Audition & Subtraction (18 page)

Lori had called, but I had Mom tell her I was sick. If only it were stomach flu, I could work through it and be back to normal in three days. But I didn't think I was going to be back to normal after this. I didn't think I wanted to be.

What do you really want?

My mom's words kept repeating themselves in my head. What I wanted was to kick butt at my audition and make District Honor Band. I wanted to tell Lori what I really felt and not worry that she'd stop being my friend. I wanted to be the person everyone else saw in me.

A girl who was funny and smart and a good clarinet player.

A girl who was totally and completely cool.

I glanced over at my backpack. It lay against the wall, the zipper still open and folders hanging halfway out. The blue folder had all of my band music, my duet with Lori—and the solo Mr. Wayne had given me. But I couldn't do a solo. I couldn't—I stopped myself the way Mom had stopped me earlier.

Okay, so actually, I could do a solo. There was nothing that said I couldn't. I dropped the Spanish book on
my bed and hopped off before I could chicken out. I jogged to the top of the stairs and called down.

“Mom, can I get a ride to school early tomorrow? There's something I want to talk to Mr. Wayne about.”

They were waiting when I got there. Mr. Wayne sat at his desk, his clipboard in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Lori had set up chairs and the music stand. Her flute was already put together and resting on her lap.

“Hey,” she said, giving me a long look.

I smiled at her, but I didn't exactly meet her eyes.

“I trust you're feeling better, Miss Austin?” Mr. Wayne asked.

I wasn't feeling too fantastic, but at least I didn't want to puke. For now.

“Sorry about yesterday,” I said. I sniffed hesitantly, but thankfully it didn't smell like throw-up in his office.

“Where's your clarinet?” Lori asked.

I lowered my backpack to the carpet. I'd texted her to come early, and I knew she thought we were
meeting to finish our play-through. Mr. Wayne probably did, too.

The clock above his desk ticked like a metronome. Twenty minutes until first period. Was that long enough to fix this?

Or ruin everything?

“I didn't bring my clarinet.” I finally raised my eyes to the best friend I'd ever had in my life. “I decided not to do our duet.”

“What?” Her blue eyes blinked wide, but I could almost see the thoughts chasing themselves through her mind. She half turned so Mr. Wayne couldn't see the look she shot me. “Of course we're going to do the duet. You still need to get your A.”

“I will,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt.

I turned to Mr. Wayne. “If it's okay, I'd like to do the solo instead. The one you gave me.”

“A solo?” Lori repeated.

Mr. Wayne smiled. “You've left it a bit late, Miss Austin, but I applaud your decision. Have you been working on the piece?”

“A little.”

“You've been working on a solo?” Lori shot up, nearly knocking over her chair. “Wait a minute. Why didn't you say something before?” She looked at Mr. Wayne. “Does that mean I can do the duet with Michael?”

“With two days until auditions?” He shook his head. “No, Miss Van Sant.”

“But you're letting Tay switch!”

“Because Tatum and I have discussed this before.” He set down his coffee and stood. “In fact, if you ladies will excuse me, I need to change the schedule. I believe I can still catch the secretary before she makes copies.” He swung out of the room at a near jog, his coffee still sloshing in his cup.

It would be cold in a minute the way the temperature in the room had just dropped.

Lori's eyes shot darts of ice. “What is going on?”

I took a breath.
How can you stand on your own two feet when your knees are wobbling?
“I decided to do a solo.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I got that. I want to know why. I thought we'd agreed.”

I sat in Mr. Wayne's chair, still feeling off balance. “I can't do it, Lori. I'm sorry, but I can't mess up on purpose.”

“So instead you're doing a solo? That's messing up even more, if you ask me.”

“Not if I play well.”

She looked at me in disbelief. “You hate playing alone. You freeze up—you always have. That's why we started doing duets—remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. But I never gave myself a chance. You came up with the idea of a duet, and after that I never even tried a solo.”

“Oh, so now it's my fault for not letting you screw up with a solo?”

“I didn't say that.” I puffed out a breath of frustration. “I just meant that I might be okay … if I let myself try.”

“I don't get it.” She shoved her hands through her hair. “Did someone talk you into this? Mr. Wayne? Aaron?”

“I decided on my own.”

“To do a
solo
?”

She rolled her eyes, and I knew she didn't believe me. It was hard to blame her. I wouldn't have believed me, either.

“If it's because of what I asked you to do, then you should have just said no. I would've understood.”

“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.

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, A
²
+ B
²
= C
²
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.