One week had passed, and everything was completely chaotic. Our second Monday was promising to be something really weird. We were worn out, hot, and relearning things that Mr. V drilled endlessly. After all the cute little nicknames Mr. V gave us, some of the kids had a few for him, "the German Nazi" being the most popular. Secretly though, I was beginning to like him. He was so excited for us, and every little thing we improved on made him happy. It was as if he really, truly cared. With Mr. Hammons, I thought band was a necessity, and then Mr. V made it something to dread; but by that second Monday, I was eager to see what in the world he was going to do next.
New instruments. Everyone was talking about it when I stepped into the band room; I walked over to the usual place between the trumpets and the flutes to assemble my beloved Buffet and get to work on the music. Mr. V had picked out some songs from the musical "The Lion King". He thought it would be perfect for us—the Marching Lions—to make our comeback. We all liked it because it was something fun that we could relate to; Mr. Hammons never let us have any fun. Anyway, everyone was talking about the new instruments and how good they must be.
"I bet Parkside bought them so Mr. V wouldn't be so weird," Troy joked with some other section leaders.
"We don't need new instruments, though," Nate said, rubbing the bell of his beautiful mellophone. "Why would he order new ones?"
"That doesn't make sense at all," Luke muttered. "There's no way we have enough funds for everyone to have a new horn." Suddenly, the door to the parking lot opened, and Mr. V appeared as his usually crazy self. He was breathing hard and smiling like he had just built Rome in thirty minutes.
"Everyone…" he gasped, "outside!" We all waited a moment before rushing to the door. There was a big semi-truck parked in the middle of our newly formed drill field, and Elijah—oh Lord, Elijah—was standing next to it. Shirtless. My jaw completely dropped. Hannah, who had appeared out of no where, was digging her nails into my arm.
"What's going on?" she said. I just sort of shook my head, in awe. Elijah wiped his forehead with his shirt and leaned against the side of the truck to catch his breath. He actually looked up and smiled at me. Hannah squealed. "DID YOU SEE THAT?"
"Shut up!" I bit. Mr. V hopped up onto the metal ledge.
"Well, my budding Bachs, I have for you a special surprise."
"Yeah, we know," Troy blurted, who had earned a special place in Mr. V's heart. "New horns! Hand 'em out!"
"Easy there, Master Slater," Mr. V chuckled. "Elijah, if you could do the honors?" Elijah nodded and crawled up next to his father, fiddling with the metal door of the back storage. "These instruments were very graciously lent to us from another school—we will use these for a while and see what goes."
"Alright," Harvey grinned. "Let's see them!" As if on cue, the door rattled up and we all rushed forward to see what was inside. As if the shock of seeing a rather bare Elijah wasn't enough, what we found inside could have killed us all.
There was a scattered mess of beaten up, rusty old leather cases, some of the buckles missing and the corners frayed along with three or four white painted numbers to tell the story of how many schools had played them before us. Some of the handles were hanging by a thread, and the whole truck had a musty old smell. Kristie held her nose as she picked through to find a clarinet case. We clarinets crowded around to see what we were left with—it was wooden, but that was about the only good thing.
"Oh my God," clarinet-player Danielle moaned. "Is that electrical tape?"
"This doesn't even have a register key," I horrifically pointed.
"I can't play on this," Kristie coughed. "We can't play on this."
"No way!" We turned to see Troy picking up a trumpet; the bell was warped and almost orange from whatever turns brass to orange.
"Mr. V," Natalie cried. Mr. V was passing out horns to very disappointed students. "Mr. V, these instruments look like something out of Frankenstein!"
"Yes, they are masterpieces indeed," he chuckled, laughing at himself partially. There was barely enough for all of us; Kevin's clarinet didn't even have a bell. "If you could please listen carefully, scholars, I will explain."
"This better be good," Luke muttered, "because it certainly doesn't look good."
"These instruments are not the best, and you young masters of music are quite accustomed to the best—as you deserve." We looked like the little kids in Whoville after the Grinch had stolen Christmas. "These horns, however, need a bit of…love."
"If by love you mean an extreme make-over," Hannah grunted.
"I have a spring and three screws missing," I grumbled over the sorry little splinter of a clarinet I held.
"Students, please!" Mr. V clapped. "These horns will play. Good tones, however, will not be guaranteed. You'll have to work to get them to keep a steady tone—you'll have to learn how to fix and…build," he laughed, "your own instruments."
"This is a joke!"
"This is a test," Mr. V corrected. "Once you play on these instruments, you will be very happy to have your other ones back."
"What kind of brand is 'Discount Dave's'?" a very troubled saxophone asked.
"You have fifteen minutes to see how they work and get ready for music warm-up," Mr. V announced. "Be prepared for a fun-filled day!" I was figuring out how I would use a paperclip to keep my keys together when someone stuck a roll of tape in front of me. I looked to see Elijah grinning at me with a case full of different screws and such.
"The instrument ambulance at your service," he joked.
"Thanks," I grunted. "I hope this works—I'm not really a MacGyver."
"You're missing some cork on that bottom piece," he said, pulling some tape off and wrapping it around. "That'll work."
"How do you know so much about clarinets?" I smiled, impressed. Most brass players thought us reed players just sort of buzzed into the mouthpiece.
"I play," he said. "I can play clarinet, alto, and soprano sax." I think my jaw dropped.
"Wow," I sighed. "I guess that's what you get for being a band director's son."
"Yeah," he laughed a bit. "That excuses being able to play everything brass—diving into the woodwinds was my own fault." During our conversation, he had turned my pathetic clarinet into an ugly but fully functioning instrument. "There you go—good as new."
"Thanks, Elijah," I grinned. He smiled back. It was slowly getting used to him, I mean, the whole giddy-can't-talk-when-he's-around thing was beginning to calm down. Still, he was gorgeous. All the girls talked about him, never to him, but always about him. Troy was beginning to like him, and other juniors in his grade were hanging around him at practice. Anyway, Elijah wasn't as much the new kid anymore.
"Anytime." He ran off to some very lucky flutes who giggled and cooed as he fixed their instrument. I blinked back to reality and stuck my mouthpiece on the cracked barrel. The first few notes I managed to squeal out weren't very pretty, but after a while (just like Mr. V said) I was able to contain and control the sound. He was right—it did take work.
"So," Kristie said to my back. I turned around to see her and a few of her friends staring me down. "Are you tight with Mr. V's son, or what?"
"Tight?" I repeated.
"He always talks to you," Megan (I think) whined. "So, is he single?"
"Hey, I'm just trying to be his friend," I defended. "He's the new kid."
"Yeah, well," Kristie sighed, "he seems normal. Not like Mr. V."
"He is normal," I defended a little sharply. "He's a great guy."
"Yeah, really great," Megan agreed with an evil grin. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, I thought he was hot, but after a week of being one of the only girls to talk to him, I had found he was a really cool guy. There was a lot more to him than his looks. Especially that one look when he cocks his head when he smiles.
Practice was about to start, and I had to try and play with what was given to me. Mr. V had created this sort of attitude that we all fell into: practice time was for practice. When he came to the middle of the practice arc, we were all silent and ready. I looked around and saw how concentrated we all were, and it really hit me—we were getting better, and Mr. V was the reason.
