Disclaimer:I don't own the band; THE ISLAND DOES!! MWAHAHAHA!
"All right," Mr. Roberson announced in his usual drawling monotone. "Quiet down, quiet down. As for our announcements today, I just want to say, if you haven't turned in your practice logs, do it NOW. And I mean NOW." Mr. Roberson continued on, oblivious to the various arguments going on in the back row.
"Kelsi, Charlie, are you guys listening?" he asked the trombones, looking up from the papers he held in his hand. They didn't answer. Ashley, a baritone player, watched as Mr. Roberson glared at Charlie. Tears began to fill her eyes. "He ain't done nuttin', Mr. Roberson, I mean it. If you think he done did somethin' I'm quittin' band!" She pulled her knees up to her stomach and buried her face between them.
The low brass, though they weren't the most intelligent bunch, stuck together through thick and thin. If one of them was going down, the other four went with them.
"Ashley, let it go," Mr. Roberson groaned. "I wasn't even talking to you." He continued with the announcements.
"Also, for those of you who are thinking of—" Mr. Roberson's head jerked up to the sound of cards shuffling from the back of the room. He craned his neck to look over the percussion pit, but no one was back there. Sighing and tossing his papers over his shoulder, he walked around to where the percussionists were supposed to be standing, only to see three pairs of legs sticking out from behind the bass drum.
"WOO-HOO!" I win! Jessika shouted, throwing her cards up into the air. She jumped out from behind the drum, only to come face-to-face with Mr. Roberson. He sighed and shook his head. Jessika giggled and grinned at Vaughn and Marshall, the other two percussionists.
"Fifty sentences, all 'a y'all." Mr Roberson muttered, "due tomorrow, no exceptions." He walked back to the podium and picked up the list of things that he still had yet to address.
"Anna, are you chewing gum?" Mr. Roberson snapped, looking at his last chair clarinetist. "Et tu, Parker?" Anna and Parker smiled, each with her gum hanging on the tip of her reed.
"My office, now," Mr. Roberson said. "Go."
"Lizzie! Stop that! Vaughn, go stand in that corner! Gosh, you guys are such morons!" Mr. Roberson shouted, finally losing his temper. "You're never gonna be a good band if you're always acting like this! At Lizzie's all-region band," he pointed at Lizzie, the mischievous first chair flute. She gave him a large fake angelic smile. "Over there, they never made the band director stop to tell them to stop talking! Ughh, why can't you guys just act right?" Once again, Mr. Roberson was in one of his grumpy moods.
"Temper, temper, Mr. Woberson," Lizzie said to him in a babyish voice, wagging her finger at him. The class burst out laughing.
"That's not funny, Lizzie," he replied, listlessly.
"Okay, let's get started. B flat scale, one note at a time. And a one, a two, a one, two, ready, g--hey, where's my baton?" He began frantically searching around his stand for his prized ivory baton.
"We gave it to MELISSA…" Keeth, the last-chair trumpet, replied, batting her eyelashes. The class laughed again. Last year at band camp, Mr. Roberson had a crush on one of the college-age counselors, Melissa, and ever since, the entire class teased him about it, even though it had been an entire year ago.
"Shut up," he snapped at us. "Thanks, Lizzie." Lizzie had been the one who had spread the story around in the first place, so he snapped at her every time someone brought it up.
"I like puh-tay-toes," came a voice from the trumpet section. The front row turned around to see Susan, a trumpet player, as his eyes dilated and his expression grew crazed. "I like puh-tay-toes," Keeth chimed in. "I like puh-tay-toes," Lizzie started up, too.
"Oh, craaaaaaaap," Mr. Roberson groaned, "You guys never quit, do you?" He stomped his foot as a final attempt to cease the racket. 1"Hey!" he shouted. "Aren't you guys paying ANY attention? Be quiet!" The room went quiet except for Vaughn's shuffling of cards. Mr. Roberson shot him a dirty look, and he immediately stopped.
"Back to the important stuff," Mr. Roberson said, anxiousness still in his voice. Katrina was the only person in the entire band that was actually listening to him now. She sat up intently, holding on to every word that he said. He shuffled through his notes, stammering. "Ah, eh, uh, Band Camp! If you want to go to band camp, there's forms in the mounted folders when you walk in." Everyone turned to face the entrance of the band hall. An underclassman that had come to collect attendance slips stood in the doorway. He had just gotten out of in-school-suspension, and he was still slightly shaken, so this kind of attention was too much. He dropped the orange slips that he had been carrying and bolted out the doors.
A few people giggled. "Back to this, I highly recommend the camp where the high school band director and I went to college. It's much nicer than the other one anyways." Mr. Roberson laughed at his own remark, while everyone else ignored it. The students that were planning to go to camp had already arranged to go to the cheaper one. For another matter, they wouldn't ever in their worst nightmares go to camp where Mr. Roberson had gone to college.
"And by the way, just yesterday, we received a package in the mail containing one-thousand, one hundred fifty dollars. It was intended strictly for the purpose of sending five children to band camp. At the end of the year, we will give out scholarships for the same camp Katrina and Lizzie went to last year." Every student in the room cheered except for Luke and Charlie, who couldn't have cared less.
It wasn't long before the bell rang. Before heading toward the door, seven students flocked together to discuss band camp.
"I'm going to band camp!" Lizzie exclaimed. "I went last year, so I've got to go this year! I can't help it!"
"Me too," Katrina sighed. "But it'll be my last band trip."
"What?" Keeth asked, puzzled. Everyone looked at Katrina.
Katrina sighed. "Yep. I had to pick whether to stay in athletics or band next year, so I'm going to athletics. I'm sorry." She pushed the band hall door open, and they all left.
"Alls I can say is that we're gonna miss you," Lizzie said. They all gave Katrina a big group hug.
"Aww, you guys," Katrina said. "I guess I'll be the first Islander to actually quit band.
"Awww, y'all. My daddy's making me go," Susan groaned.
"I wish I could go to band camp," Josie said. "It's too bad I don't have the money for it."
"Me too," said Marshall, smiling at Josie.
"I mean, y'all'll probably get those scholarships, and I'll be the only Islander left in Ridgey Hills all summer!" Josie complained.
"But it's BAND CAMP! Why would anyone want to go to band camp? Band is like, well, BAND!" Keeth exclaimed. She had never been very dedicated to band. Keeth was raised to be a cowgirl, and since she had already devoted her life to horses, she didn't have anything to offer to the band.
"Well, you know, band's just something to do. It's not like it's a way of life or anything," Vaughn mumbled, looking at the ground.
"Aw, Keeth! Vaughn!" Lizzie exclaimed, jumping in front of them. "Band is FUN! Besides, band camp's more about dances and swimming and meeting weird other-school kids than band if you want it to be," Lizzie stood up straight and smiled. "I, however, go for the music!"
Vaughn cast a strange look at Lizzie from under his long blonde hair. "Freak," he mumbled. "Apparently band is a way of life for some people."
"SMEEEEEEEAAAAH!!" All of the Islanders froze dead in their tracks. They looked over their shoulders, only to see the sight that they dreaded most. Billy Bob was their mortal enemy, and though he stood only a little over four feet tall, he knew how to rip a person in half.
The next morning, they all sat on the band hall porch and waited on Mr. Roberson to arrive and unlock the door. While most students stood around the pavilions gossiping, the Islanders spent every morning waiting anxiously for their old, dilapidated field house-turned-band hall to be opened to them.
It wasn't long before Mr. Roberson came up the steps and unlocked the door. "Yay!" they all screamed. They stampeded into the band hall, only to see the ancient room that they called their home.
"Hoedown!" Keeth yelled. She turned on Mr. Roberson's keyboard and started playing some kind of jazzy country music, recorded it, played it back, and they all started dancing in circles. "YEEEEEEE-HAAAAW!" Keeth shouted.
"Guys, stop," Mr. Roberson said. "I'm in a bad mood," he always said that. With that, he began his everyday ritual, which started with retreating to his office and locking the door.
"Gay fag," Vaughn mumbled under his breath. Josie burst out laughing, slapping him on the shoulder. Lizzie rolled her eyes. For almost four months, Josie had been constantly stalking and flirting with Vaughn. He walked across the room and grabbed the blue M&M doll from the crumbling music shelf, with Josie following close behind.
"Hey, Lizzie, look at this!" Vaughn yelled to her. He held up the doll and threw it at Mr. Roberson's window. The plastic eyes in the doll clattered against the window, making a loud crashing sound. Lizzie whirled around to see him dash out the door, laughing as he went. The next thing she knew, Mr. Roberson was standing next to her, staring her down.
"Lizzie, fifty more sentences, due next period. And, you are to leave the band hall until it is time for class. Lizzie rolled her eyes and left.
The bell rang, signaling for all of the seventh grade band students to come to the band hall. Mr. Roberson probably expected Lizzie to have fifty "I will not throw fat M&M dolls at your window as an attempt to actually murder you or save Marshall from your office even though Vaughn actually did it"'s written already.
Vaughn ran back into the room. "Didya get in trouble, Lizzie?" he yelled.
"I will not hit Vaughn and strangle him and feed him to the scary people who killed Lucas," Lizzie replied, glancing over at the three students outside the door who were ripping apart crickets.
"Uh oh," He mumbled.
Lizzie chased Vaughn around the room until she got caught and assigned fifty more sentences from Mr. Roberson.
"I will not chase blonde percussionists around the room and throw pantsless Mickey Mouse dolls at them."