My mother sighed. “Darling, it’s a caftan. And it’s silk. Careful hands.” She shrugged out of it, leaving her in all-black shirt and pants.
I carefully wrapped the red-and-gold paisleycaftanaround myself. Most of my legs were on display, along with a large slice of my chest and abdomen. “Am I crazy, or am I pulling this off?”
My mother looked at me over her glasses and nodded.
“That’s all you have to say about the band on your lawn?” I asked.
“They sound tight, considering how early in the year it is,” she answered serenely.
“You are in on this.” I slid into my sandals as I studied her.
“I had a chat with the band director, yes.”
Band director? The pieces slid into place.
“Is this because I wouldn’t tutor that kid?” I had to raise my voice because the music got louder with every passing minute.
She shrugged and picked her phone back up to play her bubble game with her coffee.
I shook my head. “If they crush my echinacea, I will never forgive you!” I called over my shoulder as I went into the front yard.
They were in full swing now, scurrying around like clenched ants.
“Hey!” I yelled but wasn’t heard. Or, more likely, was ignored. The eyes of the neighbors were on me, and I wrapped myself up tighter, knowing this would be the talk of the town today.
My sudden nerves at the spotlight made my throat tight, but I tried to get the attention of the person leading the performance.
The classic marching band performance of “Sing, Sing, Sing” morphed into another song—one I knew all too well—at the direction of the woman up front who swung her arms wildly as she shouted a command I didn’t understand.
I squinted as sun glared through the trees, hiding her from view.
“You’re kidding me.” I rolled my eyes skyward as “Small Town Escape” by The Burnouts filled the air. Perhaps our biggest hit, before my departure. It was a hack job, but recognizable. I had to give them some credit. They managed to sound this good considering I only turned Devlin down a few days ago.
“Very clever,” I mumbled, feeling the weight of all the onlookers. I just wanted this to stop.
The band split to reveal a tall kid in a white tank top, with athletic arms and long black hair, holding a marching quad set. The rest of the band quieted down as the girl with the quads looked up at the woman directing and then at me. I saw a nervous twitch of her cheek before she seemed to swallow her fear and glare with determination.
I recognized that look. That “screw this small town, screw this person who doesn’t think I’m good enough” look. I felt a shiver pass down my neck as she began her solo. A similar solo I had played a hundred times on this very song but not on marching quads.
I grumbled.
She really was good, insanely good for a high school kid, but not as good as I was.When I still played. She was stiff and a little tentative.
When she finished, I clapped, hoping the madness was over. Janice popped up at my side, clapping and whooping loudly, drawing even more attention.
“That child is going places,” my mother said. “Hopefully,” she added pointedly.
“Thank you for that, Janice,” I grumbled.
Just then, the woman who’d been conducting turned and headed toward us.
All coherent thought left my mind. The sun shone on her blond ponytail, afaint smile on her lips. Her dark eyes seemed to be full of secrets and knowledge. She came to the porch to greet us as the rest of the band gathered around the drummer. As she approached, I could see the director had a large smile and perfectly aligned white teeth. Her frame was tall and slender, and she wore jeans and a striped sweater.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t manage a full breath in.
“Lovely to see you again. The kids sound really great, Mari,” my mother gushed.
“Thank you, Janice. I learned from the best,” the woman, Mari, said.
