I Heart Band Read Free Page A

walked off. I watched him go, because let’s face it, at that point I already looked like a total loser. I figured I might as well embrace it.
    â€œExcuse me.”
    I stepped aside as someone reached into the cubby under mine and pulled out a French horn case. The label over the cubby caught my eye.
    NATASHA PRYNNE .
    No.
    No
way
.
    I stood there dumbly as she straightened up and gave me that fake smile. “Hi, Holly!”
    â€œHey.” I tried to smile back, then picked up my backpack and crammed it into my cubby before she could say anything rude about it (again). “So . . . you play French horn, too?”
    I tried not to sound as annoyed as I felt. How had I not seen this coming? Natasha and Julia were at
band
camp together—duh, of course she’s in band. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, did she have to play the same instrument as me?
Really?
    â€œYeah. Julia told me you’re really good,” Natasha added. I shrugged, but in my head I was, like,
You got that right.
    Something occurred to me as we headed into the band hall. “So how’d you get into advanced band?” I asked casually. “We all had to audition at the end of last year.”
    â€œI auditioned at my old school, too,” she replied. “They put me in the top band there, so . . .”
    â€œThat’s great,” I said.
Not really
.
    Julia was already seated, clarinet pieces in her lap and reed in her mouth. She waved at me. (Okay, at us.)
    I waved back, then slipped past Natasha down the third row and grabbed the first chair in the horn section, right next to the saxes. The bell rang, and everyone hurried to their seats. Brooke Dennis sat down on my left—she’d been the only seventh-grade horn player in advanced band last year, I remembered. Owen sat next to her, so Natasha was stuck with the last chair in our section, farthest from me. Good.
    Gabby sat down on my right. “Hey again, Holly!”
    â€œHi! Have a good summer?” I asked.
    She shrugged. “Kind of boring. Want one?” She rattled an open box of Red Hots at me, and I shook my head.
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œI’ve got the last lunch period,” Gabby complained, shoving a few into her mouth. “Still have PE after this, and I’m already starving.”
    Before I could reply, the new guy stepped onto the podium. Everyone stopped talking.
    â€œHello, everyone,” he said. “I’m Mr. Dante. Welcome to advanced band.”
    Silence. (Except for Gabby chewing.)
    â€œI’d like to go over a few rules. Several of you were in this band last year, some of you were in symphonic band as seventh-graders, and a few of you were just beginners. No matter what class you were in, this year might be a little bit different than what you’re used to.”
    Gabby popped a few more Red Hots into her mouth. Mr. Dante smiled at her.
    â€œLet’s make this rule number one, Ms. Flores,” he said. “No food or drinks during rehearsal.”
    â€œEven if I have to wait till last lunch?” she asked. A few kids laughed.
    Mr. Dante nodded. “Afraid so.” Gabby closed the box and tucked it under her chair with a sigh.
    He went over a few more rules, none of them any different than Mrs. Wendell’s—no playing without permission, no playing each other’s instruments, have your instrument out and be in your seat by the time the bell rings, blah-blah-blah. I glanced down the row and saw Natasha sitting up perfectly straight, hanging on every word he said. What a shock, she was a total kiss-up. Ugh.
    â€œNow, let’s talk about chair tests.”
    I faced the podium again, quietly tapping the bell of my horn.
    â€œI expect a lot from each of you,” Mr. Dante said. “And I expect each of you to demand a lot from yourselves. We’re going to have regular chair tests during class. You’ll know ahead of time what I want you to