When You're In Love with a girl

Chapter 10, The Solo

It's band class again, the next day. We sit down in our seats; Mr. Berswick is handing out a new piece of sheet music to all of the saxophones.

He beams warmly at me as I sit down. "Hullo, Alie, hullo Arya... I see the other saxophones are still getting ready." He puts a page of sheet music on my music stand. I read the music—it's a short little cantilena. "Well, I'm giving all you saxophones a chance to perform this solo, and I will pick whoever plays it best to play it at our winter concert."

If my life was a movie, there would be a pause for a beat.

The saxophone section erupts into a cacophony of sound, but I can sort of hear the music in the dissonance. Arya starts playing, so I also start playing. It is quite a simple melody, nothing difficult about it. I realize that this solo, since it is so simple to play... if I want to get the solo, I will have to play it specially well, in a way that differentiates my playing from other playing. Perhaps my tone is good, but what else? I am no good at making music sound interesting. Maybe I can play some embellishments on the music.

Arya looks at me.

"Are you going to try for the solo?" I ask her. I hate my voice, have I already said that? My voice is also so gravelly, so middle, so boring.

Arya shrugs. "I think all of us have to," she says.

I don't respond. As I play the melody, I think about embellishments, and dynamics, and tone, and changes in tempo, using all of my musical knowledge so far. I stop practicing the melody. I feel like it's never good to show your skills. I feel like that's showing off.

Or maybe no one cares?

*****

Mrs. Pearce is out of the room. I am sitting at my desk, looking at the wood grain. The chairs in the classroom are cushioned all over, and the legs have wheels on the bottom. They are even height-adjustable and you can lean backwards and forward with no problems. I hate the chairs for the way they are, so overly extravagant, so luxurious. Typical, I suppose, of such a bourgeois school.

The kids around me are talking. Stupid, freaking bourgeoisie kids. Spoiled, stupid, rich kids. As I catch snippets of their conversations I don't know whether to laugh or cry that rich kids, the future, America's tomorrow, are concerned with such superficial matters.

Except Tom. As I look at him, I recall our meeting at my house yesterday. Who knew, who knew people could have such depth to them?

"Hi Tom," I say, waving for about ten seconds.

Tom looks at me like, Say what? Maybe he's never had anyone wave to him.

I stop waving. "How are you doing?" I ask him, because I figure he is my friend now. I never thought I could have a friend, but after yesterday Tom seems like he could be one.

More than a friend. He could be my soulmate.

Tom glances at the clock. "Fine," he says sullenly. His eyes have dark rings under them, and his face looks gaunt.

"I don't believe you," I tell him honestly. I think something must have happened to him after he got home. Why would he look so deflated after he acted so alive at my apartment?

"So don't," he says, and it is not even with anger that he says it. He just sounds depressed.

Mrs. Pearce walks back into the classroom, and I walk back over to my desk.

*****

As I get ready to walk home with Tom, Mom calls me.

"ALIE!" she yells shrilly. "I NEED YOU TO STAY AT SCHOOL TO WATCH SAM'S FOOTBALL PRACTICE! HE NEEDS SOMEONE TO RECORD HIM BUT YOUR DAD HAS TO WORK AND I'M DOING MY SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS AND REPLIES SO I NEED YOU TO RECORD HIM."

I hang up.

Tom looks at me, unsmiling. "So, are you going to watch the practice?"

"No, it's okay, my brother has so many stupid football games." In my head, I add, I don't get the deal with football. All he cares about is football. Doesn't he realize everyone else in our family has a life too, and that we don't revolve around him?

Tom doesn't say anything and I read nothing from his face. We keep walking for a bit.

I receive a text from Sam: "where are u, mom said u'd come to my practice."

"Sam—sorry, I mean Tom... my brother just texted me and I think my family will be angry with me if I don't go."

Tom nods. "It's okay, Alie," and seeing my regretful countenance he adds, "Really, it's fine. I have a lot of homework today, anyway, like, um... English and uhm math..."

"Yeah, okay," I say because I know Tom has no homework and he's just making it up so I don't feel so bad about messing up our plans. "We can meet on another day?" I say questioningly.

And we do meet, again and again.

Author's Note: Hello readers! Thank you for sticking with this book all the way to part nine! I appreciate all of your comments and thank you to all of the book's voters.

Please don't forget to vote. Voting helps the story be seen by more people on Wattpad.

All comments, feedback, and questions are welcomed!

-Tara