“ ‘Swinging flags around’?” Mom repeats. “Hazel, I hopeyou don’t say things like that in front of your group. It’s up to you to motivate them and help them understand how important they are to the band. You never want to diminish their value or make them feel less than the other band members.”
I should have taken a second shower so I could avoid hearing more of her advice and preaching. The thing is, Mom isn’tjusta band alum. She was first chair trumpet, section leader, and chosen as Most Valuable Member both her sophomore and senior years. Each winner is chosen based on a weighted combination of votes from the band directors and all the band members, and it’s a really big deal at Glen Vale to win it—kind of like the Oscars of our marching band. Mom was beside herself when I won freshman year since I was “carrying on the tradition.”
Her plaques are still some of her most prized possessions. She has them hanging on the living room wall next to a photo of Dad dotting theiwhen he was a tuba player with The Best Damn Band in the Land at The Ohio State University. Dad may have “won” in college, but high school band was all Mom. They always dreamed that I’d follow in their footsteps and be first chair in my chosen (brass) instrument, but when I picked color guard instead, Mom quickly recalibrated.
“Of course I’m not making my guard feel bad,” I argue. “We’re going to be the best color guard our high school has seen in a decade.”
She points to me. “Yes! That’s exactly the energy I love to hear. You all are going to kill it. Is everything starting to fall into place with your choreography?”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble.
“It’s going to be amazing. You’ve got this year’s MVM in the bag.”
Luckily, I don’t have to respond because Kelsey interrupts. “This is jazz week in dance camp and we’re learning a performance to a Whitney Houston song. You should come and teach us how to do flags too, Hazel.”
“Would you listen to my instructions if I did?”
“If you were nice. And brought me a milkshake.”
I shake my head. “No such luck, then.”
Mom asks Kelsey about her camp, and I have a few minutes to myself until Dad comes home, and I get the same questions all over again.
Dad opens the Crock-Pot and grabs a bite of pulled pork before Mom can yell at him. He’s a sucker for her cooking, which is a good thing because she likes making big meals. He’s still in his polo shirt and jeans from work, where he manages an IT help desk for a local community college.
“So, did Max end up joining the band?” he asks. “You haven’t said a thing about it.”
“Yeah, he joined.”
Mom and Dad glance at each other. They know how well we used to get along, and I bet they had secret conversations planning (or dreaming) about how happy I was going to be now that Max was back in town.
“Well…that’s good to hear,” Dad says a second later. “Do you think he’s transitioning pretty well?”
Images of Max running laps and laughing with his percussion buddies and giving me the cold shoulder rise up in my mind. I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Are all teenagers this sulky?” Kelsey asks without looking up from her craft.
“Only teenagers who have little sisters that ask dumb questions. So you’ll be fine.”
“What’s going on? I thought you and Max would be fast friends again,” Mom says.
“Yeah, well, people change.”
“Give him time,” Dad replies. “He’s going through a lot of change, but I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.”
I don’t care if Max had to move senior year, it’s no excuse for being so rude for no reason.
Mom stands and pulls plates from the cabinet. “Actually, I’m going to reach out to Melanie again about coming to D&D this Sunday.”
“Great idea,” Dad says. “Max could come and that’d give you two some time to catch up.”
My parents have been hosting their D&D game for as long as I can remember. Every Sunday night, their friends come over with snacks and they all head down to the basement. I always wanted to be down there with them when I was a kid, but Dad said it was a no-kid zone because they didn’t want to accidentally teach us a whole new vocabulary of curse words. Once Max started coming over with his parents, I wasn’t so disappointed. Kelsey always went to our aunt’s house on Sundays, so Max and I got to eat all the snacks and watch all the TV we wanted.
“Max wants nothing to do with me.”
“You like him, don’t you?” Kelsey asks with a grin. “Your cheeks are pink.”
“I donotlike Max!” I say louder, and Kelsey bursts outinto laughter. “I’m going to practice the routines in the backyard.” I stalk over to the back door.
