“Are you sure?” Her voice became clearer, like maybe she’d stepped outside or cupped her hand around the speaker. “Are you okay?” A thread of worry laced itself throughout her tone, immediately sinking into my gut.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. We’ll talk later when you’re not busy.”
“You’re fine?” she pressed.
“Yeah, it’s all good. Have a good night.”
Another beat.
“Okay, if you’re certain. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
The call ended and my chest never loosened, so I went back to my phone and began switching our flights.
7
Satellites
Solace
The band room smelled of brass polish and sheet music and the tangy scent of sweat. Mostly mine.
“Okay.” I clapped my hands once. “Let’s just run the third movement again from measure sixty.”
No one moved, everyone was looking back at the drum kit. Or more specifically, Mr. Halloway sitting behind it. He gave me a patient smile and lifted the sticks again. To his benefit, he was trying. I knew he was trying, but the rhythm continued to lag a half beat behind where it should have been, and the entire piece folded in on itself like a bad accordion.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath through my nose, but even that was half-hearted. This concert was the last one of the year. I was graduating on Saturday, and while it stood to be my final moment on stage, it was also my first experience standing in front of the podium, instead of sitting behind it. I was about to conduct the very piece I’d poured my blood, sweat, and tears into… literally. The music that took over nine months to write and even longer to perfect.
And my drummer was in the hospital.
A soft knock sounded on the band room door. “Solace?”
I turned, relief flooding through me for a split second at the sight of my parents peeking in, until I saw who was standing behind them. My breath caught.
Jude.
He looked a bit windblown, like he’d come straight from the airport. His dark jeans were wrinkled, creased where he’d been sitting for hours.
For a moment I could only stare at him. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another week or so. “You—” My voice cracked, throat dry from talking through every measure with Mr. Halloway. I’d missed Jude’s call Monday night, when I was out with friends surprising Bridget for her birthday, and he said nothing when I called back. “You’re here.”
He shrugged, rain dappled button down shifting with his shoulders. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The coil in my chest tightened and suddenly I was very aware that I was finally sweatingthroughmy shirt. I pulled at the fabric, fanning myself. “I thought your flight wasn’t for another week.”
“It wasn’t. I changed it.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say, except that before he’d burst in, I’d already decided I couldn’t give up, run out, and stuff my face into a plate of greasy chocolate chip pancakes. Now I was tracing the three-minute drive to the diner down the street. Pancakes wouldn’t betray me the way my messy heart was threatening to. I had an amendment to make to myWorst Days of My Life List… this was, without a single doubt, going to be theworstday of my entire, miserable life.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I told him through a forced smile. I was happy to see him, I wanted to drop the baton and run to him, but… just not tonight.Of all nights.
Here.
At school.
In front of everyone.
Neither of us moved; awkward tension hanging thick in the air.
