When You're In Love with a girl

Chapter 13, The Sax Queens

THE SAX QUEENS

Arya and I walk to the band room together after seventh period.

"What's your favorite band song?" I ask. It is a totally useless question. I am queen of asking useless questions, of which the answer matters not.

"Hmm, great question," Arya says kindly and smiles at me. "Probablyy... The Gocta Waterfall. Actually, I don't know; I also like Springtime. What's your favorite piece?"

Whenever Arya speaks, I feel she comes off as sophisticated and lucid. "Mm, I also like Gocta Waterfall," I say. "I think I likee... I think I like all of it, um, by it," I clarify, "I mean the band pieces we're playing."

Arya smiles politely. We get out our instruments. "Do you have any siblings, or anything?" I ask.

"Ye, I have a younger sister named Selina, an elder sister named Sara, and an elder brother Matas."

"Oh!" I exclaim, "I have an older brother too! How old is your brother?"

"Matas is sixteen; he is in eleventh grade..."

Oddly, it makes me excited that Arya and I have another connection. We're both the same age, go to the same school, both are girls who play the saxophone, and we both have older brothers. "Same! My brother, his name is Sam, he's also in eleventh grade!"

Arya's smile falls. "Oh, I know Sam," she says. For once, her voice seems to be disdainful. "Sam, the football player?"

I nod, paralyzed. I wonder what she is going to say. Sam is bad, but how bad? I have never known the extent of his adventures.

"Sara is very much in love with your brother. She's obsessed with him. When we all take the subway home from school, Sara always has something to say about your brother. She's always singing the praises of Sam."

"Sam is an a-hole," I tell her in a confidential manner.

Arya laughs but then looks stern. "I'm sorry, but I can't continue talking to you if you continue speaking with inappropriate words. My mother is a strict Puritan, and while my dad is not overly religious, they still expect us to refrain from using such words."

I wouldn't expect anything less. Arya seems to me the image of Your Perfect Daughter, who shouldn't exist but does. I'm glad she exists so I can worship her. Just kidding, but I wish I could be Arya. She's so perfect and I like her very much; I hope I can be a friend to her. Arya is also so, so pretty. Looking at her soothes my eyes.

Take that back. Looking at her makes me want to see her more, and more of her.

Her hair is so beautiful blonde, a nice light lemony yellow, that falls straightly down her back and in front of her shoulders. It falls so beautifully without her needing to set it. Her eyes are so nice and blue-green, like the color of the perfect Caribbean sea that you see in pictures in travel magazines. Her eyelashes are softly brown, so light and floaty that she always looks half asleep and very mystical. And her lips are moist and a deep rouge, not voluminous but beautiful thin. Her cute cheekbones are high and her nose is well-shaped. By her left eye there is a scar that curves from the corner of her eye and down to her lip. It is beautiful; she is beautiful.

"I'm sorry too," I tell her. "I won't do that again. Really, I almost never swear!" I tell her earnestly.

"Okay."

In the band room, we are in for a surprise. "Hello, saxes!" says Mr. Berswick. There's a funny smile playing on his face. "Today is the day! Today, I'll decide who plays the solo!"

We each play, from left to right, from last chair to me, first chair... this means I get to wait in anticipation and anxiety. As I listen to the last couple of chairs, I feel reassured that I will do well, but as I listen to third and fourth chair I start to get real doubts.