Author's Note: Hi, remember me? I am painfully aware just how much editing this story needs. It's chapter 18 and we finally got to move-ins? This story needs to move a little faster.
I posted a poll in the author's profile. Check it out.
And to all those who reviewed, thank you so much! Keep it coming!
And a huge thanks to Courtney for the title and all the editing.
The week after prom was the biggest blur of school work, AP exams, practicing, and packing. Brian, Em, and I had decided to spend our last night together (possibly with Sammy) sprawled out on the floor of Brian's garage eating pizza and playing Monopoly of all things. I was so excited, but I was also dreading it. We had compared tour schedules as soon as we got them and it looked like we wouldn't get to see a whole lot of each other. We were supposed to be at only four or five of the same shows. After tonight, I wasn't going to be seeing them very often. I was going to miss them so, so much.
I was starting to get a little choked up as I waited outside the William's. It occurred to me that I had picked the wrong night to randomly wear mascara.
"Hey," Brian said as he answered the door, phone in hand, "What do you want on your pizza?"
"Do you have to ask?" I said, trying to wipe the tears from my eyes as stepped in side.
Brian rolled his eyes.
"And sausage," he said into the phone. Brian hated sausage pizza.
Nothing had been quite the same between Brian and me since prom. Something had changed, although I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. He looked at me differently. Something always change whenever I walked by him. It wasn't a major change, just something in his eyes changed. I didn't get it; I didn't like him and he didn't like me, so why did I go crazy every time I looked into those emerald eyes?
I followed Brian through the halls and into the garage where Em was setting up the board.
"No Sammy?" I asked as I searched the garage.
"Couldn't make it. He had to finish some homework. I'm going to duck out early so I can go see him before tomorrow."
"Yea, I'm going to have to leave early too. My flight's at eight."
"Wow, you got screwed over."
"Tell me about it."
"Have you finished packing?" Brian asked.
"Almost there. I've got a couple more things to find when I get home. What about you?"
"Haven't even started."
"Are you kidding me?" I said, "It took me the entire weekend to pack. Leave it to you to wait until the last minute."
"It won't take that long," Brian scoffed, "Men pack faster than women. Women fold everything and trying to make it look all nice. Men throw everything in a bag and hope it fits."
"Speak for yourself. You've never seen my dad's suitcase."
"Hey," Em yelled, "are you two going to sit and argue all night or are we going to play?"
There was a mysterious sparkle in Brian's emerald eyes.
"We're playing."
We spent the rest of the night playing an endless game that no one really won. Em had to leave before we could end it, and Brian and I decided we didn't want to finish it all by ourselves. So we just sat, watching TV and talking, trying to put off saying good-bye a little longer. Eventually, though, time ran out and I had to go home.
Brian walked me out to my car.
"I guess this is good-bye," he said quietly.
"Not for that long. We'll see each other at graduation. It's only three weeks."
"Yea," he said with a faraway look in his eyes, "but what about after that?"
"We'll worry about 'after that' when 'after that' gets here," I said for more calmly than I felt.
"It's just…"
"Just what?" I asked.
"Nothing. I'll miss you."
Brian came over and rapped me in a tight hug before I got into my car and left.
God, I thought as I drove away, I'm going to miss him.
I woke up long before the alarm rang on the first day of move-ins. I couldn't believe that it was actually the first day of move-ins. I was so excited to finally really start life as a Dragon. Marching corps had been my dream for the past four years and today I was going to start living it.
Even though it was long before breakfast, I got up and started getting dressed. I pulled out a pair of black shorts and my green trumpet shirt from junior year. I put my brown hair up into a sloppy ponytail and then put that under my DCI baseball hat my parents bought me as a going away present. I figured since I was in Boston, it was probably unsafe to wear my beloved Colts hat. I might be killed, or at the very least charged with public indecency.
Real funny, Kiwi.
Hey, it was worth a shot.
I laid back on down on my bed, unsure whether it was too early to head over to the dinning hall. At the "behave or get sent home speech" last night, our fearless leader Beth had explained that breakfast would start at seven.
I looked at my watch.
Six o'clock. I was going to have to kill some time.
Yesterday had been the official "move-in" day. We had all settled into the dorms of Boston College, which were going to become our homes for the next three weeks. The campus, I had learned, was confusing, but the dorms were nice. My roommate was Nicole, the recently named quad section leader (although, technically, they all played quints). I had learned from band camp in high school to never room with another member of your section (you saw your section enough as is). We in rooms of two, and every two rooms were connected by a bathroom and shower. I was super excited about this. When we went to band camp at home, we went to Miami University (in Ohio, not Florida) which had communal showers. (One hundred girls, twelve showers. You tell me). One shower between four people was going to be a huge improvement.
I turned over to Nicole, who was still asleep. I was too excited to go back to bed, so I pulled out my iPod was stared at the ceiling a little longer.
As I let my mind wander, I thought back to what had happened yesterday…
My entire family (even Mark) had awoke early the next morning to wish me good-bye. I kept telling myself not get emotional; I will see them again in three weeks. I tried to ignore the fact that after that, I wouldn't see them for three months.
My dad packed the car and drove me to the airport. It was better than my mom driving me, because that probably would have ended in a huge argument. My mother was 'letting' me march corps, but had made it perfectly clear these past few weeks that she didn't want me to.
My dad and I didn't say much on the ride down. I couldn't stop fidgeting for the life of me. I kept messing with my hair, pulling on my shirt, playing with the radio. I guess it was nervous energy. Excited nervous energy.
It was my fifth time through the radio station before my dad finally speaks.
"Stop," he said, "I want to hear this song."
She's gotta do what she's gotta do
And I've gotta like it or not
She's got dreams too big for this town
And she needs to give 'em a shot
Whatever they are
It was Billy Ray Cyrus's "Ready, Set, Don't Go". It was his solo version, not the one with his daughter. I was very confused. My dad doesn't exactly like country music.
She's at the startin' line of the rest of her life
As ready as she's ever been
Got the hunger and the stars in her eyes
The prize is hers to win
She's waitin' on my blessings before she hits that
open road
Baby get ready
Get set
Don't go
All of the sudden, my eyes started brimming with tears. I finally realize why he wanted to hear the song. I had been so busy fighting with my mom that I hadn't even thought about how my dad must feet about me running of to corps.
This song was telling me exactly that.
"I'll miss you, Dad."
"I'll miss you too," he says while the tears roll down his face.
Finally, the alarm rang.
I made my way to the dinning hall and through the breakfast line. Today breakfast was scrambled eggs and bacon. Or at least, that's what the sign claimed. The plate of food they handed me neither looked nor smelled (and, as I would find out later, nor tasted) like either bacon or scrambled eggs. After last night's dinner (some spaghetti look alike) and this, I had very low expectations for the food here at BC.
I found a seat between my section mate, Christine, and my section leader, Jules. Section leaders and sergeants had been named at the April rehearsal camp, and to no one surprise, Julie was named not only trumpet section leader, but one of the horn sergeants as well. The other horn sergeant, Mildred (unfortunate name), was the tuba section leader. Her nickname "Big Red" did not come from the fact that she liked the gum or because her name sucked (well, maybe a little of that), but because she was huge. She had to be at least a full inch taller than Brian. She stood heads above everyone in the brass and was the most intimidating person that ever walked the face of this earth. I guess you had to be when you marched two years with nine guys in the Crossmen.
Red and Jules weren't the only two that had marched a different corps before The Dragons. While no one was completely sure, Beth estimated that a little less that fifty percent of the girls had marched in another corps before joining The Dragons. That was crazy. I would have never guessed that so many would be willing to leave their own successful corps to come into some brand new corps that no one knew the fate of. We were talented sure, but the likelihood of a first year Div. I corps making finals: zero to none. Still, I was grateful for each of these members. I was glad that someone knew how this whole thing worked, because I sure didn't.
Jules, Christine, and I made small talk during breakfast. We were all excited for the first day of move-ins and for the start of tour. None of us knew exactly what was about to happen (although Jules probably had the best idea), but we were eager to find out.
I looked at my watch.
Quarter to eight. Time to go run.
I pitched the last of my breakfast and headed out the door.
A few minutes later, the rest of the corps and Janice, our beloved visual tech and assistant director, were standing outside with me, also looking tired (it was early) but excited.
"Good morning ladies!" Janice said, "This is pretty simple. I run, you fallow. Keep up the best you can. I don't care if you listen to music or talk, just pay attention."
This has going to look ridiculous, I thought, one hundred fifty-five girls running around the BC campus at eight in the morning. I can't imagine the stares we're going to get.
Janice took off and we followed. I was silently thanking Mark ten minutes in after we hit the first series of small hills. He knew what he was doing. The week before I left, my time was 24:14. I had made it under twenty-five minutes and it was paying off. People were starting to drop out after twenty minutes, but I was still feeling pretty good.
Now I couldn't say that I still felt that good an hour later when we returned back to the dorm. However, my breakfast had remained digested and I didn't think I was about to pass out. Compared to some others, I was doing pretty well.
"Very nice ladies," Janice said, "Now grab your stuff, drink a ton of water, and head over to the field for Dragons' Drill 101."
I leaned over, trying to catch by breath.
I said I was doing well. I don't know if I was doing "ready to learn drill" well.
I stood up. It looked like I didn't have a choice.
I grabbed my stuff, filled my water bottle, and head over to the giant grass field.
"Everyone is responsible for having their own drill charts. That why we asked you to bring binders." Beth said. Janice had disappeared and our wonderful director was now giving us the standard drill speech I had gotten for the past four years.
I looked up from the piece of grass I was playing with. I felt like this lecture couldn't have been going any slower. Everyone here already knew how to read drill. Couldn't we get on to learning it?
"Okay everyone, your section leaders have your drill charts. So, get to it!"
Get to what, I thought. While I was off in my own little world, apparently Beth had said something important. I was going to have to figure it out on the fly.
I walked up to Jules.
"Here you are," she said handing me the charts, "You are no longer Kiwi, you are now T15."
I laughed. I knew from my experience at CHS that when learning drill, no one had a name. We all had to go by drill numbers, since that was the only thing that the staff would have to go on for the first few days.
I fallowed the rest of my section out on to the field and into my opening dot. I sat down and started filling out my dot book. The Dragons had the same drill writer as my high school (Mike Gains!). As I flipped through the drill charts I realized the drill was a lot like high school.
Except there were a lot more sets. And it was harder. Much, much, much harder.
I feverishly wrote in dots and waited for Beth to start rehearsal. There were forty sets in the opener alone. And the drill was insane. Looking at it made my head spin. It was hard to fallow my little dot from page to page.
"Everybody up," Beth said from the top of the tower, "and find your next dot."
I walked over to my dot nearly two yard lines away.
The first few sets the brass and percussion were in circles and the guard was spread out (we were the fire and the guard was standing outside it. Hence the theme: Standing Outside the Fire). I looked back to my first dot. It was going to be a hard run to get from there to here in sixteen counts. Not to mention trying to play at the same time at 180 beats per minute.
"Okay and everyone reset."
I silently went back to my original dot.
"All right," Beth boomed from the tower, "Everyone this is an eight count set."
Eight counts? Did I hear here correctly?
"5,6,5,6,7,8!"
I frantically started running towards my set. I didn't even come close to making it.
"Reset!"
What? I didn't even have time to try and figure out how far off I was. But nevertheless, I jogged back to my set.
The metronome blared and I tried again to make it to my set. And yet again, I failed.
After resetting and missing my dot three more times, one of the techs down on the field finally realized something was wrong.
"Are you having trouble?" a tech that I had never seen before asked.
No, I just decided not to hit my dot.
I handed her my drill charts.
"I don't think we've met yet. I'm Britney, and I'm a brass tech," she said, paging through the drill charts.
"Kiwi," I said quietly.
"And what's your number?"
"T15."
She looked at the drill, looked at the field, looked at me, and looked back at the field.
"Well, Kiwi, I think Mike Gains hates you."
Fantastic.