Faith jogs up to us, still wearing her dress clothes. She runs around, giving each of us a hug, and then claps her hands together.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to get here more this week, but I’ve been checking in with Sire and he says you all have been coming along really well, thanks to Hazel’s diligent work. I can’t wait to see the show.” She beams at us and flicks her long blond hair over a shoulder. “I’ll keep a list of things to work on, but for now don’t worry about that, okay? Just have fun!”
She hurries off to stand with the other assistant band directors, and the guard members turn to me, as if waiting for whatever pep talk I’ve prepared. I decide to match Faith’s energy for once.
“We’ve got this,” I tell them confidently. “You all have made so much progress over the last two weeks and we’re not stopping now. So keep your head high, keep marching,and keep a smile on your face. This is just the beginning. Now circle up and hands in the center!”
We all cram together. The guard doesn’t have a special chant, and I’m tempted to repeat the altered percussion chant, but we don’t need any more drama. So instead I say, “On three. One…two…three…Glen Vale Knights!”
The performance is a blur. I’m so busy thinking about what I’m supposed to be doing that I have no time to reflect on how it’s actually going, although I can tell it’s far from perfect. Multiple times the members forget their formations and have to run to their next spot. Most of the squad drops their flag throws and we aren’t close to being synchronized. But the same could be said for the band. Mom and Dad scream my name a few times, and as we hit our final positions, I look up into the stands and see them jumping up and down while Kelsey does an elaborate pom-pom dance at their side.
The guard keeps a cool demeanor as we march off the field, but as soon as we hit the sidelines, we breathe sighs of relief and share some high fives.
“You did a great job!” I say.
“I dropped my flag three times,” Keira says.
“That’s better than me. I ran headfirst into the guy who plays the bari saxophone,” Deja replies. “How does he even march with that thing?”
“It’s okay,” I reassure them. “We made it through our first real performance, and it’ll only go up from here.”
“Band members, friends, and family, it’s now time for one of our longest-held and most special traditions: theFamily March,” Sire announces using the loudspeaker. We all go quiet to listen. “I would like to invite one family member to come down onto the field and find your marcher. We’re going to play a recording of the first competition song and you’re going to get a chance to march alongside our students. Please stay as close as possible to your marcher and watch out for others on the field because it’s going to get very…we’ll saybusy.Marching band can look pretty easy from the stands, but now is your chance to try for yourself!”
My eyes go back to my family. Each year my parents take turns on who will march beside me, and this year is Dad’s turn. However, I’m not entirely surprised to see Mom making her way to the field. In fact, it looks like Mom, Dad, and Kelsey are all coming down. I shake my head in confusion.
“We’re only supposed to have one family member,” I argue.
Mom puts a hand on her hip. “It’s your senior year and Sire won’t care. Your dad and I don’t want to miss the chance to march one more time with you.”
“And I don’t want to be left in the stands by myself,” Kelsey adds.
“Well…” I chuckle. “You better stay real close then, or you’re going to be plowed over by the trumpets in a few measures.”
“It’s too bad I didn’t bring my tuba,” Dad says. “Then they’d have to make way for us.”
No one is marching with instruments or flags, though. It’s chaotic enough without trombones or flag poles smacking you across the back of the head. I glance around the guardand am happy to see that everyone has someone standing next to them. I vaguely recognize the parents of the returning members, and it looks like the new members either have a parent, sibling, or friend next to them.
I survey the rest of the band and my gaze snags on the percussion. Like everyone else, the players also have parents and even a few grandparents on the field or standing in the pit by the sidelines. That’s where the percussion players stay if they play an instrument that can’t be marched through the field, like the enormous gongs, chimes, or xylophones. Their families are lucky that they get to stay out of the chaos that’s about to ensue.
And then I see Max.
Or rather, I meet Max’s gaze because he’s already looking at me. The heat in his expression sends my pulse leaping.
I do a double take, glancing into the stands and around the field, then back to him. He’s alone.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen either of his parents, but I’m pretty sure I’d recognize them if I saw them again, and they’re nowhere to be seen. He’s an only child, so he doesn’t have siblings he could pull onto the field, and probably his only friends in the area are already standing out here. I can’t stop my heart from squeezing in sympathy. He looks so lonely. He reminds me of the younger version of himself I knew years ago.
I should look away, but I can’t seem to pull my eyes from him. I wish I could cut every ounce of empathy I have out of my system. A small—and very stupid—part of me even wants to stand beside him so he doesn’t have to march alone. Orwhat if Mom or Dad marched with him instead? But then I remember Max’s comment about my mom getting into his family’s business. I have no idea what he meant by that, but I’m not eager to be told off by him again.
“Oh my goodness, is that Max?” Mom exclaims much too loudly. She uses both arms to wave at him, like she’s landing a plane.
“Is he all alone?” Dad asks Mom quietly, his voice edged with concern. “Where’s Melanie?”
“I don’t know,” Mom whispers. “One of us should go over there.”
“That’sMax?” Kelsey asks and stands on her tiptoes. “I’ll go over there. I can see why you like him, Hazel.”
“I don’t—” I begin to say just as Mom takes a step in his direction. At her movement, Max’s posture changes. He rolls his shoulders back and lifts his head high like we’re about to perform for judges. Any trace of sadness on his face is replaced by deep dislike. Mom hesitates, and I pull her back to me.
