“Or,” Ruth began, “maybe you could just go to Homecoming with your friends? And take some time to get over Wesley, since it sounds like he really hurt you?”
I thought about it for a second. “Nah.”
“I saw him first at orientation. Technically, I should be scheming how to get him for Homecoming. Plus, he’s Latino, which means we’ll have adorable bilingual children,” Fabián pointed out.
“Please, Fabián?” I wheedled.
Fabián sighed. “He’s my competition for the fall play, you know.”
“You did already get asked to Homecoming today,” Ruth revealed. “By that sophomore with the green hair.”
Fabián drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah, I’m still not sure if I want to go with Austin,” he replied. I knew it. Fabián was too impressive to be dateless for long. Why he hung out with us was truly an enigma.
“Please, Fabián? I need your blessing. Or whatever people bless.” Dad was Shiite Muslim and Mom was Episcopalian. Who knew how blessings worked?
“Fine.” Fabián rolled his eyes. “I bless this stupid Matty scheme. But you have to promise to be real with us and not whatever version of yourself you’re using to bait boys.”
“Hey!” Ruth shouted. “I didn’t give my blessing. And I don’t think I will.” She crossed her arms, looking between Fabián and me.
“Ruth”—I patted her gently—“you’ve been outvoted.”
■ ■ ■ BAND 1:30 P.M.
This high school was so massive I got lost on my way to band, even though I’d had the tour only a few days ago. The band room wasn’t even connected to the school—it was in a completely different structure on the other side of the main building that you had to access by exiting the front door, walking under a couple weird overhangs, then huffing and puffing up a hill to make it on time. After lunch, Ruth had stormed ahead without me, saying that this plan was the worst thing she’d ever heard. I got to the clarinet section just as the bell rang, and our band director, Ms. Kaiser, called the class to order.
“All right,” she said, tapping her baton on her music stand. “Today, we’re just going to sort everyone into chairs. We’ll start with the chromatic and then a random scale that will be different for each student.” I turned around, wondering whether I was just seeing him out of the corner of my eye or if he was really there. Yes! There, in the trumpet section, was Matty. My plan was already off to a great start.
And then, to my horror, Ms. Kaiser started auditioning the flutes . . . in front of the entire class. Usually for an audition you went into a separate room where your band instructor tested you on scales and a prepared piece (usually behind a curtain so they weren’t biased), but doing it in front of other students was unheard of . . . at least in middle school.
I had been playing the clarinet since sixth grade, when our elementary school’s band teacher said that anyone who played an instrument would get to be excused from regular lessons for two hours a week if we joined. Of course, I signed up. Anything to skip class for two hours. Ruth had always wanted to play the clarinet, so I picked the same instrument as her.
Mom and Dad had agreed that playing an instrument would be good for college applications, so it stuck. All throughout middle school, no one had taken band that seriously (except Ruth, of course). But now, I could tell that high school band was going to be a major commitment. What had I gotten myself into? And was it too late to quit?
Matty sat in the brass section, laughing about something his friend had whispered to him. I could almost feel his presence behind me and felt hyperaware that we were in the same room even though we didn’t know each other well (yet). I wondered if he could please turn around and cover his ears during my audition. How was I going to get him to ask me to Homecoming if he heard what a terrible clarinetist I was?
“Ruth,” I whispered. She was already fingering the chromatic scale on her clarinet. “I think I am going to have a nosebleed.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you practice at all over the summer?”
I shook my head. I’d been too busy dropping fries near people snoozing on the beach so they could be woken unpleasantly by loud, squawking seagulls digging for food. The person I dropped fries with would now remain nameless. Needless to say, clarinet practice had not been high on our list of activities over the summer.
Ruth didn’t even bother responding. She just sat there, cool as a cucumber, her scales already memorized while she ignored me. Ms. Kaiser finished with the flutes, where sophomore Yessenia López got first chair. She smirked at the rest of us and skipped proudly to the front row.
I fiddled with my clarinet, adjusting the reed and mouthpiece and doing my best to run my fingers over all the little keys and finger holes. I actually wasn’t too bad at the chromatic scale, aka the scale where you played every possible note the instrument could belt out, in order. But deep down I knew that whatever random scale I was tasked with would be a disaster, since I always confused them in my head.
Too soon, Ms. Kaiser turned her attention to the clarinets. I could actually feel my heart pounding in my chest, which wasn’t fair, as it wasn’t at the right tempo.
Ruth auditioned first with her perfect embouchure, the corners of her mouth tucked neatly around her clarinet reed. Her scales were flawless, her fingers flying over the keys like a spider scuttling up a branch. Then Ms. Kaiser pointed her hatchet at me. I took a deep breath, my hands already trembling over the keys. Dear God, or Allah, or whoever is listening—please let me nail this audition.
My brain felt like it was going to explode from nerves, but luckily my fingers remembered
