((Hey guys. . .sorry for the severe lack of updating! It's all stemmed from marching band and an evil colorguard instructor and AP US History. But. . .I am going to keep writing, fear not, my chaps!))

I sat in choir once more, bored out of my mind. It was the end of the day, and practically the end of my seventh grade year. Thankfully, that year was almost over. . .I was ready to dance. It was such a long, horrible year, and things really were bad. But obviously I'm not going into detail because this is an oboe story.

My choir teacher, Mrs. Calvin, was giving us another lecture about our high school career (even though we weren't even in eighth grade yet) and how we should choose our schedules for next year. I wasn't listening, because she had the tendency to ramble. I was burying my head in my copy of "The Last Unicorn" that my friend had given me the day before. It wasn't until I heard my name called that I came out of my reading.

"Kathryn? You play the oboe?" I looked up to see Mrs. Calvin looking at me, holding a piece of paper. In the beginning of the year, she wanted us to write down if we played any instruments. And it seemed that it took her until now to look over those papers.

"Yes." I replied.

"Are you in band this year?"

"No."

Mrs. Calvin looked at me. "Well, I think it would be good for you to go back into it next year. We have like, no oboe players. Mr. Jameson always complains to me about that."

I snorted inwardly. Yeah, Mr. Jameson really needed oboists, alright. The day he actually needed oboes would be the day that I turn into an angry disco queen who loves to laugh at dinosaurs ((a/n: long story, LOL Bianca!)). But for some reason, I decided to listen to Mrs. Calvin (for the first time, and also for the last time, because all she did in my 8th grade year was ramble on all year long about how important your freshman year schedule would be for the rest of your life) and heck, why not, when the time came, I signed up to take band the next year. Well, it wasn't only Mrs. Calvin.it was my friends Nelly and Arden.they were both flutists, and were in band. And Nelly said she'd drag me into band next year.

So I did just that.I signed up for band, just for the heck of it. Just to make Nelly and Arden happy. And so.that's how it started.once more.

*

It was the first day of my 8th grade year. I came into the band room for the first time in a long time, finding a spot in the back, because I couldn't find Nelly or Arden. I felt kind of lost. . .like someone who comes back to their home twenty years later and finds that someone changed the landscape or something. So I sat in the back, and took a moment to look over my marching band schedule (that year, due to the encouraging of several of my other friends and an amazing teacher, I joined marching band. Which was insane, and interesting, and one of the biggest changes of my life, but that's a whole other story) before pulling out a book and reading it. Mr. Jameson made a speech, but I ignored him, because he never said anything important anyway.

We started playing by the end of the week. Mr. Jameson, as usual, didn't care where I went. But this time, instead of sitting with the clarinets like I did last time, I sat in with the flutes. I sat next to Nelly, and Arden was next to her. We whispered and giggled all the time he was passing out music.

And the trumpets? Well, that year, they didn't do anything. I still hated them, though. All they did was get millions of solos and Mr. Jameson adored them.

The rest of the year passed without much notice. We played, and half the time we didn't. Sometimes, Mr. Jameson would just not have us play at all, in which me, Nelly, and Arden would throw paper balls and rubber bands at people who annoyed us, or Arden would tease me about this male friend of mine, or we would do our English homework together. I found that I didn't hate Mr. Jameson as much anymore, but the only reason for that was because he was in marching band and so was I.

But other than that, it was very boring. He didn't care whether you played or not, no one ever came to lessons, and he only cared about the trumpets anyway. But that didn't bother me that year. I was too busy talking and laughing with Nelly and Arden, and I didn't really care much about my playing, anyway. After all, it was just oboe playing. It didn't matter anymore. . .it was just for fun.

When the end of the year came, it was time to plan out our freshman year schedules. There was a lot of chaos ((a/n: TO ORDER!! Sorry, it's still a habit for me. . .)) when that came about. No one knew what classes they were going to take, and likewise, everyone was freaking out because they were going to be in high school soon. Then. . .then it was time to pick a music course.

It was between choir and band, because I took both that year. But. . .for some reason, I felt compelled to take band. I don't know what force on earth made me decide to take band, but it did, and "concert band" was therefore placed on my freshman year schedule. At the time, it didn't seem like anything major. . .it was just band, and I was only taking it for the same reason this year. . .maybe Nelly or Arden would be in my band next year.

Or maybe, something interesting would happen.

((oooh, short chapter. . .this was kind of a transition chapter, because absolutely nothing happened in 8th grade. . .now I need inspiration to continue this story, because I really should. . .you'll see more, chaps, don't worry))