If you've ever been part of a marching band then you would know what it is like to stand on that field, in the sun for hours straight, as directors and drum majors yell commands. Minutes soon become eternities and you no longer have any sense of self control. You are a robot, stiff and precise; part of something much larger than yourself. You conform your movements to stay in sync with the others. That sense of individuality that you once had is now taken from you and all you can do is move yourself over hashes and yard lines, hoping that you don't miss a note or beat and that you are on the right foot.

These are the kind of things that start going through your mind as you stand there on that football field, in the scorching sun nonetheless, for hours on end. Any command that is yelled must be done without error. "If there are more than three hundred of you on that field, and two hundred ninety-nine start with their left foot and then one person starts with their right foot, the audience's eyes will go straight to that person that made the mistake. The crowd looks for error."

Those are words to live by, according to Director Burke.

Basically, there is not much room (if any) for error. Rumor has it that Director Burke had been in the President's Own, or the US Marine Band. And that that was why he was such a strict and organized director. But when you think about it, you notice that it is almost impossible for him to have been part of that band. Why would someone who was a world-class musician like that end up teaching at some high school to make a living? Surely he would find a better job.

My mind had finally reached its breaking point and had wandered about three hours into the instrument-free rehearsal. I'd been trying to keep my mind off of Ethan, even though I was really starting to like him. There was no away that I could start dating him though. He was supposed to be my best friend, not my boyfriend! God, it'd be like that show Dawson's Creek. I didn't want our relationship to be messed up by a romantic one.

The dreaded whistle is what startled me and snapped me out of my daydream. I mentally reminded myself that this was just the first day of three at away band camp. I then noticed that my line had drifted out of cover up for the set we had been doing and thrown the entire field off.

Director Burke eyed me (how did he know it was my fault?) with a look that said, "You are in for a lecture." The look wasn't a death stare, but I knew that he was serious.

Right now, he meant business; he told us to fall in by the podium he was on and asked us to sit down. Ethan was by my side in a flash and we sat down near an orange yard marker without saying a word. I could tell by the way Director Burke was sweating and sunburned that he wanted to get off of the field just as much as everyone else, and that he had almost reached a breaking point himself. Nevertheless, he started his lecture with this: "I don't mean to be mean here people, and I know that it's getting hot. But I need you to listen." His voice carried. This was the reason why this guy never needed a megaphone. He sat down on the podium and reached for his water bottle. "This band is all about you guys. It has almost nothing to do with me. I teach you how to be a band and then it is you that follows through and stays dedicated." He took a long sip from his water bottle and checked his watch. "The President's Own." he said, smiling as he pulled the bottle away from his mouth. A few people groaned. "Those people are dedicated, committed. And yes, they get paid, and yes they enjoy what they do. But you can get paid and have fun as well. And while it sounds pretty corny, I want to say this: you may not see how you can get paid from this experience, but one day you will see. And when you realize it you will feel that you were here for a good reason.

"Until then you must realize that those people started right where you are now. Their high school football field. And they did and still do exactly what you do. They march. Only they understand their dedication. To them it is not a sentence. They aren't forced to be there. The members of that band will stand there still and proud, sometimes to the point where a few may pass out because of the heat. While that sounds a bit crazy, it's true. I understand that this is not the President's Own, but this is a this is a marching band and I expect each and every one of you to at least pay attention for the duration of practice and give me your all." He took another drink from his water bottle, capped it, and gingerly placed it beside him. That's when I felt Ethan's knee lean on mine. My eyes suddenly darted from the top of the podium to our touching knees. Ethan pretended not to notice. I pulled my knee away in hopes that I could train myself to not like Ethan like that. I looked back up at the director and waited for him to continue.

Then he eyed me, and I swallowed long and slow. Director Burke never got angry. But I knew what he might be up to and I didn't want to be singled out. I began to pray that he wouldn't make us do drill downs. Or go back to the basics block.

A smile spread across his face, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"How about a break from the show?" he said calmly. A few people murmured in response. We all knew what he was up to; were going to be forced to do drill downs. He checked his watch, and then, after a slight pause, he said, "Enjoy your lunch. We'll be back in an hour and a half."

Everyone got up and ran, exhibiting the last drops of energy left from breakfast. This morning's rehearsal had been grueling, and Director Burke knew it. People stormed into the mess hall as though it was their last meal.

I got up and started walking towards the mess hall, still kind of out of it from the heat, when Leandra, Ashley, Lynn, Jenn, and Meredith began to crown around Ethan and I. "It's way too hot for us to be out here." Leandra said as she fanned herself with her drill book.

"Tell me about it." Lynn answered, fanning herself with her drill book as well. I knew what was going to happen next. Jenn (the one who usually started these fights) grabbed her rolled up drill book from her back pocket and started whacking Ashley and Meredith. Soon Lynn and Leandra started in, purposely leaving Ethan and me the only two not involved. "Let's leave those two lovebirds alone." I heard Lynn yell as the group ran to get lunch. I rolled my eyes at such a thought and went to ask Ethan what was for lunch when I noticed that he was looking a bit flushed. I asked him if he was feeling okay, despite the fact that I know he hates when I do it. I don't play games when it comes to Ethan though.

He didn't answer me. Something was definitely wrong.

"When's the last time you checked your sugar?" I say quietly so that only Ethan can hear me. When we reach the hall I pull him up to the side of the wrap around deck attached to the building so that it is just Ethan and me. My mind goes into emergency mode and I make him sit down on the nearest bench.

Ethan, my best friend of fourteen years, is a type 1 diabetic.

He's disoriented and for a moment I think that he cannot process my question. An "I don't remember." escapes quite harshly from him. His sugar level is obviously not where it should be. I pull up his shirt and instinctively go to make sure that everything is all right with his insulin pump that is usually located on the rim of his shorts. "It's not there." he says, panicked. By now he is a bit shaky and is sweating profusely. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"You just have to relax. All right?" Ethan nods; he trusts me to help him because he knows that I know what I'm doing. I turn around to get the nurse when I hear someone running up the wooden steps of the porch to the mess hall. It is then that I hear a voice, but cannot make out what they are saying over the noise bellowing from the mess hall.

"Is everything all right here?" This time the voice is much clearer. I turn around and see that it's Director Burke.