"Dang it, dang it, dang it!"

I walk as fast as I can down the hallway without running. If only I had done better on that math test the first time around, then I wouldn't be late for rehearsal. I turn the corner and run head first into something solid.

"Ow! What the-" I don't finish my sentence when I see what I ran into. My eyes meet with the bright blue ones of Alfred F. Jones. Yes, he insists on the F. He also happens to be our school's star quarterback.

"Hey! You're (y/n)!" he says.

That's weird, I don't remember ever telling him my name. "Uh yeah, I'd love to talk, but I'm late for practice. See ya." I maneuver around him and continue down the hall at my fast pace.

"Practice?" Alfred asks following me. Apparently he didn't get the hint to get lost. "I didn't know you're involved in a sport."

"I'm not."

"Then some kind of club?" he asks, still following me. Boy, is he persistent. No wonder he gets on Arthur's nerves.

"I guess you can say that," I mumble. I'm starting to lose my patience with this kid. I round the last corner before the music hallway.

"Well what is it?"

I clench my teeth, and reply the best I can without sounding too hostile. "Why don't you stick around for it and you'll see?"

"Can I?"

I decide it's better not to answer as I walk through the double doors to the band room. I see the drum majors addressing the band. Crap, I'm definitely late. I look around and see Mr. Rome standing in the back of the room by the drums. He's a big patron of the arts, but he's also kind of weird guy. That's probably why he fits in so well with the band.

I make my way over to him. "Sorry I'm late. I had to make up a test."

Mr. Rome just waves it off. "No biggie. Just set up and sit with your section," he says in a low voice. "The drum majors are just giving the band a few pointers."

I don't say anything back, but on the inside I groan. Mr. Rome calls it 'giving pointers' but I call it 'being nit picky with a large dose of OCD'. It's not fun being told what you're doing wrong, or not doing up to standard, but it's a necessary part of improving as a band. I walk over to my locker as inconspicuously as possible, and pull out my large instrument case. I may play an alto sax and not a tenor, but its case is still bulky.

"Where were you?" Arthur whispers to me when I sit down.

"I had to make up a test," I whisper back. "And I ran into your cousin."

Arthur's eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything back. I point to the doorway where Alfred is standing and watching. Arthur turns to look, and doesn't seem too happy about it. "Why is that git here?"

"He wanted to know what I was in such a rush for," I explain quietly, "so I told him to come find out."

I don't get to explain further since one of the drum majors comes over and tells me to shut up and listen. After what seems like forever, we finally get to do something other than get scolded at. Mr. Rome gets on the podium and tells everyone to put their music away because today is going to be all from memory.

Several kids look panicked, and a few of them try to place their music on the floor in such a way that they can still reference it when necessary. Those are the underclassmen. The upperclassmen all know this is coming. I made a point to warn my section that they better have their music memorized as soon as they can.

I guess I should explain that when I say my section I mean it, like it literally belongs to me. I'm a section leader, so it practically does belong to me. Me and Arthur. The saxophone section is the only one with two leaders because it's so flipping big. The others only have one.

"Oh, before I forget," Mr. Rome says from the front, "the lovely ladies of the color guard are dismissed to practice their routines outside." Lili and her section stand up and exit the room, grabbing their equipment as they do.

I watch them leave, and notice Alfred is still standing there watching. He's not planning on staying is he, I wonder. I really hope not. Mr. Rome raises his hand to signal we're about to play, and the drum majors copy him. We spend the next couple of hours rehearsing our music for the Homecoming fieldshow. By the end of rehearsal, almost everyone has the music memorized note for note. Mr. Rome praises everyone and then dismissed us.

"Listen up saxes!" Arthur calls out to your section. "We have an extra sectional at my house this Sunday at 2:00. Don't be late," he says with a pointed look at me.

"Hey! This was a one time thing!" I retort.

I pack up quickly and put my instrument away. These after school rehearsals can feel so long sometimes. I pull my phone out of my backpack as I walk out the band room doors to call my parents, when it's suddenly snatched out of my hand.

"Hey!" I look up to see that is none other than Alfred who has grabbed my phone. "Give that back! What are you still doing here anyway?"

Alfred holds my phone high enough that I can't reach it and starts fiddling with it. "You invited me to watch, so I did. " He pulls out his phone and starts doing something on that too.

"What are you doing to my phone?" My anger's rising by the second.

"Something you'll thank me for later."

That does it. I snatch my phone back and storm towards the doors leading outside, and most importantly, away from him. "Leave me alone you ignorant buffoon!"

I lean against the wall of the school when I get outside. I check my phone to see that it's 7:30. Rehearsal started at 5:00. School lets out at 3:00, but I had spent the time between then and 5:00 working on my math test. I felt so bad for my teacher who had to wait while I finished, but she said it was fine and that she stays at school that late sometimes anyway. I still felt bad. I just really suck at math.

The door opens and Alfred walks outside. "Dude, what's got you so upset?"

I sigh and slip my phone into my backpack. I guess there's no escaping him. "Nothing. It's just been a crazy day."

"Well at least you got to relax with your music," Alfred says smiling. He probably meant well with that comment.

"Relax? That wasn't relaxing. We were working hard in there."

"Oh," Alfred says in confusion. "I always thought band was one of those easy classes."

"Are you kidding me?" I'm not really mad. I can't help the fact that he's ignorant. "We work just as hard as you and your team."

"Is that so?" he asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. "You wanna bet?"

I can't let this chance to prove Alfred F. Jones, king of the football field, wrong. "You're on," I say, and put out my hand for him to shake. He does, and then tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip. "That means you have to come to all of our practices," I inform him with a mischievous grin.

"I guess you're right."

"That means you'll be here tomorrow at 5:00."

His eyes widen a little. "You guys practice on Saturday too?"

"And everyday after school during the week. Homecoming is only two weeks away after all." The look on his face is enough to make up for him ticking me off earlier. I've already got this bet in the bag. I finally let go of his hand.

He pulls it back quickly like he's afraid I'm going to change my mind and grab it again. "What are you doing now?" he asks when he sees me pull out my phone again.

"Calling my parents. I need to be picked up."

"I'll take you home." I look up in surprise. Alfred's offering to take me home? This is unexpected.

"I guess it would be faster..."

"Great!" he says and starts walking. "I'm parked over here, (y/n)!"

I follow him to his car, or should I say truck, and get in the passenger seat. He gets the engine going and pulls out of his spot. The drive to my house is a quiet one. The only time I really talk is when I tell him where to turn. I look over at him once, and I'm nearly blinded by the reflection of an oncoming car's headlights off of his glasses. I keep my eyes on the road after that.

We finally arrive at my house. I get out of his truck and pause before I close the door. "What did you do to my phone earlier?" My curiosity's getting the better of me.

"Just wait and see," he says. Then he winks at me.

I slam the door in his face.

Later, after Alfred's left, I'm sitting in my room doing homework when my phone vibrates. I pick up my phone expecting a text from Arthur, or maybe Vash, the clarinet section leader. We're pretty good friends since we have similar personalities. Arthur says we're both hot heads.

I stare at my phone in confusion for a solid minute before my brain can register what I'm seeing. My touch phone's backlight has darkened since I haven't touched it yet, but I can still make out the name Alfred F. Jones on the screen. So that's what he was doing on my phone. I debate for another minute whether I should open the text or not. I finally decide that it can't hurt, and hit 'view now'.

[ hey dude! since ur making me come to ur practices u gotta come to some of mine 2 :D ]

I look at the bottom of the text and see what I assume is his signature. He signs all of his texts 'the Hero'. How typical. I imagine sitting outside on cold, hard bleachers watching big guys running around slapping each others butts. What have I gotten myself into?