I Heart Band Read Free

been at band camp, Julia wouldn’t have had to resort to hanging out with that stuck-up Natasha girl. Who had my backpack.
    I kicked the Beacon of Nerdiness under my desk and sighed.
    It was a long wait until fourth period band. I mostly spent it imagining forcing Natasha and Chad to eat actual worms.

Chapter Three

    I forgot about the new band director until I got to the band hall and saw him leaning against his office door, watching everyone. It was obvious he was a lot younger than Mrs. Wendell, but she was so nice, and he looked . . . not mean, exactly. But maybe a little intimidating.
    The message on the chalkboard from this morning had been replaced:
    Backpacks in your cubby, instruments out. Please sit in your section.
    Underneath that was a seating chart with each of the sections labeled. Organization. I approved.
    The cases that lined the wall this morning were gone, too. I headed to the cubby room, mumbling a few hellos. Julia and I weren’t the only seventh-graders in advanced band, but there weren’t too many of us. Gabby waved at me as she hooked the neck strap to her saxophone. Next to her, Sophie Wheeler was putting her oboe together and talking a mile a minute. I recognized Trevor Wells opening his trombone case and talking to Owen Reynolds, who’d been in my beginner French horn class. Owen’s really nice, although honestly, I was kind of surprised he’d been placed in this band. He was an okay horn player, but not great or anything.
    No Julia yet.
    I found the horn cubbies and noticed they were all newly labeled with everyone’s name. So clearly this Mr. Dante was a perfectionist, too. Score one point for the new guy. I slid my case out of its cubby and crouched down on the floor to open it. More kids were filing in—most of them eighth-graders—and I kept my eyes fixed on my horn as a sudden wave of nervousness hit me. This was a whole lot more intimidating than beginner French horn class.
    I straightened up to put my case away, horn in hand, and someone’s elbow collided with my head. I rubbed my temple and turned to find myself looking into the most insanely dark brown eyes I’d ever seen.
    Well, hello there
.
    That’s not what I said, though. What I said was something more like,
“Mermph?”
Because I’m cool like that.
    â€œSorry!” Aaron Cook gave me an apologetic smile. I couldn’t move. It wasn’t my fault—he had pretty much the most amazing smile ever. It was paralyzing.
    â€œUm, it’s okay.”
Seriously, Julia, where are you?!
I watched Aaron open his trumpet case and tried to come up with something at least a little bit not lame to say. But all I could think about was the pep rally last year when Julia and I sat huddled on the bleachers together and discussed the wonder that is Aaron Cook in a football uniform.
    Football—maybe I could ask him about that! Was he on the eighth-grade football team this year? Probably. What position? Running back. Wow. How cool. Yup, I was having an imaginary conversation in my head with the guy standing right next to me.
    He put his case away and glanced at the floor. “Is that yours, Holly?”
    I recognized my blue polishing cloth lying next to my backpack. Bat-Signal facing up. Of. Course.
    â€œYeah, thanks.” I ducked down, grabbed the cloth, then moved to block the backpack from him. Like he hadn’t already noticed it. Tucking the cloth back into my case, I realized something. “How did you know my name?”
    It just kind of blurted out of my mouth without permission, and I blushed. Aaron grinned and tapped the label on my cubby.
    HOLLY MEAD
    Oh, for the love
 . . .
    â€œRight.” I wondered exactly what shade of red my face was now. Any hope of me saying more than two words that weren’t completely idiotic was dashed when Aaron spotted a few of his friends. “See you!” He smiled at me again—
help!
—and