His Work of Art (13 page)

S
ydney Peters shoved another spoonful of cereal in her mouth and stared at the calendar. Two weeks. That's all she had left to suffer through until marching band was over for the year. Two weeks of practice and drills and football games. Then she could pack up the fucking cymbals until next summer.

Her older sister Trisha came into the kitchen still in her robe. “Aren't you going to be late?”

“Whatever.” Sydney slurped at her milk to prevent Trish from nagging again. They were both well aware she needed the scholarship the marching band gave her for school. It didn't mean Syd had to like it.

“I don't see what's so bad about band. You get to play the instrument you love. The music's not all bad. So the uniforms are a little dorky, but you look good on the field.” Trisha poured herself a cup of coffee.

“I don't get to play the instrument I love. I play the damn cymbals. Just once I would like to be given an actual drum. I sucked it up last year as the new kid, waiting, thinking that at some point, as guys graduate, I could step up. Instead, it's this patronizing attitude. The drums are heavy. They'll be awkward. There are already other players waiting. But the worst is that I'm so good at the cymbals, they don't want to lose me.” She dumped her bowl in the sink. “It's all bullshit. I don't even know why I need to finish school. I want to play. I don't need a degree to do that.”

Trisha sighed the same way their mom always had. “We made a deal with Dad. You get to live with me in the city as long as you're in school.”

“That was when I was underage. I'm twenty-one. I can live wherever I want.”

Trish patted her arm. “But you don't want to let Dad down. Suck it up. Only another year and a half until graduation. Only a few weeks until you can forget about band for a while.”

It annoyed her how well her sister knew her. Of course she wouldn't let their dad down. He'd decided the only way for them to have a good life was to go to college, like college could solve every problem.

He held fast to the idea that if he had gone to college his life, and by extension their lives, would've been so much easier.

So she was in school, getting a graphic design degree that would be useless because all she wanted to do was play music.

But Trish did have a point: only a few weeks and she could say good-bye to being out in the cold, stomping on hard grass, pretending to enjoy herself during a football game. She tossed her backpack into her car and drove to the field. She shoved a hat on her head and grabbed her cymbals from the trunk. Just as she slammed the lid down, someone whistled at her.

Sydney's head popped up, ready to berate whatever asshole thought it was okay to catcall, when she saw her friend Emma running down the aisle of cars. She skidded to a halt in front of Sydney. “Whoa. You look ready to bite someone's head off.”

“I thought you were some guy whistling at me.”

“Lighten up. So what if I was? You look ready to commit bodily harm.”

“I'm just extra cranky. It's cold and I want the season to be over. Plus, that tenor hasn't done his shit this week yet.”

“What?”

“You know who I'm talking about. The tenor sax guy who hits on anything female. Every week since the summer, I can't walk by without him playing some song at me.”

Emma smirked. “How do you know he's playing for you?”

They headed toward the field together. “He stands off to the side and waits for me to get within ten feet before playing a note. Trust me, he's flirting, in his own lame way.”

Emma nudged her shoulder. “His name is Hunter. He's a huge flirt, but totally harmless. He's just having fun. He does it to make people smile. No one takes him seriously. As far as I know, he's never dated anyone from band. Plus, he's cute.”

Emma had her there. The guy was cute, but even Syd knew he had a reputation for dating around a lot. She hadn't given him too much thought. Okay, that was a lie. Last season she'd crushed on him pretty hard, but he hadn't given her a second glance. She had no idea what had changed, but these past few months had been torturous.

She had no desire to waste her time on a fling with some guy who would toss her aside next week. “Does anyone ever flirt back? Maybe that's why he doesn't date anyone.”

“Oh, no, plenty flirt back. It's a game to keep things fun. How could you not have caught on?”

“It wasn't included in band camp.” Sydney wasn't quite sure what to do with that. They neared the mob of people who would turn into organized rows of musicians. Sure enough, tenor guy stood off to the side, staring in her direction even as he carried on a conversation with another sax player.

He said nothing as he brought his instrument up and played the first notes. Syd continued walking, trying to ignore him. She got a few feet past him when the notes of his song bounced through her mind and recognition hit. He was playing the damn Disney song “Let It Go.”

Oh yeah, this guy was hilarious. So he thought she was an ice queen. He got close to the chorus and Syd paused mid-stride. Just as the ice queen accepted her fate, Sydney clashed her cymbals together and winked over her shoulder at Hunter. She was fine with being cold.