Audition & Subtraction (17 page)

I didn't want to think about Aaron. I used to ignore
him without even trying to, but now he was permanently stuck in my head. I thought I could fix things, but he wouldn't let me. In science on Monday, I'd made jokes about Sam the frog and let him do all the cutting. He froze me out anyway, until I got mad and threatened him with a straight pin covered in frog skin.

“What do you want me to say?” he had asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “Aren't we even friends anymore?”

“Are we?” He had looked at me with eyes as flat and cold as Sam's skin. “Did you check with Lori? Is it okay with her? I wouldn't want you to get in trouble.”

Maybe I should have known then. Maybe I should have seen it coming. But I had to choke back a cry when he walked into band on Monday and sat down. In the first row. In a chair that hadn't been there the week before. Even then, I had to hear it from Mr. Wayne.

“We'll be doing a little rearranging in the clarinet section,” he told the band. “Aaron will be playing first part. It's so close to the end of the year, I don't want to make any other moves, so we'll just add a chair to the end of the row as we've already done.”

Mr. Wayne met my eyes. “Tatum, you can move up one chair, and now you'll be sharing a stand with Michael.”

I understood then. Aaron wasn't just moving up. He was breaking up.

As I slid over to the chair that should have been
Aaron's, I hated him. I hated Michael, and I hated Lori, and I wanted to scream out loud that I hated everyone. I wanted to scream that I hated myself.

But I didn't scream. I swallowed back my tears, because that's what I always did. I'd swallowed my hurt when Lori told me about the duet with Michael. I'd swallowed my anger when she asked me to mess up. I'd swallowed my misery over Aaron.

And now, sitting next to Lori in Mr. Wayne's office, all I had to do was swallow my pride. Except … I couldn't. It was too much, all of it swirling around inside me. My stomach shuddered, and the feelings I'd kept inside rose up in a hot, burning ache.

Oh God. I'm going to be sick.

I lurched out of my chair and grabbed the plastic garbage can by Mr. Wayne's desk. I leaned over it just in time. Watery acid came up in waves, like sobs I couldn't control. My hands clenched the sides of the can, until finally, I sank to my knees, empty and exhausted. I squeezed tears from the corners of my eyes and wiped a hand over my mouth.

And suddenly I flashed back to the day in third grade when I'd gotten sick on Lori and unexpectedly discovered my best friend. Here I was again, but had the opposite happened? Had I just lost my best friend?

That heavy girl with the friendly eyes and pink sandals had reshaped herself into someone new. I'd watched it happen … watched her discover new things
that didn't include me. Was I just being blind like Aaron said? I'd been trying so hard to hold on—but to what?

“I can't do this,” I whimpered. “I can't.”

Even I wasn't sure who I was talking to. Mr. Wayne—or Lori.

“Sounds like stomach flu,” I heard the nurse say through the open door. “She was sick in Phillip Wayne's office.”

“Where is she?” a worried voice asked. My mom.

“Lying down on one of the beds.”

“Thanks, Janet.”

Janet was Mrs. Garcia, the school nurse, and I'd told her not to call Mom. I'd told her she'd be teaching, and I'd just wait for school to be over.

I lay back, resting my head against the wall, and listened to Mom's quick strides down the short hall. For some reason, just hearing her footsteps made me want to cry.

The door creaked open a few more inches. Mom saw me and smiled. “Hi, honey,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

She looked weird in this white room. Too colorful. She wore a yellow shirt, purple skirt, and black polka-dot tennis shoes. Sometimes her teacher outfits made me want to cringe, but today she just looked good.

“You okay?” She brushed aside a few loose strands of my bangs and laid her hand on my forehead. “No fever.”

“It's just my stomach. I told Mrs. Garcia not to call.”

She sat beside me, barely fitting both legs next to mine. It wasn't much of a bed. Thin mattress, scratchy sheet, lumpy pillow—and a wide strip of blue paper that covered the bottom half. It crinkled as Mom crossed her ankles.

“The kids are all at an assembly this afternoon,” she said. “You picked the perfect day to get sick.”

She smiled and I did, too. Only my smile wobbled, and all of a sudden tears were rolling down my cheeks like rain.

Mom didn't say anything, just leaned her head back against the wall and waited. Her hand curved around mine, and I held on, crying silently in case someone out there was listening.

When my shoulders stopped shaking, she handed me a tissue. That was a good thing about kindergarten teachers. They always had tissues in their pockets.

I let go of her hand and blew my nose.

“It's not really the stomach flu, is it?” she asked softly.

I shook my head.

She shifted just enough to study my face as if she were reading me like a book. Talk about a horror story.

“You haven't been yourself since you came home from Lori's the other morning,” she said. “You ready to tell me why?”

“I can't. It sounds so bad.”

She reached for my hand again. “It's okay. Moms can handle anything.”

“It's about District Honor Band.” I sniffled and took a long breath. “Lori tried to help Michael by doing a duet with him, too, only then Mr. Wayne said she couldn't.”

“Because she's doing one with you?” Mom asked.

I nodded. “Michael got mad because now he has to do a solo. And Lori's afraid Michael will break up with her because of it. She asked me if I'd help.”

The strip of paper crinkled as Mom shifted again. “How could you help?”

“By having a bad audition.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “She asked you to play badly on purpose?”

“Only if I want to,” I whispered.

“Why in the world would you want to?” she exclaimed.

“For our friendship.” I pulled my hand free and twisted the tissue in my fingers. “I told you it sounds bad. Aaron called me lame when I told him. And then he broke up with me.” I shrugged helplessly as new tears
gathered. “I didn't know what to do. Today, I tried to play for Mr. Wayne, and I couldn't stop squeaking. I felt so sick that I threw up in his office.”

“Heavens,” Mom muttered. She handed me a new tissue. “Why didn't you just tell Lori no?”

“I wanted to,” I said, “but Lori's my best friend. She's been there for me—and I figured that I should be there for her.”

“What about being there for yourself?” Mom said stiffly.

I swallowed a sob. My throat still ached from being sick. “I wish Michael had never moved here.”

“Don't blame this on Michael,” she snapped. “It's not Michael's fault. It's not even Lori's fault. Yes, I'm disappointed that she would ever ask you to play poorly. But more than that, I'm disappointed that you would even consider it.”

The bite in Mom's voice stung. “I didn't know what else to do.”

“How about coming right out and flatly telling her no?”

“I tried,” I groaned. “But it would have turned into a fight.”

“So? You've had fights before.”

“It's different this time.”

“Because of Michael?”

“Because of everything.” I threw up a hand, the wet tissue wadded in my fist. “Because she's beautiful and
thin and she has a boyfriend and she could have other friends if she wants.”

“Ah,” Mom said, nodding her head slowly. “So she won't need you. Is that it?”

“Maybe,” I muttered, but the new stream of tears said
yes.

“Oh, Tatum,” she said with a sigh. “I'm sorry I didn't see what was happening before now. Of course things are changing for Lori.”

“But why does that mean
we
have to change?”

She rubbed my back softly. “It's just usually how it goes. But if Lori is a friend worth keeping, you'll work things out.”

“That's what I was trying to do,” I said. “Work things out.”

“By giving up your dream for hers?” Mom shook her head. “No friend would want that.”

“You don't get it,” I mumbled.

She raised my chin until our eyes met. “You don't think I understand about being suddenly alone? About losing a person you've relied on for years?”

My heart thudded at the look in her eyes. “You mean Dad?”

She nodded.

“But you're going to get back together.” I twisted the tissue until it shredded in my hand. “Aren't you?”

“No, honey,” she said. “We aren't. Your father and I …” She took a breath.

“You miss him,” I blurted, before she could say anything else. “I know you do.”

She slid up straighter, stretching the paper under her shoes until it ripped in a jagged line. “I'm sad, Tatum. I've been sad because I love your dad in many ways. And your dad loves me, too, which makes this so hard. But we don't love each other anymore in the way that married people should. And yes, being alone after nineteen years of marriage is hard. It'll be hard for a long while, I guess.” Her fingers feathered over my cheek. “For all of us, I know. And I'm sorry for that. But you know we love you and that hasn't changed.”

She sighed. “I understand how you feel about Lori. How scary it is to think about losing a person you've relied on. But the amazing thing about standing on your own two feet—you find your balance. And you get stronger with each passing day.”

“It won't be like that for me. I'm not—”

She put her fingers to my mouth, stopping my words. “Don't tell me who you aren't, Tay. Tell me who you are.”

She dropped her hand, and I opened my mouth again. But my throat was empty of words.

“Tell me who Tatum Austin is,” Mom urged. “In your own words.”

I licked my lips. “A good friend.”

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “What else?”

I leaned back against the wall. “Aaron thinks I'm funny.”

“I want to know what
you
think.”

“I guess I'm funny,” I said. “And I'm good at numbers. And Mr. Wayne says—” I stopped myself. “I have nice clarinet tone when there's no spit in my mouthpiece.”

Mom smiled and patted my hand. “Is it so hard to recognize that you're a talented and special person? We all see it, Tay. Me. Your dad. Mr. Wayne. But it doesn't matter what we think. It matters what
you
think.”

She slid her arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer. “Can I give you a piece of mom advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

“No.” I felt her smile against my cheek, and then she said, “It's okay to be afraid. Everyone is afraid in their own way. The trick is to not let that fear stop you from doing what you want. So tell me this—what do you really want? Is it District Honor Band?”

I didn't even have to think. “Yeah. I want to make District Honor Band, and I know it could help me make Wind Ensemble. I really want that, too, but—”

“No buts,” she interrupted. “And how does Lori fit in to that?”

I took a long breath. “She's still my best friend.”

“Then she'll support you, Tatum. You just need to be honest with her. Can you do that?”

I blew my nose again and nodded slowly.

“Good,” she said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “So
what can you do to give yourself the best possible chance of making District Honor Band?”

“I probably should have played a solo,” I said. “But it's too late now. Auditions are only three days away.”

“So?” she said, raising one eyebrow.

“I can't pull together a solo in three days.”

“Who says you can't?” she challenged. “‘Can't' is what we tell ourselves when something is hard. But, in fact, you
can
.”

“But I wouldn't do very well.”

“Are you doing well with your duet?”

I paused a second. “No.”

“Well, then?”

I shook my head. “Lori would kill me for changing at the last minute.”

“This isn't about Lori.”

“But I've never auditioned by myself before, and Mr. Wayne would have to change the schedule—if he'd even let me, which I bet he wouldn't. It's not worth fighting over.”

“This isn't just about District Honor Band,” she said. “Don't you see, Tatum? You're fighting for yourself.”

That night, I sat on my bed with my soft mattress and my fluffy comforter and my double-stuffed pillow. My Spanish book was open on my lap, but I couldn't
concentrate. I might as well have been back in the nurse's office with the smell of antiseptic and the crinkle of protective paper. My brain felt like it was still there … still stuck in the middle of a conversation and trying to find a way out.