Page 27 of Okay, Cupid

“Rising eighth graders from the district come and visit as an early welcome thing. Mr. Lawson uses it to convince kids to join the orchestra. He needs the numbers to keep up funding.”

Mr. Lawson continues, “I want to make sure you’re all practicing in and out of class; it’s an important night for us. Take five, and we’re going to jump back into it, okay?”

My classmates set their instruments down, some of them leaving to go get water, others stretching or going about cleaning their instruments.

“You’ve been studying,” Alice says, picking up her soft pink water bottle.

“A bit. Have I improved?”

“Not really. You’re still late.”

“It’s hard to keep track, you all move so quickly.”

“You’ll develop an ear for it,” she says reassuringly, and it’s a pleasant surprise to hear something nice from her. “Either that, or you’ll memorize the patterns. It’s not as hard as it seems once you’ve found a groove.”

“Yeah, yeah … sure.” I hesitate, reading over the complicated sheet music. “Why’d you pick drums?”

“Is that so weird?”

“I guess not, it’s just … unexpected?” Watching Alice play for only two days now, she’s like a different person with the sticks in her hands. Her movements are loose, wild, and calculated at the same time.

“I just like the drums, plus my dad used to play with a jazz group. He’d take me to his practices when I was young.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, she goes cold again. Then she turns back to me, sizing me up. “Let me ask you a question.”

“Um … okay?” Though it very much wasn’t a request.

“Are you really going to stay in orchestra?”

“I don’t see how I have a choice,” I tell her.

She eyes me warily, then sighs. “I guess I can see that. It’s why Neve picked art. The girl can’t draw a stick figure to save her life.”

“You two seem close,” I say, unlocking the case for the triangle in my lap.

“She’s my best friend, if that’s what you mean.”

“Makes sense. Neve’s pretty friendly, huh?”

“You’re saying I’m not?” Alice asks with a slyness that tells me—at least I hope it’s telling me—that she’s joking. “You couldn’t tell by the way she basically adopted you on your first day?”

“If it weren’t for her, I’d probably still be getting lost in the hallway.”

“She has a habit of doing that.” Alice begins to inspect her drum kit, noticing something that I don’t and reaching to fix it, twisting a knob. “It’s like she has a radar for pathetic people who need help.”

Then she realizes what she said.

“I meant the ‘pathetic’ about me, not you.”

“Noted.” I feel a bit of relief. “How did you two—” I start to ask, but Mr. Lawson claps his hands together, drawing our attention back to the front of the classroom.

“Okay, everyone. Positions!”

My classmates all rush to their seats and Alice straightens on her stool. Mr. Lawson readies his hands in the air, bouncing them softly, and we begin to play again.

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