A Guide to the Other Side by Robert Imfeld

let you down.”
    â€œYou didn’t,” I said lightly, peeking my eyes open. “You did your best.”
    She looked odd, though, and if I hadn’t been so tired, I would have pressed her on the subject. But before I knew it, she’d vanished, and I passed out not five seconds later.

TIP
6
Tubas may cause bodily harm. Proceed with caution.
    I SPENT ALL SUNDAY IN bed, my body positively on fire from the tumble the night before, but between the frequent bowls of veggie chili delivered by my mother and the hours of TV that I mindlessly watched, I began to feel somewhat better.
    Monday, however, was dreadful. I could barely walk, and I’d completely forgotten about a science quiz I needed to study for.
    â€œWhat kind of a ridiculous jerk gives a quiz the Monday after Halloween weekend?” I mumbled to Kristina on my way to the next class. “And you wouldn’t even help me out with any of the answers. I bombed that so bad.”
    â€œYou know I can’t help you, Baylor!” Kristina said. “We’ve been over this maybe a million times.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t hurt anyone to help me out a little bit.”
    â€œThat’s what you think,” she said ominously.
    I ignored her comment and marched on, somehow getting through the day and looking forward to band practice. I thought about skipping it, but since I’d missed Thursday, I felt like I had to go.
    I’d started playing the tuba on a whim a few years ago. I had tried out for soccer because I liked how much I got to run, but I quit during my first game. There were far too many ghosts on the field, and I could barely tell who was a player and who was dead. Twenty minutes in I stomped off the field and told my parents I couldn’t play anymore.
    Playing the tuba, on the other hand, has become my saving grace. Whereas running around in soccer allowed my mind to be too receptive to all the spirits around me, playing the tuba forces me to concentrate on the music. The sound helps block out all the chatter. After a few minutes of staring at sheet music, I almost transform into someone who can’t talk to dead people. I’d never admit this to Kristina, but it’s nice to feel truly alone, even if it’s only for a little bit.
    Four years later, and I’m still playing the tuba. I’ve learned to play the guitar and the piano, too, but I prefer the tuba. There’s something about wrapping that instrument around my body and blasting music out of it that makes me feel like I’m in my own little world with no one to bother me.
    The band instructor, Mr. Gilbert, was a short man with long, curly red hair. He wore a tie every single day, and today it was decked out in little Snoopy drawings.
    â€œLooking good, Mr. G.,” I said as I limped into the giant room. There were a bunch of skylights that lined the ceiling, casting a dull, wintry light over the room, and flimsy blue soundproofing material covered every wall.
    â€œGlad to see you’re feeling better, Baylor,” he said, “though that limp doesn’t look too great.”
    â€œTook a nasty spill on Halloween,” I said. “Collecting free candy is hard work.”
    He raised an eyebrow at me. “Children,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.
    I got my tuba from the instrument closet and said hey to Aiden before taking my place in the semicircle of chairs. He’d given me the surprisingly full bag of Halloween candy at lunch.
    â€œI had to hide it from my mom in my dirty-clothes hamper,” he’d said. “You know how she gets.” I’d searched for some Twix while trying not to think about my candy languishing next to Aiden’s filthy underwear for two days.
    As he unpacked another pepperoni-and-mustard sandwich, he’d asked, “So where’d you disappear to, anyway? Why’d you drop all your candy?”
    I’d sort of frowned at him and said, “Believe me,