Audition & Subtraction Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Amy Fellner Dominy

  For Mary Koppen Vaughan I would have survived middle school without you, but I’m not sure how

  Chapter 1

  “Death by bikini.” I looked at Lori, who stood by the door of my bedroom. “You can put that on my grave when I die of embarrassment today.” I dangled last year’s bikini top from my fingers, the material so faded it was practically see-through.

  She sighed and shook her head. “You’re just looking for a swimsuit now? We have to leave in ten minutes.”

  Early-morning sun poured through my bedroom window. It was only the beginning of April, but in Phoenix it already felt like summer. We’d probably get a tan at the band car wash. Well, Lori would get a tan, and I’d get arrested for indecent exposure.

  “I didn’t think it was so faded.” I shoved the top back in my dresser drawer.

  “You should have come with me to the mall last night,” she said, fingering the neck strap of her new pink bikini.

  “I couldn’t. I had to go to Dad’s.” I shuddered. As if I needed reminding of that on top of everything else. I rubbed a hand over my face. Was that a frown line between my eyes? Was I face-scrunching in my sleep? Great. One more thing to stress about—wrinkles in middle school.

  “Girls?” Mom’s voice floated up the stairs. “You about ready?”

  “In a minute,” I called down. Mr. Van Sant had dropped off Lori so my mom could drive us there together. Now we were going to be late. “I just won’t wear a suit.”

  “It’s a car wash. You have to.” Lori dropped her purse and knelt next to me, riffling through my drawer. I didn’t mention that she’d never worn a suit to a car wash before. Or a bikini ever. Up until now, she’d worn a one-piece suit with a T-shirt over—even when it was just the two of us in the backyard swimming. Sometimes I couldn’t help flashing back to how things were before she’d lost weight. I wondered if Lori was thinking about it, too, since I’d seen her touch her neck strap a few times.

  “Here,” she said, pulling out a suit I’d worn for the sixth-grade swim team. “Wear this.”

  “Are you kidding?” I said. “It’s hideous.”

  “It is not.”

  “I cannot meet him wearing that.”

  Him was Michael Malone. He’d transferred to Dakota Middle School last week, but he didn’t officially start until Monday. None of us had met him yet, but he’d be at the car wash today. And I wasn’t about to face the enemy in a one-piece with a logo that said A PORPOISE WITH A PURPOSE.

  “Girls?” Mom called, her voice edged with impatience.

  “One minute!” I yelled back.

  Lori pressed the suit into my hand. “You’ll look great, Tay.”

  I groaned, but how could I say no when it was so important to Lori? I wouldn’t want to make a bikini debut on my own, either. I grabbed the rest of my clothes and went into the connecting bathroom. The door on the other side was open—it led to Andrew’s bedroom. I wrinkled my nose at the lingering smell of his new cologne. Emily, his girlfriend, had bought it for his sixteenth birthday, and the whole top floor stunk like musk. The smell bugged me, but not as much as Andrew’s open door. I didn’t want a reminder that he’d spent the night at Dad’s. He shouldn’t have. It made the separation feel more … permanent.

  And it wasn’t.

  I slipped on the suit, sucking in my breath to get the straps over my shoulders. Last year the suit had been small, but this year it felt like shrink-wrap. Good-bye, cleavage, not that I had much to begin with. I pulled on my red band tee and blue shorts, same as Lori. “We’re working the money table, so I won’t have to take off my shirt anyway,” I called through the open door.

  “Would you quit worrying?” she said.

  I sighed, as all the things I’d been worrying about wormed their way back into my brain. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence from the bedroom, and I knew Lori understood.

  Michael Malone. He was a clarinet player—same as me. Apparently he was good. Really good. According to Mr. Wayne, our band director, Michael had been invited to play with a youth symphony in Dallas, Texas. I’d never even heard a youth symphony before. And now here he was, ready to take part in all band activities.

  Including auditions for District Honor Band.

  I heard the mattress squeak, and a second later Lori stood at the bathroom door. “No dweeb from Texas is going to take your spot.”

  I had to smile. Lori played flute, so the new guy wasn’t competition for her. But as my best friend, she’d promised to hate him, too. Just to be nice.

  “You’re good, Tay. You’ve been playing amazing this whole year.”

  Lori was the amazing one—really, truly talented. But maybe I’d been playing better these past few months. I’d been practicing a ton, and it had to count that I wanted it so much. Some new guy couldn’t just move in and take my place.

  Unless he is better than me.

  Only three clarinet players from each middle school could make District Honor Band, and there were seven of us in the section. Brooke wasn’t auditioning because her family always went back East the last weekend of May when the concert was scheduled. I still had Angie and Aaron ahead of me, and they’d make it for sure. That left only one open spot. The spot I’d been counting on.

  I rubbed a hand over my stomach. The words “youth symphony” were swirling like acid in my gut. “I think I’m getting an ulcer over this. I’m not sure what a bleeding ulcer is, but I may have one of those, too.”

  “You don’t have an ulcer. Now, would you hurry?”

  I quickly wound a rubber band through my thick hair, pulling it into a ponytail. If only I had Lori’s hair—it did all the things mine wouldn’t, like lie flat against my head. Her French braid looked way prettier than my boring pony—maybe I could try that later. I studied my face, wishing my eyes weren’t so tired and puffy. At least mascara would help. Unscrewing the wand, I swept it up and under, but my lashes were smashed from sleeping. I tried again and a shot of pain ripped through me.

  “Ow!” I cried.

  “What?” Lori asked.

  “I stabbed myself with the mascara wand.” I blinked open my eye. A million veins were now throbbing red across it. “Veins on eyeballs? Whose idea was that?”

  “At least it matches your shirt,” Lori offered.

  “Perfect. I always like to color-coordinate with my eyeball.”

  She grinned, then stood next to me in front of the mirror. Our eyes met in the glass, and she bumped my shoulder with hers. “He’s not going to be better than you. I promise. I won’t let him be.”

  I smiled, this time for real. Lori had changed so much in the past few months, but her blue eyes were the same, and today they were so full of certainty I couldn’t
help but feel better. If anyone could promise me a spot in District Honor Band, Lori could. She wasn’t just my best friend. She was my duet partner for auditions.

  I bumped her shoulder in return. “So let’s go meet the dweeb.”

  When Mom dropped us at the Chevron station, the other Bandies were already there and everything had been set up. I looked around but no sign of a geek in a cowboy hat.

  Aaron and Tanner were unfolding a table and chairs under the shade of a tree. By the back wall of the station, everyone else had gathered with hoses and supplies. Lori and I headed that way, our matching flip-flops smacking the pavement in rhythm.

  “Tay-Lo!” Kerry called as she waved us over. Kerry had given us the nickname back in fourth grade, because it was quicker than saying Tatum and Lori, and we were always together anyway. Kerry and Misa were mixing soap into buckets of water. They were our next best friends, and we’d all signed up to work the car wash together.

  “He’s not here yet,” Kerry said.

  Everyone was curious about the new guy. Mr. Wayne had made a big deal about us all welcoming him because it was difficult transferring so close to graduation. Maybe it wasn’t fair for me to hate him right off. He had to be nervous and—

  Misa gasped, her gaze fixed on something behind me. “Ooh, baby,” she whispered. “I hope that’s him!”

  Chapter 2

  The guy heading our way on a skateboard was no dweeb. At least not from the outside. Tallish, with dark hair long enough to catch the breeze, he rode the board like an athlete, dipping low to hop a curb. The untied laces of his black Chucks flapped like streamers behind him.

  I looked at Lori, but she didn’t look back. She was staring at the new guy along with everyone else.

  “Dang,” Kerry said. “They make ’em hot in Texas.”

  “Good-bye, band geek; hello, rock star,” Misa added.

  So, yeah, he was cute—if you liked guys who moved in at the last minute and threatened to take your place in District Honor Band. Which I didn’t. I yanked at the strap of my suit and tried to breathe.

  Michael had spotted us now—it was hard to miss our group with Mr. Wayne waving both arms in the air and calling his name. He must have known we were all staring, but he didn’t seem nervous. He rode up to Mr. Wayne, spraying gravel as he skidded to a stop. “Hey, Coach,” he said.

  Coach? No one called Mr. Wayne Coach, but he grinned as if he could get used to it. “Welcome, Mr. Malone,” he said, his cheeks nearly as red as his band T-shirt. Mr. Wayne is a big man—especially in the gut. Some kids make fun of him, but none of us ever would. He’s the coolest band director ever, and once you know him, you forget all about how he looks.

  “Glad you could join us,” he added.

  Michael looked around, giving everyone a half smile and a nod. “Hey.”

  I swear Kerry stopped breathing.

  Mr. Wayne introduced us, and I stood there praying my suit wouldn’t snap like a rubber band. I wanted to look cool and confident, but that’s hard when you haven’t had a full breath in twenty minutes and you’re sweaty and purple in the face. Purple is not my best color.

  “This is Jenny,” Mr. Wayne said. “Our first trombone player.”

  Jenny had a heavy coil of green hose slung over her shoulder, but she still managed a shrug.

  “Misa plays flute, and Kerry plays saxophone.”

  Misa smiled while Kerry fixed him with her gaze and fluttered her eyelashes in a move she’d been perfecting since fourth grade when her aunt said she had lovely eyelashes the color of soot. We’d had to look up the word “soot,” and even though it meant powdery smoke residue, Kerry thought it sounded glamorous.

  “José is on percussion,” Mr. Wayne went on. “Tanner and Brandon—trumpet. Aaron—clarinet.” Then he nodded to where we stood. “Tatum also plays clarinet, and Lori is our principal flute.”

  We both sort of nodded, and he smiled, his sunglasses reflecting back my face for a second before moving to Lori. His smile widened, and she shuffled from one foot to the other. I was still half behind her, and I tapped her with my shoulder.

  Loser, right? my shoulder nudge said.

  She didn’t nudge back.

  “So,” Mr. Wayne was saying, “that’s the crew for today. If we all—”

  A loud motor rumbled up, drowning out his voice. The sharp smell of gas and asphalt rose as a red truck smeared with mud chugged past the gas pumps and stopped beside the hoses.

  “That’s my dad,” Jenny said.

  “Excellent!” Mr. Wayne clapped his hands like he was starting band practice. “We have our first customer, people. Who’s doing what?”

  “Misa and I will do windows,” Kerry said.

  “I’ll run the hose,” Jenny offered.

  Tanner grabbed a towel off the stack. “Me and Brandon will dry.”

  “I got wheels,” José said, stuffing his drumsticks in his back pocket. He took his drumsticks everywhere—including the bathroom.

  I raised my hand. “Money table.”

  “I’ll wash,” Michael said. Then he looked right at Lori. “You want to wash with me?”

  I think I gasped, but it might have been Kerry, because her mouth had dropped open far enough that I could see the hangy thing in the back of her throat.

  “What? Um …” Lori’s cheeks flushed brick red as she turned to look at me. “I’m already … uh …”

  “She’s doing money table with me,” I said.

  “I can wash after I put up the signs,” Aaron offered.

  Michael tilted his chin in a micro nod. “’Kay.”

  “Well, then, everyone,” Mr. Wayne said impatiently. “Get busy!”

  There was a quick exchange of looks among Kerry, Misa, Lori, and me, but no time to talk. Jenny already had the hose going, and her dad was handing Mr. Wayne money.

  Lori grabbed my arm and led me toward the table. Two metal chairs had been set up, half on asphalt and half on gravel so we could sit in the shade of the tree. “I am such an idiot,” she hissed.

  “What?”

  “Did you hear me back there? So embarrassing.”

  Before I could say anything, Mr. Wayne strode over waving a stack of bills. “Our first donation.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Thanks.” I pulled the gray metal cash box closer as I sat down. Lori sat next to me, grinding her chair into the gravel. I opened the box and slid the bills under a metal clip.

  By now, Jenny had sprayed the truck, and Michael was running a soapy rag along the front hood.

  “So much for him being a dweeb, huh?” I said.

  “Kerry’s going to wear out her eyelashes,” Lori muttered.

  “He hardly even noticed her. You’re the one he was staring at.”

  She combed her bangs with her fingertips. “I was not.”

  “He asked you to wash with him.”

  “I was the only one left.”

  “Aaron was left.”

  “It just … I wasn’t … Oh snap,” she muttered. “I’m doing it again.”

  Lori always got nervous around guys. I didn’t blame her—guys had been major jerks to her for years. But no one was going to tease her about being fat now. Not that she’d been fat-fat or anything. Just sort of heavy. Then, in January, she got a bad case of stomach flu that lasted a week. She lost over eight pounds from being sick. Instead of gaining it back, she got serious about eating healthy and kept losing more. She’d always been pretty, but in the past few months, she’d turned beautiful. Way more beautiful than I’d ever be.

  It’s not that I’m unfortunate looking. I have nice green eyes, my nose is bump-free, and my skin is so dry I never get zits. But my hair is an unnatural disaster. Basic brown and so thick I could double as a wooly mammoth. I’ve always been thin, but guys have never stared at me the way they do Lori. The way Michael stared when he first saw her.

  The way he’s staring right now.

  I bumped her knee with mine. “He’s watching you.”

  “He is
not,” she said. But the tips of her ears flared pink. “He’s wearing sunglasses. You can’t tell what he’s looking at.”

  “You’re wearing sunglasses, and I can tell that you’re looking at him.”

  She bumped my knee back, only harder. “If I am,” she said, “it’s just because I’m surprised. He’s cute.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Don’t you think he looks dumb with his shoelaces untied?”

  “No. And ssshhh,” she added, turning to make sure no one was paying attention.

  Nobody was. Aaron had grabbed the car-wash signs and disappeared around the front of the station. Everyone else was busy scrubbing mud off the truck. “If he didn’t play clarinet, you’d think he was cute,” she said.

  A sudden squeal came from the washing area. A second later, Misa sprinted out from behind the truck, her shirt soaking wet and half of one arm dripping. Tanner followed her, wiping water out of his eyes, his shirt already off. Kerry high-fived Michael like he was her BFF.

  “Kerry doesn’t even know him. He could be a serial killer,” I said. “Ted Bundy was cute, and he was a serial killer.”

  “See, you do think he’s cute,” Lori said with a grin. “Hey, look,” she added. “Kerry’s waving us over. You want to go?”

  “And wash? No.” I paused. “Why? Do you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Because of Michael Malone?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “Not because of him.”

  “Good. Because he’s a potential serial killer.”

  She gave me one of her patented double eye-rolls. “You watch too much History Channel.”

  I tried to double eye-roll back, but it made my eye sockets hurt. “Even if he isn’t a deranged psychopath, I thought we were going to hate him.”

  “We can hate him while we wash cars.”

  “Seriously?” I said. “You want to go wash cars?”

  “It would be a good way to pump him for information about where he sat in his old band.” She gave me a pointed look.

  “I guess,” I said. “But I’ve got to stay with the money.”

  “Aaron can do it.”

  A white SUV pulled in, country music blaring from the open window. Misa had just peeled off her shirt. Kerry, too. Their suits were flattering. Mine was flattening. “No, I’ll stay.”