“G major?”
The band instructor is looking at me. Crap! I was so absorbed in my sheet music from orchestra, plucking invisible harp strings with calloused fingers, that I didn't notice Mr Pinckney calling on me to guide the flutes.
“Oh, geez! Sorry—” I laugh sheepishly and press a series of piano keys, waiting as the flutists copy the chord.
As soon as Mr Pinckney's attention slides back to the rest of the band, I slouch over with a defeated sigh and rub my eyes, wondering for the millionth time why again I chose both music classes.
After what seems like eons, we’re dismissed to pack up our things. I stuff my notes into my bag and join a small group of kids in the back, near the risers, who are putting away their instruments.
A green-haired, bespectacled boy glances up from polishing the bell of his trumpet as I approach. His flinty gray eyes flick around, scanning my tired, sunken face.
“Hey, Jonas,” I say wearily.
Jonas roots around in his backpack, pulls out a small Frappuccino bottle filled with coffee, and passes it to me. Just as he’s about to say something, I down it without thinking and almost choke—it’s extremely strong and bitter.
“Ah...” Jonas winces and closes his case. “That’s four shots of, like, pure espresso. You better drink some water.”
I scrunch up my face and shake my head. “You can say that again.”
“Still, you need to sleep this weekend, Faith. Coffee won't work forever.” His eyes darken with concern.
“What are you talking about, coffee won't work forever? It’s been working fine enough for me for a couple years, dude!” Alex, an Asian boy whose hair falls into his sunken eyes, elbows Jonas and winks.
In response, Jonas sighs and says, “Alex, don't forget to meet me after class. Your parents had me remind you that they left today for a trip; we can take the same route home this afternoon.”
Alex rolls his eyes, but smiles, and continues fluffing his hair in the reflection of the band room window. “I’m not a little kid, it's not like I need reminding.”
As I turn around, I nearly slam face-first into a volleyball shirt. Looking up, I’m faced with a green-eyed, blond-haired athlete I know all too well.
Ben’s eyes narrow. “Watch it...and I thought those nerd glasses actually helped you see. Damn.” Brushing off his shirt as if I had gotten dirt on it, he turns and walks away, jostling Alex on his way out.
I’m suddenly aware of a sharp pain in my hands. I look down to find my fists clenched at my sides; when I open them, I see crescent-shaped marks where my chipped nails dug into my palms.
A voice by my ear says, “You need an anger management coach.” I jump and curse. It’s Felicity, a pretty, freckled, Polish blonde who talks a lot with her hands. She laughs, and her eyes—icy blue—crinkle at the corners. “It’d be good for you, at least around him. I don't blame you for losing your cool near Ben, though, he’s, like, the ultimate asshole.”
“The ultimate asshole?” I laugh. “It’s like his special skill. He should put it in his resume!”
“Hey, Faith, Felicity, help me out, would ya?” calls a voice from across the bandroom.
I look up to see a tiny Korean girl with short pastel-pink hair and square glasses waving her arms from behind an amalgamation of school-issued music stands. Haley, one of a select few clarinetists in the entire school band, is as lively as ever despite the imposing upcoming fall festival, in which we have an event.
“Hold on, Haley!” I yell, laughing, and Fel and I run over to untangle her from the dented, graffitied pile of metal.
“How’d you get back there?” I ask, as Fel puts away the last stand.
Haley sighs. “One of the perks of being small is that you often find yourself in weird, unexpected places without any knowledge of how you got there.”
The bell rings just as Haley retrieves her backpack, and Felicity and I walk off to math.