Look how black the sky is, the writer said. I made it that way.
Bret Easton Ellis
She didn't think he even noticed her. And she didn't blame him. The high school marching band was home to about four hundred players, each belonging to their own section.
He was the trumpet player, who also excelled at the piano, the violin, and the cello.
She was the quads drummer, plain and simple.
So of course she didn't believe she had a chance with him.
They were too far apart in a small space.
x
She had belonged in band since she was young, approximately at the age of eight and grade of second. She didn't expect to be drawn to the percussion section or the thrumming drums that were loud to hear and heavy to carry.
Still, the quads were hers to play. Despite everyone having multiples of their instruments, there was only one tenor drum in the entire music department.
She was that good and that valuable.
x
It's her senior year.
After this, she won't see him again. He'll be somewhere, and she'll be somewhere else.
x
Sometimes, he said hi to her. Mostly, he waved at everyone in percussion. He'd grab his trumpet from its case on the shelf and head over to his seat. Then he'd nod his head briefly as he trudged passed them, making her flush in nervousness.
He never focused in on her.
She was just that invisible.
x
He had long, tawny hair which he never trimmed. When they marched to the field in the scorching heat of the sun, he never tied the strands back, only pushed them impatiently underneath his cap.
She wished she could run her fingers through those locks.
x
He had a way of getting frustrated with himself when he played the wrong note. Since he played the trumpet, his mistakes were rare but noticeable. Still, he'd scowl lightly and shake his head, as if speaking to someone not there.
She wished she could reassure him that it was okay to make mistakes.
x
He liked to come early to practice. If the band had to meet in the room at eight in the morning, he'd arrive at seven.
She wished she could be alone with him at that time.
x
They were out on the tracks, playing their drills as they marched towards the football bleachers. Students roared when they caught sight of the band, recognizing the beats and singing along with them. It wasn't so warm out, but their uniforms clung to their bodies in sweat.
Clary tugged at her hat briskly. Her hair had a habit of coming undone when she needed it tamed the most.
Being apart of percussion, she was placed in the back of the parade.
She wished she could see him in the front, fingers moving gracefully across the keys.
x
Their music director was a real leader. His name was Lucian Graymark and he was both stern and careful in his lessons. He expected a lot from them and never prepared for the worst because he believed that failure wasn't an option.
Everyone was filing out of the music room, carrying their instruments and music sheets. Her percussion members were already outside, easily able to hook their snares and basses to their harnesses. She cursed, pulling at her tenor drums. It just wouldn't come free from its stand. Worry began to take over her. Mr. Graymark would surely snap at her tardiness. She bit at her bottom lip, fisting her hands and wrenching upwards one more time.
"Here. I've got it."
She didn't even know who was talking to her. She couldn't identify the deep voice. She was so concerned she nodded quickly and replied, "Please. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
It was when she glanced to him that she realized who he was.
Her knees almost melted.
She tried to solidify her emotions and moved away from him so that he had room to lift her drums from the stand.
He smelled like cologne and something sweet. She relished the feeling of him so close to her, nearly forgetting the fact that they should've been outside, performing.
"There you go." He released a small breath and rose to his full height. He pointed to the bottom of her quads mount. "The screw was twisted too tight."
"Oh." She managed, her volume low. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Thank you."
He grabbed his trumpet from the floor. "We should get going or our asses are gonna get beat."
She laughed, stretching when her tenor drums slumped against her torso, suspended by her harness. "Okay."
She couldn't imagine that situation in her wildest and most vivid dreams.
x
Mr. Graymark was fair, but harsh nonetheless.
He benched them for the next football game. At the verbal assault he had given the two of them, Jace stormed off, angry and quiet.
Clary watched his figure disappear, guilty that she was the reason he wasn't allowed to perform.
x
They didn't have anything to practice for.
She tried finding him. Searched the band room. The other music classrooms.
He was nowhere to be found.
x
She had study hall last hour. She wandered along the halls, navigating her way passed student government posters, election advertisements, and health guidelines. She found that she was heading towards her secret spot from elementary school.
It was a tiny closet in her fourth grade classroom.
She smiled giddily when she realized no one was in there.
When recess used to hit, she'd never had anyone to hang out with. Her best friend Simon had moved to New York and she was the kid nobody wanted to partner with. Her hair was too bright and her freckles were too scattered. Her eyes were too green and her height too short.
While the teachers gathered the students to go to the playground, she stayed behind, saying she had a bathroom emergency. Then she'd grab her tape recorder and she'd hide in the closet, documenting random stories, each describing her with a million friends who loved her.
By the time fifth grade came, she couldn't conceal herself anymore. She had to grow up.
x
She reached for her phone in her pocket, clicking the home button, so that light could fill the closet space. She sighed softly, leaning against the wall, memories of the past thundering through her.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, face perking up. She found the recording app and pressed record. She spoke, a little anxious about what she would say.
She murmured faintly.
x
Jace didn't know where he was going. He was pissed at Mr. Graymark for benching him and pissed at the tenor drums girl for putting him in that position. He was the first trumpet. He was the section leader. He couldn't possibly not play. That was just nonsense.
He was skipping English class, opting to listen to music from the earphones dangling about his ears. He pushed the exit doors carelessly and met the breeze of the windy weather. He tightened his cap and sauntered to the other school buildings, mind occupied.
x
He realized belatedly that he had entered the elementary school. He rolled his eyes at his lack of attention and decided he'd just find his car and head home. There was no point in being in school. It was almost the end of the day.
He heard her voice when he threw his flavorless gum into the trash can near the fourth and fifth grade classrooms.
He could recognize the skittishness in her tone. She was such a quiet person.
He shrugged a little to himself, thinking that it wouldn't hurt to see her. Perhaps he'd give her a piece of his mind.
But when he entered the room, the desks and chairs were empty. "What the fu-"
Her mumbling stopped abruptly, yet he had caught her location and was already turning the knob to the closet.
She yelped when the door yanked open.
x
"What are you doing here?" He sounded perplexed and exasperated and annoyed. His eyebrows were raised gracefully, thick and blonde.
She scrambled up from her sitting position, obviously embarrassed. "Nothing. I-Nothing."
He blinked and tilted his face to the right. "Uh huh. You're telling me you're in some tiny ass closet because you feel like it?"
The question must have triggered her, for her green orbs widened considerably. The blush was no longer visible on her cheeks. "It's none of your business."
Instead of leaving, he grinned. "Is it? You kind of got me in trouble in the first place." He leaned on the wall, his leg held upwards.
She fumbled slightly and seized her bags recklessly. "You didn't have to help me if you didn't want to." She slid under one of his outstretched arms and left the room.
x
Never did she think she could argue with him.
In her daydreams, they had always seemed compatible.
She marveled at her sudden braveness. She had stood up to the guy she was secretly crushing on since middle school.
Nonetheless, she remained disappointed.
What if they never had any meetings in the future again?
x
Jace liked her. She had spunk.
x
Mainly, he didn't date. He went to parties, got drunk, and managed to keep girls off of him for the time being.
Maybe she was worth a try.
x
A few weeks passed. They performed their winter concert and got prepared for their local competitions. They weren't a particularly advanced band, but they held their ground against other schools in their district.
Jace continued to play his trumpet.
Clary continued to beat on her drums.
They hadn't talked since that day.
x
At the end of marching season, the band usually threw a party at a random player's house. Only band kids were invited. The event involved drunk playing, mocking Mr. Graymark, flirting with girls, and the occasional poker and pool games.
It was there that they finally interacted.
x
Clary didn't like parties, but she liked making fun of Mr. Graymark and playing pop music that they all thought was trash. Band was band.
Plus, she was sort of hoping she'd catch a glimpse of him.
x
Jace never went to the parties. He thought they were lame and pointless. He'd rather hang out with Sebastian and Jordon, driving around town and being idiots.
But he had heard from Isabelle, the flute player, that Clary would be there. So, obviously, he took the bait.
x
"No fucking way, Fray!" Magnus shouted, standing behind a music stand. He waved his hands dramatically in short arcs. "You started too early." He was definitely tipsy, his feet stumbling every so often.
The rest of the band sat in front of him. Munching on snacks and downing the coors lite. In any performance, they weren't allowed to eat or their instruments would get caked in acids that would gnaw away at the surface. "Alright, bitches!" He clapped his palms enthusiastically. "A one, a two, a one, two, three, four."
They played.
Heedlessly. Impulsively. Audaciously.
And they were young and they were playing music and that's what it was all about.
Clary laughed, smacking her sticks against her drum heads.
x
The first thing he saw was her keeping up with the quick tempo, her foot tapping rhythmically against the carpet. There was an aura of playfulness in the air. Nobody cared about what they were playing. The house teetered and bent with the ear piercing noise being produced.
He brandished his trumpet. Clicked down on a few keys.
Surprised her by standing beside her.
And played.
x
It didn't matter that they were playing the wrong notes or that they weren't looking at their conductor, Magnus, who was dancing to the melody, unaware that he was supposed to lead them. It didn't matter that the sounds were imbalanced and the sections were fighting one another for dominance, percussion evidently victorious.
It didn't matter.
She caught his eye, temporarily stopping her drum beats.
"What are you doing here?" She shouted over the harmony of the saxophones.
He wiped his mouth which had turned red from the pressure of his mouthpiece. "What do you mean?"
She scoffed. "You never come to these parties."
"And how would you know that?" He returned his instrument to its case.
She appeared flustered. "I just know."
He leaned over her and one of her drum sticks tumbled to the ground. She was too embarrassed to pick it up. He was so much larger than she was. His golden hair spilled from his cap, but he didn't bother with it. "Come with me."
She felt like her heart was in his fists. "Where?"
She must have sounded frightened for he chuckled light-heartedly. "No. No. Not that. I hear a trumpet and a tenor drum player can play some pretty dope shit together."
This time, she grinned.
x
They played together.
And they argued and they bickered.
They bragged about their instruments.
They made senior year worth it.
Even though they went to different colleges, states away, they still held contact with one another.
It isn't always the same, but they manage to connect.
They're the trumpet and quad players.
x
Review. One-shot.
I want to thank everyone for their reviews, particularly my loyal followers.
I'd like to give a personal shout out to strawberrygirl2000 who posted a comment that left me thinking for what seemed like forever. You told me to never stop writing. And that's in my head, etched there like a tattoo. I don't know how to explain it, but you made my week and I wrote this in hopes of giving something back to you. I hope you like it.
Thank you everyone. I'll try to update as much as I can, but this is my second week of senior year and it IS stressful.
ps. I'm in band. And I play the quads (multi-drum instrument).