Author's Note: I know about writer's block, but is there such a thing as writer's ADD? If there is, I defiantly have it. For the past month and a half, I've been starting new chapters before I finish the ones I've already started. However, there is a good side to this. I've got at least an outline for the next three to four chapters (which will take Kiwi through move-ins), so they should be coming out a lot faster that the past couple chapters have. After that though, I have some sad news. ROBAD will be going on yet another hiatus. I have finally figured out where I am going with this story, so I am going to be spending some time combining things, adding things, and taking out dropped plots line (there seem to be a lot of those.) This, needless to say, is going to take a while.

So, a Merry Christmas (or Happy Holidays I suppose, if you don't celebrate Christmas) to all and a Happy New Year. You know the drill. Leave some. And if you haven't already, join the facebook group. The link is in the author's profile.

We took an hour and a half break for lunch before heading back to the trenches. We spent another hour hacking out music before Beth decided it was warm enough to head outside and start marching.

We set up to stretch in a big circle that was organized by not only section, but by height as well (ironic). I was on the shorter side, so I was towards the end of the section, between the girl I thought was named Cristina, and some blond haired girl that I couldn't even begin to guess her name. Was she even there last night?

We were silent during stretching, heads still spinning from this morning and fearful of what this afternoon block would bring. I was concerned. If the music had been that challenging, what would marching be like?

As I contemplated what the next few hours would bring, the woman I remember from auditions, Janice came on to the field, wearing the same brown jacket she had worn at auditions. Her black hair was tucked neatly under a baseball hat and her brown eyes looked intense. One look at her, and you knew she meant business.

By the time she reached us, we were done stretching and ready to get moving. Janice quickly made her way to the center of the circle and introduced herself.

"I know you all got a chance to do this last night, but I was trapped in Dullus International Airport, so I'll just do this now. My name is Janice Romano and before you all ask, yes I am Italian. My mother was born in Italy and both my dads parents are Italian. I speak the language some what, but I am far from fluent. I am 28 years old and I am a graduate of CCM having both my bachelors and masters in music.

As far as marching experience goes, I marched for a school somewhere in Texas that will not be named for four years. I then went on and marched with the Blue Devils for another four years. Oh, and for those of you that are already playing the guessing game, I am, in fact a baritone player,"

Someone on the other side of the circle mutter "I so called it" under her breath, making everyone laugh. I would have thought she was a mello player.

"On a more serious note, marching Blue Devils was possible the best experience of my life, and I want all of you girls to be able to have that same experience. However, that means I'm going to demand a lot from all of you. Not because I'm mean, but because I know that you can. You wouldn't have joined this corps unless you were willing to give one hundred percent of yourself. You will work harder than you ever have worked in your life and will be pushed farther than you ever thought possible. There will be times when you will absolutely hate this. But if you put everything you have into this, this will be one of the most amazing experiences of your life."

Janice paused, and then continued onward.

"So with that bit of inspiration, everybody block it up!"

Two hours and four miles later (or so it seemed) Janice lets us go from what was probably the longest basics block of my life. Janice seemed more interested in observing the group as a whole than correcting individuals (probably because she didn't know anyone's name yet). Janice, I quickly learned, was not a fan of going to rest. In the two hours of marching, we were only aloud to break twice. The marching itself hadn't been terribly intense (we spent a lot of time going over technique) but keeping my horn up for that long had. As we walked off the field, I could fell my whole entire body begin to ache.

"This is stupid," I muttered under my breath. I knew that I was probably out of shape from not marching for a year, but this was pathetic. I looked around the field. Now granted, I didn't know these girls very well, but no one looked as tired as I felt. I pulled my arms across my chest in a feeble attempt to stretch out. There was no excuse for my arms to hurt as much as they did. Even if I hadn't marched for a year, I had at least conducted. I felt incredibly pathetic.

"You look as if you might be suffering from drum major syndrome," someone said behind.

Damn. Was it that obvious?

I turned and behind me stood the blonde haired girl, whose name I could not remember. She stood next to me in the giant stretch circle.

"Julie," she said, sticking out her hand.

"Kiwi," I said, "and yes, I admit, I have drum major syndrome."

"Well," she said, jokingly "the first step to recovery is acceptance."

I laughed. I was already starting to like her.

"I feel really pathetic," I told her, "Everyone else looks fine and I'm dying. It's not like that was challenging or anything."

"Don't sweat it," she said, "I was drum major my senior year of high school, and I did far worse that you did at my first rehearsal camp with the Glassmen. And I will tell you; this was defiantly tougher than anything I had at a Glassmen rehearsal camp."

"You marched with Glassmen?" I asked.

"I did for two years," she said, "I loved it."

So that meant she was a sophomore in college. She was the same age as Lauren.

"Out of curiosity," I asked, "why did you come here if you loved it so much?"

"I needed a change," she said very matter-of-factly, "besides I live closer to here than Toledo, and the transportation costs were starting to get to me."

"Change," I said as I swung my arm over my head, attempting to stretch it out, "something I am not adapting to apparently."

I ate dinner at Uncle Mark's, took an aspirin, and felt much better. There had been a rumor going around before we left saying that we were having more bonding time tonight, which I was praying for. Not only did it give my sore arms a break, it gave me time to talk to Lauren about her whole Cadets' issue. It also gave me some time to hang out with Nicole, who I hadn't gotten to see at all that day. Unfortunately, if we were socializing, I could potentially be forced to talk to M-Cat, something that I was not at all interested in.

I came back to the school and huddled in the gym with the rest of the girls. No one had their horns or equipment out, so it looked like we might be socializing again tonight.

Beth came in and everyone covered their ears before the metronome began to blare. We all sat down on the hard gym floor.

"Tonight," Beth said, "instead of practicing, we are going to be playing truth or dare."

The room burst out laughing.

"You will be split up by section. There are two rules. First one is that dares cannot be vulgar or destructive. We're hoping to be able to use this building until move-ins in May, but if we trash this place, we're kind of out of luck. The second rule is that anyone can back out of a truth or a dare. I want this to be a fun experience for everyone. Nobody should go home from this weekend talking about how humiliating it was."

Some of the guard girls looked very disappointed. I, for one, was relieved. I was not a fan of truth or dare.

"So, everyone get with your sections and let's have some fun tonight. You've all worked hard today."

I found my section and we sat down in the back corner of the gym. After staring awkwardly at each other for a few moments, Julie finally spoke up.

"So," she said, "who wants to go first?"

"I will," said a small voice from the other side of the circle.

"Okay, Christine," Julie said, "truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Julie thought for a moment.

"Go in to the band room and steal a quad player's stick. Not a pair of sticks, just one singular stick."

"Isn't that boarder line destructive?" someone asked.

"Not if we return it in the same condition we found it in," Julie said with a mischievous smile.

Christine got up and raced out of the gym towards the band room. She returned several minutes later holding her prize high above her head. We applauded as she sat back down in the circle.

"Very nice," Julie said, "but what took you so long?"

"The battery was in there."

"Did they see you?"

"I don't think so," Christine said, "they were too interested in whoever they had dared to do the solider boy dance."

We all laughed.

"Do I have to give this back now?" she asked.

"Not if you don't want to."

Christine triumphantly put the stick in her back pocket and started looking around the circle.

"Kiwi, truth or dare?" she asked.

I put my head in my hands. I really hated this game.

"Truth," I said finally. While I knew that whatever came next would probably embarrass me into the next century, I was in no mood to go steal sticks.

"How'd you get the name Kiwi?"

I exhaled. While this was a slightly embarrassing story, I had been prepared for much worse.

"Well…" I started.

It's our first day of band camp sophomore year and we are having our traditional "vets only" lunch. All the vets are split up in the lunchroom by section while the rookies are having lunch together in a room near by. We (the vets) are supposed to be talking about what we want from the season, but my section is doing anything but.

Once we finish going through the latest gossip (you would be surprised how interested this group of guys was in that stuff), we started talking about the section shirts we were carefully designing.

"And we'll get everyone's names on the back," Tony, our section leader says, "Although it might be a little difficult since we have twenty-one people this year."

"Nicknames or real names?" Craig, a fellow sophomore and the section goof, asks.

"Nicknames, of course," Tony says "who wants there real name on the back of a shirt?"

"What if we don't have a nickname?" I ask quietly. While I am now officially a vet, I still sometimes feel incredible small and child like compared to these guys.

"Then I guess we'll put your real name on the shirt" Tony says, "but there are seven other Catlins in this band. We need to come up with a nickname for you."

"We could call you Shakakagaga," Craig says.

"No," I tell him, "I will not have the same name as your horn."

"And besides," Matt, a junior, says, "that is a really lame name to begin with."

Craig looks highly indignant.

"Oh no," I say, "I'm not getting into this. You two can fight it out while I go get some more fruit."

I get up and head towards the fruit bar, laughing at Craig and Matt fighting behind me. In the past season, we have all learned that they will fight over anything.

I survey my option before deciding on a bowl of kiwi. I head back towards the table where Craig and Matt are still fighting. I am not paying attention, and totally miss that there is a pile of melting ice cream on the floor. That is, until I slip in it.

I scream and come down to the floor with a thud. I let go of the bowl I have in my hands, which goes flying into the air and lands directly on my face. The noisy room suddenly goes silent. One of the drumline guys near me helps me up, and after assuring everyone that I am okay, the room erupts in laughter. I am humiliated, but laughing also as I sit back down at my table next to Craig.

"Very nice Kiwi," he says, pulling a piece of kiwi out of my hair that I had missed.

"And ever since then, that's been my name," I finished.

"That's horrible," a tall, red-haired girl exclaimed.

"For the first couple days, it was," I told her, "but then it was just really funny after that."

"Thank you for that, Kiwi," Julie says, "your turn now."

I looked around the room.

"Julie," I said finally, "truth or dare."

She thought for a moment.

"Dare."

"Go into the center of the guard girl circle over there," I said, pointing to the other side of the room, "stand on your head and act like a monkey."

"Ohh," she said "it's so on."