Audition & Subtraction (20 page)

I gasped. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “You gotta do what you gotta do. It's a competition, right?”

“That doesn't make it okay.”

“She didn't have to ask you. And you didn't have to say yes.”

I leaned forward, curling my toes into the scratchy carpet. “It's still a crappy thing to do. And if you're as good as you say, you wouldn't have had to.”

“I didn't have to. It was insurance.”

“Liar.” I eye-rolled him a heavy dose of disbelief. “You're as worried as I am. Admit it.”

He shrugged.

“I don't get why. You played in a youth symphony. What's the big deal about middle school district band?”

His jaw tensed, but I couldn't read his eyes—they were focused on a patch of carpet. “The youth symphony was directed by my dad's friend. I got in without an audition.”

“But …” I sat there a second with my mouth hanging open. “I was so freaked about that when you moved here, you have no idea.” I blinked. “Wait a minute. Is your dad really a musician in New York?”

“Yeah.” He looked up. “That part's all true. Too true,” he added under his breath. “Music is all he cares about.”

“Are you really going to go to New York to live with him?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

Or maybe not.
That part Michael didn't say, but I could hear it in the silence that followed. If there was a plan, it was Michael's plan.

What would I do for a chance to be with my dad?
I wondered. “Well, congrats. I bought the whole confident act,” I said.

“My dad taught me that.” He crossed one foot over his knee. “He says you fake confidence long enough and before you know it, it's not fake.”

“And that works?”

He noticed the price tag on his shoe and picked at it with his fingers. “It works better on other people than it works on yourself.” He peeled up half of the gummy tag. “Other people don't know you're faking—they see
confidence and believe it. But you always know it's a show.”

“It didn't seem like a show—you had me convinced.”

“Hopefully, I convinced Count Freakula, too.”

“Hopefully, you didn't.”

He glanced up, but a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Guess we'll find out tomorrow.”

I smiled back. “Yep.” Mr. Wayne had decided not to post results until the morning so everyone could enjoy the night. “Now we can all be too nervous to sleep.”

“Except Hallady,” Michael muttered.

“He'll be relaxing in his coffin.”

Michael laughed. He flicked the tag off his fingers and onto the carpet. “So why'd you really decide to do a solo?”

I thought a minute. “I can't rely on Lori forever. If I want to keep playing, I'm going to have to do a solo sometime. And I want to keep playing.”

We were both quiet then, and I felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. I wondered if I would like Michael now that we weren't enemies.

“So how did you do?” he asked suddenly. “Really?”

I hugged my middle and let out a sigh, thinking back. In the first horrible minute, I'd squeaked trying to shift to the upper octave. I'd winced. Even worse, Hallady had winced. But I hadn't freaked out. When I squeaked in the closet, I just started over. So that's what I did. I didn't ask for permission, or even look at him. I took a breath, and the second time through, I nailed it.

“I wasn't perfect,” I told Michael. “But I was the best I could be.” The words hung in the air a second, and I breathed them back in. Kind of amazing, really. I'd done a solo, and I hadn't exploded. Maybe I wasn't going to win any awards, but music had filled that room, and it had all been
me
.

“So how did
you
do. Really?” I asked.

His eyes flickered with uncertainty. “I played it solid. It's just … hard to know.”

A low buzzing filled the room, and I looked around. Was it the air conditioner again? Then Michael dug in his back pocket, and I realized it was his cell vibrating.

He looked at the screen. “It's Lor. She finished. Went well.” He typed something.

“She always kills at auditions,” I said.

His phone beeped again, and he stood up. “I got to go. Oh—and she says she has the jeans she borrowed.”

“Okay.”

“Room 307,” he added.

I nodded, even though I already knew. I still had the key card in my purse.

“You coming to the party later—room 382?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Maybe.”

He pulled open the door and stood there for a long second. “Good luck,” he finally said.

I smiled. “Yeah. You, too.”

I knocked on the door of room 307. No answer. I pressed my ear to the wall, and when I didn't hear anything, I slid the key card into the slot, pushed down the metal handle, and slowly walked inside.

“Lori?” I called out. “You here?” I smelled the jasmine body lotion she loved and saw her open suitcase, but no Lori. My jeans were there on the far bed—tucked under a pair of black sweats.

I stepped over pink flip-flops and a pair of inside-out shorts, then grabbed my jeans and took a quick look around. This was where I was supposed to be. My suitcase would have been next to Lori's, and our stuff would have been mixed together by now. In the bathroom, our makeup would have been spread out on the counter—my sweet-pea lotion next to her jasmine. I stopped as I faced myself in the mirror over
the dresser. Lori and I would have stood here tonight getting ready.

How many times had we done that before? My mind crowded with memories. The year we both dressed up as black cats for Halloween and painted whiskers on each other's cheeks. The last day of fifth grade when we'd gotten our ears pierced and then stared at our reflections for nearly an hour wondering if we looked older. There were a million other times that weren't anything special—just us fixing our hair together or counting freckles or swapping lip-gloss colors.

My eyes filled, and my face wavered and blurred in the mirror. I used to blur my vision on purpose with Lori. I'd cross my eyes so that the edges of us overlapped in the mirror and we looked like one person. Only now it was just me.

The lock clicked, and I hurriedly blinked my eyes as Lori pushed open the door.

“He-hey,” I stammered, embarrassment rushing through me as her eyes widened and she froze in the entry.

“I got a key when I checked in—they just gave it to me. And I knocked, but you weren't here.” I held up the jeans. “I came in to get these.”

“It's okay,” she said. “I'm glad you did.” She walked over and set her flute case on the bed, pulling out the clip holding her bangs back. She'd twisted the rest of her hair into a bun like she always did. And I'd been with
her a month ago when she'd bought the black dress. How did things change so much so fast? I squeezed the jeans to my chest, wishing I could stop thinking about everything from before.

“How did your audition go?” I asked.

She sighed and nodded. “Good. Great, even. How was yours?”

“Great. Really … great.” Then I smiled to hide the fact that I didn't know what else to say.
How can I be with Lori and not know what to say?

She ran her tongue over her lips, and I could tell she felt weird, too.

“Well, I should go,” I said, moving toward the door.

“Tay.”

Her voice stopped me, and when I looked over, her eyes were shiny.

“I'm glad you did great. Really, I am. I hope you make it.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice suddenly thick. I could tell she meant it. But I thought she'd probably said the same thing to Michael and meant it then, too.

“And thanks for letting me wear your jeans.”

“I said you could keep them—you really do look good in them.” I paused. “I always thought you looked good—whatever size jeans you wore.”

“Thanks.” She swallowed. “I just didn't feel right keeping them. Not after … well, you know.”

I hugged the jeans. “Yeah.” I shrugged. “I'm sorry, Lori. I wish things had been different.”

“I'm sorry, too,” she said. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I thought we'd be best friends forever.”

“I know,” I said. “In some weird way, it's like you're still my best friend even if we're not friends anymore.”

It didn't make sense—I knew that. But it was completely true. I couldn't erase our whole history after one weekend. It was like Andrew had said about Dad. I hated that shiny house of his and everything it meant, but it was still Dad.

I'd have to tell Aaron—if we ever spoke again—that I'd figured out something that doesn't change no matter what. The past. Nothing could mess up the way things had been—not even the way things had turned out now.

Lori wrapped her arms around her middle. “I'm sorry I got so mad.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't do what you wanted.”

“I should never have asked.”

“No,” I agreed, “you shouldn't have.”

She paused a second. “Can we just forget that I ever did? Can we erase it, call a do-over, and go back to how things were?”

And that, I suddenly realized, was the downside of the past being unchangeable. You could never erase what had happened—not completely. No matter how much I wanted to. “I think things are going to be different no matter what we do.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But
we
don't have to be different. We've been best friends for six years—we're Tay-Lo, right?”

For the first time, it hit me: for all these years, I'd depended on her, but she'd depended on me, too. Maybe she looked beautiful on the outside, but I knew her on the inside, and she didn't make friends easily—no easier than I did.

“This is stupid, isn't it?” she said suddenly. “The two of us fighting. Especially now—when we've been talking about this weekend forever.” Her hands flew up. “That's it. You know what we're going to do? We'll go get your stuff, and then we're going to share the room like we planned.”

“Lori—”

“Yes,” she said, grabbing my wrist the way she always did. “You have to. That can be your bed,” she said, pointing to the one next to the window.

I pulled free. “I'm not going to stay here tonight.”

She blinked, surprised. “Why not?”

“Because we can't erase everything that happened.”

She tossed her clothes off the bed and onto the floor. “There—it's all yours.”

“Lori, no,” I said. “Things have to be different.”

She paused at my voice, which had jumped at least three decibel levels. “What things?”

“For one, you asked me to screw up my audition!”

“And I would never do that again,” she said.

I rubbed a hand around my neck. “It's not just that.”

“Then what?” She sat down, kicking off her shoes. “I'm listening.”

I took a breath.
Okay. What?
I sat down on the opposite bed. “Well, for starters, you can't blow me off for your boyfriend. I mean,” I added, “you can, but I'm going to be mad about it.”

“I never said you couldn't get mad.”

“But when I do, you act like you'll never talk to me again.”

She looked down and gave the tiniest of shrugs. “Okay, so maybe I do that sometimes. But now that I know,” she said, meeting my eyes, “I won't do it anymore. What else?”

“Band,” I said.

“What about band?”

“I think I can be good.”

“I never said you couldn't.”

“But you act like it.”

“Because you act like it,” she shot back. “You're the one always saying you stink. Or that you shouldn't try for Wind Ensemble.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but this time I had to look away. She was right. “Well, I'm not going to do that anymore. I'm going to keep playing—no matter what happens tomorrow morning.”

“You should,” she said. “Maybe you can join my summer ensemble group.”

“I'm not sure—”

“Or we'll find a music camp.” She gestured with a hand for me to keep going. “What else?”

I paused a second and then laughed. “Whatever I say, are you just going to agree?”

“No.” She smiled. “See?”

I sighed. “I can't believe we're finally talking about all this.”

“And I can't believe we're not
done
talking about it,” Lori said. “Because you could have had your suitcase by now. We could be out of these stupid dresses and getting ready for a party.” She got up and slid her feet into her flip-flops. “Come on. I'll go with you to get your stuff.”

And it was so much like before, like it had always been, that I almost stood up and let her lead the way.

But I was done following.

“We're not going to get my stuff.”

She turned back around with a frown. “You want to borrow something? I brought the purple shirt you like.”

“No.” I took a deep breath. “I'm not going to stay here tonight—I told you.”

“But that was before we worked everything out.”

“This is part of me working stuff out.”

“Staying with Kerry and Misa?” She rolled her eyes. “That doesn't make any sense. Come on, Tay.” She strode back and leaned down to grab my wrist.

Before she could, I tucked my hands under my arms, stiffening as her eyes narrowed in a frown.

“I don't get it—what's the problem?”

I sighed, not sure how to explain. But if I stayed, I'd
let her grab my wrist and not only that, but I'd
like
it—it was easy just to go along and trust Lori to know where we were headed. And I'd lie in bed and measure my breath to hers, and I'd stand next to her in front of the mirror and blur my vision until I'd blurred the edges of myself. I'd fall back into Tay-Lo and the perfectness of having a best friend. It would be just like it always was—the way I always wanted it to be. Except somewhere in the past few weeks, something unexpected had changed.