Friends, Fugues, and Fortune Cookies by Michelle Schusterman

Author:Michelle Schusterman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-01-09T05:00:00+00:00

After rehearsal, I pretended to reorganize the music in my folders while everyone headed to the cubbies. I was itching to go find out who else had made the all-region bands, but I didn’t want to be too obvious about it.

“Hey, Holly?”

I glanced up—Owen was standing just to my left. “Oh! Hey,” I said, surprised.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” he said with a little smile. “You know, on the all-region thing. You deserve it.”

I smiled back. “Thanks, Owen!” He walked off toward the cubbies, and I sat there for a second, feeling deflated. Why did things have to get so weird with Owen? I really missed him. The not-awkward him, I mean.

Standing slowly, I tucked my folder under my arm, grabbed my horn, and headed back to the lists taped up in the office window.

Under each section in the concert band, there were two alternates, followed by a list of everyone else who played that instrument in the order the judges had ranked them. Julia was there, second-to-last chair in the concert band. In fact, there were a lot of “Millicans” in both the symphonic- and concert-band clarinet sections. No surprise there—our clarinet section was almost all eighth-graders, and really good.

There was Gabby, third alto sax. Aaron was in the symphonic band, too—whoa, second-chair trumpet. And Liam, third-chair tuba. Sophie Wheeler was an alternate on oboe, which was impressive considering there was only one oboe in each band and over a dozen had auditioned. Victoria and Leah were both in the concert band, too. Brooke was just a few chairs below the French horn alternate, and Owen was around the middle of the list.

I was almost finished counting the nineteen Millican names in the two bands when Mr. Dante’s voice startled me.

“Great job, Holly. You must be pretty excited.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah. But kind of surprised, too.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Well, I mean . . .” I glanced over my shoulder. “I don’t know. I thought if I made it I’d be in the concert band. I’m not . . . I’m not sure how I beat Natasha. I’ve never even beaten her in a chair test.”

Glancing at the clock, Mr. Dante reached for the shelf over his desk and pulled out what I recognized as a few of our beginner-band books from last year—tuba, baritone, trombone. Fifth period was beginner low brass, I figured.

“Holly, you’re always prepared for every chair test,” he said, stacking the books on his desk. “But with the all-region music . . . I heard you last week. Back in the practice rooms before and after school, every day. All I can say is, I’m not at all surprised by the results.”

I smiled, although my face was probably magenta. But part of me had sort of expected him to say, Yeah, I have no idea how you beat Natasha, either.

“Thanks,” I said. “Although . . . something weird did kind of happen when I auditioned.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Dante asked.

All of a sudden, I had to tell him.

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