Chapter 2- Band Camp
I was to leave in the morning. I was afraid. Although I was in a room with the group of friendly trombone girls, I didn't want to go. I heard horrible stories about marching 8 hours a day. And I had to leave in the morning.

So, to take my mind off of the irritable thought of band, I turned on my computer, and went online, my sanctuary. I surfed the web and had fun. I chatted with friends who had better luck than I and were attending a different high school.

The high school was new, and I mean brand new. My 8th grade friends, who were also in band, went there. They didn't have all these dumb rehearsals and no band camp! They didn't even have a real marching band. Since it was new, they only allowed freshman and sophomores in, which meant there was no varsity football team, thus meaning no marching band. But no, I was stuck at my own high school. Bored to death in sweat and sun.

I started talking to a friend in band from last year who was attending the same school as I, and she was in band. Heather played trumpet for marching season. It was hard thinking of her as a trumpet since last year she played oboe. She revealed to me that she was a bit excited about camp the next morning. I was NOT excited! No way no how! I didn't want to go. I didn't want to even give it chance!

Ok, ok. Perhaps I was a little, tiny, sliver of a bit excited. I knew I was gonna hate it, but I thought that maybe I could give it a chance. I just would put on my magical "I don't care" face, and then I wouldn't. I would immune to the band geeks attitude, and could hate being there with a passion. The spell would have no effect on me! So the next morning I woke up and grabbed my stuff. My mom drove me to school. I was loaded down with a suitcase bag thing, a sleeping bag, and my trombone. Oh, how I envied those piccolos. Their instruments would fit in their pockets. But I just had to play the trombone. So I put all my stuff in the loading pile. I went and stood in the big mob of students to get on the small, cramped, sticky, smelly school buses. I was loathing band camp already.

I looked around aimlessly and soon found myself talking to Michelle, a friend from all the way back in 6th grade. I hadn't really talked much to her in 7th and 8th grade, and here I was talking to her and her friend, who introduced herself as "Lauren". And old friends, Jessa and Carina, were there as well. So, I was thinking that now I had someone to sit on the bus with. I would not be all alone. We gossiped and walked on to the bus. But unfortunately, the bus was so crowded, and only the first two seats were wide open. So, naturally, Michelle and Lauren grabbed the first seat. And Jessa and Carina seized the second seat. I looked around, glancing at nearby seats, and one was open. The guy had dirty blonde hair, but I would call it more brown, and blue eyes. At this point, I was thinking, ' No way! I am not sitting with this geek of a loser!' And yet, I had no choice. With my most confident voice, "Is this seat taken?" I waited for a response. Once I was cleared, I took a seat. I tried to mainly just do my own thing. I pulled out my Inu Yasha book, and read. How I love Inu Yasha. . . *sigh*

ANYWAYS. . . After I had finished the book, he asked to see it, and said how he wasn't caught up on that series. So. . . we kinda began talking. When it came time to get out of the bus for lunch, I wondered where he was going. But I stayed with my girl fiends and walked to Subway. Stupid skinny people thinking they're fat. I HATE Subway with a passion. So we walked all the way over there. Then they all decided to go to Arby's instead, since the line was too long at Subway. So we walk all the way back to around the buses. And what do you know? The line is long there too! I wasn't hungry then, so it didn't matter where we went to me. I waited in line with Michelle, Lauren, Jessa and Carina.

Only minutes later, Lauren decided that she really wanted Subway. And who was the lucky one to go back with her? Me! But like I said, it didn't matter to me because I just wanted to get a drink, so I went. And that was the first beginning of our friendship. We got on the bus and I must of talked that boy's ear off. If I were he, I would've been praising the Lord when I got off that bus at camp.

All of us took our bags and instruments to our cabins and settled in. We weren't going to start marching until after dinner, so we had some free time. I hung around my room and maybe walked around my cabin, "Aspen". I hated this place already. We had gotten the schedules and I was afraid. We were marching basically all day! Not only was this pointless, but it was a pain! I hated marching, and so did my feet. My only up-look to this tedious training was the thought of (1) getting away from my parents and (2) losing weight. I had hopes that the food would be good.

If only my hopes were answered. The 'food' was. . .um.. . . disturbing. The way the vegetables stuck together was just not right. I don't know if the 'meat' was really meat. I wasn't sure of anything. Thank goodness they had OK water. I would've gone insane. Then the marching began. Hours and hours of unending torture! We would march, then set, then march, then set, then march and set!!! We would barely get any breaks! And they all seemed to short. You had to wait in line for water or Gatorade, and by the time it was your turn, the break would be over! Over and over we marched. The dreadful and bright sun leisurely sank below the horizon. I was definitely tired enough to go straight to my bed, and fall asleep. And yet, there was more to come. Much, much more. We headed inside, to our cabins. I got my pajamas and shower needs out, and settled in my bed. Only then was I informed that we were to go inside for a music rehearsal. I was in agony. We hadn't played while we marched, thank goodness since I was not yet that skilled.

So we started to play that retarded old people music. Stupid classical. I wanted to do a cool show! Something that would be catchy and the audience would like. Not Crapland. Why me? The music sounded awful. Well, I take that back. The first 10 measures sounded ok. Then it was a mess. You couldn't tell the melody. I moved my trombone slide back and forth with my aching arms. Everyone else had it easy, moving merely their fingers. My arms would hurt tomorrow. I would be so sore, and still I would have to march, from dawn until dusk! I definitely hated this.

I dreamed about never coming back to this forsaken place. This was truly the worst trip I had ever been on. And I have been a lot of places. Stupid relatives not living by me. *shudder*

Early morning rise and shine. The radio softly awakened me out of my slumber. I was used to sleeping in, and this was killing me. I had fallen asleep late, listening to the people in my room gossip and complain about some guy named Matt. I was clueless, but it was nice listening in. So, I took my shower in a very gross and unsanitary bathroom which was stained with the smell of dirt and moldy soap. And I got dressed and reported for breakfast.

It was a revolting selection of so-called food. They had this burnt charcoal they called bacon. And a couple choices of rotten fruit that made my stomach turn. Watery eggs and sausage seemed splattered on the tables. It made me want to puke. Thus, once again I sat down to a glass of water and a couple crumbs.

And then my first full day of band camp began. An endless array of marching practices, sectionals, larger sectionals, and rehearsals. This day would never end! The morning marching seemed incredibly difficult. The early sun beat down on everyone's back and turned their faces red and dark. I thought I never would survive. I wanted to run away. I could hike to Prescot! Then I could hitchhike a ride back to Glendale! I could easily enjoy the rest of my summer like a regular teenager. If only. I talked with the guy from the bus a bit. His name is Chris, by the way. And I talked with Lauren and Michelle as well. Lauren and I seemed to get along really well. We would walk places together during out limited free time. I would eat with her and my other freshman friends during meals. Although there was food, I always seemed to be hungry, since much of the dishes were uneatable.

Everywhere I went, I had to hold my instrument steady. My arms were hurting so awfully. I was introduced to the trombone section leader, Mike. He seemed fun and we got along. I called him Mr. Mike, as a joke. It seems silly, but it was fun. The rest of the group had stalked about him and said something about the military and him, so I thought it would be humorous to call him Mr. and Sir. Finally the end of the day would come. And we awake the next morning to do the same thing all over again. Sure we had fun stuff planned. There was a pool party, which I didn't attend. I didn't like being seen in a bathing suit.

Then, there was a 'Senior farewell' something or other. Basically, the seniors would stand up and say what they remember and love about band. I was touched that so many loved it. They were crying and hugging each other, and I was amazed at the unity and togetherness this group had. Everyone was here to do the same thing. Everyone said their thank-you's to the band director and color guard teacher. I had never really gotten to speak much to 'D'. And I had never talked to Miss LaDuca. But everyone seemed to love this band. I thought about what I would say at my senior farewell. I would say how much I hate band and how everyone in it sucks. It didn't really matter what I thought since I wasn't going to have a 'farewell' thing anyway. This would be my last and only year in marching band.

The day before the last was Section dress-alike day. And the creativity of the trombone section, was all of us being crayons. Nicole and Ashley had slaved away making us each a different color crayon shirt, which looked amazing. We each had our own pointy hats. And I, as the smallest in the section, was drowning in my crayon shirt. It fell to my thighs, and others said I looked cute. I do think that we should of won. Our shirts were amazing, and our idea was by far the best. But no! The stupid piccolos had to win! No offense, but their shirts were pretty dumb and uncreative. They said "Picc Chics" and they were all wearing grass skirts. Pretty boring. I have no idea why they won. Even the drum majors were better than them. The three conductors for our band wore kilts. Although seeing Matt, the only male drum major, in a skirt was *cough* disturbing.

And before I knew it, I was happily headed home. I was sitting with Chris again, talking his ear off, again. I can't help it if I'm a loud mouth! Lauren and I had become pretty good friends. I thought back on the last days of band camp, and overall it wasn't so bad. I had some friends to cheer me up through it, and I lost almost 10 pounds! Yay! Wait. . .No! I HATE BAND!!! NO WAY WAS I STARTING TO ENJOY IT!
(A/N): hey! The truth about Band Camp comes out! Ahhhhh!!! My story has just begun. It was a long, long season. . .

~Jen