A/n- Hey guys, this summer didn't end quite the way I wanted it to... my writing flow was interupted. Now that school is back again, I don't know how often I'll get around to updating this, since college football is dictating my life... I think I have like 5 weekends straight where at some point, I'm running around in a band uniform. o.O That, and just being a music major is crazy. :)
Disclaimer: I own all characters and events, but not Harry Potter.
"This is just the back-story." She said as Stephens got out a fairly large whiteboard and some evil smelling markers. Stanley started to sputter.
"Why do we need a back story? That's just one more thing to incorporate, and I believe I told you, your budget is going to be allotted frugally at best." She glared at him. Stephens started rubbing his left temple.
"A back-story is what makes characters multi-dimensional. Not shallow, but actually human. Everything your current characters haven't been for about 10 years, or longer. That is what you want, isn't it? Characters that are human, that people can relate to and love for both their strengths and their flaws? Band is a story about life, not just 8 months. Everything is the way it is because of something that happened before, cumulating up to the current events. There is no isolation of band from life." She looked at Stanley coldly.
"Very well," He blustered. "Uh, you may carry on with the chart." He motioned to Stephens. "What is this back-story?" She glared at him one last time before staring over his shoulder into nothing, while Stephens took out the markers for the whiteboard chart.
"It starts in a mid-sized school out in the suburbs of the valley. The school is fairly new. There may've been about 10 graduating classes so far. It has been average for most things, sports, academics, what have you. Over the years, however, the principal has become more and more obsessed with sports; specifically, the classics of football and men's basketball. If it was a good year, occasionally the girl's volleyball team was given recognition. The cheerleaders didn't care what type of recognition they got from the faculty as long as they got to prance around at football games. The other programs were content to be more or less ignored as time went on…
ooooooo
...It may have been the withdrawn support from the principal; it may have been the pressures of the budget. Whatever it was, the music director strained and stressed until finally, the year the principal decided to retire, she cracked. Because she quit fighting for funding from the budget, there was no money for instructors, and the kids were left to fend for themselves. Band camp was run through the leadership team, and the show was pulled together purely from the grit of the students. The director showed up long enough to supervise trips and put her signature where it was needed. Marching season was held together with duct tape and zip-ties, with a bit of spit for good measure.
Then, that February, it happened. One Monday, the first students arrived to jazz band for zero period. It was not unusual for class to be canceled and the students left outside. One of them ran off to find a janitor to let them in out of the frosty darkness of the morning to wait until a sub came. The student came back with a janitor, who unlocked the door for them. He had always felt bad for them, poor buggers. They didn't ask for a teacher who could care less whether they were left out in the cold. The freezing musicians rushed into the warm darkness of the band room, their solace.
One of them finally had the presence of mind to turn the lights on. As the click resonated through the room, each of the students stopped what they were doing and stood dead still. The room was bare. Well, not completely, but close enough. The various posters that had haphazardly lined the walls were gone; the books that had been stacked on the shelves in the file room had all disappeared.
"Hey, come look over here!" someone exclaimed. There was a great rush as the students pushed to look through the window of the director's office. It was even barer than the room. "She left?" one of the freshman asked, trembling. He wasn't answered, as the students wheeled around to stampede back out of the warm room down to the main administrative office. By now it was light on, and the Administration Office was open. They rushed in to see the principal.
Later that day, it was announced to the band that they were looking for a long term sub, as the music director was not coming back. The next week, there was a ridiculously short looking young woman tinkering around the music building. As the students filed in to begin class, she said brightly, "Just chairs, children! You won't be needing instruments today!" They looked warily back at her, and sat down. She climbed up onto the chair on the podium, and exclaimed, "Today, we are going to sing!"...
ooooooo
..."I told you no singing!" Stanley burst in. "We've already exhausted happy little children who sing." She glared at him. Stephens covered his mouth and tried to turn his little chuckle into a cough, until she glared at him too. It was unnervingly satisfying to see this pompous fool wriggle like a worm under Lynn's icy glower.
"I told you, this was just the back-story. The kids won't be singing by the time the story actually starts. Quite the contrary, they'll be so sick of it, it'll take months before anyone gets them to consider it ever again." She looked distracted. Stanley took the opportunity to speak again.
"When is this crazy scenario supposed to actually start? We have enough here to make a whole other movie on. I don't know how you came up with that, that, tale off the top of your head. We might have to alter it slightly; I don't know how the audience will react to a bunch of traumatized band children singing. That just isn't normal, and I can't see how it could ever happen…"
Her full attention was back on Stanley. "You can't, can you?" she asked softly. "It does. Maybe not all the time, but oh, it happens." Stanley just looked back at her, confused.
"Your story is going to start the last week of the last year of the old principle. The music program has been abandoned, and then given to a failed opera singer. They obviously were in need of hiring a new music teacher, which brings us to our opening character. Erm, you can pick the name of the new music teacher," she prompted Stanley. He just looked at her. Stephens broke in.
"Ms. Johnson. Mairead Johnson." Lynn looked at him, an eyebrow raised, before turning back to Stanley.
"Your opening scene will be of Miss Johnson coming into the high school's front office, approaching the secretary, and asking for the band room. The secretary will ask her what her business there is, and she replies as necessary. Next scene, heading up the steps to the band room, Miss Johnson notices that the lights are off—"
"I think you have a very good grasp of the story you are about to tell me," Stanley interrupted. "But, as much as I would love to stay and hear it, my duties here are done for the day." Lynn checked her watch. Barely forty-five minutes have passed. "Fortunately for you, Miss Howards, you'll have Stephens here to help you. I'll expect monthly reports to mark your progress. I will tell my office assistant to send you her email should you need anything further."
"You aren't going to even look at my basic outline?" Lynn asked incredulously.
"I don't see the need." He motioned at Stephens. "You can go over the outline with him, and start the story board after that." He quickly got up and left the room. Stephens stared forlornly after him, feeling like a puppy that had just been caged with a snake. That did not go as well as I hoped.
Lynn all but hissed after him, "Alright, you want reports? You'll get reports. You'll get reports that will stand your hair on end, you damned coward." Stephens took one look at her and was suddenly very afraid. He attempted to clear his throat to bring her back to the task at hand, instead she turned on him. "How dare you let that pig be in charge of my work? He wouldn't care if I handed him the next Harry Potter, as long as I sat quiet as a good girl and got it all done to save your filthy backs."
"Lynn, please," Stephens begged, trying to bring her temper down. "Forget about him right now. I'll shorthand everything down on the whiteboard while you dictate. Let's just get moving?"
"If you think about changing what I write at all, you had better think again—"
"I won't change anything, it will be exactly as you tell it to me. The last week in May, Ms. Johnson is walking up to the band room." Lynn sighed, and continued for him.
"She notices that the lights are off…"
A/n- Thanks for reviewing! Like I said, I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I'll try. :)