When It Happens

  When I walk into Music Theory, Tobey’s already there. Robert is sitting next to Laila.

  Mr. Hornby comes up to me and says, “Sara, may I see you a minute?”

  He pulls me over to the side of the room and gets this tone like we go way back. “I told Tobey that he would have a new partner starting today.” Mr. Hornby jingles some change in his pocket. “He suggested switching partners with you. He knows how bright you are and says you have similar tastes in music. I think you’d be much better for Tobey—he could use the motivation. Laila and Robert are both fine with switching.” He clears his throat. “Would you have a problem working with Tobey from now on?”

  I remind myself how to speak.

  “No,” I say too loudly. Then I’m paranoid that Tobey heard and thought I meant no, I don’t want to switch. “I don’t mind.”

  “Great.” Mr. Hornby smiles at me like he’s relieved I didn’t try to get out of it. “Thanks for being flexible, Sara.”

  “Sure.”

  While Mr. Hornby starts explaining what we’re doing today, I go over and sit next to Tobey like it’s nothing.

  “Hey,” Tobey says.

  “Hey,” I say.

  And then my speck of confidence disintegrates like a meteoroid burning through the atmosphere.

  Tobey’s chair is facing mine because that’s how we’re working with our partners from now on. So there’s nowhere to hide. He sits with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed. I look at his light yellow T-shirt that has ATARI in green, his faded jeans with the ripped knee, his black Converse high-tops . . . anywhere but his eyes. The muscles on his arms. Right at his crotch . . . look away!

  I blush furiously like I have a sudden lethal fever. I know Tobey just saw me look at his crotch. Now he probably thinks I want him. Which of course I do, but I don’t want him to know it yet.

  Mr. Hornby finishes whatever it was he was saying. Everyone’s taking out their sheet music. I pretend like I’ve been listening to him the whole time and get out the first sheet in my folder.

  “Sara?” Tobey says.

  “Yeah?” I put the sheet on my music stand.

  “I think we’re working on—”

  “I know,” I interrupt in a panic. I am mortified. Now he probably thinks I want him and I’m inept. “I was just seeing something.” I pretend to analyze some notes in the third measure. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tobey take out Remembering the Beatles. I wait a few more seconds before I take out my copy.

  “So,” he says. “I guess we’re partners now.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  I smile so he knows it’s okay with me. He smiles back, and my heart does this entire gymnastics routine.

  “Do you mind?” he says.

  “No. It’s fine.”

  I can’t put my sheet music on the stand because he’ll see my hand shaking, so I hold it in my lap.

  We actually manage to get work done during class. Tobey’s really into it because we’re writing our own music soon. I love music and worship anyone who loves it even more than I do. So when Tobey tells me he already writes his own songs, I’m delirious.

  I like how we work together. We help each other without being annoying. We laugh at all the same things. And it’s so weird, because we have this instant connection like we’ve known each other for a long time. I feel it really strongly at one point. I try to see if he feels it, too, but I can’t tell.

  Mr. Hornby comes over and sees that we’ve finished the assignment before everyone else. He looks it over and decides that it’s wonderful. “It appears that the two of you work well together,” he says.

  “I think so.” Tobey looks at me with a glint in his eyes.

  Totally hypnotic.

  “So,” I say. “Where are you applying?”

  Tobey goes, “Applying to what?”

  He has the best sense of humor. And he does it so seriously you would never know he’s joking. But then it sounds like he doesn’t even know what he wants to do. And he doesn’t exactly answer my question. I knew he was in a band and I can already tell he’s an awesome musician, but how can he seriously think this rock-star fantasy will actually come true?

  Laila is yelling at Robert. Something about how he messed up two whole lines of notes. I feel bad that she has to put up with him. But not bad enough to switch back or anything. I owe her big-time.

  “So,” Tobey says.

  “So,” I say.

  “You know how to play Dots?”

  I get this immediate tingle of excitement. I’m a game fanatic. But everyone else pretty much stopped wanting to play them after junior high.

  “What’s that?” I say.

  “You’ve never played Dots before?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Dude.” Tobey opens his notebook. He writes Dots— Sara and Tobey—Volume One on top of the page.

  I look at his T-shirt again. I bet it feels really soft.

  I don’t know what it is about him. Or what it is with all this. It’s like nothing’s happening, but at the same time everything is.

  “What?” he says.

  I think I might have been staring at him with my mouth hanging open.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  Tobey draws a few dots on the page. Then he’s like, “Oh, man. This pen sucks.” He digs another one out of his bag. “I hate blotchy pens.”

  “I know!”

  “I enjoy a good pen.”

  “Totally.”

  No one’s ever gotten me about my obsession with quality pens. Scott couldn’t even see the difference between a 99-cents store pen and a Gelly Roll. It used to drive me crazy.

  Class ends way too soon. I wish I could stay here for the rest of the day, playing Dots with Tobey.

  As soon as he leaves, I dash over to Laila.

  “Thank you so much,” I say. “I majorly owe you.” I feel exhilarated but exhausted.

  “You’re telling me?” Laila is clearly only feeling the exhausted part.

  “How was it with Robert?”

  “Infuriating. He can’t tell the difference between a quarter and an eighth note. I’m like, It’s practically November. What have you been doing all year?”

  “You said that?”

  “No, but I should have.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask her. “Because I can come back with you.”

  “No, can’t. Something real is happening. Resistance would be futile.” Laila sounds resigned to fate.

  “You’re always so sure about everything. Don’t you ever have doubts?”

  “Sure,” she says. “But don’t tell anyone I’m human. My dad would kill you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  mr. applied guy

  october 28, 12:39 p.m.

  “My dad’s gonna kill me,” Josh says. “I’m majorly failing Spanish.”

  “That’s nothing compared to how my mom’s grounding me,” Mike says. "I have like a D in history.”

  “That’s outrageous,” I say.

  “Just because you don’t care about college. . . .” Mike rips open his pack of butter-crunch cookies. It’s the only decent thing available for lunch today.

  Mike would be right if he were talking about the old me. Mr. Slacker Guy. But the new me is making some changes so she’ll realize that I’m smart enough for her. I am now Mr. Applied Guy.

  The other day in class, it felt like I could get Sara. Like it was actually possible to win her over. I could feel it. This one time when she looked at me, it was like ... I wanted to throw her down on the floor and do it right there. And I know I wouldn’t have that usual panic I always had after sex with Cynthia. Where I felt this urgency to leave as soon as possible without making her mad. With Sara, I would actually want to hang out after.

  “For your information,” I say, “I talked to Mr. Hornby about it yesterday.”

  Mike puts his cookie down. "About what?”

  “About college.”

  “Why?” Jos
h says.

  “Well . . . I’m thinking about applying now.”

  Mike is looking at me like I just announced that, in reality, I hate guitar and would rather spend all my time playing Yu-Gi-Oh! I understand his shock. I feel like I’m a different person. Completely driven by testosterone and desire to impress this phenomenal girl.

  For as long as Mike’s known me, I’ve always said that college is wrong for me. That living life passionately is the only way to learn anything worth knowing. But then Sara gave me that look when I said I didn’t know what my plans were. It was just for a second, but I caught it. It was what disapproval would look like if it could look at you. Which normally wouldn’t bother me. But coming from her . . .

  Mike picks his chin up off the table. "You’re serious.”

  “Yeah. Mr. Hornby says Manhattan Music Academy is awesome. It’s where he went, and he said he’d write me a recommendation. He thinks I can get in if I just get my grades up this semester.”

  Josh looks at Mike. "I think he’s serious.”

  I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. “Mr. Hornby thinks I’m good enough to go for it. He says I’d definitely have a shot with my audition and demo tape.”

  “No doubt,” Josh says.

  “I want to check out the app requirements after school, so can we practice like half an hour later?”

  Mike and Josh stare.

  “Okay,” Mike says. "What happened?”

  “What?”

  “How did this happen all of a sudden?”

  “Can’t a guy change his mind?”

  “Uh, a guy can. But you? About college? Not so much.”

  “You know all your plans for getting Sara?” I say.

  “All brilliant and rock solid,” Mike says.

  “All fucked up and creepy?” Josh clarifies.

  “They’re fundamentally flawed, I can’t—”

  “ ‘Flawed’ being the key word,” Josh points out.

  Mike ignores Josh. “How?”

  “I can’t force her to like me. Or pretend to be some other way. If I keep throwing myself at her, it’s like I’m giving off a vibe of desperation. Girls are always repelled by that.”

  “Have you been watching Oprah again?” Josh says.

  “Screw you! I’m serious. Running after something like that doesn’t work.”

  “My plans were excellent,” Mike insists. "But here’s the thing: Do you really think Sara would go out with you if she wasn’t with Dave?”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “I don’t know. She never noticed you before. Face it— you’re not exactly her type.”

  Of course I’ve thought about this. It would be going against every high-school social code of ethics for Sara to go out with me. National Honor Society brains don’t develop sudden interests in fringe slackers. And I know she cares about what other people think. But we have a connection. There’s no denying it.

  “Anyway, she’s still getting to know you,” Mike says. “Chicks are like that.They base how much they like you on an emotional level. They have to be into your personality first, and then they decide they want you. But if a guy thinks a girl is hot, he’ll learn to like her personality later. It’s two different worlds, man.”

  “Jesus!” Josh groans.“You’ve both been watching Oprah!”

  I’m still thinking about what Mike said after school when I’m in the guidance office. I wonder if it really is that different for guys and girls. I mean, yeah, guys are after sex more. But don’t we basically all want the same thing? To find someone who makes us feel satisfied?

  I find the course catalog for Manhattan Music Academy. I take it over to the table and sit down.The best part about this college, other than it being a kick-ass music school, is that Sara’s first choice is NYU.They’re like down the street from each other.

  I flip to the admission requirements page.The minimum GPA requirement is 3.0. Shit. I have a 2.9.

  "Hi, Tobey.”

  I look up. Ms. Everman is looking down at me.

  “Hi.”

  “Is that a course catalog?”

  “Yeah, well . . . Mr. Hornby was just telling me about Manhattan Music Academy. . . .”

  “What instrument do you play?”

  “Guitar.”

  “Acoustic or electric?”

  “Both, actually.”

  Ms. Everman nods. "When’s the application deadline?”

  I scan the page. “December fifteenth.”

  “So you’ve finally seen the light.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Too bad you didn’t see it earlier. But we might be able to do something. And doesn’t MMA have auditions in February?”

  “Yeah.”

  She sits down next to me. “What’s your GPA?”

  “I think it’s like two-point-nine.”

  “You’ll need to pull straight As this semester, which may be possible if you get your act together. The question is . . . are you ready to do this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah kinda? Or yeah you really want to?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Ms. Everman smiles. “Great. How about starting right now?”

  When I pull into Mike’s driveway, my brain is swimming with the application I have to fill out and the recommendation letters I have to get and the demo tape I have to put together and the essays I have to write and the audition I have to get ready for and . . . it all seems like way too much. I’m finally getting why everyone is freaking out to the point of having nervous breakdowns. Plus, Ms. Everman helped me find some backup schools I have to apply to. I have no idea how I’m going to get all of this done and get my grades up and be ready for Battle of the Bands by next month.

  I walk into the garage in a daze.

  "Whudup,” Josh says. "How’d it go?”

  “Does the word ‘frazzled’ mean anything to you?” I put down my guitar case.

  “I feel you, man.” Mike shakes his head. "My mom is on my case something severe.”

  “She seriously needs to chill,” Josh says.“The damage is done. It’s not like colleges are looking at our grades anymore. They just care about what we did up until this year.”

  “Not really,” I say. “Supposedly they really do look at our grades this semester. That’s why I actually have a chance of getting into this place.”

  “But your grades suck,” Josh smacks a drum.

  “They’re called average.”

  “What are you saying?” Mike asks.

  “I have to get my grades up. Like, starting now. Then I’ll have a chance.”

  “But what about last marking period? Didn’t you bomb?”

  “It was fairly heinous. But Ms. Everman said she’s going to talk to my teachers to see if I can make up the work I missed. I had to promise to do it all, though. And then they might change my grades.”

  “No way!” Josh yells. “Why do you get to do that?”

  “Apparently if you pull a one-eighty, they make exceptions for you.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Mike says. “You’re going to make up all the work you missed? And do all the work from now on? And do all the application stuff? And practice? ”

  "Well...yeah.”

  “Congratulations.” Mike comes over and shakes my hand. "Welcome to the real world.”

  CHAPTER 25

  you just know

  november 3, 10:13 a.m.

  I’m all jittery in drafting. I had this intense dream last night about Tobey. The kind of dream where it feels so real it’s like you’re still in it for the rest of the day. I’m high on butterflies and sleep deprivation.

  My hand, apparently with a mind of its own, smacks against my water bottle. Water spills all over the workbench. My calc notes are immediately saturated.

  I run over to the paper towels and pull out half the roll. I frantically blot my notebook. Then I raise my hand. I’m dying to talk about this with someone who can give me advice. Mr. Slater’s, like,
the only adult I can talk to.

  Mr. Slater comes over. “What’s happening?” he says, all chill as usual.

  “See,” I whisper, “I’m having this problem.”

  I glance across the table at Scott. Why does he even have to be in this class with me? It’s like I’m being stalked by relationship karma.

  Scott stops sketching. He slowly looks up.

  We look back at him.

  Scott picks up his sketchbook and charcoal and moves the whole operation to another table.

  I quietly go on. “You know how I’m with Dave?”

  Mr. Slater nods.

  “Well . . . there’s this other guy I feel really connected to.”

  “How do you feel about Dave?”

  “I don’t know. Not the same as before. He’s not who I thought he was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All summer I wanted to go out with him. And I thought about him all the time. I had this idea of him that . . . But he’s like . . . It turns out that he goes along with whatever his friends want, and we don’t have that much in common, and . . . we’re on different wavelengths when it comes to sense of humor. He’s just . . .”

  “How do you feel about this other guy?”

  I get this huge smile on my face. “He’s . . .” I’m trying to take all of these feelings I have about Tobey and translate them into words. It’s like trying to describe how different colors feel.

  I look right at Mr. Slater and say, “He’s something real.”

  “That’s deep.” Mr. Slater nods thoughtfully. “Then what’s the purpose of staying with Dave?”

  “I don’t want to hurt him. And everyone knows you have to work at relationships.”

  “Good relationships aren’t so much work that you’re unhappy more often than you’re happy, though.”

  I pick at my charcoal stick.

  “Sara, when do you think your relationship with Dave will end?”

  “What?”

  “Are you guys going to the same college next year?”

  “No,” I say. That’s another thing. Dave isn’t that smart. And even though I was fighting it because Dave is so gorgeous, the truth is I need to have a boyfriend who’s at least as smart as me.

  “So your relationship would have to end then, wouldn’t it?”