AN: Shewhodanceswithdragons sent me a plot-bunny 'cause I asked her to, and this is what I got out of it. If the story stinks, it's my fault, not hers.
"Jake Baul, please report to the office. Jake Baul to the office."
When the class heard that, their was the typical jeering, but most of the class was confused. Jake never got called down to the office. After all, he was the lead quarterback of the football team, as well as a strait-A student. Why should he got called down?
At the office
"You called me?" Jake asked. He was tall, with short black hair and brown eyes. Almost all the girls thought he was cute, and those who didn't kept their mouths shut or got talked down to by those who did. "What's the principal doing here?" Jake thought with surprise.
"Yes, Jake. If you are not aware of this, all students must participate in music to graduate. You have not." After the principal finished saying this, the band, chorus, and orchestra directors walked in. The principal addressed them now. "Jake does not have his music credit, sirs. Can any of you supply him with this?"
"No." All three teachers said simultaneously.
"Well, not in Concert Band, but the Marching Band could take him." G, the band director said.
"No way, I'm not joining those losers." Jake said haughtily. The teacher wisely chose to not comment on this as he could not punish him, but he did have to offer the other music credit option.
"It's that or the colorguard."
"Oh, please no." Jill, one of the colorguard members said. She had just returned from a doctor's appointment and overheard the comment. She was one of the few people who openly disliked Jake. Her friend Emma was the other one. Unfortunately, Jake returned the sentiment, and took every opportunity to torture the two.
"It's better than the band," he said with a smug smile.
Jill growled in annoyance, but then smirked as an amusing thought came to her, a smirk she quickly covered up with a scowl. "Fine," she said, her voice very aggravated. "First meeting's tomorrow from six to nine." She added, walking out the door, all but laughing with malicious mirth. She had conveniently "forgot" to mention the sacred rule of the sport: If you're early, you're on time; if you're on time, you're late; and if you're late, you're dead.
"Okay, see you there," Jake said to her retreating form.
"Whatever." Jill said over her shoulder, heading to lunch. She had to find Emma.
AN: Don't forget, if the story's bad, it's my fault. If the story's good, credit goes to Shewhodanceswithdragons, who's name really needs to be shortened.