Friends, Fugues, and Fortune Cookies Read online

  Friends, Fugues, and Fortune Cookies

  By Michelle Schusterman

  Grosset & Dunlap

  An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Cover illustration by Genevieve Kote.

  Copyright © 2014 by Penguin Group (USA) LLC. All rights reserved. Published by

  Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-0-698-16742-1

  Version_1

  For old (but strong)

  Flower Mound friendships

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak peek of Sleepovers, Solos, and Sheet Music

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Winning isn’t everything.

  I tell myself that a lot. Sometimes I believe it, too.

  Like with friendships—that’s a red light. Getting too competitive with a friend is a good way to make an enemy.

  Then there’s stuff like band—yellow light. Proceed with caution. Winning is great, but it’s not the only thing that matters.

  And then there’s video games, like Prophet Wars—major green light. It’s total galaxy-wide domination or go home.

  The problem is, everything’s a green light for me, at least at first. It’s like an instinct. That’s why, when my band director decided to make our fund-raiser a competition, my first thought was that my bandmates were going down like an alien airship flying over my level-three jungle subterranean missile silo.

  What? Maybe winning isn’t everything, but it’s still pretty awesome.

  It was fourth period at Millican Middle School, which meant I was in the band hall for advanced band rehearsal. Last week, Mr. Dante had announced that we would be going to New Orleans for a band contest in March. And that meant four days of staying up late in hotel rooms, competing at a big band contest at an amusement park, and missing classes. To help pay for the trip, the band was going to hold a bake sale.

  Mr. Dante pushed his glasses up his nose and looked around the band hall. “As some of you might know, our girls’ volleyball team is in the playoffs,” he said. “Three of their tournaments are going to be held in our gym, and Coach Reyes has agreed to allow us to sell concessions during the games. We’re going to split into teams—woodwind, brass, and percussion.” He held up a finger when Derrick Adler raised his hand from where he stood behind a xylophone.

  “Don’t worry,” Mr. Dante said. “I’m aware that this isn’t an even match as far as how many students are on each team. That’s why I’m not judging this by the total amount of money you make. Instead, the winning section will be the one that averages the most money raised per student. The important thing here is that you work together as a team.”

  On my right, Natasha Prynne raised her hand. “What does the winning section get?” she asked, and I couldn’t help but grin. Natasha was pretty much as competitive as me, which was why she sat next to me as first chair in our section. She was also one of my best friends. (See? I could handle not winning. Sometimes.)

  “Glad you asked,” Mr. Dante said, smiling. “The section that wins will actually get two prizes. First, they’ll get to decide on the final design for the new T-shirts I’m going to order for our trip to New Orleans.”

  Trevor Wells’s hand shot up. “You mean like we can pick any design at all?” he asked. I rolled my eyes. Knowing Trevor, he was probably picturing us in band T-shirts covered in wizards or dragons or something equally lame.

  “Within reason,” Mr. Dante told him. “As for the other prize . . .” He cleared his throat. “At my last school, I had a tradition of dressing as Santa to conduct the advanced band at the winter concert.”

  “Santa?” Gabby Flores said in disbelief, then caught herself and raised her hand. Mr. Dante nodded at her. “Santa?” she repeated, and several kids giggled. “Are you serious? Why?”

  “Because I’m a jolly person,” Mr. Dante said with a perfectly straight face. Now I was laughing, too.

  Mr. Dante looked a little miffed. “Anyway, I thought maybe I could start a new tradition here at Millican. I’ll still dress as Santa at the winter concert, but the winning section can choose to alter or add to my costume however they’d like.” He paused. “Again, within reason.”

  A voice behind me caused my stomach to flutter. “You mean, we could make you zombie Santa?” asked Aaron Cook, and several students laughed.

  “That’s the idea,” Mr. Dante replied. “But remember—”

  “Vampire Santa!” exclaimed Sophie Wheeler.

  Gabby grinned. “Hippie Santa!”

  My best friend, Julia Gordon, caught my eye from the clarinet section. “How about Mrs. Claus?” she called with a wicked grin, and everyone cracked up.

  Mr. Dante held his hands up, but he was smiling, too. “Whatever the costume, it has to be approved by the band boosters. And speaking of,” he added, holding up a stack of papers, “I need you all to take these home to your parents. We’ll need a few of them to volunteer, both at the volleyball games and with any baking your section does.”

  Natasha leaned closer to me as he passed out the papers. “Not good. I tried baking cookies once—we ended up feeding them to the neighbor’s dog,” she whispered, and I grinned.

  “Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” After making sure Mr. Dante was still handing out papers, I leaned back and reached behind Brooke Dennis, tapping Owen Reynolds on the shoulder.

  Owen was fourth-chair horn. His real talent was drawing. Well, that and Prophets. We hung out at his house every Thursday afternoon to blow up virtual aliens. Last week, his mom had made us these amazing cream-cheese brownies to celebrate that we finally got to level four.

  “Do you think your mom could help us?” I asked softly. “Those brownies, maybe?”

  Owen nodded. “I’ll ask her.”

  Smiling, I turned back to Natasha. “Owen’s mom will help us. I know she’ll say yes.”

  “Cool,” said Natasha. “Hey, how are you doing on the all-region music?”

  Wrinkling my nose, I pulled Fugue in F Mi
nor out of my folder and set it on my music stand. “Not bad. I’m still having trouble near the end, right here,” I said, pointing.

  Natasha nodded. “Yeah, that part’s really hard. Want to work on it together sometime?”

  Mr. Dante was getting back up on the podium, so I just nodded in response. All-region auditions were in a few weeks. Band students from all seven middle schools in the Oak Point School District could audition to be in one of the two all-region bands. In February, they’d get to miss an entire day of school to go to rehearsal with a guest conductor, and then they’d perform at a concert.

  Two bands meant a total of eight French horn spots, and who knew how many horn players in the district would be auditioning. It would be tough to make it, but Natasha and I were going to try. Especially since Mr. Dante had decided that the all-region results would count as our next chair test.

  Natasha grabbed her pencil and scrawled something on the bottom of my étude.

  Tomorrow after school?

  I gave her a thumbs-up.

  While Mr. Dante tuned the flutes one at a time, I studied the étude, tapping my fingers. Natasha was an amazing horn player and a good friend, but all-region was a yellow light, and I was going to do my best to make it.

  “I swear, Holly, I’m still having nightmares.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. Julia glared at me.

  “I’m serious!” she cried. “You said it wouldn’t be that scary.”

  “No, I said it wouldn’t be that gory,” I replied, grinning. Last weekend for Halloween, my brother Chad and I went to the Asylum—ranked the third-best haunted house in Austin. And since he was meeting a bunch of his friends there, I’d convinced him to let me bring Julia and Natasha, too.

  Or maybe drag would be a better word.

  “The worst part was the clowns,” Julia said, shuddering as we skirted around a group of eighth-grade girls and headed into C-hall.

  “Really?” I asked. “I thought the scariest part was when we were crammed in that tiny room and the guy crawled across the ceiling.”

  Julia stopped, her eyes round. “What?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  She started walking again, brow furrowed. “I remember the tiny room, and I remember the scratching noises. But I had my eyes closed.”

  I smiled. “That’s probably a good thing.”

  “Someone crawled across the ceiling? Over our heads?” I didn’t respond, and Julia groaned. “Never again, Holly. Seriously.”

  A flyer on the wall right outside the computer lab caught my eye. “Hey, look!” I grabbed Julia’s arm and pointed.

  “Oh yeah, the winter dance!” she exclaimed. “I totally forgot to tell you, I saw them putting up flyers in the gym today, too.”

  “Really?” I gave her an innocent look as we headed to our computers. “During PE?”

  Julia rolled her eyes, blushing. “Yes, during PE. And no, I didn’t talk to Seth.”

  I pressed the power button on my computer, then swiveled my chair around to face Julia. “You should ask him to the dance.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious!” I insisted. “He likes you, Julia. But he’s so shy, he’ll never ask.”

  I didn’t know Seth Anderson really well. We had math together in sixth grade, but he hardly ever talked. All I knew about him was that he played cello in the orchestra and he couldn’t say hi to my best friend without stammering.

  Julia shook her head as she typed in her password. “Probably. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me to ask him.”

  “What’s so hard?” I said. “‘Hey, Seth, would you go to the winter dance with me?’ Done.”

  Julia gave me a withering look. “Okay, if it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

  I blinked. “Ask Seth to the dance for you? That’s—”

  “No!” Julia interrupted, laughing. “I mean ask Aaron, you dork.”

  Now it was my turn to blush. I’d had a crush on Aaron since the first day of seventh grade. Okay, fine, since last year. But it was still a huge accomplishment when I managed to talk to him without turning tomato red. That was his fault, though. Him and his dark brown eyes. And his smile with the creases like parentheses in his cheeks. And his—

  “Hello?” Julia waved her hand in front of my face, giggling when I jumped. “So, yes or no?”

  “Yes or no what?”

  “You know what. Will you ask him?” She arched an eyebrow. “Since it’s so easy and all.”

  Ugh. She was right—the thought of asking Aaron to the winter dance made me kind of nauseated.

  But a tiny part of me was excited at the thought, too. I tapped my fingers on the arm of my chair.

  “The dance isn’t till December,” I said, thinking out loud. “It’s too early to ask anyone.”

  “True.”

  “So how’s this,” I went on. “We make a pact.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” Julia closed her eyes like she was bracing herself.

  “We wait till Thanksgiving break,” I said. “If Seth hasn’t asked you, you’ll ask him. Same with me and Aaron. Deal?”

  Julia squinted at me with one eye. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Come on!” I said encouragingly. “Thanksgiving’s not for a month. Plenty of time to prepare.”

  “You’ll really do it, though?” Julia asked. “If I ask Seth to the dance, you’ll ask Aaron?”

  I smiled, ignoring the butterflies flapping around my stomach. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  “Okay.” Julia grinned at me. “It’s a deal.”

  Chapter Two

  Asking Aaron Cook to the winter dance. No big deal. I could totally handle it.

  That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

  I waved to Mr. Dante as I headed to the practice rooms before school Thursday morning. I knew Fugue in F Minor by heart, but I still couldn’t get through it without flubbing at least a few notes. There were four measures near the end that tripped me up every time. Natasha and I had worked on it together after school on Tuesday. She was struggling with it, too, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was kind of relieved. It’s not always easy being friends with first chair in your section when you want to be first chair, too.

  At eight thirty, I put my horn back in its case, annoyed. I’d sounded better Tuesday. I was getting worse. Scowling, I shoved the case into my cubby, turned around, and ran smack into someone. Someone who smelled really, really good. Kind of like grapefruit and pine trees.

  “Sorry, Holly!”

  Aaron grabbed my arm to steady me. His face was just a few inches away. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but it was like my brain forgot how to send words to my mouth.

  He let go, then starting pulling stuff out of his cubby (which I couldn’t help but notice was a complete mess). “I think I left my history book in here,” he explained, his voice muffled.

  “Oh.”

  Yeah, asking Aaron to the dance would be no big deal for the girl standing here like a love-struck statue. Staring at his profile, I imagined saying it: Aaron, would you go to the winter dance with me?

  And in about two seconds, I heard, like, a thousand responses.

  I’m already going with someone.

  I don’t have a date yet, but . . . no way.

  Are you serious? (That one included hysterical laughter.)

  They only got worse from there.

  “Did you go?”

  I realized with a start that Aaron was talking to me. “What?”

  He pointed at my band folder, which was covered in Asylum stickers I’d bought on Saturday. “That’s the haunted house in Austin, right?”

  “Oh yeah!” I said. “It was awesome.”

  “Really?” Aa
ron grinned, and I struggled not to giggle or blush. “It didn’t freak you out?”

  I shrugged. “Nah, I like that kind of stuff. Julia and Natasha hated it, though.”

  He laughed. “Man, I wish I could’ve gone. My parents would never let me, though.”

  “Why not?” I asked, watching him resume digging through his cubby.

  “They’re just strict about that kind of thing.” Aaron’s voice was muffled. “Same with movies. I tried to go see House of the Wicked last month, and my mom freaked out.” He straightened, shoving his history book into his backpack.

  “You have to see it!” I exclaimed, all nerves forgotten. “It’s amazing. Maybe my favorite movie of all time. Or at least, my favorite new one. I love the classics, like Psycho.”

  “I saw a little over half of The Exorcist on TV when I was nine,” Aaron said with a grin. “My mom walked in right when the girl starts spewing green stuff everywhere. She grounded me for a week.”

  I laughed. “Did you ever get to finish it?”

  “Nope. Hey, have you seen Scattered?” Aaron asked as we left the band hall. “I heard that one’s pretty messed up.”

  We headed down the corridors, passing the cafeteria just as they let everyone out from breakfast. By the time we reached D-hall, I’d gone over most of the flaws in Scattered. And its sequel.

  “I mean, yeah, it’s got a few good scenes,” I told him. “But the whole virus thing just ruined the ending.”

  “Yeah, maybe I’ll skip that one,” said Aaron. “I still want to see House, though. And that other one you mentioned, what was it?”

  “Watch the Fog?” I said.

  “Yeah, that one.” He glanced up. “Bell’s about to ring—I guess I’ll see you in band?”

  I looked around, startled to realize we were in front of the gym. “Oh! Yeah. See you.”

  “Bye, Holly.” Aaron smiled at me before he disappeared through the double doors. Somehow, I managed to make it to English on time despite the fact that my knees had suddenly decided to go megawobbly.