AN: Hey y'all, so this is a story I'm posting for a friend for undisclosed reasons. I hope you enjoy it, it's just a little Marching band fic, something I never see happening in my school, but would be pretty funny. Hope this doesn't offend anyone. Rated T just to be safe.
The Girl.
Picture if you will a curvy high school senior, 4' 11" and about 150 pounds, but in all the right places. She's a brunette and plays bass for her high school marching band. She's stood with the line for 2 years and her last wasn't going to be any different. She referred to her 20" marching bass as 'her baby' and her peers on the drumline, or at least the juniors and down, her 'children.'
The Setting.
With that in mind, drop her into the middle of a 6 person marching bass line and a 15 person percussion battery, but instead of other females the entire drumline is males. Yet with a passion unlike any other she had all her 'children' in line with the look of an eye, as for the older ones, her actual peers, they were a little harder to handle. Luckily there were only 2 of them.
The Story.
Marching season had started out like any other, blood, sweat, tears, and we come back for more, a kind of painful addiction. The girl, Lyla, was running around just trying to keep the drumline in order and functioning as a unit. She had been affectionately dubbed Mom due to her ability to take care of her 'children' keep them in line; safe, healthy, and up to date with there band duties. There had been a few mishaps here and there but other than that the running around had been minimal, well at least until the drumline went to hell. For some reason handling 14 boys with out the assistance of another female proved to be difficult, and as she tried to get them to respect there section leaders (her peers) she was ready to blow her top.
"Alright guys, for the last time, you need to listen up, when your percussion sergeant is talking to you I want it silent!" Lyla shouted to be heard over the dull roar of voices and subtle drum hits.
Suddenly all eyes were on her and she handed over the deal to her percussion sergeant knowing full well who it was that really kept that section running. As tough of a year as it started out it only got worse from there. Her band directors finally decided to pull her aside one afternoon late into the season and ask exactly how she got everyone of those boys in line silent and at attention.
"So, how do you do it?" the two women asked, wondering what they were going to do when this girl graduated.
Lyla laughed, "I demand respect and don't give it till I get it, well at least with most of them."
They knew what she meant, there was one boy on the line the relationship was different with, almost too familiar, but they didn't know if they should confirm there suspicions.
"And Scotty?" they questioned deciding they could be in suspense no longer.
She smiled at the sound of her percussion sergeants name, a little giddy at the memories it brought forward.
"It kind of started the night I fell." Lyla began, the directors, waited, finding themselves hanging on her every word.
****Flashback****
"Sorry I'm late," Lyla panted as she jumped into the passengers seat of Scotty's Jeep Wrangler," I couldn't find my damn band t-shirt."
Scotty laughed, "Don't worry about it, I'm in no rush, we don't really have to be there for another 2 hours."
Lyla shook her head and sighed what sounded a bit like, 'drummers', and Scotty laughed again. Sure it was just like any other performance, Scotty always picked Lyla, who had yet to get a license, up and they went along there merry way to whatever event they had that night. Little did she know tonight would be drastically different. As they arrived at the school and made there way into the auditorium for the percussion rehearsal Lyla noticed a brief change in Scotty, for one, he'd never held a door open for her before.
But that's where it stopped, it seemed to be a simple moment, come and gone. The night went peacefully, well, until half time. The show was flawless, despite the rain that had begun to fall, four whistles, 3 taps, 3 clicks, and the band moved in rhythm to the front sideline.
"LYLA!" She heard someone scream from behind her, but the scream was too late, she hit the growing patch of mud at the edge of the field and fell, flat on her back, bass drum in tow.
She opened her eyes, afraid to face the embarrassment she'd just caused her self, the whole stadium was silent. Scotty leaned his face above hers; he was clearly kneeling, because he was defiantly not that short.
"I'm fine." Lyla states before he can even ask.
He gives her a sad smile, and nods at someone who must be standing near her stomach; she has no idea who because she can't force her eyes away from his face. Suddenly her bass is lifted from the harness on her chest and both band directors and the athletic trainer are hanging over her.
"I'm fine," she repeats, "just a little sore where the harness hit my back, I'll live, I promise."
The directors seem satisfied and nod, they ask if she needs help, Lyla slowly shakes her head no, and then the Athletic director speaks up.
"She really should see the paramedics that are here, that was a pretty bad fall." He states pointedly.
Lyla agrees and sits herself up slowly, she is incredibly sore. Maybe a few pain killers wouldn't hurt.
"I'll take her over." Scotty says quickly, and hands his bass drum to a cymbal player.
Scotty pulls Lyla up; she feels the stiffness in her back and pulls her arm from his grasp. She can walk on her own; he says nothing, just pulls her harness off her chest and walks beside her.
She's too independent for her own good! Scotty thinks to himself, she's never let anyone help her, even if she needed it. The paramedics ask a few questions, fully aware of what happened. They say she's fine, she's going to be sore for a while but nothing seems horribly wrong.
One of the directors comes over to the back of the ambulance just as Lyla's cleared to return to the band.
"Lyla, why don't you call your ride and head home. You can bring your uniform back Monday and we'll have it cleaned."
Lyla lifts her head, a fiery passion in her eyes, "With all do respect, I'm fine, I'm needed over there," She gestured to the band, "Plus," she continues "Scotty's my ride home."
The director shook her head, "He can go too then, I don't think you should be here, its past halftime, your grade will stay the same. Just head home, get some rest."
Scotty, who had been silent through the entire confrontation finally spoke up, "Come on Lyla, we'll grab some diner and I'll take you home." He placed an arm tenderly around her shoulders and led her back toward the band, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
As she reached the band she smiled, he rolled his eyes, he could see right through her façade. She took the stairs into the bleachers a lot slower than she usually would, and lacking that spring in her step. When they met back down on the ground he went to grab her drum, he could carry both, he'd done it a million times if she was helping someone else.
"I've got it Scotty." She said, quietly, but it was in her, bad-time-to-mess-with-me voice.
He let her take her drum and they walked slowly up to the school, going into the band room, silently he cased up his drum and slid it onto the shelf. She did the same, except, as she went to lift the case onto the top shelf she winced, letting it fall back.
"Will you let me…" Scotty started, but she cut him off.
"No, I just twisted wrong." And she threw the case onto the shelf, but he could still see the pain in her face.
They walked out to his Jeep, again in silence, and climbed in. As he drove she faced out the passenger's window.
"Lyla?" He asked, he knew something wasn't right.
"Yeah." She answered in an almost whisper, voice breaking.
As he pulled up to a red light he turned toward her, and finally noticed the tear streaks running down her cheeks. 4 years they'd been together, through break-ups, bee-stings, back stabbings, and everything else you go through in high school, 4 years, and he'd never seen her cry. She really was too strong sometimes, she always held her head up and kept moving, maybe he should have asked if she was okay once in a while.
Without thinking he raised his right hand to her cheek and brushed away a falling tear, she looked him in the eye for a moment, and turned away. "The lights green Scotty." She whispered.
**End Flashback*
Lyla wiped at her eyes, feeling the burn of oncoming tears and willing them to stop.
"I don't understand." One of the directors began, but there was a knock on the office door. Lyla leaned over and turned the knob.
Scotty stuck his head in, "Hey Lyla," she smiled, "Ms. K, can I borrow the keys?" The younger of the directors turned to grab the keys off her desk.
"Hold on," Lyla spoke up, "I unlocked those cabinets when I got here, why do you need the keys?"
Scotty's cheeks flushed, "Tom locked one of the trumpets in the closet…again."
Lyla let out an exasperated sigh, "Go let him out, freakin' drummers, I'll deal with Tom later. But keep an eye on them please; I know having free time makes them a little rowdy." Scotty nodded and left, closing the door behind him.