Free Blessed Tragedy by Hb Heinzer Page B

for me to get out of the school without a bloody lip from biting it to stifle my laughter.
    “It was, uh, it was nice to meet you, Rain.” The kid stuttered. “Sorry 'bout your mom. That's a crap deal.”
    We walked into the nearly empty band room and I about fell over when I saw Garrett Dietrich sitting in the director's office sorting sheet music. He certainly had grown up in the few years since we graduated. As Mike talked to him, I started praying he wasn't the type to hold a grudge; if he was, I'd have to explain why we were bongo-less.
    Mike came out of the office, walked to the practice rooms and returned with one set of bongos. “He said it's fine. Then he asked if you'd consider stopping by with the guys during eighth period band. Thinks it'd be good for the kids to see what can happen if they pay attention and put in the hard work.”
    The thought of being put on display in front of students sitting in the same seats I once occupied was disconcerting. With everything I'd learned about how wrong I was about my family's opinion of me, I felt like the antithesis of a good role model. I'd shit on every one of them while trying to prove I wasn't a princess. But Garrett's dad, the former band director, was monumental in my own life so I felt like I owed it to him.
    “I'll have to see how things are going at home, but we might be able to do that. You think we could sneak in through the gym? I really don't need to walk through hormone hell again today.”
    If I still had a place with Blessed Tragedy by the time this ordeal was over, it would be a miracle. First, I turned our hard rock band into a funeral entertainment act and now I was going to go home and tell them we were coming back to talk to the high school band. We'd done things like that before but it was always a paid gig arranged by our manager.
     
    “I come bearing bongos,” I called down the stairs when we got home. The guys broke out in what could only be described as a fit of giggles at the statement. When you spend as much time around them as I do, it's easy to forget that even they can turn into immature little boys sometimes.
    “Look, she brought the drums too!” Jon laughed hysterically. He stopped immediately when the bongos hit him hard in the chest.
    “There are your damn bongos.” I hopped onto the pool table and started fidgeting with my hair. I didn't do it often but when I did, it was a sure sign I was up to no good. “So, uh, how much do you guys love me?”
    Travis laughed. “Well, Jon and I like you an awful lot, but I think Colton's the only one here that loves you.” My eyes shot up at Travis and then over to a blushing Colton. Shit. This is not the way anything is supposed to go.
    “Anyway...what's up?” Colton glared at Travis as if he'd just shared some major secret.
    “So...uh...we need to get through this and get changed. Mike might have told the band director we'd go up there for eighth period.”
    “Okay, sounds cool to me.” Jon said, not lifting his eyes from the sheet music in front of him. If Jon said it was cool, it was cool and not open for discussion. I'm not sure why I doubted these guys. Even if they weren't willing to do just about anything I asked while we were here, they did have a soft spot for encouraging kids and the arts.
    The four of sat on the sectional huddled around the papers Jon had printed out and made notes on. With such an iconic piece of music, it wasn't hard to pick up on what we needed to do to make it come together. By one-thirty, we were confident that it would be passable with one more practice tonight.
    My dad knocked on the basement door when he brought lunch to us. “Sounds amazing down here. Maddie, your mom would be so proud.” Tears were forming in his eyes. I silently begged him to stop before I started crying again.
    “Thanks, Dad. I assume that means you're okay with them helping me out tomorrow?”
    “You know I don't like admitting when I'm wrong, Moo-- sorry, Maddie. I was