7. Satellites
Satellites
Solace
The band room smelled of brass polish and sheet music and the tangy scent of sweat. Mostly mine.
“Okay.” I clapped my hands once. “Let’s just run the third movement again from measure sixty.”
No one moved, everyone was looking back at the drum kit.
Or more specifically, Mr. Halloway sitting behind it.
He gave me a patient smile and lifted the sticks again.
To his benefit, he was trying. I knew he was trying, but the rhythm continued to lag a half beat behind where it should have been, and the entire piece folded in on itself like a bad accordion.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath through my nose, but even that was half-hearted.
This concert was the last one of the year.
I was graduating on Saturday, and while it stood to be my final moment on stage, it was also my first experience standing in front of the podium, instead of sitting behind it.
I was about to conduct the very piece I’d poured my blood, sweat, and tears into…
literally. The music that took over nine months to write and even longer to perfect.
And my drummer was in the hospital.
A soft knock sounded on the band room door. “Solace?”
I turned, relief flooding through me for a split second at the sight of my parents peeking in, until I saw who was standing behind them. My breath caught.
Jude.
He looked a bit windblown, like he’d come straight from the airport. His dark jeans were wrinkled, creased where he’d been sitting for hours.
For a moment I could only stare at him. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another week or so.
“You—” My voice cracked, throat dry from talking through every measure with Mr. Halloway.
I’d missed Jude’s call Monday night, when I was out with friends surprising Bridget for her birthday, and he said nothing when I called back. “You’re here.”
He shrugged, rain dappled button down shifting with his shoulders. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The coil in my chest tightened and suddenly I was very aware that I was finally sweating through my shirt. I pulled at the fabric, fanning myself. “I thought your flight wasn’t for another week.”
“It wasn’t. I changed it.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say, except that before he’d burst in, I’d already decided I couldn’t give up, run out, and stuff my face into a plate of greasy chocolate chip pancakes.
Now I was tracing the three-minute drive to the diner down the street.
Pancakes wouldn’t betray me the way my messy heart was threatening to.
I had an amendment to make to my Worst Days of My Life List…
this was, without a single doubt, going to be the worst day of my entire, miserable life.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I told him through a forced smile. I was happy to see him, I wanted to drop the baton and run to him, but… just not tonight. Of all nights.
Here.
At school.
In front of everyone.
Neither of us moved; awkward tension hanging thick in the air.
My mom, infallibly ignorant to anyone’s anxiety, walked over and gave me a hug, pecking my cheek with a kiss. “So proud of you.”
“We’ll go find our seats,” my dad added. “Break a leg, kid.”
“That’s theater,” Connor snickered from the winds section.
I offered Jude a soft smile, before turning back to the band, eyes darting toward Mr. Halloway and the problem at hand. “See you after,” I called over my shoulder.
There were thirty-two minutes until showtime and we were going to need every second of it if we had any hope of making it through the piece. Now, it had to be perfect. I glanced back at Jude who wasn’t moving from his spot by the door.
Okay… you can go now. Please go. I made a quick, impatient gesture for him to leave.
Mr. Halloway stood, peering around the tuba’s. “Jude, you still drum like a bat out of hell?”
I turned to find Jude moving farther into the room, setting his phone and keys down on the piano. “Pretty sure,” he answered with a faint smirk.
My band director lifted his sticks in surrender. “I will happily relinquish the throne.”
Jude’s eyes flicked to me, and then to the sheet music sitting on the conductor’s stand. “I’d be happy to, if it’s okay with Solace.”
My gaze narrowed. “What? You haven’t played in years.
” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but I knew for a fact that he hadn’t touched a drumstick since he left for Texas.
My fists clenched at my sides before quickly releasing.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. “I don’t know, we’ve been practicing all year,” I argued.
“You worked hard Solace, don’t let me ruin it.” Mr. Halloway placed the sticks down, straightening his tie as he rose. “Jude, you’re in. Executive decision. Sorry, Sol.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good—”
“Give me the part,” Jude asserted, rolling his sleeves as he stepped up beside me. My gaze stayed there for a traitorous second before the sound of my band director quietly excusing himself snapped me out of it.
“What?”
“Give me the part. All I need is fifteen minutes in the practice room.”
“Jude—”
“Do you have a recording?”
Mr. Halloway handed over his part with a copy of the full sheet music. “I’ll set it up.”
He winked at me as he followed Mr. Halloway out of the room. That’s it. I was doomed, I thought morosely. There was nothing stopping this head-on collision from happening.
“Tempo changes in the third movement! And don’t miss the part where you cut out—”
“I’ll figure it out.” He paused, flashing me a grin. “You look beautiful, by the way.” The doors slammed behind him as he disappeared down the hall.
Twenty minutes later, the auditorium was filled with parents, and grandparents. Friends. Teachers. Restless school mates. Hell—most of our sleepy little town.
I was standing in the wings answering a hundred last-minute questions when Luca leaned over. “Where are we all celebrating after this?”
I hadn’t given it much thought. We’d usually find ourselves at Corner Grill, sliding into booths to have milkshakes and fries after each concert. “I don’t know, probably Corner.” I bent over, grabbing my baton from where I’d dropped it.
Behind me a low voice said, “She’s got a date.” Jude stepped closer, drumsticks tucked under his arm.
Heat crawled up my neck, eyes flicking to the top of the sheet he held and then back to him. He looked at me with glassy eyes, jaw ticking.
“With who?” My voice was shaky. Had he put it together? What was he thinking? I should have titled it something else.
“Me.”
“Since when?”
“Since the third grade,” he replied roughly.
My brain stalled, but before I could say anything Mr. Halloway was peeking his head through the curtain motioning us on.
Jude laced the fingers of his free hand through mine. “Come on.” Tugging me toward the stage door, he led me to the front.
Applause broke over the room the second Jude let go of my hand long enough to nudge me forward. The sound swelled around me as I rubbed damp palms over the silk of my skirt and forced my mouth into something resembling a smile. My flesh pebbled.
Someone whistled from the front row. Toward the back, I caught sight of my preschool piano teacher sitting at the end of an aisle.
Everyone was here…
Chairs shifted as my classmates took their seats and Jude disappeared from beside me.
Bridget was sitting up in the balcony, with the sound crew.
It was hard to see her through the blind of the spotlight centered on me, but I caught her thumbs up, and the glint of my laptop in her hands. She was hollering too.
I faced my peers, who held their instruments at the ready. Backs straight. Feet flat. Chest forward. They all looked at me expectantly. For a moment, I hesitated, until my gaze landed on Ransom. His expression was terse, brows furrowed.
My pulse stumbled.
The nerves had been there all evening, a low relentless current beneath my skin, but now they rose fast and violent, crashing through me hard enough to make my hands tremble. My baton shook between my fingers.
Jude wasn’t supposed to be here, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to know.
Not about the composition. Not about the hours I’d spent pouring pieces of him into every measure until the music barely felt like mine anymore.
And now he sat behind the drums with red-rimmed eyes and that impossibly focused expression, waiting for my cue.
“We have such a special treat for you today folks,” Mr. Halloway began. He stepped to the side, holding his hand out toward me. “Firstly, I’d like to congratulate our senior student director, Solace Davis, who has been offered a position at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music this fall.”
The applause grew, but I couldn’t see past the lump Jude battled in his throat as I looked away from him.
“Solace spent nine months composing this piece, you’ll notice a collection of sounds that are not here on stage with us.
She has worked with, not only her fellow bandmates, but with the orchestra and choir as well to tell a compelling story she has described herself as a tale of fate.
It gives me great pleasure to invite you all to the first performance of Satellites, by Solace Davis. ”
Heart racing, fingers trembling, I lifted my baton.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Oberlin?” Jude asked, shoving another fry into his mouth. “I asked about your audition, and you acted like it was no big deal. I’m pretty sure your exact words were, ‘It was fine.’”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
He scoffed. “I’d say getting into a revered music conservatory and composing your own damn music is pretty important.” He pushed his plate away. “Why didn’t you say anything, Sol?”
Sitting in a back booth at Corner Grill was the last place I wanted to have this conversation. As it turned out, we always wound up at the dimly lit diner because it was the only place open late. Just one of the many charms of living in a small town. Not.