I cut him off, “That type of language and conduct is not fitting for a student leader. Please mind your manners, Mr. Fossoway. This is your only warning. I wouldn’t want Dr. Kimball to have to suspend a fellow drum major.”
Dr. Kimball walks away, chuckling.
Jim makes like he’s going to strangle me. “You drive me fucking crazy!”
I tilt my head to the side as if I’m taking this under advisement. “You love it when I drive you crazy.”
He stalks away with this weird vein protruding from his neck that I’ve never seen before. I might just have made him as mad as I ever have.
He blows his whistle as he storms down the sideline and commands the band, “Run it again!”
I grin.
Nate’s mouth opens in a perfect O as he glances between me and Jim. He looks like a freaking meme. “Oh my God. This is your revenge, and he’s too blind to even realize it!”
Jake catches on. “Holy shit. You’ve already forgiven him. You’re just fucking with him now.”
I shrug, not denying a thing. “I had a few days to stew over it and realized his heart was in the right place. He kept me in the dark for years. I figure he can sweat for a few days. I’m going to win the last competition we ever play.”
Tim shakes his head, clearly not on board with my devious plans. “You’re playing with fire, and we’re the ones who are going to suffer because we live with him. You don’t just get a man hooked on regular sex then pull the rug out from under his feet like that.”
“Wouldn’t a better analogy be pull the carpet out from under his dick?”
They gape at me. I guess they didn’t think I was capable of playing with the big boys.
“If you think he’s mad now, just wait until Rey chooses Finn.”
Tim shakes his head and slowly backs away. “No. No way. Nuh-uh. You are not painting that target on my back.”
I point at him then at all of them in turn. “Were you or were you not all on board with his plan to put me in this position? And did you or did you not all know about his sad, unrequited love? You owe me, boys. And I’m going to collect.”
“All hail the Queen.” Nate shakes his head.
They bow.
Chapter Forty-One
“Be confident. You have to trust in your own abilities. Yours and no one else’s. Channel every rush of adrenaline you’ve ever gotten from performing into this moment, okay? You can do this. You’re ready.”
Emily peers at me with anxiety in her eyes. “What if I’m not ready?”
I shake my head. “You can’t think like that. You have to believe you’re the best of the best, or you’ll only ever be faking it.”
“Okay,” she mutters, determination building in her voice and posture. “That makes sense. You’re right. I got this.”
“You got this,” I reaffirm.
It’s Nate’s turn to run Challenge Thursday, so I step back toward the sideline as Emily steps forward.
“I challenge Pearson Graves.” She could have challenged anyone in the section for their spot, but since it was Pearson who first challenged her, Emily is out for blood. She won’t be satisfied until she boots him back to the sideline. Where she feels he belongs.
I’m sure if Jim or I had ever been on the alternate squad, we would have mercilessly challenged each other every week. And probably got a lot of sick enjoyment out of it, too.
Pearson looks annoyed, not worried. He rolls his eyes on the field. The rest of the trumpet section offers Emily little signals of encouragement—a wink, a nod, a dorky-as-can-be thumbs-up.
“Run ‘A New Alliance Reprise,’ measures twenty through fifty-two,” Nate instructs.
Each challenge is chosen at random and usually from the middle of one of the more difficult pieces, both in terms of music and drill. Not only is it a good test of which performer has the material mastered, but it also keeps all the bandies on their toes by learning how to find where they are in the drill and the music at random spots in the pieces.
Emily waits on the sideline as the band runs through the chosen section of the song. She carefully watches as Pearson goes through the routine with calm confidence. He’s good. Really good.
Once they’ve done the drill, Pearson steps forward to play the measures as a solo. It would be impossible to judge his musicianship otherwise.
Dr. Kimball nods then motions for Emily to take Pearson’s place in the squad. He alone has the final say on who gets the spot.
I cross my fingers, my toes … I would cross my eyes if I wasn’t glued to the action on the field.
“We’re not supposed to have favorites,” Jim mutters at my side.
I smile as Emily sharply maneuvers around a merging saxophone line. “And yet we do.”
“Lucky for Pearson you’re not judging their performance. You couldn’t be unbiased if you tried.”
“Oh, James.” I pat his cheek. More like a love slap, but what he doesn’t know absolutely drives him crazy. “You wouldn’t like me at my most apathetic.”
His expression is bewildered. “I’m not sure you have an apathetic bone in your body.”
“I don’t care about football the way you secretly do,” I remind him.
He shakes his head. “You think it should be illegal. You delivered a carefully thought-out diatribe about its drawbacks. You dislike it intensely, so you absolutely care. Just … not in a positive way.”
He isn’t talking about only football, judging by his disgruntled tone.
“You know what else I care about in a negative way?” This is going to be awful. My lips tingle with distaste. I like to think I’m the kind of person who doesn’t sink to the lowest of lows, but Jim brings out my dark side. He brings out the fighter in me. “Should I slip Finn some tongue at the end of the show? I mean, we want it to be realistic enough to be believable, but it’s not like we’re trained actors. I’ve gotta do something to give the routine an extra punch. I just don’t know what.”
Jim’s eyes widen, and that vein throbs in his neck before he smooths his expression into what I’m sure he thinks is Oscar-worthy neutrality. “I say, if you’re going to go big, then go all the way. Just keep it PG-13. There will be kids in the stands at the game.”
I nod, acting like his advice is gold. “Let’s be honest. Finnrey has always been end game. There’s no way Kylo and Rey aren’t brother and sister. We don’t want to traumatize the kids in the stands by propagating incestual romantic love.”
“Really?” Jim’s tone is flat. “That’s the best you can do to convince me you’re on board with this change to the routine? You’re slipping, Sophie. You’re better than this.”
A little thrill of panic courses through me. I thought I was finally getting a leg up on him, but maybe he knows what I’ve been doing all along. That pisses me off quite honestly. I don’t respond because it’s Emily’s turn to play the solo, and I want to hear every crescendo.
She’s panting, her expression on the verge of panic as she awaits her fate when she finishes playing what is possibly the best rookie solo performance I’ve ever heard.