Henry stepped onto the curve, struggling to keep a firm hold around the plastic handle of his bulky trumpet case. He looked back as the yellow bug drove away at a slow pace, too slow in fact. Henry smirked, And here I thought I was the nervous one.
Emma wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of Henry joining the Storybrooke music program. It was a good creative outlet, as Archie put it. Considering all the time Henry once devoted to his storybook, he knew that he needed something similar to distract him. He was still in the seventh grade so there was still a gap away from high school; however, since the town was so small, Mother Superior consented to inviting students from the younger school to join the high school program.
It was only when Emma got the roster of the other kids in the band that she had the problem. Though most of the kids in the Storybrooke school system were models of purpose, there were a few questionable additions that entered the program since the start of the next semester. Troubled kids that Henry knew all too well.
To soothe Emma, Neal and Regina's worries, Mother Superior promised that she'd keep a diligent eye on Henry as he assimilated into the group. Henry was also able to convince his close friend, Pinocchio, to join which came as some reassurance.
As Henry made his way past the chain-link fence onto the freshly mowed field, he immediately recognized his friend already sitting on the sideline metal bench. Pinocchio winced up at Henry against the light of the morning sunrise. He gestured, "Henry, over here!"
"Hey," Henry smiled as he plopped his heavy case down by the painted sideline. Band kids ran over the field, most of them not yet holding their instruments. "Did anyone else from our grade decide to come?"
Pinocchio leaned over the bench to peer out over the field. "Oh," he pointed out towards the guard stretching in a circle. "Grace is over there. She went with the guard." Henry squinted out and caught sight of her long blonde hair spilling out over her back. Pinocchio leaned back against the bench, "Except for her I think we're the only ones who showed up."
After taking a deep breath, Henry shrugged and turned to open his case. Sitting just a few feet away from his case, a girl was working assemble her flute. If the girl's billowing frayed waves wasn't the first giveaway, all Henry had to do was look down to what was wrapped around the girl's wrist as a bracelet. It was a dark brown leather band; a small token that scratched the surface of Henry's haunting memories.
The girl turned when she noticed Henry's shadow standing over her. She smiled up at him, "Henry?"
"Hi Wendy," Henry muttered with an uneasy smile. "I didn't know you played flute."
She bashfully smiled down at her instrument. "It was difficult to learn at first, but it's been nice to keep preoccupied throughout the move from London. Michael and John still haven't consented to it yet, but I'm sure they will in time."
"Where do they think you are?"
She rolled her eyes with an innocent smile, "A summer job. They think I'm working as an assistant for the secretary during the summer term. Before today's start, I've been taking lessons."
Henry grinned, "What are you going to do if they find out?"
"Let's hope they don't," she smiled and raised the mouthpiece of her flute to her lips. Delicate notes slurred up over the break and back down.
Just as Henry turned to reach for his trumpet sitting in the velvet insert of his case, a heart-stopping slam rattled him. All of the band kids turned to look across the field to the entrance of the high school. A group of teenage boys had begun to stroll out of the music wing carrying their instruments hitched over their shoulders.
Henry noticed the boy that first walked out carrying the smallest of the four bass drums. His perky brown hair and lanky figure was familiar, though Henry couldn't pin-point his name. He slammed on the drum impatiently, coercing the other boys carrying the larger bass drums to line up beside him. The snares soon followed out into the street between the school and field.
Wendy huffed out a light scoff as she gently laid her flute over the grass, mouthpiece facing up. "Uh, Wendy?" Henry asked her nervously.
Wendy crossed her arms silently as she watched the final boy walk out of the building. Carrying the snare comfortably over his waist, the tall boy took no time in beginning their lively drum cadence. With the exception of the lead snare, who fittingly wore a matted dark green undershirt, the percussion section wore matching v-neck black shirts.
"He won't bother you this time, Henry," Wendy muttered down in an effort to soothe the lines of stress marking over Henry's facade. He nodded with a flustered blush creeping up the sides of his neck.
He was resurrected as a boy. Coming to a bitter deal with Emma, Peter had assisted in finishing off the Wicked Witch of the West, ensuring the survival of Storybrooke and its residents. In trade for his life, Mother Superior took possession of his pixie dust - all that was left of his lasting tie to Neverland. There was a looming suspicion that Peter had plans to travel back to Neverland. He hated Storybrooke and everyone in it; that was no surprise to anyone. Peter and his boys had already been the cause of quite a bit of vandalism to the diner, library and pawn shop. No one understood how Mother Superior convinced him to enlist his boys into the music program to keep them busy, but she did.
Even without his powers, his shadow, his Neverland, Henry dreaded the mere thought of stirring up trouble with Peter Pan.
"Henry!" His attention was pulled from the fearsome image of the far-off drum line to the two students standing in front of him. Nicholas and Ava, or as Henry fondly termed them Hansel and Gretel, let their saxophones dangle over their chests by their neckstraps. Ava had a better grip of hers, considering her tenor was much heavier than her brother's alto. She smiled, "We didn't know you were joining!"
"Yeah well it was sort of a last minute decision," he shrugged. "I didn't realize so many people were into this kind of thing."
"There's not much else to do in Storybrooke," Nicholas muttered as he lifted his mouthpiece to lick his drying reed. "I'm glad you're trying trumpet. We need a bigger brass section."
"Well I've just started learning, but I'll do my best," Henry muttered with a nervous grin.
An ear-splitting whistle blew off behind all the kids resting on the sideline. Standing at the gate, Tink pursed the black referee whistle in her mouth. Mother Superior was making her way out from the school, carrying an oversized bag filled with her "music director essentials." Popping the whistle out of her mouth to dangle from her neck, Tink cupped both hands around her mouth, "Alright let's get started!"