I stare at the note during band that I had stuffed in my pocket, gleaming. She’s waiting at my house, with Mrs. Lasdon, and I’m still here.
I fidget in my seat, acting visibly uncomfortable. My french horn, with it’s polished brass blinding me, almost falls, as I seize it at the last second, grabbing the mouthpiece. I look up to see the band director wagging his finger at me for almost destroying my instrument. Oops.
I arch my back, stretching, but having a firm grip on the brass craning my neck to look at the door for the hundredth time. Where is Preston? He hasn’t even shown up yet, and he’s supposed to be here before I even arrive.
I sigh, repeatedly flicking my eyes toward my watch during practice. 2:30. 2:40. 2:55….
“Zoie!” I hear someone yell with an amused tone. “I asked for the french horns to play, please! From the top, one, two, three…” He raises his baton as I put my burning face and hot lips up to my instrument to play. When I play the measures provided, he looks at me with astonishment. I look up at him, starting to grin. Did I play it well? Did…
“Didn’t you practice at all? You really need to start-people can, I repeat, you can, get kicked out of this band after our auditions for seating. Ok, everyone, from the beginning…”
People beside me smirk and giggle. Someone yells out, “Where’s Parker?”
“Bring him back!” More laughter. He waves it off with his baton, and the playing begins. I don’t dare play, as I just lift the instrument up to my lips and blow useless puffs of air for the whole duration of the song.
Couldn’t everyone just give the suspension a break? What did I do, commit murder? Theft? Kidnap?
Who would I even kidnap anyways?
The dismissal bell chimes, and I’m the first out of my seat. I run towards my backpack, snatching it away from the side wall, and leaving the horrors of that stupid, biased room. Biased against french horn players, that is. I shake my head and rush to the parking lot, crossing road in between cars waiting impatiently and honking at each other.
What could even be worse than this? I spot my brother at the top of the hill, walking as slow as a slug up the green-covered hill. I shout his name, and he turns, abruptly stopping right before the road our house is located on, and waits until I jog toward him.
“Hi-sorry for taking so long…” He shrugs, squinting his eyes.
“I don’t really care. Honestly. So, what happened with you today?” I smile, remembering earlier in the day, what had happened.
“Let’s just say that it was like an old memory coming back to life. You’ll see when we get home.” He looks confused, but he looks away, as if he’s used to me doing this. I laugh and shove him, pressing my hand against his shoulder. He smirks, and pushes me back, until we arrive at the front door.
“Here, let me get the house key.” He digs into his backpack, but I grab his arm to stop him. Shaking my head, I ring the doorbell. A figure opens the door, and I see Jaison’s eyes widen.
“Well, hello there. Who might you be?” The one and only Steffanie Blackwood stands there, blocking our way and grinning from cheek to cheek. I give a sideways glance to my brother, who’s shellshocked. He runs his fingers through his hair nervously.
“Hey Jaison! It’s been so long!” She giggles, and she goes in for a hug. My brother, being very awkward, goes in for a handshake instead, leaving them in a strange situation. I roll my eyes as they alternate between handshake and embrace.
YOU ARE READING
I Don't Really Know...
Teen Fiction~ "You may be dead on the outside, but not on the inside. That beating heart, it’s got the life of a dreamer, a best friend, ...