I drop down on the other side of the sofa. “Don’t be dramatic, it’s not that bad.”
“Maybe, but it’s weird. I was expecting you and Max to come clean this evening. I understand why you didn’t want to talk about it last week at the game—you two had barely been together for twenty-four hours. You needed a minute to feel settled. But now it’s been over a week and you’re still keeping it a secret from everyone?”
I mess with my hair rather than look her in the eye. “If we tell everyone, things will get so complicated. Our sections hate each other.”
“Who cares? They don’t get to decide what you do with your life.”
“I know, but it’s been such a struggle getting color guard to bond. Now that we’re finally coming together, I don’t want to be the one to splinter or distract us.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And I’m sure Max is more than fine keeping you a secret.”
My stomach churns at how easily she can predict the truth. Still, I don’t like her wording.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything other than I’m worried about you. I know you’ve fallen for him already, no matter what you tell me, and this whole arrangement is making me nervous. I don’t like that he can kiss you in secret and then deny you’re together in public.”
“But it goes both ways,” I argue stubbornly. I feel the need to defend us even though I have the same reservations as her. “I’m doing the exact same thing.”
“Butisit the same?” she asks quietly. She sits up straighter and looks me in the eye. “You really like him.”
I deflate. It’s clear what she’s implying—that Max might not feel as strongly about me as I feel about him. I want to keep fighting her, but a small voice reminds me of our conversation yesterday. Percussion is still his priority. I lean back and stare up at the ceiling, wishing I knew for sure whether he’s as serious about us as I am. The obvious solution is to just ask, but that’s terrifying.
I lift my head to look at Nova. “I kinda hate this conversation, FYI. But thanks for caring anyway. Even if it is in your cynical and pessimistic way.” I roll my eyes good-naturedly.
“I hate it too. And you’re welcome.” She nudges my leg with her foot. “Now let’s go raid your kitchen for dessert before I have to go back home.”
Chapter Thirty
Today is the day. Our third and final regional band competition, and our last chance to qualify for state. I’m so nervous that I wake up nauseous, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to stay that way for the rest of the day.
I finish the final touches on my French braid and check myself out in the bathroom mirror at the house. The guard decided to wear green satin bows in our braids for this competition, and I want mine to be pristine. Downstairs, I can hear dishes clinking and hushed voices as my parents get ready. Mom, Dad, and Kelsey are driving to the competition even though this one is close to two hours away. I’m sure I’ll find them in their band T-shirts with matching buttons, face paint, and pom-poms at the ready.
“Ooh, I love your bow,” Kelsey says when I walk into the kitchen. “Can you do my hair the same way?”
“Uh, sure,” I reply, a bit surprised she cares. “I have anextra ribbon I can use.” I pull a hair tie from my wrist where I always keep extras and run my fingers through her curls to separate them into thirds.
“Does Max like ribbons?” she asks over her shoulder.
Ah, there it is. Now I see why she’s interested in my hairstyle.
“I’ve never asked him about his opinions on ribbons.”
“How are you feeling about today?” Mom asks, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. She’s dressed as the quintessential marching band parent, just as I expected her to be.
“Great,” I reply, trying to exude confidence. “The guard has really come together over the last month, so I’m feeling good.”
Dad nods over his mug. “You’ve put in the work and now you get to enjoy the benefits. You can go out there and just have fun.”
The briefest hint of annoyance flickers across Mom’s face. Honestly, I kind of feel the same. I wish that going out and “having fun” was enough for me, but it’s not. I’ve had too many years growing up in this house forfunto be my goal.
“Now is the time to really go after it,” Mom adds. “You can relax tomorrow. Winners never let up.”
“She’s already done so much, Lauren,” Dad says reproachfully.
“I know,” she tells us both. “I’d just hate for you to have regrets, especially with band awards around the corner. I know how much all this means to you.”
My eyes drift toward the living room bookshelf where both Mom and Dad display their band awards from highschool and college. They were so happy to add my freshman award to the shelf. They pushed all their things to the back so my award would be front and center. I’ve never won anything else important enough to add to the shelf, so it’s sat there ever since, alone and gathering dust. But I’m feeling sick enough from the pressures of our show today. I can’t think about anything else.
