A/n: Oh, it's back. I left out part of it as it involves all the techniques of marching band, and since I haven't marched at all other than a few parades for eight months, I thought I'd wait until real band camp starts up again to fill that in.
I was alone like that first person who made it over the hump between monkeys and humans. This had to be dealt with. There was no way I was starting my high school career as one of those "quiet people." I'm loud and proud. I couldn't be pigeonholed as one of them. Then I'd actually have to associate with those people. How do they communicate? Sign language?
I'd just like to take this moment to apologize to all those people out there who are "quiet."
Silently, I watched Scott trying to get Daphne to sit on the floor by him. He beckoned her, she said, "No, Scott," like he was being immature, and started talking to her other frumpet buddies, Lil and Alice. Scott pouted his lips, folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. I took this as my opportunity to use my vocal chords.
"Scott." No answer. "Scott." Once again, no answer. "SCOTT!"
He slowly turned around, now being grumpy because his girlfriend was neglecting him. "Yes?"
"How were your sectionals?" I said cheerfully, trying to make polite conversation.
"Hell."
"Yah, mine too. Has Mr. Lewinsky put any moves on you yet?" This lightened him up a little bit.
"No, man, he's got a boyfriend…"
"Oh really? Who?"
Scott pointed at a tall senior in the office. He had dark hair and was wearing a really tight pink shirt. He and Mr. Lewinsky were yakking it up with two other seniors, a girl with curly blonde hair and a twitchy guy with long, flowing blonde hair. They left the office and walked out to the front of the band room, the boyfriend stepping up onto the podium.
"Hi, for those of you who don't know," he started out, then coughed disguising "freshman." "I'm Jared Ethel, the band president." Everyone rolled their eyes as he stood up there and smiled. "Now I know you guys get the same old speech every year, but keep in mind, it's new for the freshmen!"
"Am I going to get this kind of abuse a lot?" I whispered to Kyle.
"Not from every senior…"
I wondered what he meant by that, but went back to listening to band president give his schpeel. "We certainly hope that all you upperclassmen do what you're supposed to as a squad leader and lead your squad. Try to be nice to the freshman, it's not their fault they don't know how to march!"
Scott scratched his back with his middle finger. I stifled a laugh.
"And freshman, listen to your squad leaders! Despite what you probably think, they know what they're doing!"
Scott turned around with a look of total disgust on his face.
Band president went on for a good half an hour. At one point, Kyle looked at his watch and said, "This joker is cutting into our break time."
The curly blonde went up to him and poked him, trying to get him to wrap it up.
"I know this morning has probably been really boring, but I guarantee it'll get better-"
She punched him in the arm.
He continued.
Mr. Lewinsky cut in. "Okay, Jared, that's enough." The band president frowned and stepped off the podium and retreated back into the office. "Does anyone else have anything to say?"
Gabby's apparent squad leader stood up and yelled "LOGAN!" Everyone laughed, and a few more people started chanting "Logan." The curly blonde blushed and got all shy, so I figured this must be Logan. Reluctantly, but obviously secretly pleased, she took the podium. "Hi, I'm Kim Logan. I'm the vice president. Ummmm…I really not good at these kind of things…So, yah, listen to your squad leaders...Um, respect upperclassmen…Um, that's about it! What about you Bill?" She got off the podium and the boy with the long flowing blonde hair got on.
He kind of reminded me of Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean, minus the pirate attitude and attire, which really just leaves you with the confusion and the twitchiness. He stood there for a moments, looking like he was preparing to say something really profound. And in the perfect Californian surfer voice he said, "The thing about music is…when you're playing it, it's like, fun to play, you know?"
Everyone clapped, and Kyle proceeded to shout "GO BILL!"
I whispered to Scott, "If that's Bill, then where is Ted?"
"And how was their excellent adventure?" Scott added.
Mr. Lewinsky got back on the podium. "Squad leaders, I need to see you to show you where you're standing. Everyone else, break time."
The high school parking lot: it is perfectly engineered so that whenever the sun is shining, it is beating down directly onto the black top. In turn, the black top heats up, along with the high school on one side, and the stadium on the other, and becomes some kind of oven. This made it perfectly safe to cook a steak on the hood of your car.
There was no refuge from the harsh sun, aside from hiding underneath the SUVs, and one little crab apple tree on a patch of grass that divided the parking lot from a fire lane next to the school. While many upperclassmen chilled out in the air-conditioned bliss of their cars, my friends and I sat under this tree. Passing the invisible joint.
"I cannot fucking believe we're in high school," Gabby stated bluntly, after taking a drag on the joint and passing it along.
"I can't believe we're in the marching band. We're like, a part," I said.
We just looked at each other and laughed.
Mr. Lewinsky burst out of the band doors with a ladder and a loudspeaker. He walked over to us so he was a little too close for comfort and blew his whistle. It was one of those things that was so loud and so shrill and you could hear things rattling around in your ears. Then he cupped his hands together and shouted, "NO INSTRUMENTS!"
Gabby and I got up and lumbered off to go find our squad leaders. "That break was about useless," I remarked.
"NO INSTRUMENTS!" Mr. Lewinsky shouted in the background.
"Ah yes, five minutes, I feel quite rested."
I looked down at my pinking arms. "Oh shit, I forgot to put on sunscreen."
"NO INSTRUMENTS!"
She just laughed at me.
"NO INSTRUMENTS!!!" he cried.
We looked back and observed this pathetic specimen. Wearing a ridiculous purple polo shirt, his hair spiked in the front, he looked like some senior the freshman would push around. But alas, he was twenty-five, and he was second in command, next to Mr. Gianinni. He just shouted, and shouted, and shouted…
"I think I'm gonna die before this month is over," I said.
I soon found Kyle and Gabby found the guy she referred to as "Bryan Squadleader." He looked like he'd been smoking some real happy leaf in the smokey van in the corner of the parking lot.
Amazingly enough, Gabby and I were in the exact same spot, but two rows away. Still in yelling distance. Woot.
"HEY SHITFACE!" she shouted.
"Yah?"
Then we laughed simply for the fact that she had shouted something vulgar and I had responded as if it were my own name. Meanwhile, Mr. Lewinsky struggled to open up his ladder, and Jared, Band President, went to go help him.
A tap on my shoulder sent a cool sensation like frozen lemonade at baseball games down my spine. Do you believe in love at first touch? I turned around and-
"Hey, do you know where I'm supposed to be?" Scott asked.
I looked around and spotted his blonde frumpet-playing squadleader.
"Right in front of me, Scott. You lucky bastard."
He chuckled and took about two steps towards his spot, then turned back around. "Hey, look at the happy couple."
Mr. Lewinsky and Jared, Band President, had the ladder up, but for some reason it wouldn't stay open. They stood underneath it, facing each other, with each pair of arms supporting the opposite side, so it looked like some kind of lustful embrace.
"Hmm," I said, pondering.
"Oh man, if William Wallace were here…"
I was wondering who William Wallace was, when Mr. Lewinsky finally managed to struggle to the top of the ladder and blow his whistle. Everyone merged into their spots.
INSERT MARCHING TECHNIQUES SCENE
After Alexia's mom dropped me off, I trudged up the driveway with my saxophone, burnt, sweaty, hot, tired, hungry, and pissed off. I flopped onto the leather couch and turned on "The Young and the Restless," which I had never watched before, but now seemed like a good time to start.
My mom asked me if I wanted anything to eat, I had her fix a French bread pizza. "So, how was it?"
I sighed. "Um, it was kind of like Nazi Death Camp. But without the death. I can't believe I have to do this every day."
The ex-queen of marching band laughed. "Oh, you'll grow to love it."
I was alone like that first person who made it over the hump between monkeys and humans. This had to be dealt with. There was no way I was starting my high school career as one of those "quiet people." I'm loud and proud. I couldn't be pigeonholed as one of them. Then I'd actually have to associate with those people. How do they communicate? Sign language?
I'd just like to take this moment to apologize to all those people out there who are "quiet."
Silently, I watched Scott trying to get Daphne to sit on the floor by him. He beckoned her, she said, "No, Scott," like he was being immature, and started talking to her other frumpet buddies, Lil and Alice. Scott pouted his lips, folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. I took this as my opportunity to use my vocal chords.
"Scott." No answer. "Scott." Once again, no answer. "SCOTT!"
He slowly turned around, now being grumpy because his girlfriend was neglecting him. "Yes?"
"How were your sectionals?" I said cheerfully, trying to make polite conversation.
"Hell."
"Yah, mine too. Has Mr. Lewinsky put any moves on you yet?" This lightened him up a little bit.
"No, man, he's got a boyfriend…"
"Oh really? Who?"
Scott pointed at a tall senior in the office. He had dark hair and was wearing a really tight pink shirt. He and Mr. Lewinsky were yakking it up with two other seniors, a girl with curly blonde hair and a twitchy guy with long, flowing blonde hair. They left the office and walked out to the front of the band room, the boyfriend stepping up onto the podium.
"Hi, for those of you who don't know," he started out, then coughed disguising "freshman." "I'm Jared Ethel, the band president." Everyone rolled their eyes as he stood up there and smiled. "Now I know you guys get the same old speech every year, but keep in mind, it's new for the freshmen!"
"Am I going to get this kind of abuse a lot?" I whispered to Kyle.
"Not from every senior…"
I wondered what he meant by that, but went back to listening to band president give his schpeel. "We certainly hope that all you upperclassmen do what you're supposed to as a squad leader and lead your squad. Try to be nice to the freshman, it's not their fault they don't know how to march!"
Scott scratched his back with his middle finger. I stifled a laugh.
"And freshman, listen to your squad leaders! Despite what you probably think, they know what they're doing!"
Scott turned around with a look of total disgust on his face.
Band president went on for a good half an hour. At one point, Kyle looked at his watch and said, "This joker is cutting into our break time."
The curly blonde went up to him and poked him, trying to get him to wrap it up.
"I know this morning has probably been really boring, but I guarantee it'll get better-"
She punched him in the arm.
He continued.
Mr. Lewinsky cut in. "Okay, Jared, that's enough." The band president frowned and stepped off the podium and retreated back into the office. "Does anyone else have anything to say?"
Gabby's apparent squad leader stood up and yelled "LOGAN!" Everyone laughed, and a few more people started chanting "Logan." The curly blonde blushed and got all shy, so I figured this must be Logan. Reluctantly, but obviously secretly pleased, she took the podium. "Hi, I'm Kim Logan. I'm the vice president. Ummmm…I really not good at these kind of things…So, yah, listen to your squad leaders...Um, respect upperclassmen…Um, that's about it! What about you Bill?" She got off the podium and the boy with the long flowing blonde hair got on.
He kind of reminded me of Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean, minus the pirate attitude and attire, which really just leaves you with the confusion and the twitchiness. He stood there for a moments, looking like he was preparing to say something really profound. And in the perfect Californian surfer voice he said, "The thing about music is…when you're playing it, it's like, fun to play, you know?"
Everyone clapped, and Kyle proceeded to shout "GO BILL!"
I whispered to Scott, "If that's Bill, then where is Ted?"
"And how was their excellent adventure?" Scott added.
Mr. Lewinsky got back on the podium. "Squad leaders, I need to see you to show you where you're standing. Everyone else, break time."
The high school parking lot: it is perfectly engineered so that whenever the sun is shining, it is beating down directly onto the black top. In turn, the black top heats up, along with the high school on one side, and the stadium on the other, and becomes some kind of oven. This made it perfectly safe to cook a steak on the hood of your car.
There was no refuge from the harsh sun, aside from hiding underneath the SUVs, and one little crab apple tree on a patch of grass that divided the parking lot from a fire lane next to the school. While many upperclassmen chilled out in the air-conditioned bliss of their cars, my friends and I sat under this tree. Passing the invisible joint.
"I cannot fucking believe we're in high school," Gabby stated bluntly, after taking a drag on the joint and passing it along.
"I can't believe we're in the marching band. We're like, a part," I said.
We just looked at each other and laughed.
Mr. Lewinsky burst out of the band doors with a ladder and a loudspeaker. He walked over to us so he was a little too close for comfort and blew his whistle. It was one of those things that was so loud and so shrill and you could hear things rattling around in your ears. Then he cupped his hands together and shouted, "NO INSTRUMENTS!"
Gabby and I got up and lumbered off to go find our squad leaders. "That break was about useless," I remarked.
"NO INSTRUMENTS!" Mr. Lewinsky shouted in the background.
"Ah yes, five minutes, I feel quite rested."
I looked down at my pinking arms. "Oh shit, I forgot to put on sunscreen."
"NO INSTRUMENTS!"
She just laughed at me.
"NO INSTRUMENTS!!!" he cried.
We looked back and observed this pathetic specimen. Wearing a ridiculous purple polo shirt, his hair spiked in the front, he looked like some senior the freshman would push around. But alas, he was twenty-five, and he was second in command, next to Mr. Gianinni. He just shouted, and shouted, and shouted…
"I think I'm gonna die before this month is over," I said.
I soon found Kyle and Gabby found the guy she referred to as "Bryan Squadleader." He looked like he'd been smoking some real happy leaf in the smokey van in the corner of the parking lot.
Amazingly enough, Gabby and I were in the exact same spot, but two rows away. Still in yelling distance. Woot.
"HEY SHITFACE!" she shouted.
"Yah?"
Then we laughed simply for the fact that she had shouted something vulgar and I had responded as if it were my own name. Meanwhile, Mr. Lewinsky struggled to open up his ladder, and Jared, Band President, went to go help him.
A tap on my shoulder sent a cool sensation like frozen lemonade at baseball games down my spine. Do you believe in love at first touch? I turned around and-
"Hey, do you know where I'm supposed to be?" Scott asked.
I looked around and spotted his blonde frumpet-playing squadleader.
"Right in front of me, Scott. You lucky bastard."
He chuckled and took about two steps towards his spot, then turned back around. "Hey, look at the happy couple."
Mr. Lewinsky and Jared, Band President, had the ladder up, but for some reason it wouldn't stay open. They stood underneath it, facing each other, with each pair of arms supporting the opposite side, so it looked like some kind of lustful embrace.
"Hmm," I said, pondering.
"Oh man, if William Wallace were here…"
I was wondering who William Wallace was, when Mr. Lewinsky finally managed to struggle to the top of the ladder and blow his whistle. Everyone merged into their spots.
INSERT MARCHING TECHNIQUES SCENE
After Alexia's mom dropped me off, I trudged up the driveway with my saxophone, burnt, sweaty, hot, tired, hungry, and pissed off. I flopped onto the leather couch and turned on "The Young and the Restless," which I had never watched before, but now seemed like a good time to start.
My mom asked me if I wanted anything to eat, I had her fix a French bread pizza. "So, how was it?"
I sighed. "Um, it was kind of like Nazi Death Camp. But without the death. I can't believe I have to do this every day."
The ex-queen of marching band laughed. "Oh, you'll grow to love it."