Audition & Subtraction (2 page)

Jenny had a heavy coil of green hose slung over her shoulder, but she still managed a shrug.

“Misa plays flute, and Kerry plays saxophone.”

Misa smiled while Kerry fixed him with her gaze and fluttered her eyelashes in a move she'd been perfecting
since fourth grade when her aunt said she had lovely eyelashes the color of soot. We'd had to look up the word “soot,” and even though it meant powdery smoke residue, Kerry thought it sounded glamorous.

“José is on percussion,” Mr. Wayne went on. “Tanner and Brandon—trumpet. Aaron—clarinet.” Then he nodded to where we stood. “Tatum also plays clarinet, and Lori is our principal flute.”

We both sort of nodded, and he smiled, his sunglasses reflecting back my face for a second before moving to Lori. His smile widened, and she shuffled from one foot to the other. I was still half behind her, and I tapped her with my shoulder.

Loser, right?
my shoulder nudge said.

She didn't nudge back.

“So,” Mr. Wayne was saying, “that's the crew for today. If we all—”

A loud motor rumbled up, drowning out his voice. The sharp smell of gas and asphalt rose as a red truck smeared with mud chugged past the gas pumps and stopped beside the hoses.

“That's my dad,” Jenny said.

“Excellent!” Mr. Wayne clapped his hands like he was starting band practice. “We have our first customer, people. Who's doing what?”

“Misa and I will do windows,” Kerry said.

“I'll run the hose,” Jenny offered.

Tanner grabbed a towel off the stack. “Me and Brandon will dry.”

“I got wheels,” José said, stuffing his drumsticks in his back pocket. He took his drumsticks everywhere—including the bathroom.

I raised my hand. “Money table.”

“I'll wash,” Michael said. Then he looked right at Lori. “You want to wash with me?”

I think I gasped, but it might have been Kerry, because her mouth had dropped open far enough that I could see the hangy thing in the back of her throat.

“What? Um …” Lori's cheeks flushed brick red as she turned to look at me. “I'm already … uh …”

“She's doing money table with me,” I said.

“I can wash after I put up the signs,” Aaron offered.

Michael tilted his chin in a micro nod. “'Kay.”

“Well, then, everyone,” Mr. Wayne said impatiently. “Get busy!”

There was a quick exchange of looks among Kerry, Misa, Lori, and me, but no time to talk. Jenny already had the hose going, and her dad was handing Mr. Wayne money.

Lori grabbed my arm and led me toward the table. Two metal chairs had been set up, half on asphalt and half on gravel so we could sit in the shade of the tree. “I am such an idiot,” she hissed.

“What?”

“Did you hear me back there? So embarrassing.”

Before I could say anything, Mr. Wayne strode over waving a stack of bills. “Our first donation.”

“Cool,” I said. “Thanks.” I pulled the gray metal cash
box closer as I sat down. Lori sat next to me, grinding her chair into the gravel. I opened the box and slid the bills under a metal clip.

By now, Jenny had sprayed the truck, and Michael was running a soapy rag along the front hood.

“So much for him being a dweeb, huh?” I said.

“Kerry's going to wear out her eyelashes,” Lori muttered.

“He hardly even noticed her. You're the one he was staring at.”

She combed her bangs with her fingertips. “I was not.”

“He asked you to wash with him.”

“I was the only one left.”

“Aaron was left.”

“It just … I wasn't … Oh snap,” she muttered. “I'm doing it again.”

Lori always got nervous around guys. I didn't blame her—guys had been major jerks to her for years. But no one was going to tease her about being fat now. Not that she'd been fat-fat or anything. Just sort of heavy. Then, in January, she got a bad case of stomach flu that lasted a week. She lost over eight pounds from being sick. Instead of gaining it back, she got serious about eating healthy and kept losing more. She'd always been pretty, but in the past few months, she'd turned beautiful. Way more beautiful than I'd ever be.

It's not that I'm unfortunate looking. I have nice
green eyes, my nose is bump-free, and my skin is so dry I never get zits. But my hair is an unnatural disaster. Basic brown and so thick I could double as a wooly mammoth. I've always been thin, but guys have never stared at me the way they do Lori. The way Michael stared when he first saw her.

The way he's staring right now.

I bumped her knee with mine. “He's watching you.”

“He is not,” she said. But the tips of her ears flared pink. “He's wearing sunglasses. You can't tell what he's looking at.”

“You're wearing sunglasses, and I can tell that you're looking at him.”

She bumped my knee back, only harder. “If I am,” she said, “it's just because I'm surprised. He's cute.”

“I don't know,” I said. “Don't you think he looks dumb with his shoelaces untied?”

“No. And ssshhh,” she added, turning to make sure no one was paying attention.

Nobody was. Aaron had grabbed the car-wash signs and disappeared around the front of the station. Everyone else was busy scrubbing mud off the truck. “If he didn't play clarinet, you'd think he was cute,” she said.

A sudden squeal came from the washing area. A second later, Misa sprinted out from behind the truck, her shirt soaking wet and half of one arm dripping. Tanner followed her, wiping water out of his eyes, his shirt already off. Kerry high-fived Michael like he was her BFF.

“Kerry doesn't even know him. He could be a serial killer,” I said. “Ted Bundy was cute, and he was a serial killer.”

“See, you do think he's cute,” Lori said with a grin. “Hey, look,” she added. “Kerry's waving us over. You want to go?”

“And wash? No.” I paused. “Why? Do you?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“Because of Michael Malone?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Not because of him.”

“Good. Because he's a potential serial killer.”

She gave me one of her patented double eye-rolls. “You watch too much History Channel.”

I tried to double eye-roll back, but it made my eye sockets hurt. “Even if he isn't a deranged psychopath, I thought we were going to hate him.”

“We can hate him while we wash cars.”

“Seriously?” I said. “You want to go wash cars?”

“It would be a good way to pump him for information about where he sat in his old band.” She gave me a pointed look.

“I guess,” I said. “But I've got to stay with the money.”

“Aaron can do it.”

A white SUV pulled in, country music blaring from the open window. Misa had just peeled off her shirt. Kerry, too. Their suits were flattering. Mine was flattening. “No, I'll stay.”

“Do you care if I go?” Her eyes flickered toward Michael and then back at me.

I forced a shrug. “If you want to …”

She pushed back her chair. “You're sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.” But before I'd gotten the words out, she was already gone.

“You alone?” Aaron's shoes crunched on the gravel as he walked over.

“Lori decided to wash for a few,” I said. “Aren't you supposed to be doing signs?”

He slid into her chair and dragged it closer to the table. “I bungee-corded them to the light posts.”

Aaron wore green gym shorts and a red T-shirt that said EINSTEIN WAS A SPACE CADET, TOO. He wasn't a loser—he just dressed like one. I couldn't imagine Aaron with his shoelaces untied. He had a nice face, not that you could see all of it. His reddish-brown hair always hung halfway over his eyes, though today he'd stuffed it under a baseball hat.

“So how much have we made?” he asked, opening the metal box.

“Fifteen dollars.” I watched two more cars pull
around. Jenny turned on the hose, and there were shrieks as the water sprayed wild for a second. Lori stood in the middle of it all. It was like looking at someone I didn't know, some pretty girl with shiny blond hair and a wet T-shirt, laughing so hard even I could hear her. How could that be Lori? When had she ever wanted to be in the middle of anything without me being there, too?

Mr. Wayne walked over with a stack of one-dollar bills. “From the SUV driver,” he said, handing it to Aaron.

“Nice,” Aaron said. Instead of charging a set amount, we were asking for donations. So far, it seemed to be paying off. He waved the bills at me. “I'm guessing we can make big bucks. Look, another customer.”

A blue van pulled up. Michael grabbed his board and a wet rag and skated along the side of the van, washing as he went. Then his wheels hit a towel someone had dropped and he flipped off. Lori busted up.

“You think that's funny?” I heard him say. Then he grabbed a bucket and launched a sheet of soapy water at her. She screamed and turned, but she was laughing her butt off.

Her eyes flashed over my way.

I half waved.

She peeled the wet bangs off her face and said something to Kerry. Then she ran toward the money table. Unexpected relief washed through me—she was coming back.

She stopped short of the table, breathing hard. A line of soap dripped off her shoulder. “You good here?” Before I could answer, she yanked off her shirt. “Keep this for me?” With a wide smile, she dropped the shirt on the table. “Thanks!”

I watched her race back, her flip-flops leaving wet prints like a trail I couldn't follow.

“Go wash,” Aaron said softly. “I got this.”

I lifted my shoulders for a shrug, but that only reminded me of the suit under my tee. I'd look stupid wearing my shirt when everyone else was in a bikini. “I will in a while,” I said as I hung Lori's shirt over the back of my chair.

Aaron nodded even though I could tell he didn't believe me. Which was okay. Aaron was pretty cool. I'd known him forever, but this past year we'd gotten to be good friends. Sometimes I wanted to punch him for always being so smart, but mostly he was easy to be around.

He finished counting out the dollar bills in the box. “So the new guy seems okay.”

“I guess.” I slouched back in my chair. “I just wish he didn't play clarinet.”

“You'll make District Honor Band,” he said. “You made it last year.”

“Barely.” I chewed at the inside of my cheek. Aaron didn't have anything to worry about. He'd finished first last year. I'd eked out third place—by
one
point! The
only reason I'd done that well was because I had Lori as my duet partner. I got nervous on my own, but Lori was so good she made me sound good, too.

The funny part was that
I
had talked Lori into band in the first place. My mom had signed me up for clarinet lessons when I was ten. I figured the music experiment would turn out like the ballet lessons, cheerleading camp, YMCA soccer, and tumbling—in other words, humiliating.

Instead, I loved it. I loved how solid the clarinet felt in my hands, the smell of the reed, and how my fingers could turn notes on a page into actual music.

Lori decided on the flute, and wouldn't you know—she turned out to be a natural. I tried not to let it bother me that it came so easily for her. Besides, even if you're not a natural, that doesn't mean you can't make up for it by working harder. But sometimes, I still worried that no matter how much I practiced, it wouldn't be enough.

Next year, most of us would go to Adobe High, and kids like Lori and Aaron would make Wind Ensemble, the school's top performance band. They'd go on to be selected for Regionals and even All-State. Me, I'd probably end up in Concert Band, the basic, no-cut band. I'd be one of those kids who was good, but not good enough.

Maybe that was why District Honor Band felt so important. It was my chance to sit on that stage with everyone as if I were a natural—and not just someone
who wanted to be. Up until a week ago, I'd been pretty sure I could squeak out the third spot again. But that was before Mr. Youth Symphony showed up.

No wonder I was face-scrunching in my sleep.

I blinked as a kid ran over wearing SpongeBob pajamas and waving money. He paid Aaron with two crumpled five-dollar bills. Aaron wiped the jelly off one of them.

“If you're worried,” Aaron said, “you should do a solo.”

I fake shivered. “I'd rather eat out of a litter box.”

“You score higher with a solo,” he pointed out.

“Not if you pass out in the middle of it.”

“You won't pass out!”

“No,” I agreed, “because I'm not doing a solo. Besides, I don't need to. Lori's my secret weapon.”

I paused while a woman with pigtails, overalls, and orange platform sandals walked up. Then she paid with a twenty and refused any change, so I forced my eyebrows back into place. It didn't feel right to make fun of her.

I studied Michael as he soaped up another car. “He doesn't look like he'd be that good.”

Aaron adjusted the brim of his hat. “You can tell that from a car wash?”

“No,” I said. “But he's got pouty lips. That's bad for the embouchure.”

“Pouty lips?”

“Yeah.” I shoved him with the heel of my hand.

Aaron laughed. “Do I have pouty lips?” He puckered like a blowfish.

“No.”

“So what kind of lips do I have?” He puckered again.

“I'm not some kind of lip expert,” I said. But I looked anyway. At his lips. It was no big deal except I suddenly thought about how in movies right before a big kiss, the girl looks at the guy's lips, and then there's this pause. And here I was, looking at Aaron's lips, and there was a pause.

Heat flooded my cheeks at the whole weirdness of it. “I don't know,” I said, looking away. “You have regular lips. Clarinet lips.”