Notes From An Accidental Band Geek (13 page)

“So we’ve got felt and cardboard and markers and stuff,” she said, making room for the popcorn bowl and her drink. Jake and Hector pulled pillows to opposite sides of the table. I dropped my bag and sat down too.

“I printed out pictures of all of the characters,” Hector said. He unfolded a few sheets of paper that I’d seen sticking out of his back pocket.

“Are we going to make actual heads, or just try and dress like them?” I asked.

“I don’t think we
could
make actual heads,” Jake said. “Plus, that might look too dorky for high school. How about we settle on one or two features per Muppet, and make those?” We all liked that idea.

“Janice wears a cool hat sometimes,” Hector said, pointing to one of the photos.

“I could do that, and do my makeup like hers,” Sarah said. Jake would make Kermit’s green neck pattern (what do you call that thing?) and Hector needed a hat and tie for Fozzie.

“Miss Piggy wears a giant pearl necklace,” Sarah said carefully, as though afraid I’d blow up. “And you could make ears too. We could put them on a headband.”

“Okay,” I answered. I was determined to be pro–Miss Piggy. “Sounds great! ” My second big cheesy smile of the day.

We started working, chatting about classes and teachers and band. Things were going fine until Jake put down a piece of green felt and leaned over the table.

“So, Elsie, what’s up with you practicing so much for Shining Birches? I mean, I love my trumpet and all, but you take music appreciation to the next level.” His lopsided smile softened his words.

“Nothing’s up.” I shrugged and fiddled with a pipe cleaner, rolling it into the shape of a horn. “I just want to get in, so I have to practice a lot.”

“That’s an understatement.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “You don’t do anything else
except
practice.”

Jake shot her a look, but continued to push me.

“I mean, you’re a superstar musician, but most people don’t apply until junior year. What’s the big deal about getting in?”

Anger knotted my insides and I crumpled the pipe cleaner sculpture. They don’t get it, I reminded myself. It’s not their life. I needed to explain it nicely.

“There is no deal. It’s just . . . I really want to go
now
. Music is what I want to do for the rest of my life, and I just don’t want to miss an opportunity.” There. That should satisfy them. I straightened the pipe cleaner and smoothed it against the leg of my pants.

“Yeah, I get that,” Hector said, “but you’re kind of killing yourself over it. Like you’d lose something if you don’t get in.”

His words stung. The same frustrated, hopeless feeling I had at the band competition came back and mixed with anger. And before I could get it under control, my mouth opened.

“I want to beat my dad.” The words were a shock, even to me.

“Beat your dad at what?” Sarah perched her Janice-hat on her head.

“He went there when he was a junior,” I explained, feeling my face redden, “and I want to beat that, and get in as a freshman. It’d be the one musical . . .” I searched for the right word, “
achievement
that would be mine first. It’s kind of important to me.” It was weird—I’d been practicing for and thinking about Shining Birches forever, but it had never occurred to me that part of the reason why I wanted it so badly was to show up my dad. At least, I didn’t
think
it had been about showing him up until I overheard him saying he thought I couldn’t get accepted.

“Why?” Jake’s hazel eyes pinned me to the truth.

“Because he doesn’t think I can handle it, or that I’m good enough. But music is all I’ve ever been good at. Playing makes me feel like
me
.” I blurted the words like I was spitting out a mouthful of rotten fruit. A few tears trickled down my cheeks, and I wiped them away. How embarrassing. “Sarah, where’s the bathroom?”

She pointed and I fled into a potpourri oasis. I stood at the sink, dabbing my eyes and trying to get myself under control. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was a freak, but I couldn’t help my emotional explosion. High school was such a mess. It seemed that everything I did or said was wrong, and who I thought I was changed every day. The one thing that didn’t change: what I wanted to be. A player who got in to Shining Birches. When I felt better, I went back to the group.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No biggie,” Jake said.

Hector nodded.

“We get it,” he said. “My parents are always pushing me to do stuff, wanting me to be better, so I guess I have the opposite problem. They can’t understand why I’m not as good at math and science as my sister. I remind them that not every Chinese kid is good at algebra. It doesn’t help.”

“My brother graduated from HeHe last year,” Jake said quietly. “He was drum major, ran track, and was in all honors classes. My parents are pretty cool with not pressuring me, but it’s like I’m walking around in his shadow when we’re at school. I like music more than sports and want to do jazz band in the spring, but the track coach keeps bugging me.”

Sarah piped up, “And if you hadn’t noticed, my house is, like, a museum. If I make the slightest bit of a mess and don’t pick it up immediately, my mom gets crazy. Like, she’ll go a little nutty after you leave, and I’ll be vacuuming and dusting forever.” She tossed her hair and smiled. “So I leave my bedroom like a pigsty to drive her nuts.”

I giggled.

“I’m glad it’s not just me,” I said. “I was starting to think stuff was so hard because I’m younger than everyone in our class.”

Jake laughed, but in a nice way. “Oh yeah, Elsie. That’s it—you’re having a hard time because of your age.”

“Seriously, though,” Sarah added, eyes level with mine, “having fun sometimes is okay, Elsie. Even though you want to
be
a professional French horn player, you don’t have to act like one all the time.” Hector and Jake nodded in agreement.

Sarah’s words felt like arrows piercing right to the center of my life. I
hadn’t
been having fun this year . . . unless I was with this group. Before that, I couldn’t remember having fun since Alisha moved . . . until the band competition. Sharing the family weirdness with them made me feel a little better too, but I couldn’t help but think that there was something about my situation that was more intense than theirs—or maybe it was just me who was more intense?

Sarah showed me how to make two sets of Miss Piggy ears to sew together and line them with pipe cleaners so they’d stand up. Then we made a giant pearl necklace. I stuck with my new, positive, “I love Miss Piggy” attitude and nobody brought up Shining Birches. Actually, I started to have fun. I laughed when Hector did his C3PO impression and when Jake told us how he and his brother accidentally got locked in their uncle’s car. I even told them about how I got stuck getting out of an awful peach dress that I was trying on for my cousin’s wedding last spring. The zipper was broken, and I got it halfway over my head before I realized that it wasn’t going to fit over my shoulders. Mom and the department store lady came running and cut me out with scissors.

Everyone cracked up. When I glanced at the clock, I saw it was time for me to leave.

“The dance is going to be really fun, Elsie,” Jake said as he handed me my ears. “We’ll be great together.”

Our hands brushed as I took my costume pieces from him, and an electric shot zinged up my arm. I nearly dropped my book bag.

“Yeah,” I grunted, sounding like a pig and mortified at the way the word fell from my mouth. Where did that jolt come from?

Okay, I knew where it came from. Jake and his . . .
Jakeness
. My face burned. My palms started sweating. I couldn’t look at Jake, just stuffed the costume deep into my bag while my heart slammed in my chest.

Sarah gave me a “what was that?” look, as though my arm was smoking from his touch. Which, it kind of was.

“Uh, well, thanks,” I mumbled, squeezing past her and Hector on my way to the door and staying as far away from Jake as possible. “I’ll see you guys on Monday.” The last part was barely audible.

I threw the front door open and scuttled toward my mother’s waiting car without a backward glance, arm humming.

 

 

 

That afternoon, I could barely focus on my lesson. My arm still felt tingly and warm, and twice Mr. Rinaldi had to stop me for silly mistakes.

“Earth to Elsie!” he joked, nudging me with an elbow.

I gave him a weak smile and settled my horn in my lap. “I’m here,” I said. “Just a lot in my head today.”

“Well,” he said with a smile, “let’s try and sweep those things out, then, and make way for some Brahms. The audition panel likes empty heads and full sound.” He tapped his foot to set the pace of the piece, but I could barely hear it over my heartbeat.

21

By Friday night I was a jangle of nerves. My dad spent the afternoon skulking around with a hurt look on his face, and I was torn up over the decision I’d made. What if I was wrecking my chances at Shining Birches by going to the dance? I kept reminding myself that the audition was blind, that having fun was okay, and all of this was my choice, but it didn’t help much.

Luckily, Sarah’s mom had agreed to drive us to and from the dance—with a strict promise from Sarah to clean her room in return—and my mother seemed satisfied that Sarah’s parents weren’t ax murderers after all.

Mom wore a pretty blue dress, her blond hair piled on her head . . . and before we left, followed me around asking over and over again if I was sure I was comfortable going with Sarah. Dad, dressed in his BSO concert tuxedo, took the opposite approach—he gave me a peck on the cheek and told me to have fun, but his white-knuckled hands on the steering wheel said something else entirely. By the time my parents’ car pulled up to Sarah’s, I was relieved to escape.

“Enjoy yourself, sweetie,” Mom said.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, shifting my costume-filled backpack on my shoulder.

“Sure you don’t want to change your mind?” Dad asked. I think he was trying to make a joke, but it didn’t come across that way. Instead, it increased my guilt load.

This is my choice, I reminded myself for the thousandth time as I backed toward the house. My friends want me to be there with them. And, remembering that Jake-jolt, I wanted to be there. I waved at the car and turned to climb the front steps.

Sarah was at the door before I raised my hand to ring the bell. Excitement shot from her like lightning bolts. She grabbed my hand and dragged me to her room, the whole time chattering about how awesome we’d look in costume.

By the time she finished blowing out my hair and helping me apply layers of black gobby mascara and pink eye shadow, I was excited too. I wore a black dress from the zillions of concerts I’d played in, but Sarah contributed a hot-pink feather boa to my ensemble. Add my ears and faux-pearl necklace, and voila! Instant Miss Piggy!

“You look pretty good,” she said, turning me to check out my reflection.

I smiled. “Not too bad,” I said. I’d drawn the line at wearing a pig snout, though, so I hoped people got who I was.

“You look just like Janice,” I said, happy to repay the compliment. Sarah’s long hair—flat ironed to within an inch of its life—homemade hat, big eyelashes, heart-shaped mouth, and hippie outfit, made her a dead ringer for the Muppet.

“This is going to be awesome!” she said, grabbing my hand and leading me in a jerky twirl. “I am so psyched to see Hector and Jake.” She danced around her room.

I smiled too, and squashed the nervous jig that started in my stomach at her mention of Jake’s name.

Sarah’s mom called out for us to hurry up or she’d leave us. We grabbed our stuff and headed downstairs.

“You two make a great pair,” she said, barely glancing at us. She was scrubbing at a spot on the kitchen counter-top. “Coffee ring,” she muttered.

 

 

 

On the ride to HeHe High, I wondered what Sarah would think of our house. I mean, we weren’t slobs, but our house wasn’t anywhere near as spotless as hers. My mom hated to vacuum, so my dad took over that chore. Frequently, he forgot to do it during the day, so the vacuum ran in the middle of the night, when he was back from a concert and needed to wind down. I’d long since learned to sleep through it—I even find it soothing, like white noise or whatever.

My mom dusted and did most of the laundry. I did my own clothes and sheets and stuff, but sometimes it’d pile up and my mom would do it for me. Mom wanted us to pick up, but magazines, random sheet music, homework papers, and financial documents littered the coffee table, dining room table, and various end tables. Shoes, like exhausted party guests, tumbled around every door.

The car pulled into the high school parking lot.

“You girls have fun and be safe,” Mrs. Tracer said. “I’ll be here at ten thirty to get you. Same spot. Sarah, do you have your cell?”

Sarah fumbled through her purse and waved it at her mother. Satisfied, Mrs. Tracer released the locks on our doors and we hopped out. We called out thank-yous as she pulled away.

“Ready?” Sarah asked. She tilted her Janice hat. I nodded, the rush of nerves filling my stomach again. Jake and Hector were supposed to meet us at the door of the gym, so we headed in that direction. As we crossed the quad, we caught sight of the juniors and seniors coming in from the parking lot. At least, I thought they were juniors and seniors. Most of the girls were wearing super-short skirts and glittery tops, and had their hair teased into huge poufs. A few were carrying white fluffy things, but I couldn’t figure out what they were. One girl, a junior who was on color guard, passed us wearing what I swore was a sparkly headband as a dress. I couldn’t control myself, I stopped and stared.

“They’re bunnies.” Jake’s voice came from my left, zinging through me.

“Bunnies?” Sarah asked, confused.