Note: I need to get this out of the way before I start, because there are a lot of pompous people against this idea: Color Guard is a pretty big part of marching band, we are not cheerleaders, and yes, sometimes Guard can be harder than actually playing an instrument-Last I checked, the band members are not throwing anything in the air, trying to avoid hitting people with six foot metal poles, and getting hit on the head with said six foot poles.

Just needed to get that out of the way. Little pet peeve of mine, being a member of the Guard. Enjoy the Part One of the story!

---Part One: Opening Spin---

Chapter One: Welcome to Thompson, A.K.A The Start of the Whole Mess

It will probably never fully register how this year's events progressed. Every time I've ever tried to explain to another person how I got myself on the Color Guard of Thompson High School, I usually get tongue-tied, can't figure out how to start, and eventually just give up, leaving the other party completely confused. But, I guess I'll try to explain now. Starting at the beginning...Ok, this is where I usually get frustrated. Beginning is a relative term, I guess, but here's when I believe my beginning was:

Third grade. Yup, very far back for a beginning, seeing as the story I'm about to tell takes place in my Junior year in high school.

Well, it did start in the third grade. My parents had dragged me to my brother's very first football game, thinking it would be a great family experience. I think it was more to boost up my brother's sixteen year old pride. Well, I was getting bored out of my mind, since I wasn't a very into sports at the time-I still am not, or at least contact sports like football-and my brother had no talent in football. I was just about to start the usual protesting whine to get my parents to take me home, when the game hit half time, and it started.

It was the first time in my life I had ever seen a marching band, and I was instantly drawn in-especially by the drumline. In my mind, they were all just so powerful and controlled, like the backbone of the whole band. I was mesmerized, and then hooked.

A short while later, I had begged my parents for drum lessons. I stuck through this all through elementary school, and halfway through middle school, before I started working more with a snare drum, and by the time middle school had ended, I was already signed up for the Lawrenson High School's marching band, easily making it into the drumline.

Being in the drumline was the best time of my life. I barely seemed to have a life outside of marching band, always practicing the routines when I had free time, practicing any drum work with my pencils during school, my circle of friends not really extending outside of my drumline friends. The two years I spent with that drumline and marching band were the best, but of course, all good things come to an end.

The summer before my Junior year, my dad made the shocking announcement that started the chain of events that this story is about: His boss was making him move to work for another branch of the company, which meant that we were all moving from our home in New York City all the way to a town in Pennsylvania that I had never even heard of before. I was actually considering living on the street with my drum and living as a street performer, I was so against moving away. But, despite this, by the middle of July, our things were packed, our house was empty, and I was shoved into the back of our car with my drum sitting next to me, playing all the way to our new home.

I spent the rest of the month sulking as my parents worked on settling themselves in-my brother was still in college at the time, so it was just me and them. I probably would have kept sulking, slowly turning into one of those emo kids who died their hair black and wore eyeliner, when my mom finally gave me the news that gave me slight hope for my life here:

She had just gone to enroll me in Thompson High School, when she saw on the bulletin board outside the office that there was still room for more members on the marching band. Including drumline. Things started to look up immediately. It was about a week later when I made my way to the school itself to sign up when the trouble started.

"May I help you?" The woman sitting in the office asked as I walked in, smiling pleasantly. I don't think in the whole time I was in that school I saw that woman anywhere but that desk.

"Yeah, I heard that there was still time to sign up for the marching band," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets, attempting to look slightly cool.

"Oh, yes, I believe they're having a meeting today, actually. It's in the music wing."

"Thanks," I said, starting to walk out when I realized something, and turned back around. "Uh...where's the music wing?"

She gave me a curious look, then just smiled again. "Go down the hall across from this office, and take the hallway down to your left. Go through the double doors and that's where you'll probably find the rest of the band."

"Alright, thanks." I swiftly turned around, already feeling like a complete moron. The way she had looked at me, she must have thought I was an alien or something to ask such a simple question. I sighed, running a hand through my messy brown hair, following her directions until I could hear music from the double doors down the left hallway, most of all, the drumline. I immediately felt better. Before I knew it, I was standing in the doorway, looking at the band in front of me.

It wasn't as big as I was used to, maybe sixty, seventy people, tops. But they played pretty well. The drumline was almost better that my old one, in comparison to its size. I was already starting to feel confident.

"Can I help you?" I turned as I heard the voice, facing what looked to be the band director, a middle-aged man with a goatee and wise-looking brown eyes, who was looking at me questioningly.

"Uh, yeah, I heard there was still room for more members," I said, as everyone slowly stopped playing, looking over at me. Most of the kids in the band weren't the steryotypical "band geeks", but mostly, what I could only guess and later found to be true, kids who looked like they belonged in the inn-crowd of the school. There were cute girls in the flutes section, cool looking guys in the low brass section and, of course, in the drumline. I was pretty impressed at what kind of people the marching band in this school attracted.

"Uh, yeah! Wish you would have signed up a little earlier, but we always have room," The band director said, walking over.

"I'm kind of new. My family just moved here about a week ago," I said, shrugging a little.

"I see. Well, my name is Mr. Trenson, I'm one of the band directors," He said, firmly shaking my hand.

"Mark Jenisen," I said.

"So, Mark, what exactly do you play?" He asked, and I all but pounced on the question.

"I-" But I was then interupted by a series of loud clatters behind me, along with a surpressed curse, actually hearing the words "Enter string of curses here" muttered, when I turned around, and saw her. The one who started this whole mess.

The 'her' in question was a girl who, at the moment, was crouched on the ground, trying to pick up about a little less than a dozen long metal poles with different colored flags on them. She was kind of small, though at my height-I'm a few centimeters short of six foot-most girls are small, but just watching her wrestle with all those poles made her seem even smaller.

"You ok?" I asked, crouching down to help her. Once I did, I caught sight of her face, and froze for a brief moment, but recovered shortly. It wasn't that she was completely gorgeous or anything, but she was pretty cute. Her dark hair was held in two low pony tails that were tied near the middle of her neck, framing her oval face. Her eyes were hazelish greenish brown, and seemed to be able to protray whatever emotion she was feeling. Her skin was dark, but it didn't seem like it was that way normally, just that she spent a lot of time outside, since her cheeks were a bit burnt, but only a little. What surprised me when I saw her was the scowl on her face that she made when I tried to help her.

"Fine, I'm fine. I've got it." She gathered up the poles, wobbling a little as she stood up, before another girl entered the back door, looking at the girl with the poles.

"Anali, you coming? Sure you don't need any help?"

"Yeah, I'm good," The girl-Anali-said, walking over to the other girl, who held the door open, waiting for her to make it over to the door, which she seemed to be having trouble with, when it hit me what they were.

"...Color Guard..." I said softly. I had never really noticed the Color Guard in my other band. They were just the girls walking around the field with flags, making the show look flashier. Mr. Trenson asked me a question I didn't quite register at the time, so I just nodded, when the girl with the poles stopped, turning back to look at me, as the other girl at the door gaped, before leaving her post at the door to run outside.

"Oh...well, I see. This should be a first..." Mr Tenson said a bit awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head when I regained my senses again.

"Huh?"

"Are you serious? Oh, lord almighty, this is like my dream come true!" The girl with poles said with a laugh, while I just stood there confused.

"Anali, please..."

"What? Come on, this is awesome! The first guy on the Color Guard squad! This is like history!"

My eyes widened as I just stared at the girl, too shocked to say anything, before it hit me like a bus:

I had told the band director I was on the Color Guard. And apparently, I was the first boy to ever do so.

I'm so screwed.

Alright, that's the first chapter! Hope you enjoyed! R&R please.