Dad drives me to school the next morning. He can do this for now, but once his work starts, I'll have to take the bus.

I get there earlier than anybody else, since Dad has to go to the store and then has to check in with his office. It's quiet out here, and I could go in, but it's too nice outside. Summer is still in full swing for now, and I might as well enjoy it. I barely sit on the school's front steps when I hear something, a high-pitched melody wafting over the school.

It sounds like a flute, but not exactly. The timbre is different. I look around, but I can't tell where it's coming from. It's not inside, so someone out here is playing it. Whoever's playing it, they're really good at it. I wonder if they play flute in the marching band? Piccolo, probably, with the skill they've got.

Or maybe this is all in my head. Who hears a flute playing a song at seven in the morning?

The day passes by slowly. I sit by Amber again in Mrs. Luster's class, and we pass notes. During jazz band, both Destinee and I sit in the middle of the classroom as the rest of the band works through this Autumn Leaves piece that we'll be playing. They've never read the piece before, and it shows.

"You can follow along in your parts, and practice at home and alone here, but neither one of you will play this piece with the band until your audition," Mr. Longden explains. "You will have the weekend to practice and then we will have the audition on Monday." Perfect! That means I'll have the Internet all weekend and can listen to the piece. Which is good, because nobody else knows Autumn Leaves yet, so it just sounds like a mess.

I go home and sit down at the keyboard with my music. It's just my piano part, but even just looking at this is a start. The problem with 'practicing' jazz is that it's near impossible to do so. There's a huge emphasis on improvisation, which is not one of my strong suits. There are several sections of the music where it's just... blank, no notes at all, just chords. It's like they just expect me to know what to do there.

"Let me see," my dad says after dinner, and then he sits in front of the keyboard and starts vamping, trying different things out. "Yeah, we gotta get you a recording of this. The trick is to listen to the band and hear what they're doing, and then fold in so that you don't stand out. You want to support the band. The band is not there to support you unless you are doing a solo, which they'll probably have you do if this is an audition."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah." He points to one of the blank sections. "These sixteen bars are exclusive for solos. So watch out for that part. You'll have to make up something there, and they'll want it to be good." Great. Just great. I know I'll be better than Destinee, but I want to do good for my own pride's sake.

On Friday, I go to the practice room during my study hall period to practice. I lock myself in and sit down for a total of five seconds before there's a knock on the door. I open it up, and it's Amber. "Can I sit with you? Stupid Mr. Longden won't let me practice during concert band rehearsal." She makes a noise with her mouth and sticks out her tongue. "It's so dumb! Like, why do the practice rooms exist if I can't fucking practice in them?"

I like her, but I've never heard someone curse like that in school. At least none of my friends cursed when I was around my orchestra friends in Hilliard. We were mostly focused on our work and spent all of our time studying. You know the crowd: the nerds who are part of every science fair and mathalon. They... kind of don't exist at Curling Blue. I seem to be one in a million here.

"So you working on the Autumn Leaves stuff?" Amber asks, flipping open my music for me.

"Yeah, but I got no clue how to improvise, so I gotta learn how quick."

She laughs, and then, "Girl. You're so gonna win. Destinee, I love her, but she can't play worth her amount in gold. She just keeps playing because her mom wants her to, and because she needs an art credit to graduate. She can't take art class because she's color blind, and the art teacher doesn't like her anyway. So she's stuck here doing what she can to get through."

"Oh." I kind of feel bad for her now. "Am I just taking her spot?"

"I think she'd be better off just sitting in the back and playing auxiliary. Besides, the rest of the band tries their damndest to actually sound good. The jazz band is Mr. Longden's pet project. Since he plays trombone, he's wanted to do something like this for a while. The band's been around for a few years, but ever since August started saxophone, he brought his harem with him and it made everybody want to work harder."

"Yeah." I sigh, thinking back to August.

"Oh, God, you like him too."

"Uh?" I realize she's talking about August. "I mean, he's cute. I can see how everybody likes him so well. Lots of charisma. I wouldn't say I like-like him, but he's a cute face. What about you?"

Amber sticks out her tongue. "I hate boys. I'm a lesbian." She bats her eyelashes at me.

I've been living in Hilliard most of my life, and yet, somehow, it takes me moving to Curling Blue to meet my first gay person. How is that? I knew they existed, and I don't mean to sound rude, but...

"Yeah, I know what you're thinking, no, I'm not crushing on you," Amber says with a laugh. "I have a girlfriend at another school. No, our parents don't know, but everybody at Curling Blue at least knows I'm gay. Besides, if we're gonna be in the rhythm section, we've gotta be good friends. So anyway, I'm sure I can figure out how to get August to like you."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, dude, August and I go way back. We used to live in the same apartment complex as kids. He has always been this extra. That hasn't gone away even though we moved across town. So I guess you could say I'm the childhood friend, I just happen to be gay as well." Amber looks over this section with blank space. "So here's where you vamp, right?"

"Yeah?"

"You're in the key of Ab Major, so remember your key signature. Play your chords in your left hand. And then just hit random notes with your right hand. As long as you stay in key, you can't really go wrong. Try it."

I look over the music, then play just the left hand chords a couple of times and then add the right hand like she said to do. It sounds horrible, but that's probably just me.

"Yeah, like that!"

"It sounds like..."

"Like ass? We all sound like ass in the beginning. Look, if all you have ever played is Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms, then yeah, you're gonna sound like ass when you're trying to improvise. That's how this goes. I think it wasn't too bad for your first time."

"What, were you a classical pianist at some point?"

"Violin. Mom and Dad made me do Suzuki for years. And then in middle school I switched to the drums. Never looked back."

'You played violin? There's an orchestra here?"

"God no, I played with private lessons. I was gonna have to probably switch to band later on anyway. Curling Blue doesn't have shit, man." There's another knock on the door. "Hey, Jaewon, door's open."

"Oh." Jaewon opens the door and lets himself in without being invited. Amber is seated next to me on the piano bench, so he leans against the door. I figure this is normal behavior and that Amber and Jaewon are friends, so I wave at him.

"You here early?"

"Yeah. Finished the new volume. Love it. She leaves it on a cliffhanger, though, which sucks."

It's then that I notice there's a weird plastic flute like thingy sticking out from Jaewon's backpack. "Wait, is that your recorder?"

"Oh." Jaewon smiles, and I remember the noise on the roof this morning just before he says, "You heard me on the roof, then?"

"Jaewon's favorite pastime is to hang out on the roof and play his recorder," Amber says. "He's always making up new little tunes for it."

"It's also totally against the rules," Jaewon says. "My parents pretty much hate me for doing it. Every time I'm caught, it's a new detention." He says this with a grin on his face, as if it's a good thing.

"So... why don't you stop?" I ask.

"Rebellion against the machine. Gotta stick it to them. They hate it, so I keep doing it." Jaewon pulls the recorder out of the bag and starts playing it. It's the same tune I heard this morning, and I realize where I've heard it before.

"Dude. This is Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

"Nope, wrong. It's actually 'Ah vous dirai-je, Maman,' but it got rewritten in English as Twinkle Twinkle Little Star a good long while later." Jaewon pockets the recorder as quickly as he pulled it out. "White people. Always taking things that aren't theirs and messing them up."

Now I have to laugh. Only Jaewon could say that and get away with it.

"Jaewon, are you just gonna sit here and pick your nose, or are you gonna help Emmaline with her music?" Amber asks. "City kid has no clue how to improvise."

He finally actually acknowledges me. "Emmaline. I like that. Can I call you Em? Just promise not to give me a nickname. I hate those."

I nod. "I can do that, Jaewon. And that sounds good."