“Okay, what’s with the freak-out? You always made him sound like some random kid you hung out with when you were young, but you’re about to hyperventilate. Do we hate this dude?” She tilts her head to study me. “Or do we really like him?”
Ugh, of course she’d know exactly what’s going through my mind. Although that’s one of the things I love about her. We became best friends freshman year, after Max had already moved away, when we were both new to marching band and were feeling nervous and lonely. We’ve been inseparable ever since, even though she plays clarinet while I’m in color guard. I don’t need a lot of friends when I have Nova…which is good since I don’t have a lot.
“We…like him.”
“Oh,I see. Good to know.”
“I mean, in a normal way. It’s just nice to have another friendly face here.”
She smirks. “Right. Of course.”
My cheeks warm. There was never anything romantic between Max and me. We were nerdy tweens, and neither of us was mature enough to date. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about the what-ifs then or in the years since he left. I knew nothing about boys when Max and I were friends. Sure, he was funny and easy to talk to and accepting of me and my dorky interests, but I didn’t realize how rare that was. I figured there had to be other guys like that, but without Max’s competitive streak and propensity for cheating at board games. But after he left and I started talking to other guys, I realized there was no one else like Max.
I was too naïve before, but now I know. And we’re about to spend our senior year together.
“You know he’s a percussion player, right?” Nova asks.
I scowl. To be clear, I don’t hateallpercussion players as a rule. But the Glen Vale percussion and color guard sections have a long history of hating each other. Each year we compete to see who will perform best during the season, and each year the color guard loses spectacularly. Most of our “competitions” result in a handful of percussion players rubbing our suckage in our faces, and I can’t stand them.
“Just because he’s in percussion doesn’t mean he’ll be like Brody and the others. I’m sure he’s better than that.”
She leans against the shelving, facing me. “As usual, you’re way too optimistic about the human race in general, and teenage guys in particular. But we can hope. He did give me some very helpful character advice, so he isn’t dead to me yet. Maybe this is a sign to finally get our D&D game going like we always talk about?”
I snort-laugh. We’ve been talking about starting our own D&D game for literally years, and we never do it. I’m too intimidated about running the game as the Dungeon Master and Nova never follows through. We’ve tried joining a few other games over the years, but that hasn’t worked out either. We’re just destined to talk about playing forever.
“We could invite Max to join us,” she continues. “I betthatwould get you interested.”
Time to change the subject.
Just then the door opens, taking care of that. My stomach flies into my throat, expecting Max to be standing in the doorway like I conjured him with my thoughts. Instead, it’s Mr.Hicks, a.k.a. Sire. He’s a middle-aged white man with thinning hair, horn-rimmed glasses like he’s living in the 1950s, and the put-upon look of a high school teacher who’s seen more than his share. But there’s still a friendly gleam in his eyes that I don’t see in many of my other teachers’. Sirelovesmarching band, and that makes it easy for all of us to love it—and him—too.
But that doesn’t mean he’s laid-back about band.
He narrows his eyes at us. “Is there a reason why two of my section leaders are hiding out in the instrument closet instead of helping orient our incoming freshmen? I hope you already know that I expect you both to be leaders this year.”
We bob our heads. The last thing I want is to lose his respect just as band season is starting.
His expression softens. “Are you excited for the new show?”
“Extremely,” I reply. Our flag choreography this year is no joke, but I can already imagine how amazing we could look…assuming I can get the rest of the group as invested as I am. I have such high hopes as color guard captain, but the majority of our members this year are brand-new to guard, and I’m nervous about pulling us all together.
“I’m excited too,” he says with a wink. “Now, I need everyone in the band room. We have a lot of work to do.”
Soon the rest of the band members arrive, and we all gather together. There’s palpable energy for our first day and lots of jittery conversations.
“Good morning, everyone,” Sire calls out and we quickly come to attention. Even the troublemakers shut their mouths. Next to him stand his assistant band director, Mrs.Lewis; the percussion instructor, Mr.Jenkins; and Faith, our latest color guard director. “It feels like we were just wrapping up the last school year, and already we’re gathered to prep for the new marching band season. Now, I know we lost a lot of really talented seniors last year. So many that we might call this a ‘rebuilding year,’ but we have an amazing group of upperclassmen, and a whole crop of new freshmen, and I don’t plan to take it easy.
“To that end, we have chosen a compilation of classical works by Mussorgsky this year, including selections fromPictures at an Exhibitionand one of his more famous pieces:Night on Bald Mountain,” he continues. “It’s going to be a challenging competition show. Significantly more challenging than what many of our fellow high school competitors will be performing, but I know you all are up for it. We’veproven ourselves to be one of the best marching bands in Ohio and I expect you to continue that legacy.” He glances around the room, and I can almost feel his pride surging over us. “During our two weeks of band camp, we’re going to learn as much of the show as we can. We’ll start this morning inside to begin rehearsing the opening number, and then this afternoon we’ll be outside to run through drills and start field placement. Color guard, you’ll be practicing in the gymnasium during the morning.”
Others start to shift around, thinking that Sire is finished with his speech, but he clears his throat to call us back to attention. “One last thing. Before we start rehearsal, I want to introduce a new member to our band who has just transferred to Glen Vale. I’ve had a chance to hear him play and I believe he’s going to be a big asset to our group.” Sire smiles and gestures to Max, who is sitting in the back of the room with the rest of the percussion section. “This is Max Coleman. He’s playing quads, and I hope you’ll make him feel welcome.”
More than a hundred people turn to stare at Max, and my heart aches with empathy. I wait for him to give a small wave or maybe just bob his head and avert his eyes. Being awkward introverts together was one of the things that bonded us.
To my surprise, he stands up and smiles broadly at the group.
“Hey, everyone.” His voice is loud, deep, and confident. I barely recognize it from the scrawny eighth grader I last knew. “Thanks for the welcome. I used to play with Oak Grove High, but I’m stoked to be here.”
There are a few groans at the name. Oak Grove is about two hours away and is our biggest competitor. We always vie with them at competitions, and it’s one of my great ambitions in life to finally win Best Overall Auxiliary against them this season.
