“Feeling good about today?” Dad asks me from the passenger side.
“I guess.”
“You better be, because I used my whole bottle of green glitter on the sign I made for you,” Kelsey interjects from myside.
“Aww, thanks,” I reply. I’d rather avoid the additional glitter-induced pressure, but there’s nothing more precious to Kelsey than her glitter collection.
“The weather isn’t in your favor,” Mom says and glances out the window. It’s gray and windy today and already spitting rain. “But I believe in you.”
“We’ll be screaming for you in the stands,” Dad says as I climb out onto the sidewalk. “Look for us!”
I don’t know how I could miss them. They already have Glen Vale Music booster T-shirts, face paint, comically largepins with my band photo, and an intensely glittery sign. Oh, and big cowbells to ring when the band takes the field. The only reason they aren’t band bus chaperones too is because they need to be with Kelsey…and because I desperately begged them not to freshman year.
“And make us proud!” Mom calls.
I droop a bit lower at her words. I’d love for today to be the time I can finally accomplish that, but I don’t think the marching band gods are on my side this time. The rain morphs from a mist to a steady drizzle and my hopes sink lower. If it was a thunderstorm with a chance of lightning, they’d cancel the competition altogether, which would be much preferable. But as long as no one is in danger from the weather, we’re still expected to perform.
Adding to our bad luck is our performance order. Usually it would be a good thing to go last in the hopes that you could blow away the judges and leave a lasting impression in their minds. But by the time we finally march out hours later, the soggy field is so chewed up by the other bands that we can barely see the yard lines. The rain makes the players more liable to squeak or be off tune, mud gets clogged onto the soles of our shoes, and don’t even get me started with the flags. At least the others can keep their instruments off the ground, but the tips of our flags are literally swirling through the mud, which means that they’re dirty, heavy, and flipping mud onto our cheeks and eyes with each drop spin and toss. It’s so slippery that I even fall at one point and smear mud all over my face.
Basically, the whole performance is pure misery, and it shows in our scores.
“Well…”
For once, Mom is at a loss for words when I find my family again after the awards have been given out. I’m grateful that it’s still sprinkling because it helps to camouflage my tears.
“You know, let’s look at it this way—it can only go up from here!” Dad says. “And it’ll be a performance you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”
I half cough, half sob. That’s one way to put it. Color guard didn’t even score an Excellent this time—we were given a Good. It feels the same as being rated Horrendous. I’ve never felt more embarrassed.
“It’s only one competition,” Mom says and rubs my back. “This is what success stories are made of. The hero is down and out, feeling hopeless, but then they rebound and win it all in the end. That can still be you! Think of how amazing it’ll feel when you earn that Superior at your last competition. Sire will have to give you the MVM award after that!”
I wish the storm was stronger right now so lightning could strike and kill me where I stand. I’m barely holding it together and Mom is talking about me winning the MVM award? That couldn’t be further from my grasp now.
“Is there a trash can somewhere?” Kelsey asks miserably and holds up her beautifully made sign. The glitter is sliding down the poster like it’s crying from how bad our performance was.
I can’t stand here any longer with their disappointed expressions and chipper voices. There’s nothing they can say that will make me feel better. There’s nothing anyone can say.Those dreams of Superior scores and best auxiliary awards are fading further and further from view. Even worse, we haven’t qualified for state yet. Wealwayshave a place at state by our second competition. The idea of not going my senior year is so depressing that I’m tempted to lie face down in the nearest mud puddle.
“I promised a few people I’d check on them,” I tell my parents. “Everyone’s pretty upset.”
Dad nods understandingly. “Of course, you should be with your friends. Do you want us to wait and give you a ride home?”
“No, I’ll ride back with the guard. It’s the least I can do.”
As soon as I’m free, I stride in the opposite direction, although I don’t know where I’m going. There’s no one else to talk to or check on, that was just the first excuse that came to mind. But a few minutes alone sound like exactly what I need. I head toward the Glen Vale equipment buses. Angry voices catch my attention.
“Get a grip, dude. It’s not a big deal.”
“Itisa big deal. Everyone’s already demoralized after tonight. You didn’t need to make fun of Felix and Niko like that in front of everyone.”
I freeze. That’s Max speaking, and the other voice is definitely Brody. I look for them, but I don’t see them anywhere. They must be around the corner of the closest bus.
“How are they going to learn if someone doesn’t call them out? They both suck. They’re pulling us down, and there’s no way in hell I’m performing acolor guardroutine because they caused us to lose that stupid bet.”
“But they’re young. And they’re trying. I’m pretty sure Felix’s mom heard some of the stuff you said to him.”
“Then it’ll motivate him to make sure it never happens again.”
Max growls and I can almost imagine him throwing his hands in the air. Hearing tension within the percussion section should be the lift I need to lighten my mood. If their two best players are fighting, that can’t bode well for them. But I can’t find any joy in this. Brody was making fun of Felix? What kind of section leader does that?
