Murder in Band Camp X.

Chapter One: Charlie and Blaze

~*~

It was absolutely unimaginable.

Totally beyond comprehension.

I, Charlotte Maines, am going to band camp. For the first time. Ever.

-

The words looked considerably more stupid on paper than they had sounded in her head, Charlotte decided. And for that matter, they were beginning to sound just as idiotic in her mind. She scrubbed her eraser across the paper until the words were erased and stuck the pencil over her ear as she contemplated how to put exactly what she was feeling into words.

Screw words. The one thing Charlotte "Charlie" Maines knew better than anything else was music. The small clarinet case clutched in her arms had grown warm from contact, and she wondered if anyone would notice if she slipped outside for just a minute, before the busses began to board.

A quick appraisal of the vast bus station revealed that no one in particular was paying attention to her. There were numerous groups of high school students like her, bunched up and clutching various instrument cases - or, in the low brass instances, standing, sitting, or lying on them possessively. She didn't recognize any of them – she was new to the district and school hadn't even started up yet. It was still mid-summer, and she was headed off to the Knightsbridge High yearly mandatory Summer Band Camp X.

She stood quickly, abandoning her belongings save her clarinet case and making her way to the double glass doors. Once outside, she detoured to the side of the building. There, with the company of the brick wall and a small enclave of trees and shrubs, she assembled her clarinet and spread her music out in front of her, weighting the paper down with small rocks. The mid-Texas blazing summer heat bore down on her, but she didn't seem to notice as her fingers found keyholes and the familiar sense of detachment filled her mind.

Then she began to play.

-

Kevin Durham hated waiting rooms. They reminded him too much of doctor's offices and other unhappy places. So when he and his group of fellow brass players were told that sadly, there was a delay, and unfortunately, they were going to have to wait another two hours for the overnight, he promptly bolted.

"Dude! Blaze, where ya goin'?" His friend Mike Salieri yelled as he made for the double glass doors.

"Out, man! I can't stand this!" he called back, and pushed his way outside.

He was met by the sweet sounds of a clarinet, playing a cheerful little tune with a lively pace. Whoever was playing it was good, he thought, silently impressed. He followed the sounds to the edge of the building and poked his head around to find a rather unusual sight. The clarinetist, a petite girl looking to be about seventeen, had just-above chin length short brown hair that gleamed reddish in the sun, cropped closely to her head and framing her curved face. She had on low, loose jeans and a tight army green tank top with dark, olive colored flip-flops. Her eyes were closed, ignoring the music in front of her, and she tapped one foot gently as her fingers fairly danced along her instrument.

Blaze was content to watch as she played.

-

When she was seven, Melody Waters has found her dad's old trombone in the attic. She had brought the old thing out and put her lips to the rusty old mouthpiece, and proceeded to blow the hell out of it. Since then, her father had invested in private lessons for on her beloved instrument, and she spent her years growing more and more proficient on the trombone.

Now she was going to band camp as a freshman, and she was going to beat up some cocky 'boner seniors who thought they were all that and a bag of extreme nacho Dorito chips. She was beginning to look forward to it. In fact, she was standing in a group of brass players and was nearly drooling at the concept of beating them all.

"Dude, what is Blaze's problem?" Mike Salieri wondered as Blaze shot out the door, wrenching Mellie's attention away from her daydreams. Mike was a junior and pretty much sucked at 'bone. He just stayed in band because he had more fun that way.

"You moron, Blaze has claustrophobia." Gerald Church, also known as "Scary Jerry", muttered. "He can't stand waiting rooms. I've known this dude since he was eight. Trust me."

"He's a brass player! Come on!" Mike scoffed. "Don't tell me Blaze Durham can't stand a crowd."

"Its true, kiddo." Merry Pinkerton, an extremely tall tuba player, interjected. She was a senior and the best tuba player Knightsbridge High had seen since 1983. She was also the toughest low brass member you'd ever meet, and she'd kick your ass if you look at her sideways twice. Which wasn't to say she was butch – Merry was dating a senior trumpet named Oscar Guiterrez and they were extremely devoted to each other.

Mike shrugged. "Unbelievable. Blaze is claustrophobic. Who woulda thunk?"

-

Charlie was beginning to tire of her music. She'd been playing this piece for months and there was still a small problem whenever she hit the low E… it never failed to sound completely flat, regardless of her embouchure or where she was pulled out. She hit the low E once more and sighed angrily as it resonated with the same, flat pitch.

"Dammit," she muttered, and opened her eyes. She might as well head on back inside, just in case there were any important announcements.

Instead of the empty enclave she expected, she found a tall guy about seventeen with a shock of bright red hair watching her, leaning casually against the corner of the wall. He was wearing loose blue jeans and a fitting white shirt that outlined well-defined muscles. Her first thought was, This guy's hot.

Her next was, Why the hell has he been watching me?

"You're good," he said before she could open her mouth. "Really good." Charlie immediately blushed and ducked her head.

"I'm okay," she responded, fighting the red in her cheeks. She always got shy around good-looking guys.

"No, I'm serious. You're really good. If you can play the camp try-out music that well, I'd say you've got first chair." He stuck a hand out and pulled away from the all. "I'm Kevin Durham, but most people call me Blaze."

"Charlotte Maines. But most people call me Charlie." She responded, shaking his hand and trying to ignore her stomach fluttering. My face must be flaming, she thought desperately.

"I guess I'll see you at camp," he said. "Maybe we'll be in the same band." He gave her a small wave and headed back inside the bus terminal. Charlie watched him go, and then sat down in the grass and began to gather up her music.

"Yeah," she echoed to herself. "I guess I'll see you."