A/N: Guess who's updating?! ME, that's who! Also, I'm trying to work on Izzy's one-shot, so…we'll see which one gets up first! Read on for much randomness, lots of band nerd-ness, and…lots of nothing making sense! Enjoy!

"The hottest corners of hell are reserved for those who, in times of crisis, maintained their neutrality."-Dante's "Divine Comedy"

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to Erin Go Bragh, who brings out the band nerd in all of us. And because I can. Love you, Lyra!

GFH-Ch. 3

When we got down to the band room, I'll admit I was surprised. I had expected a bare room, with all the instruments locked up and out of sight. It was actually a big, bright, colorful room, inspirational posters all over the walls, and a room with three computers in it in the back. There were lockers everywhere, a row of tubas on the wall, and four basses leaning on a wooden stand against the wall. There was also a piano in front of a whiteboard with the message "Music is your own experiences, your own thoughts, your own wisdom.-Charlie Parker" written on it. Sheet music, drill charts, valve oil, broken reeds, and miscellaneous hats were everywhere. It was madness and mayhem everywhere.

And I loved it immediately.

Spitfire had run up to a short, stocky blonde girl and a tall, muscular girl with curly brown hair and wrapped them both in a massive hug. "Ella! Mandie! How was your summer?!"

They didn't answer, but I think it's because they couldn't breathe.

"Let us go and we'll tell you" Ella managed to squeak out.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Je-sus! How many times have I told you about the hugging thing?!"

Mandie was sort of off in her own little world, totally unaware Liz was being reamed out. So, what did Liz do?

She smacked her upside the head.

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?!"

"For cussing, as you put it 'In the holiness that is the band room'" she replied smoothly, then sashayed off.

"Ella-bella!" Liz called out from across the room. "Where the hell did you put my guard tape?! You had it last, I lent it to you…" Then she started swearing in Spanish.

"Hey! You can't say that!" Ella said, running across the room.

Mandie watched them argue, smiling and shaking her head. "Like elemental sodium and water" she said.

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she explained. "When elemental sodium hits water, or anything its' reaction is extremely violent." She then held out a hand for me to shake.

"Hi. I'm Mandie. I play the trumpet. I'm a section leader. And those two insane idiots are my friends. And you are…?"

"Anthony Higgins. People call me Race. Ummm…I play the snare. Oh! And I opened a door into Liz's face."

She laughed out loud at that one. "That must've thrown her for a loop."

"Yeah."

"Outta my way!"

All of a sudden, a blonde guy with a bass drum on his back came barreling toward us. Smart us, we were standing near the door.

"Oh, crap!" Mandie said, pulling me out of the way. "If you don't get out of his way, he will run you over. He almost mowed over a little mellophone the other day, it wasn't pretty."

'Oy vay' I thought.

"Hey, Race?" came Liz's voice. "I found Denton, he wants to talk to you. He's in his office, we passed it on the way in-hurry!"

So I went back out into the hallway, and found the door labeled 'Music Office', with all the teacher's names on it. I knocked, and a cheery voice said, "Come in!"

I went inside, and there was a man in there, about 6 ft. tall, with brown hair, and eyes so brown they looked black. Kinda like Johnny Depp's, but that's not the point. He was talking to a short blonde girl who was holding a trumpet, a lyre that had music on it, a drill chart, and a water bottle. A Cavalier's visor was on her head, and sticking out the back was a sparkly blue pom-pom.

"Hey!" she said, catching sight of me. "I'm Katherine, I play trumpet, 'cause it's cooler than most instruments. Especially saxophones. They annoy me. Everyone calls me Blue, 'cause I'm usually wearing something blue, in my hair, a shirt, one time I even wore blue socks." Might I add, she said all this without seeming to pause for air.

"O…K" I said.

"Come on, Blue, out you go. I gotta talk to the new guy about finding him a spot, 'K?"

"'K" she said, twirling out the door. Yes, I said twirling.

"Hey there" he said, sticking out his hand and grabbing mine in a bone-crushing handshake. "I'm Brian Denton, and I'm the band director here at The George Washington Military Academy. I know the kids call it 'Hell Academy', and, subsequently, 'Hell's Own Marching Band', but, technically, we're not supposed to call it that. But we all do sometimes, and I find myself strangely deaf and dumb whenever school-bashing occurs.

So!" he said, clapping his hands and leaning back in his chair. "You play the snare, Anthony, am I correct?"

"Yeah, I do. I've played the drums since I was about 7."

"How old are you now?"

"16."

"Wow. 9 years. You know, we need a snare section leader. If you're any good…who knows?"

I brightened up a bit. I'd applied for section leader at my old school, and I'd always been turned down for some reason or other.

"But right now"-He stood up-"There's a few spare rigs in the drum room, you can go pick the one you want. Here's your drill charts, and some music. You're going to be Snare #1, so you can march the end-you'll learn the drill quicker. Any questions?" I shook my head. "OK, then. Let's go! I wanna get in a good two-hour practice today. ¡Vamos!"

The rigs were there, just like he said, and after trying on two or three, I found one I liked and was fairly confident I could march easily with.

Then, I took a deep breath, walked over to the other side of the room, and pushed the door open.

The sun hit me like a slap in the face. It was earlier when my mom had dropped me off, and I guess I didn't notice it before. Most of the band was assembled on the field, with the exception of the color guard, and a few straggling saxophones. I ran (well, as fast as I could run with a rig on my chest) to find my spot, almost ran over Mandie, swerved to avoid her, and ran smack into Dutchy. The drumline leader.

Oh, freakin' joy.

"You jerk, watch where you're going!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I stammered, removing my rig, and bending over to pick up my drill charts that I'd dropped.

"Babe. BABE! Let it go" said Liz, coming up behind Dutchy. "Dutch, Denton's switching the drill, I'm sure. Race, what number are you?"

"Number one."

"See? Probably so he'll learn faster. Which reminds me"-She pulled one of my sticks out of my hand and gave four short taps. "Snares. SNARES! Thank you. Now, Denton switched your drill again-I know, it sucks-so you're gonna have to move around some. Again."

There was a lot of moaning and groaning, and plenty of swearing.

"Just move" said Dutchy, sounding very tired. "And Spot, don't you glare at me. It creeps me out."

'Whoa, whoa, wait a second' I thought. 'Spot? As in the 'really flamboyantly gay' Spot? Oh, joy.'

He turned and glared at me. "I was Snare #1, until youse showed up. Watch your ass, buddy-boi. Your extremely tight ass" he added, almost too quietly for me to hear. I immediately felt embarrassment, followed by paranoia.

He looked back over at me. "I'm Spot. Spot Conlon. Liz and I grew up about two blocks from each other, and Jack and Snitch and Skitts all lived within a six-block radius in Manhattan. So…it's like our own bizarre little NYC family. And, you, too-I hear youse're from Little Italy."

"Yeah" I said. "I am. Heart of the good food district, that's for sure. I lived in a really small apartment on Mulberry Street. Me, my mom and dad, my brother Mario, my sister Angelina, and my twin little sisters, Rosa and Bella. I love 'em (and miss 'em) like hell."

He gave me an extremely cocky half-smile. "Sounds like a nice family. It's just me and my lesbian older sister, Saraiah. My parents were so fed up living with her fiancée, and me bringing home my various boyfriends, that they kicked her out, and sent me here. And so…" He gestured vaguely around. "Here I am."

"Nosotros aqui" said a short guy, with floppy brown hair that was falling into his eyes. "Hey. I'm Danny Murphy, but my friends call me Snitch. Nice to meetcha, Race. Welcome to Hell. Snyder is Satan, and Vice-Principal Pulitzer is the co-Satan. Just warning you."

"SNITCH!" came a loud male voice from across the field. "Coming, mon amie!" he yelled back. "I swear he's like my mother…" he muttered, as he glide-stepped away.

"I bet he keeps time in his sleep."

"Kinda" Spot remarked. "His right foot taps, and the fingers of his left hand twitch. It's rather amusing, actually."

He laughed. He had a very nice laugh…Ew. Help me. Help me now. GOD, HELP ME NOW!

"So, signore" he said, placing heavy emphasis on the word. "You any good on your little drum there?"

I bristled. I've never liked drum jokes, they always feel like personal barbs. And this was my section mate?

'It's gonna be a long season' I thought, as I peeled off my already sweat-soaked T-shirt.

Spot let out a wolf whistle. "Woo-hoo, sexy!" he hooted.

I chased him at least halfway downfield.

END CHAPTER

A/N: So…as we mourn the end of band, this chapter goes out to band nerds everywhere, who are as unhappy as I am that their beloved marching season is ending! -el sob- But, alas, I am powerless to change this fact, as I am only a lowly flaggott rookie. No shoutouts today, I'm uber-tired, I finished this at 1 a.m., and I went to bed with 'Maria' buzzing through my head. Yeah, so, everyone who reviewed :

I LOVE ALL YOU GUYS, YOU ROCK MY SOCKS, THANKS FOR TAKING ANY SORT OF INTEREST AT ALL IN MY PATHETIC LITTLE STORY!!! XD XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

THANK YOU

And now, I take my leave of y'all, in my traditional flamboyant style:

::vanishes::

::cloud of black-and-silver glitter falls::