"What are you standing around for?" David asked, startling me from my thoughts.
"Sorry," I said. "I was just thinking about something."
"It's all right Fern," he said. "Do me a favor and go up into the instrument loft and bring down everything that's up there. I want to draw some posters for the walls."
"Okay," I told him. "Expect that task to take several hours."
He shrugged. "We've got almost all day."
I walked up and down the stairs to the loft hauling instruments with me. Most were brass instruments including five French horns, six mellophones, two tubas, three sousaphones, five baritones, six trumpets, a bass clarinet, two tenor saxes, a baritone sax, a box of assorted percussion instruments, the extra bass drum, two suspended cymbals, and a massive box of flutes, clarinets, and oboes.
"Good God," David said when he saw the huge amount of instruments I had just hauled down. "The school certainly has plenty of instruments."
"I know," I told him. "Trouble is, we don't really have anyone to play them."
"We can fix that," he said. "We'll be recruiting as early as fifth grade."
"Ambitious," I said.
"I know," he said. "My dream is for a two hundred and fifty piece band. And that doesn't include color guard, pom-pom squad, or dance team."
I looked at him like he was crazy. Well, he was wasn't he? It was highly doubtful we could ever acquire that many people to play.
"You think I'm crazy now but just wait," he told me. He smiled. "Unless you have your own, take your pick of the Mellophones so you can practice over the summer. I already picked the music for the new season and I plan on making copies later. I'll give you yours now."
I nodded. I had never been given my choice of the mellophones before, being an underclassman and one of seven, even if I was the most advanced player.The previous year, I had ended up with a dented, beat up, scratched horn. I knew which one I wanted, I just had to find it first.
"Which one are you looking for?" he asked as I went through the cases.
"The silver one," I answered. "Real silver, lots of fingerprints, 5C mouthpiece, polishing cloth and valve oil are in the case." I frowned. "Wait. There are only six cases. There should be seven. Hold on a second."
I got up and went into the office. Sure enough, it was in the pile that needed repairs.
"Damn," I cursed when I saw it was in the pile. "It has to be repaired first. It's Probably the valve. Frankie never could oil them correctly. I always had to do the adjusting for him."
He stared at me.
"The valves don't work unless you put them in just so," I explained. "I'm the only one with enough patience to get them right."
"Oh," he said. "Why don't you adjust it while I carry out my evil plan?"
"Evil plan?" I asked.
"You'll see," he said, exiting the office.
I shrugged and got out the horn. I began adjusting the valves and polishing all the fingerprints off. It took me half an hour to get it done but it was well worth it because it looked almost new again. After placing it back in the case, I went to see what David was up to.
"You didn't!" I shrieked when I saw what he had done.
"I did," he confirmed.
"Geez," I said. I shook my head. It was unbelievable. He'd somehow managed to cover up every square inch of dingy yellow painted bricks with dry erase boards, bulletin boards, and fingering charts. All the dry erase boards and bulletin boards were painted blue, gold, or white to go with the school's colors. "What's with all the boards?"
"Every person gets their own," he explained. "That way, I can post messages, hang up music, and everyone gets to decorate the band room."
"How'd you hang them all up?" I asked. I hadn't heard any hammers or power drills.
"This special super-strong mounting adhesive," he said. "Now tell me, which one do you want? I have some notes I want to put up already."
"I get to choose?" I asked.
He nodded. "Whichever one you want. Any one of them that doesn't have anything on it already."
I surveyed the room. I wanted a relatively big one that could be easily accessed by even the shortest person. I quickly settled on one close to the door. It was a nice corkboard painted dark blue.
"This one," I told him.
He smiled. "Great. Go on the computer in my office and create a paper for each person. Put their name on it and tack one to each board. That should keep you occupied long enough for me to do what I want to do."
"Okay," I told him. I wondered what he would write to/about me. Our band was small at only 45 instrumentalists. It took me a while to get it all done though because I decided to do fancy text effects. After completing the assigned task, I poked my head out the door. "Is it safe for me to come in?"
David jumped slightly and blushed. "Sure, I'll go in the office to finish this."
I smiled. Then I shook my head. I got to pick out where everyone's board was. I even had the option of giving my enemies the worst spots and my friends the best spots. Grinning all the while, I gave Ashley and Bailea two large bulletin boards and gave Paisley a small one that was too high for her to reach. Of course, I also gave the spots out according to seniority as well; seniors got the best spots and freshmen got the worst.
"What else do you want me to do?" I asked David.
"Could you take inventory of all the instruments and then take them back up to the loft?" he requested. "I'll be out to help you in a few more minutes."
"It must be a long letter you're writing me," I commented.
"Yes, it is," he said.
I shrugged and began taking inventory of all the instruments and checking to see which ones needed repairs. Grunting, I heaved the first two sousaphones up the stairs. On the top step I tripped.
"Whoa!" I shouted as I fell back down the stairs. For a few seconds I was suspended in air, free falling. Then my head slammed into the ground, followed by the rest of my body and one of the sousaphone cases slamming into my stomach. "Ow," I moaned. My arm hurt. And my head.
David came running over. "Are you hurt?" he demanded. He heaved the sousaphone off my stomach and knelt down beside me.
"A little," I told him, trying to sit up.
"Oh shit," he cursed, looking at the back of my head. When he reached up and touched my hair, I winced and his hand came away bloody. "Does it hurt anywhere else?"
"My arm," I told him.
"Which one?" he asked.
"Left," I told him. "I twisted it a bit but I think I'm okay."
He took my hand in his own and examined it carefully. It was slightly swollen but not too bad. "I'm taking you to the hospital," he decided.
"Hell no," I told him. "I'm fine."
"No you're not," he said.
"I am not going to the hospital. Just get me some ice," I told him.
"But you might have a concussion," he argued.
"Look, get me some ice and if the bleeding doesn't stop in twenty minutes or I feel lightheaded, we'll go to the hospital, okay?" I said.
"All right," he agreed reluctantly. "Let me help you up."
He took one of my hands in his own and out his other arm around my shoulder. Carefully, we stood up together and walked into his office. While he ran to get ice, I inspected the damage. There was a three-inch long gash in the back of my head. Blood was matted in my hair as well, the long hair I had been trying to grow. I knew I needed stitches and they would have to cut all my hair off to do it. Or just to examine the gash closely for that matter.
David rushed back in with an ice pack wrapped in an old dishtowel. He handed it to me. "Stay right here. I will go put everything up. Shout if you need anything at all or if you come to your senses bout going to the hospital."
"Did you finish my letter yet?" I asked with a slight smile.
He grinned. "On the desk. Here you go." Handed me a small sheaf of papers. I unfolded them and began to look over them. The first sheet was a drawing of a pretty girl playing the French horn. The drawing was of me, I realized, only better. My eyes seemed a deeper brown than usual and my smile brighter. The second sheet was when the letter began.
Dear Fern,
I feel so incredibly lucky simply to have met you and heard you play, much less have you in my band. You are so incredibly gifted, even if you don't seem to see it. Or rather hear it. I can't wait to see what you can really do.
You seem like a fun person to get to know. I look forward to talking to you, eating lunch with you, hanging out with you, playing with you, going out with you. I'm looking forward to this year. Now here's the part where I tell you a little about myself.
I grew up in Virginia way up in the Appalachians. I was a bit of a band geek, much like I suspect you are. I played trumpet, French horn, and tuba for my band, French horn being my preference. My band director always doted on me for being willing to try new things. I did every single band thing I possibly could and marched with the high school band when I was just in seventh grade. I loved band beyond all reason. I wrote music that the band performed. You know the feeling of hearing someone perform your piece. I've seen your name on some of the things on the cabinets, the good stuff too.
When I went off to college, I was first chair starting my freshman year. It was more due to the fact that everyone else wasn't very good than anything else. I did my best though. I loved marching as much as I loved life. That was probably part of my problem. You see, the problem was, most girls didn't understand that I lived for marching band. They wanted to be the center of my world. All of my girlfriends broke up with me for it. It didn't really bug me until Angela. I loved her but not enough to give up band. I haven't dated anyone since.
Listen to me going on and on about my personal life to a student I hardly know. I hope you don't think it's odd that I'm telling you this because I want to tell you for some reason. Isn't that odd? Now that I've told you most of the painful details of my life, I hope you'll be willing to share some of yours.
Always,
David
Had I really seen those crossed out words? It was probably just wishful thinking. They'd been crossed out many times and were nearly impossible to decipher. Maybe it said something else. I shook her head and lifted the sheet to look at the next letter. I saw it and laughed. It was done in bright magic Markers. It read:
Ferny! Ferny! She's our girl
With her French horn, she'll conquer the world
The mighty French horn section of one
She loves to play and have some fun
And if you don't believe this rhyme
Come to a parade and see her play next time
It was decorated with little music notes and instruments. I loved it. David was so nice to me, even if we'd just met. I decided to write him a letter back.
Dear David,
I can't believe how great this year is going to be. I must confess, before meeting you, I was so sure I would hate whoever took over Mr. Harvey's place. Now I'm looking forward to being around you and seeing what you can do with this band. This is going to be one hell of a year. It'll be great.
Since, you shared your life story, I find it only fair to tell you mine. I was born here in Seaford in the same hospital my mom now works at. My dad had really wanted a daughter more than anything and he was overjoyed to have me. I was always a daddy's girl. I grew up loving music. He taught me to play guitar and piano but when fifth grade came, I chose trumpet, his instrument. He taught me a lot and when he's done all he could, he carted me off to lessons twice a week in Baltimore. I loved it because it meant four hours of car rides with just me and my dad.
Crazy as it seems to most of my friends, my mom and I were never that close. Sure, we had some bonding over PMS and large boob endowment but that was about it. When I was in seventh grade, things changed. On the way back from one of my lessons, a drunk driver slammed into us. Dad was killed. I was put in the hospital for two weeks before I could come home. I had head injuries. I continued playing even though dad was gone. It was all I really had left of him. I still took lessons but I had to do them closer to home. I took them from Mr. Harvey and a guy from Mayville called Mr. Lee. That's why Mr. Harvey and I are so close. He kind of took over as my father. He did all the things my father did, took me back and forth to lessons, took me out for lunch, and made me feel special. He started taking me to lessons in Baltimore every other week because he knew he couldn't do much more for me. That's why I reacted so badly when he said he was leaving. He's like my father. I didn't want him to leave. I know it's for the best now though because You're here now.
Always,
Fern
I stood up and walked slowly over to his office. Lightheadedness had resulted from the fall and I was feeling a little tipsy. I placed the letter on his desk and started back.
"Whoa," I said as a particularly large wave of dizziness hit me. I grabbed the nearest chair.
"Careful," he told me, grabbing my arm. "Come on, sit back down. Let me finish this and I'll take you to the hospital."
I didn't object because I knew I needed to go. Dizziness was not a good sign.
He put one hand gently on the small of my back as he guided me out the band room door.
"I would ask to drive," I joked. "But I get the feeling you'd say no."
"Correct," he told me as he unlocked his Lumina. I sat down carefully in the front seat.
For most of the drive to the hospital, we were silent. I could tell he felt bad about my fall. I wasn't sure how to tell him it wasn't his fault though.
"Careful," he told me as we got out of the car. He grabbed my hand and put his other arm around my shoulder. As much as I really didn't need that support at that moment, it still felt nice. Together, we walked into the ER.
"Hey Tina," I greeted the receptionist.
"Hey Alex," she replied. "Here to see your mom?"
I almost shook my head but thought better of it. "No, head trauma," I told her. "I fell down a flight of steps and gashed open the back of my head."
She turned slightly white. "I'll send Dr. Gupta out for you. She'll take care of you. Do you want me to get your mom?"
"No," I told her. "I'm a big girl. I can handle it."
She nodded. "Just wait right by the doors. He'll be right out for you."
David's arm was still around my shoulder even though I didn't need it. A few seconds later, a tall Asian doctor walked out. He smiled when he saw me.
"Hey Alex," he greeted me. "Long time, no see. Although, I would be happier to see you if you weren't here for an injury. Come on, bring your boyfriend with you if you want."
"He's not…" I began.
"I understand if you're trying to keep it secret from your mom," he assured me. "It's okay. I won't tell."
I shrugged, not wanting to explain in further detail that I was going to the hospital with my band director who I happened to have a crush on.
We came into an exam room and I sat on the table.
"I know the history. Just tell me how you did it and I'll stitch you up," he told me.
"I fell down a flight of stairs onto a tile floor. A sousaphone slammed into me," I informed him.
He shook his head and smiled. "Always a band girl, aren't we? Unfortunately, you know what comes next."
"The hair?" I asked, reaching for a clump of the dark brown hair that was my pride and joy. It was long enough for me to sit on.
He nodded.
"Can I see the scissors?" I asked. "If it has to be cut, I want to do it myself."
He handed me a pair of sharp scissors.
"How short?" I asked.
"No longer than an inch," he told me. "At least around the gash."
I groaned and held the scissors up to make the first cut. When I tried, I couldn't seem to do it. I handed David the scissors. "Please?"
He placed a hand on my shoulder and I closed my eyes as he began cutting. He was gentle about it and ten minutes later I had an uneven (but still kind of cute) pixie cut.
"Can I have my hair?" I asked. "I know its stupid but I've had it so long…"
Dr. Gupta nodded. "I'll get a bag for you. If you want, you can donate it to locks of love and give a chemo person a wig."
"I'll think about it," I replied, staring at the clump of hair in my hands. I missed it and I felt strangely lightheaded.
"Okay," Dr. Gupta said. "Let me take a look."
Carefully, he examined the gash on my head. "It's swollen so I can't stitch it. I'll bandage it for you and I want you to put ice on it. When the swelling goes down, come back in to I can stitch it up. I'm going to give you a shot of lidocaine into your scalp now though because I need to clean it out."
I hated needles. David saw my distress and grabbed my hand as he shoved the needle under the skin in my scalp. A second later, I didn't feel anything else there.
"There we go," he said a few minutes later, taping on the last of the bandages. "Come back tomorrow, even if the swelling isn't down. You can go. I'll talk to your mom about this later."
I nodded and stood up. "Thanks, Dr. Gupta."
"Not a problem Alex," he told me. "Take care and see you tomorrow."
David and I walked out of the hospital and into the bright late afternoon sunshine.
"I'm really sorry about all this," he told me as we got back in the car.
"It's okay," I assured him. "I just want to get home and put some ice on it."
"Does it hurt bad?" he asked.
"Not too bad," I told him. "Sure, my head is filled with a throbbing pain but it could be a hell of a lot worse."
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I should've…"
"Shut up," I told him. "Shut up and stop blaming yourself. It was my own damn fault. If I hadn't tried to haul two sousaphones up the steps, I would've been fine. You're not to blame, okay?"
He nodded. "Yes boss."
I grinned. "Seriously," I told him.
He looked over at me and grinned. It was like a spell. It seemed like I was staring into his soul. Our grins faded as we could see all that the other was feeling and thinking. All I could think about was how badly I wanted to kiss him. I leaned forward ever so slightly.
Wait.
I couldn't do it, he was my teacher. There was no way kissing him would be allowed. I looked out the car window, knowing what I'd seen in his eyes. He had wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him.
"Shall we get going?" I said.
"Sure," he replied, placing his one hand on the wheel and turning the key in the ignition. We rolled out of the parking lot. "Which way?"
"Left," I told him. I leaned back against the seat and sighed. We drove along, me giving him directions to the development where my mom and I lived.
"Thanks for driving me home," I told him.
"Not a problem," he said as I opened the door. "Fern?" His eyes were hopeful.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Can I call you later? Just to see how you're doing?" he questioned.
"Sure," I told him.
He smiled. "Good. See you Fern."
"See you David," I replied, walking up to the garage door. I waved at him as I went inside. I knew my head would hurt in just a few minutes but right then, all I could feel was how hard and how deep I was falling for David Dempsey.
XxXxXxXxX
Okay, I figured since its chapter 2, it's time for a few author's notes. Here's the shmeal: Just so you all know, I have this story completely mapped out (and I will take the secret to the grave if I have to! Mwa ha ha ha ha!) and I am already set in my ways. As a warning to those who might have a problem with it, David and Fern will end up together. Why? Because I want them to! I want a rather controversial story. Also, Sarah, please note that I'd prefer you leave personal information about me out of your reviews. Especially ahem about whom I happen to have a bit of a crush on, okay? I'd prefer that kind of stuff not get out.