Free Notes From An Accidental Band Geek by Erin Dionne Page A

Hector, and Sarah.
    I tossed my lunch bag on the table and plopped the papers beside it. Steve hadn’t arrived yet.
    “Elsie!” Hector cried. “Help me out: that song from the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey —bah-dah-BA-DAH! —”
    “Richard Strauss. It’s called ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra,’ but that’s the name of the whole piece. The section they used in the movie is actually a movement called ‘Sunrise.’ The Pops played it a couple of years ago.” I waved my hand at Hector’s gaping mouth. “But that doesn’t matter. I forgot my hat.”
    All three of them shook their heads.
    “Dude!” Jake said. “Elsie! We need them for run-through.”
    “I know that,” I snapped.
    “Steve is going to kill you,” Sarah said.
    “I know that too. That’s why I’m telling you before he gets here. Help me out!” Desperate, anyone?
    The others exchanged helpless looks.
    “I don’t know what we can do,” Hector said. Today he was wearing a Star Wars shirt that read: “I’m not lazy, I just have a bad motivator” around a picture of a robot. I didn’t get it. He added, “It’s not like any of us have an extra shako hidden in our lunch bags or anything.”
    Okay, I deserved that for my snarky comment this morning. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, the sound from hundreds of conversations bouncing off the caf’s walls.
    “Can you call someone and have it dropped off?” Sarah’s voice rose out of the din. My dad was probably still home. His quintet rehearsed on Wednesdays, but I think they met in late afternoon. He’d probably grumble about having to come by the high school, but at least I wouldn’t be running laps or making farm noises for the marching band.
    I opened my eyes and sat straighter. “Yeah, I’ll call my dad.”
    “Steve will never have to know,” Sarah said, triumphant.
    “Steve would never have to know what?” His deep voice was right behind me.
    Sarah turned pink.
    “Ba-daaa . . . BA-DAH!” sang Hector. I glared at him.
    “Nothing,” Jake said. “It’s cool.” He slid his chair over so Steve could sit.
    For the rest of lunch I worked on the lab report I was supposed to finish the night before while Steve helped Jake with some big extra-credit math problem. Hector and Sarah made supply lists for our Halloween dance costumes. Just before the bell rang, Jake brought me to the far side of the caf so I could use his cell phone. His hair flopped over his eyes as he showed me how to unlock the key pad, and my heart did a funny stop-start.
    The phone purred in my ear until Dad picked up and I explained that, no, I was not sick or anything—I just needed my band hat.
    “You need to be responsible for your own belongings,” my dad said in his lecture-voice. “A professional musician is always prepared.”
    I gritted my teeth against the shame his words delivered. It’s not like I forgot something every week. And, seriously, what did my band hat have to do with being a professional musician?! “I know, Dad. I just left in a rush this morning and forgot. It won’t happen again.” I took a deep breath, stressed. “The bell’s going to ring and I need to go to class.”
    He sighed. “Fine, Elsie. I’ll drop it off in the front office this afternoon, on my way to rehearsal. Last time though, okay?”
    Only time, I wanted to add, but I thanked him and clicked the phone off. Our conversation left me feeling like a deflated tire. Before this year, Dad and I had so much in common, so much to talk about; everything was easy between us. But now it was as though every time we spoke, someone was saying the wrong thing or hearing different words. I sighed.
    Jake, who’d nicely stepped away to give me some privacy, slipped the phone back in his pocket and raised an eyebrow at me.
    “He’s going to bring it.”
    “Cool.” Jake turned away, then back, like he wanted to say something.
    “What?” I said, immediately regretting the harsh way the word came out. What was wrong with