I know it sounds dorky to Gabriela and most of the other kids at my high school, but to me, marching band is more than just an extracurricular activity to put on my college applications. It’s my happy place. At least out in the middle of the football field, clumsily holding our brass instruments, Wes and I can pretend that Andrew hasn’t gone to the dark side. It’s the only time of day he still seems to know we exist. There’s something about the breathless way he speaks to us between rehearsing our rendition of a Lizzo song for homecoming that confirms how much he misses our company. Or maybe it’s just that playing tuba takes a lot out of your diaphragm. Either way, I want to be mad at him. I want to ignore him and tell him that I don’t care about his life updates, but it’s impossible to be mean to him. I miss him too much.

“Guys, you should have been there.” Andrew quickly launches back into a story when Mr. Felder excuses himself to take his third bathroom break. “Mandy Chu took one shot of Fireball and proceeded to projectile vomit all over Lizzy’s kitchen. It was disgusting. Someone probably put it on TikTok by now.”

Should have been there? As though anyone invited us and we just decided we had better things to do.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I reply.

“Man, I kind of feel bad for her,” Wes admits. “She must have been so embarrassed.”

“Spoken like someone who’s also had their bodily fluids betray them in front of all their friends,” Andrew jokes.

Wes and I exchange a look, and I’m consumed with so much empathy that you’d think I was the one who crapped my pants in the middle of the quad our freshman year of high school.

“That is not funny,” I tell Andrew. “And it’s ancient history.”

“C’mon. Tragedy plus time equals comedy.”

Wes shakes his head. “Nope. Tragedy plus time just equals more days and months and years that you’ve been really embarrassed about something.”

Andrew nods his head in understanding. “Sorry, buddy. You’re right. I won’t bring it up again.”

But the old Andrew would not have brought it up to begin with. It’s an unfortunate event in Wes’s life that has haunted him for his entire high school career. After the day it happened, it was like the four of us all signed an imaginary contract declaring we would never, ever talk about it. Part of me wants to pry Andrew’s tuba out of his hands and beat him over the head with it. The other part of me thinks that Wes and I are the fools here for even engaging with him. We are like beggars, waiting for scraps of friendship.