Free Audition & Subtraction by Amy Fellner Dominy

couldn’t do it. “No,” I muttered. “You don’t.”
    â€œYou don’t sound spitty, either,” he said. “Not that there’s any spit inside your clarinet.” But this time he said it with a real smile.
    â€œYeah, well.” I shrugged. “I’m anti-spit. Just in general.”
    He nodded. “Me, I like a good spitting contest now and then.”
    â€œI can see that about you.”
    Our eyes met, and for a change, it didn’t feel like a clash of competitors.
    â€œSpeaking of spit,” Michael added, “what’s the deal with Frank?”
    I slid the ligature on and off my finger like a ring. Frank sat behind us and had a small saliva problem. “I don’t think he closes his mouth all the way when he plays.”
    Michael blinked. “For real? Because I feel like I’m sitting in front of a sprinkler. I got to say something.”
    â€œYou can’t,” I told him. “I don’t think he can help it. He’s got special rubber-band attachments on his braces.”
    â€œHe’s going to figure out something’s wrong when I show up to band in a raincoat.”
    I laughed—it just sort of burst out of me, completely unexpected. Kind of like his sense of humor.
    He grinned, and I suddenly understood what Lori might see in him. He had a nice smile—when he wasn’t smirking.
    I stuck the ligature in the pocket of my backpack. “I said the exact same thing about the raincoat to Aaron six months ago.”
    â€œNot surprised,” Michael said. “You guys are pretty funny together.”
    â€œWho?” I frowned. “Aaron and me?”
    â€œYeah. You guys are always going off on something during band.”
    â€œI guess,” I said. “We’ve known each other a while. Anyway, I think Frank’s rubber bands come off in a month.”
    â€œI suppose I won’t drown in a month.” He shrugged and brought his clarinet back into playing position.
    I pointed to the music stand. “Well. I’ll let you get back to it.” Then my jaw dropped as I got a good look at his sheet music. The page was full of black—which meant lots of fast passages.
    â€œIs that your solo?” I asked. “It looks hard.”
    His eyes flickered back to the music. “More points, right?” But I saw a line between his eyebrows. Definite face-scrunching. All of a sudden, I remembered that first day in band and how he’d seemed nervous about the audition.
    I licked my dry lips. “Lori told me your dad is a musician.”
    â€œYeah,” Michael said. “In New York.”
    â€œAnd you’re going to play in his band?”
    â€œThat’s the plan when I’m old enough.”
    I worked my hands into my back pockets. “That must be tough, though. Having him so far away.”
    â€œYeah, it kind of sucks.”
    â€œDoes he visit very much?”
    â€œHe can’t,” Michael said. “They’ve got gigs. But he’ll come out if I make District Honor Band.”
    Frowning, I thought through what he’d just said. There was something weird about it. … “So,” I asked slowly, “does that mean if you don’t make it, he won’t come out to see you?”
    His fingers flashed white at the tips as if he were pressing them into the keys. “I didn’t say that. I’m getting in, and he’s coming out. End of story.” Then he wet his reed and turned back to his music.
    I swallowed, feeling like I should say something. But what? Instead, I backed out and closed the door softly until it clicked shut. I heard the muted sound of his clarinet again and stood there a minute, breathing hard. My heart felt heavy and fast, all at the same time. I wished I’d just gone in, grabbed my ligature, and walked out. I didn’t want to know all that about his dad.
    I liked Michael better when I could just hate