"Is da legend true?"
Kenneth Thurman, a pudgy man of about 45, looked up from his desk. In front of him stood Fabian "Jon-Jon" Padiller, the second chair baritone player of the Ingleside High School Band.
"What?" Kenneth spat, a very obvious sneer splayed across his face. It was no secret that Kenneth hated the dumb, possibly mentally challenged baritone player.
"Someone told me there was a baritone, and if, you, like, play the baritone, you become, like, a vampire or something."
Kenneth sighed and rubbed his bald head in annoyance.
"You're crazy if you think that. Go get a pass from the office. You're tardy."
"But Mr. 'Durmen.. it only 8:01."
"Did I stutter?"
Fabian turned and left the office. He knew it had to be true. Instead of listening to the fat band director, Fabian went into the musty, small band hall across the way. Completely ignoring Mrs. Hon's questions of why he was interrupting her class, he crossed the band hall and stopped at the locked door. Upon finding it locked, Fabian brute forced the metal handle until it was bent enough for him to enter. Pushing his way into the music room, dubbed the Instrument Graveyard, his big dumb brown eyes scanned the area. The lights in the asbestos filled room flickered almost menacingly, the cracked beige tiles seemingly glowing under the fluorescent lights.
Stomping his way into the stanky room, Fabian absent-mindedly crushed every single instrument in his way. There, settled in the corner of the Instrument Graveyard, was the mysterious baritone he'd heard so much about. The case which held the baritone was engraved intricately with whimsical patterns. Since Fabian was such an idiot and could be distracted by anything, the wooden box in front of him was no exception.
"Fabian! Go to the office for not listening to pregnant me!" Mrs. Hon's voice rang out in Fabian's ears. Registering her shouting as white noise, Fabian pushed her out of the way and left the Instrument Graveyard. Returning to the large band hall, he took his seat next to Ethan "Smeetwagon" Meer. Meer, or as he preferred, Smeetwagon, was the first chair baritone player of the Ingleside Band.
"Why are you late?" Smeetwagon asked, little chunks of chewed food flying out as he did. Fabian was completely oblivious to the remnants of Cheetos and microwaved hot dog now on display across his face.
"Like.. Mr. Turmen said that the baritone in the Instrument Grabeyard wasn't, like, magic or whatever."
Smeetwagon laughed obnoxiously, acting as if he wasn't as dumb as Fabian.
"You big dumb Fabian. A magical baritone? You stupid."
Fabian felt patronized at Smeetwagon's insults. Smeetwagon was continuing to laugh at Fabian's absurd claim of a magic baritone when Mr. Thurman began to yell at them.
"Padiller! Meer! Get off your phones and learn your music!" His voice boomed across the band hall.
"Sowwy.." Smeetwagon said, his laughter ceasing.
"If you don't believe me, meet me after school in the Instrument Graveyard, and, like, I'll show you the baritone, or whatever," Fabian explained, ignorant to Thurman's glare.
"Fine, you big stupid."
Unbeknownst to Fabian or Smeetwagon, a short and pudgy man with a goatee sat nearby having heard everything.
In that moment, he knew that the two mentally handicapped boys were the ones to defeat Thurman.