Jack was frantic. He ran around the house, pounded down the stairs, and screamed at the top of his lungs "Shitshitshitshit!"
His brother Nick caught him by the arm as he was running down the stairs again. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Jack ran a hand through his hair. "I can't find my pants!"
Nick looked down, and sure enough, his brother was not wearing any pants, just a pair of yellow boxers with winky faces all over them.
Nick smirked. "Did Ralph get those for you?"
Jack flushed the same color as his hair. "No!"
Nick gave him a look that clearly said he didn't believe Jack's claim. "Oh, and, you're looking for your band pants, right? Have you checked your closet?"
Jack's eyes widened as he pondered Nick's words. He turned on his heel and sprinted back up the stairs.
After about thirty seconds of banging, curses, and Nick thought he could hear the tearing of fabric, Jack burst out of his room, keys in one hand, his hat, shoes, overlay, and socks in the other.
"Gotta go! Gonna be late! Bye!" he yelled breathlessly as he sprinted to his car.
Nick looked at the clock on the wall. "Does he know it's only four?"
When Jack raced up the stairs to the band hallway, shoes now on his feet, he saw that no one else was there. "What?" he checked his phone and groaned. "I'm two friggin hours early? Frig!" He plopped to the ground, angry with himself.
He was still stewing in self-anger and pity when a familiar voice said, "Jack? What are you doing here?"
He quickly looked up. "Ralph?"
The blonde smiled and sat down next to him. "Why are you here so early?" he asked.
Jack grinned, "Because I wanted to see my love! Nah, that's a lie. I just read the time wrong."
"Oh, you're such a romantic," Ralph teased, "So, my luvaahh, would you like to accompany me on a candlelit dinner in a practice room? Except there are no candles, or dinner."
"I would love to, my dear." Jack grinned, picking himself up off the ground.
They meandered, hand in hand, the distance to the farthest practice room, pausing occasionally to kiss.
Jack pushed open the door to the practice room, not breaking a particularly passionate kiss that had caught his attention.
"I hate not having classes with you," Jack said, "I don't see you all day."
Ralph smiled devilishly. "Then let's make up for lost time, shall we?"
Jack pulled Ralph more securely in his arms. "Mmm, baby, the way you talk makes me feel so good."
That seemed to be Ralph's limit on dirty talk. He blushed bright red and shoved Jack away. Jack laughed and sat down on a piano bench, patting the seat next to him.
"I've been practicing lately," Jack said, lifting the cover on the piano keys.
"Practicing what?"
"A song for my love." Jack's voice was sugary sweet.
"Aw, darling, play it for me!"
Jack dramatically raised his hands, fingers bent. Ralph watched with bated breath as Jack's fingers descended onto the ivory keys, and a melody began to play, an oddly familiar one.
Ralph smacked him. "This is just Chopsticks!"
The stayed in the practice room for a while, playing impromptu melodies, flirting horrifically and quizzing each other about the English test they had on Monday.
"What does capacious mean?" Ralph asked. They had ended up on the floor underneath the piano. Ralph sat up straight while Jack laid his head in his lap.
"Hmm, spacious," Jack said absently as he checked the time. "Shit, we should be out there."
"Are we gonna be late?"
"Nah, we'll early."
In the band world, to be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late, and to be late is to risk the disapproving stare of a band director, which no one ever wants.
They walked out, and Ralph grabbed his uniform from where it hung on his locker. He pulled on his pants and jacket in the instrument room, and then walked out, holding his overlay and looking confused.
"Help me?" he asked.
Jack sighed and shook his head in exasperation. "Love, we're seniors. You should know how to put on your overlay by now."
Ralph just grinned sheepishly and held it out. Jack pulled it over Ralph's head and set about fastening all the buttons and clicking the collar into place.
"There you go," Jack said, straightening out a wayward wrinkle.
"Thanks." Ralph blushed sweetly and kissed Jack, making sure it was long and lingering.
Someone down the hallway cleared their throat they jumped apart and turned to look at the newcomer. It was Simon, and he looked extremely uncomfortable. There had been an… issue last year involving Jack dating Ralph, Simon trying to dump Ralph, Jack refusing to, then Ralph finding out about the whole shebang. So, needless to say, Simon was not a fan of seeing Ralph and Jack kiss, and the feeling was mutual.
They gave Simon some space, wandering around the rest of school until most of the band arrived. Jack put his saxophone together and Ralph grabbed his flute case. They warmed up with the band, their director, Ms. Nevins, sent out the drum majors occasionally to check what the time was on the sophomore game.
When it was time, they all made their way down the stairs, and around the track to the visitor's section.
Jack looked up and felt his stomach drop. "Oh God."
Roger looked over at him oddly. "What? What is it?"
Jack pointed up to the lights. "Mayflies."
Their school had the terrific luck and planning to be placed at the intersection of two rivers. This led to a lot of flooding, mosquitoes, and, of course, mayflies.
Roger looked up and swore quite colorfully. The bugs were already being attracted to the bright lights as the sun went down.
Jack looked amused. "My mother does not do that!"
Roger smacked him playfully. "C'mon, we gotta line up."
They walked over to their pregame spot, and watched as the drum majors marched out to call the band to attention. The junior drum major was named Tyler Thrush. He played clarinet, and looked fantastic with eyeliner on, as Jack had found out after his friends Hope and Sabrina put some on him one fateful morning. The senior drum major was named Matt Meazle. He played the bassoon, and looked as if he could be related to Tyler. He was a soccer player, which, according to Hope and Sabrina, meant he had a fantastic ass.
"Band! Ten hut ten hut!" Matt barked.
"Go!" Everyone snapped to attention, toes and heels perfectly together. Jack had been in band so long this had become a reflex.
Matt blew his whistle and the percussion began playing the cadence. Everyone marched onto the football field, plumes flowing regally in the breeze, every line exactly eight steps behind the one in front of them. After the final line of flutes stepped off, everyone stopped moving forward, but kept their feet moving in time to the beat. Matt blew his whistle again and the percussion played the halt.
"Band! To the rear, rear!" Ms. Nevins yelled out from her position in front of the visitor's stands.
They all turned in unison, and Jack groaned. More mayflies had flown in, which meant sitting in the stands, directly underneath the gigantic swarm of dying mayflies, would not be pleasant in the slightest.
"Band! Horns up!"
"And up," Jack murmured, more out of reflex than anything. They played the visitor's fight song. Who were they playing again? Jack couldn't remember. He looked at the top of his music. Oh yeah, Yorkville.
He absently played the music, not really paying attention to it. Once the piece was over, he heard everyone yell "Turn in four!"
He rolled his eyes. Everyone knew how to do the pregame show, they just yelled out directions for the sake of the slow freshmen. Stupid freshmen.
They marched closer to the home stands and played the three fight songs their school, Wallace High School. Jack wondered for the millionth time why the school needed three fight songs.
The person singing the national anthem that night was a small boy, a sophomore, they said. He had a mulberry-colored mark on his face, and Jack thought he looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen the kid before.
They marched off the field and over to the stands where, to Jack's horror, the mayflies had amassed to huge proportions.
"There's so many of them," Ralph said. Jack jumped; he hadn't heard the blonde sneak up next to him.
"I know." He shivered. He was terrified of bugs due to a childhood incident involving untrustworthy cousins, a river, and a whole bunch of mosquitoes.
They climbed into the stands, sitting right next to the visitor's crowd. Tyler and Matt began passing out cups of water, with the help of a couple of flute players. Jack took a cup, grateful for the cold water. He was about to take a sip, when something small plopped into it. It was a mayfly. Jack squeaked, more girlishly than he liked to admit, and quickly set the cup down, next to another mayfly who was twitching in its death throes.
It seemed the mayflies decided that the moment the band got comfortable in the stands would be an excellent time to start dive bombing them, flying into the girls' hair, and one unfortunate saxophonist's instrument.
Jack looked over as Roger let loose a small shriek. One of the vermin had landed on his mouthpiece. He brushed it off with a shudder.
Was Ms. Nevins going to do anything about this? Maybe let them go inside? It appeared not. She was entirely engrossed in the game, and seemed to be under the impression that not thinking about the mayflies currently waging war on her band would make them go away. Unfortunately this was not the case, and the mayflies were impossible to ignore.
"Band horns up!" she yelled into her megaphone.
"And up," Jack said with trepidation. How was he supposed to make sure nothing flew into his saxophone when he was playing said instrument?
They played a "fire-up tune," as Ms. Nevins liked to call them, and to Jack's relief, nothing flew in his saxophone.
By halftime, the entire band was exhausted, adrenaline from first being attacked all burned through. As they made their way out of the stands to line up for the show, Jack heard a popping sound, similar to those poppers you throw on the ground during the Fourth of July.
"What is that?" he asked.
Roger made a disgusted face. "The bodies."
Jack's eyes widened in realization. The tiny mayfly bodies were exploding as they were being stepped on, letting loose a small popping sound and white guts that spilled everywhere.
He tried not to look down as he walked off the stands and out onto the track where, thankfully, there were much less mayflies.
Jack found his spot and willed the clock to go faster. He wanted to go home already, away from the dreaded creatures that had officially become the bane of his existence.
After about two minutes of football time, which roughly translated to ten minutes of real time, they marched on. Their ranks were now sloppy, and Jack was thankful that Ms. Nevins had chosen not to do any drills. He could barely play the music, let alone play the music and march in a very specific pattern. A mayfly trailed by and Jack's throat clenched up.
'Don't panic, don't panic,' he thought to himself. Pushing all thought of mayflies out of his head, he played the rest of the music, fingers moving lazily over the keys.
They marched off the field, and waited for a moment before Ms. Nevins said they could leave.
Jack and Roger slowly made their way up the stairs and set their plumes by the drum majors.
He met Ralph in the hallway. "That was…" he said.
"Awful? Indescribable? Arguably the worst night of your life?" Ralph suggested.
"I choose all of the above," he sighed.
They silently walked to the parking lot and said their goodbyes with a short kiss.
"See you tomorrow," Ralph said.
"Oh yeah! We have a date!"
Ralph rolled his eyes. "Way to keep on top of things, love."
"I'd rather keep on top of you," Jack said in a low voice.
Ralph blushed and pushed Jack away, walking toward his car.
"I love you!" Jack called before climbing in his car.
He drove home in something of a daze, and stumbled in the front door.
Nick looked up from the couch, where he was reading a book. "How was the game?" he asked.
Jack shook his head and walked up the stairs. He needed a shower and some sleep before he was ready to answer that.
Author's Note: So, I hope you enjoyed it! The introduction was so long because I kinda wanted to get reacquainted with the characters, which I greatly enjoyed doing.
Unfortunately enough, this is based on a true story. This happened to me twice actually... *shudders*
If you've just read this one, and not Lord of the Band Geeks, I hope you'll go read that. I swear, that has nothing to do with mayflies.