I Heart Band by Michelle Schusterman Page A

she was actually
defending Natasha.
    â€œLook, Holly.” Julia’s eyes were watery, too, but her voice was firm. “I told Natasha and Sophie I thought it was an accident. I told them you’d never do anything so disgusting. And I’m not going to listen to Natasha say things like that about you, ever.”
    When I didn’t reply, she continued.
    â€œBut I’m not going to listen to
you
talk about Natasha like that, either. She’s my friend, too, Holly. And I . . .” Julia looked away for a second. “I just can’t deal with the two of you . . . being like this.”
    I stared at the linoleum, Julia’s words ringing in my ears.
    She’s my friend, too, Holly.
    Never mind the third-grade talent show, the countless sleepovers, the four years of best friendship. Two weeks with Natasha at Lake Lindon had been enough. It didn’t matter that the girl clearly hated me—Julia still considered her a friend.
    So what did that make me?
    â€œFine,” I said at last. “But you know what, Julia? She’s not
my
friend. And if hanging out with her is that important to you, maybe you should just do it without me.”
    Julia looked surprised for a second, then her mouth set in a firm line.
    â€œFine.”
    â€œFine.”
    Turning, I headed to the bathroom without looking back.

Chapter
Fifteen

    B y the time Mom dropped me off at Spins for the band party, it was already pretty crowded. I hovered in the entrance, looking for familiar faces. Spins was part pizza buffet, part arcade, and it was kind of dimly lit. There were definitely a lot of advanced-band members here already, and I recognized a bunch of seventh-graders who were in symphonic band. There were several kids I didn’t recognize, but judging from their height, I figured they were in beginner band. (Seriously, was I that short in sixth grade?)
    Mr. Dante was in a booth chatting with the parent chaperones. For, like, the millionth time, I thought about Julia sitting at home and tried to push the image out of my mind. I couldn’t believe I’d yelled at her like that after band. At the same time, I was still a little too hurt by what she’d said to call her (although I’d picked up the phone without dialing about a dozen times before leaving for Spins).
    Ignoring yet another wave of guilt, I spotted Gabby and a few girls by the drinks. I started heading their way, then stopped.
    By the time I’d gotten home from school, I’d convinced myself that what happened during band wasn’t that big of a deal. But now . . . Half the kids in this room had been there to witness my humiliation. I edged back toward the doors, a blush heating my cheeks. I couldn’t face everyone. Maybe I should just quit band and join the choir or something. My singing voice wasn’t bad.
    Then I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. Like I would ever do choir.
    â€œHey, Holly!” Gabby waved, holding a plate piled high with cinnamon breadsticks from the buffet in her other hand. Next to her, Victoria Rios, a trumpet player, and Leah Collins, a percussionist, were eating slices of pizza. Taking a deep breath, I headed over.
    â€œHey,” I said nervously. Gabby smiled at me.
    â€œLove your dress.”
    Inwardly, I sighed in relief. She wasn’t going to mention the spit-valve thing.
    â€œThanks!” I couldn’t help but stare at Gabby’s plate. “Seriously, do you ever eat anything but sweet stuff?”
    â€œNope,” Victoria answered immediately. “One time in fifth grade I dared her to eat a pickle at lunch because she’d never had one.”
    â€œYou were in fifth grade the first time you ate a
pickle
?” Leah exclaimed, picking the olives off her pizza.
    Gabby nodded, swallowing. “Yup. Vic bet me a week’s worth of chocolate pudding that I couldn’t eat the whole thing. So I did. Then I puked. Totally worth