Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Claire

Closing my eyes for a second, I pasted on what I hoped was a neutral expression as I stood outside the door to the band hall. I had to go in. Needed to put one foot in front of the other and act as if my world hadn’t just been shattered. Again.

It was good I knew. What Kyle did, who I was to him—which was nothing—and why we’d always been destined to fail.

But I couldn’t process this now. Even the memory of our night together had been nothing but a big deception.

I sucked in a breath that was meant to settle me but instead pinged around wildly inside me. The late bell would ring soon. I didn’t want to be caught alone out in the corridor.

Pushing open the door, I entered the space.

It was large, nearly as big as the cafeteria, and the layout was familiar. Like the band hall at Lakeside High, it was filled with black music stands and aluminum chairs with padded seats that were arranged in a semicircular pattern. Every chair was occupied, instruments were unpacked, and it seemed like every head swiveled in my direction.

I hugged my backpack to my chest and nervously shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I had to check in.

The band director was standing on a small podium in the front of the room. He appeared to be near my mom’s age, but he had gray hair. His features pinched, he was staring at a laptop on top of a tall portable desk.

I waited, and then I waited some more, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Whispered comments reached my ears, and I tried to ignore them.

“That’s the new girl.”

“She slept with Kyle the drug dealer.”

“She’s friends with that slut Missy.”

“I’d do her.”

I cranked up my chin in response to my classmates’ comments, but my stomach churned.

The band director picked up his baton, running the tip of it along whatever he was looking at on his laptop. I found it hard to believe he couldn’t see me or hear all the whispers.

When the bell rang, he finally looked up, but he didn’t look at me. He glanced past me as someone slipped in through the door behind me, and pointed at them with his baton. “Tommy Evans, I presume.”

“Who wants to know?” a deep masculine voice with a slight accent drawled.

I shifted to see a big muscular guy with black hair in a club ponytail standing behind me. His brown gaze dipped, his eyes dancing as they met mine. However, I didn’t feel like dancing.

“A comedian, huh?” The band director’s gray brows rose.

“Sometimes. Mostly I bang chicks.” His gaze met mine, and the class snickered. “And my drums.”

“Well, it will only be drums that you bang in here. What you do on your own time is up to you.” The band director frowned. “I don’t want to hear about it. And no more popping off. Or you’ll stay after school and do rhythm exercises until you’re too tired to be disrespectful again. Am I clear?”

“You bet, Asa,” Tommy said.

“Your dad can call me Asa. I’m Mr. Burke to you and everyone else who wants to remain in my band.”

“Got it.” Before he moved away, Tommy gave me a head-to-toe scan like Vance used to, and I bristled.

“Who are you?” Mr. Burke asked, finally taking note of me.

“I’m Claire Walsh.” Adjusting the strap of my backpack on my shoulder, I pushed my glasses higher up on my nose.

“Ah. The new girl.” He peered at me over the top rim of his own glasses. Given his expression, I figured he’d heard about everything that had happened involving me today. “I was just looking over your transcript.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know what your former director expected. In my band, everyone tries out, no matter how skilled they think they are.”

“Okay.” I swallowed to moisten my dry throat.

“It says here,” he tapped his monitor with his baton, “that you play keyboards, guitar, and percussion.”

I nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Our drum core is already filled, but we could use a proficient guitarist. If you’d like to show me what you can do on the electric guitar, we might be able to find a place for you.”

I thought about Kyle. He was a proficient guitarist. But, of course, he wasn’t trying out for the band. School was just a means to an end for him, like I was.

My eyes stung with that realization, and I blinked the wetness away.

“Practice room is in the back, Miss Walsh,” Mr. Burke barked, refocusing on me. “Log in to the computer. The password is one, two, three, four. Turn on the mic and complete all the exercises. Afterward, if there’s still time remaining in class, you can come out and listen to the others rehearse.”

“All right. Thank you.” I shuffled to the back, feeling eyes following me before Mr. Burke tapped his baton on his metal stand. I let out a relieved exhale as the band started warming up.

Reaching the practice room, I entered and closed the door. The small room had glass on the side facing the band hall, and contained four chairs and a computer. Drained from everything that had happened so far today, I collapsed into the closest chair.

The comforting hug Missy had given me after what happened with Kyle hadn’t been enough. As I remembered the stoniness of his gaze, tears reformed in my eyes. I choked back a sob while staring blindly through the window.

The room was soundproofed, for the most part, so I could barely hear the band on the other side of it. Everyone appeared to be paying attention to Mr. Burke. Thankfully, they had their backs turned to me . . . all but one.

Tommy.

I stared right back at him. His sticks in his hand, he stood behind a snare, but his black brows snapped together. He looked concerned, or maybe he just felt sorry for me.

Don’t let them get the best of you, songbird, my dad’s voice said inside my head. That was his advice when the kids at school made fun of me.

“Okay, Dad,” I whispered.

For him, I swiped the wetness away. For him, I sat up straighter, ignored the hurt, and put on a brave face.

When Tommy turned away, I let out a shaky sigh. Inside, all the bravery was a lie. I was empty, the best of me already gone. I’d given it away.