The office was like any other high school office I'd been in. The secretary was typing away at her computer; the principal's office was closed. Random artwork created by students who had graduated twenty years ago hung on the paint-chipped walls. I sat on the hard wooden bench that held the initials of countless graffiti artists, names that were, and no doubt in their own time very notorious. I doubted that anybody knew who any of them were anymore. The secretary printed off a schedule for me, and I got up to get it from her, asking, "Can you tell me where the band room is? I need to drop off my alto and talk to the director real quick."

She looked up from the computer and walked to the door without saying a word. She grabbed a random kid from out in the hall and pulled him in. I looked him down, and realized that this had to be the BMOC. He looked to be six feet two inches, and by the size of his shoulders, I knew that he was the starting quarterback since freshman year, and nobody messed with this guy. I swallowed and asked if he could show me the band room. He sized me up, and stuck out his hand, saying "Brandon Young". I put mine hand in his (which completely covered mine) and replied, "Will Mitchell." He nodded, and did a "follow me" gesture with his head. I picked up my case, slung my bag over my shoulder and followed his advice.