Baskin-Robbins sign in the strip center. I couldn't see how we were going to get the money, though. “You can't take it from the cash box. That's stealing.”

He gave me a hurt look. “I wouldn't steal from the band.”

“So where are you getting the money?”

“People are going to give it to us.”

“Why would they?”

“Because we're cute.”

I laughed. He actually did look cute with his hat on crooked and his hair sticking out around his neck. “We're too old to be cute,” I said.

“You don't believe me, then watch.”

I settled back in my chair, curious. Besides, it was better than trying to read Michael's lips and wondering why Misa and Kerry kept sending me thumbs-up signs.

Another lady made her way to the table, a wad of ones in her hand.

“Thanks,” Aaron said, taking the money. “Would you consider contributing to our dairy fund?”

Her brows knit together. “What's that?”

“Well,” he said, a serious expression on his face, “we spend hours with instruments in our mouths, and it's really hard on our teeth. In fact, it can cause horrible disfigurement.” He flashed her a smile that showed off his braces. “See what I mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners.

He nudged me, and I opened my mouth, pointing to the metal retainer glued to my bottom teeth—the remains of two years of dental torture.

The twitch turned into a smile.

Aaron folded his hands together and went on. “Scientists, working around the clock to help save band members across the country, have discovered that large doses of dairy products could strengthen teeth and prevent this horrible plague.”

A grin had worked its way across her face. “A plague, huh?”

Aaron nodded. “It's worse than plaque.”

The lady laughed. So did I. That was pretty quick, even for Aaron.

“Fortunately, there's a Baskin-Robbins over there,” he finished.

She shook her head, but she pulled a dollar from her bag. “Cute. Very cute. You should go into sales.”

Aaron took the dollar. “Thanks.”

After she walked off, I grabbed the dollar from his hand. “I can't believe you just did that!”

“What did I tell you? Cute. Very cute.”

I sat back and waited for the next customer, still smiling. Wait until I told Lori.

Then I glanced her way and caught her standing on Michael's skateboard. Lori? On a skateboard? I blinked as if I could bring her back into focus. Because Lori on a skateboard … never. At least, never before.

A second later, Lori wobbled backward and shrieked as she fell off. The board shot out, and Michael caught it. The others all applauded.

“He's kind of a show-off, isn't he?” I said.

Aaron shrugged. “Lori doesn't seem to mind.”

“She's supposed to be spying,” I muttered. “For me.” Only, it didn't exactly look that way.

A breeze swirled up out of nowhere. Aaron grabbed a loose dollar bill that fluttered in the cash box. It was a
warm breeze, but I still shivered. I couldn't help it. It made me think of something my dad used to say.

The Winds of Change.

It was his favorite expression when I was little. He'd hold up a finger as if to feel the breeze. As if there really were Winds of Change. And then we would move to a new state. We moved from California to Colorado to New Mexico and then to Arizona. I hated moving, hated new cities and new schools and new friends. For a long time, I didn't understand it was because of Dad's job as a pilot—I really thought it was the wind. Because of that, I grew up afraid of storms. Every time one came, I worried that a wind would blow in, and off we would go like some creepy version of Mary Poppins.

Dad hadn't held up a finger to test the breeze when he and Mom announced they were separating. But he might as well have. Everything had changed. And I hated it. I hated every threatening gust of newness.

I watched Lori and Michael and shivered again.

In the fifty-two days since Dad had loaded two suitcases in his truck and drove off, my house had become a weird place to be.

Except for Saturday nights.

Every Saturday night, Lori slept over. It was the one time when things felt normal. We ordered pizza for dinner, watched movies, and stayed up late, talking.

Tonight, Lori hadn't come over until after dinner because she had to watch Katie, her little sister. And this afternoon, she'd gone right from the car wash to her private flute lesson. So it was after nine o'clock, and we still hadn't talked about the day.

Or
him.

Finally, it was just the two of us in my room. Lori sat on the pop-up trundle, and I sat across from her, a plate of brownies I'd baked that afternoon between us.

I'd turned off the light, but my room glowed so much we could see each other fine. Lori said my room at night felt like the inside of an alien spaceship. My bedside clock gleamed with green letters, and my night-light flashed red, green, and blue. Plus, on the ceiling, a galaxy of stick-on stars shone down on us.

I loved stars. I always had. When I grew up, I wanted to be an astronomer. I was going to discover a new solar system and name the stars after all my friends. Lori would get first pick.

She leaned back, resting her weight on her hands, and let out an exaggerated sigh. I knew the feeling. No matter what had happened during the day, when we were hanging out just the two of us, I could let down my guard and just
be
.

“So why did you have to watch Katie?” I asked.

“My parents.” She wore a long gray sleep shirt with NEW YORK PHILHARMONIC in black lettering. I wore the same one, only in blue. Lori had brought it back for me after her trip last summer.

“It's so humiliating,” she said. “They started dance lessons.”

“Seriously?”

“At the studio next to Dominic's Pizza. The one with all the big windows, so the world can see my dad step on my mom's feet.”

I imagined my parents dancing out in public, but instead of horror, I felt a stab of sadness. “At least your parents are there together.”

Her eyes glowed a dark blue in the alien light. “Sorry, Tay. Anything new with your mom and dad?”

I shook my head. “I don't know how they're supposed to work things out if they never talk.”

“Maybe they'll miss each other more that way.”

“Mom misses him enough already. I heard her crying again yesterday.” I picked the edge off a brownie and let the chocolate melt on my tongue. “If she'd just leave him alone about his job, he'd come home.”

“Except he wasn't home much, right?”

“It was still better than this,” I grumbled. Being a pilot for FedEx meant Dad was gone a few nights every week. But after six years, it was part of the routine. And then this new job came along—corporate pilot for some software company in China. No more night flights, better pay, and Dad would get to fly a Gulfstream 5, whatever that was. But it meant he'd be gone a lot more—sometimes a month at a time. I figured that's what had started the separation talk.

“At least they're not using the D word, right?” Lori asked.

“You mean the D
words
?” I said. “Because there are a bunch.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Divorce. Dissolve. Disintegrate. Demolish. Destroy.”

“I'm sorry, Tay. Honest. I wish I could do something.”

“I know,” I said. “I wish there were something I could do, too.”

I'd tried pretending Dad was just working. But the
house felt weird, because stuff that used to be there suddenly wasn't. Mom snuck into the laundry room to cry, and Andrew acted like everything was fine, but even he walked around the house as if he were looking for something but forgot where he put it.

Why can't Dad just come home?

I blinked back tears, suddenly so glad Lori was there. “We have to stop talking about this before I go insane. Tell me about today, instead.” I shifted, careful not to wobble the plate. “What's the new guy like?”

She shrugged, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and I wondered if she knew she was smiling. “It's hard to be sure, but he seemed pretty cool.”

She'd left her braid in, but more wispy pieces had pulled loose. I'd tried to braid mine this afternoon, but so much hair stuck out I looked like the victim of an electrical shock.

“Did you talk about band stuff?”

“A little.” She broke off the corner of a brownie. “He's definitely auditioning for District Honor Band.”

“He said that?”

She nodded. “I guess music is a big deal in his family. His parents are divorced, and his dad plays trombone in an orchestra in New York.”

“Wow.” My throat tightened. “So he's good, huh?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But he also said he's only been serious for about two years. Except …” She reached for more brownie, then stopped and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Except what?”

“You have to keep those brownies away from me. You shouldn't have made them in the first place.”

“I know, but we always used to make brownies every Saturday. Remember? I figured one brownie wouldn't kill us.”

“I'm not worried about dying. I'm worried about fat thighs.”

“You don't have fat thighs.”

“I do, too. Michael showed me a scar on his leg, and all I could think about was how my thighs are nearly as big as his.”

“He showed you a scar? On his leg?” I made a face as I stuck the plate on my bedside table.

She rolled her eyes. “It wasn't bloody and scabbed over. It was just an old scar by his knee. He has nice knees,” she added. “They're not all skinny and white.”

“Nice
kneeees
?” I said, drawing out the word.

Lori's mouth tightened.

“What?” I said. “I'm just joking.”

“Well, it's not funny.”

“Sorry,” I said, but it felt like she'd changed the rules of a game without telling me. This morning she'd promised to hate Michael as much as I did—and suddenly she liked his knees? But I let it go, and instead I said, “So go back a minute. What did you mean—
except.
Except what?”

She twisted the end of her braid around one finger. “His mom already looked into the program at Adobe
High for next year. He knows about Dr. Hallady and the Wind Ensemble.”

“He wants to be in Wind Ensemble?”

She nodded again. “He even asked me about summer music camps. Plus,” she added, leaning forward, “it turns out he was at the New York Philharmonic last June, the exact same time when I was there. And get this—Mozart is his favorite composer, too.”

“You asked him his favorite composer?”

“No,” she said, her eyes widening. “He asked me mine!”

“Wow.” I wrapped my arms around my knees. “Okay.” I wasn't really sure what to say. “Freakingtastic” was the only thing that came to mind.

Then her lips stretched into a slow, secret smile. “He asked for my phone number. He typed it right into his cell.”

“You gave it to him?” My stomach flipped in a not-so-good way. “Did you ask for his number?”

“No.” She sat up a little straighter. “Was I supposed to?”

“I don't know. If you liked him, I guess. I mean, do you like him?”

“I only just met him.”

“Then why did you give him your cell number?”

“I was just being nice.” She rolled onto her stomach, pulling a pillow beneath her chin. “Besides, I might like him in the future.”

“So now you're planning to like him?”

“I don't know,” she said. “What does it even mean to like a guy? Misa likes Sam, and they break up every other week. Kerry says she likes Caleb, but not enough to wear the necklace he got her.”

“It was a skeleton head. I wouldn't wear it, either.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It would be easier if it were scientific. Like a math formula that told you if you liked a guy.” I grabbed my pillow and slid onto my stomach until I was even with Lori. “Good smile + cute butt × sense of humor = Like.”

Lori laughed. “It's too bad Mr. Phillips doesn't teach that kind of math.”

I nodded. “There could be equations for different levels of like.”