Starting Off Scared

This is based off a real band. My band in fact. This is the first year the school has ever been open and there are only eighteen of us in the marching band. Some of the events are factual. Some aren't. But it still makes a good story for a great band. How the hell did we pull this season off? With flying colors.

"Okay kids, since only a few of you showed up and we have no instruments, music, nor equipment. Let's just talk." Our murderer had just walked through the door. His name was Bob Ebert and he would kill us all before the beginning of the school year. We all stayed quiet and pulled our chairs into a mini circle.

"Now I'm going to list off names. If the name is yours, say 'Here' and give me your instrument. If not. Just say what instrument they play. Brandiey Ange."

"Here, saxophone." Came a voice of knowledge and creativity.

"Sarah Austin"

"Here, flute." A small girl to accompany a small high-pitched voice.

"Charlie Baity"

"Here, baritone." A voice of that of a clown, but not very good with jokes.

"Evan Briggman"

"Yo, trumpet." A loud mouth, big head, but damn good trumpeter.

"Dave Bryoles."

"Here, trumpet." Soft, but with a mysterious disposition.

"Jennifer Classen"

"Jen, percussion." A large girl with an alto voice, she had to be to be the only percussion girl.

"Angel Hadeed."

"Here, flute." A blonde, whiny voiced, pain in the rear.

"Robbie Harris."

"That scrawny little kid is in here?"

"Yes he is. Do you know what he plays?"

"Saxophone."

"Michael Mosley."

"Percussion."

"Louis Patrozus."

"Percussion."

"How many percussion do we have?"

"Dunno."

"Gray Pugh."

"Here, clarinet." A voice of someone who felt better then the rest. This was going to be a long year with him.

"Justin Robey."

"Here, percussion."

"Ladys and gentlemen, we have enough for a full line now."

"What?"

"Never mind. Christi Rushe."

"Here, flute." A strong voice with a determined fragrance and a friendly stature.

"Jonathan Smoot."

"Heh, Smoot, heh."

"In this band, you will not make fun of others. Do you know his instrument?"

"Here, trumpet." He had just walked through the door. A voice of a delinquent. Someone who would definitely cause problems.

"Chris Storer."

"Who?"

"He's a freshman."

"I remember him. He played, uh, trombone for a semester in Middle before Ballard ran him off."

"Yea, I remember him too. Wasn't too good and didn't like to practice."

"Well, he will if he's going to stay in this band." We knew our life was over the moment that came out of the director's mouth.

"Rebecca Walker."

"Here, clarinet." A voice of a talk-a-lot. Blonde and surely acting like it.

"Logan Wilkerson."

"Here, flute." A kind, but very smart voice. Someone who was amused easily and with random topics.

"Myles Wood."

"Percussion."

"Okay folks. What do you want to talk about? We have a few hours to kill and we have hardly anything to do."

"What's everybody's grade?" Chimed in Christi. We ended up playing ring around the rosy with this thing. Starting with Jen.

Jen was in 9th grade along with Logan, Rebecca, Jonathan, Justin, Chris, Evan, Dave, and Sarah. Brandiey, Charlie, and Gray were in 10th grade, and Christi and Robbie were seniors. Mr. Ebert read off that Myles, Louis, and Michael were all in 9th grade also.

"So that makes 3/4ths the band new at marching."

Nothing really happened that day. We just talked about random topics about nothing. Learning more about each other, but more importantly, things about Mr. Ebert. He wasn't as cruel as some directors could be, but he wasn't Mr. Nicie either. How little I knew about all these things, and how much I would learn.