Chapter One #2
Just then the door opens, taking care of that.
My stomach flies into my throat, expecting Max to be standing in the doorway like I conjured him with my thoughts.
Instead, it’s Mr. Hicks, a.k.a. Sire. He’s a middle-aged white man with thinning hair, horn-rimmed glasses like he’s living in the 1950s, and the put-upon look of a high school teacher who’s seen more than his share.
But there’s still a friendly gleam in his eyes that I don’t see in many of my other teachers’.
Sire loves marching band, and that makes it easy for all of us to love it—and him—too.
But that doesn’t mean he’s laid-back about band.
He narrows his eyes at us. “Is there a reason why two of my section leaders are hiding out in the instrument closet instead of helping orient our incoming freshmen? I hope you already know that I expect you both to be leaders this year.”
We bob our heads. The last thing I want is to lose his respect just as band season is starting.
His expression softens. “Are you excited for the new show?”
“Extremely,” I reply. Our flag choreography this year is no joke, but I can already imagine how amazing we could look…
assuming I can get the rest of the group as invested as I am.
I have such high hopes as color guard captain, but the majority of our members this year are brand-new to guard, and I’m nervous about pulling us all together.
“I’m excited too,” he says with a wink. “Now, I need everyone in the band room. We have a lot of work to do.”
Soon the rest of the band members arrive, and we all gather together. There’s palpable energy for our first day and lots of jittery conversations.
“Good morning, everyone,” Sire calls out and we quickly come to attention.
Even the troublemakers shut their mouths.
Next to him stand his assistant band director, Mrs. Lewis; the percussion instructor, Mr. Jenkins; and Faith, our latest color guard director.
“It feels like we were just wrapping up the last school year, and already we’re gathered to prep for the new marching band season.
Now, I know we lost a lot of really talented seniors last year.
So many that we might call this a ‘rebuilding year,’ but we have an amazing group of upperclassmen, and a whole crop of new freshmen, and I don’t plan to take it easy.
“To that end, we have chosen a compilation of classical works by Mussorgsky this year, including selections from Pictures at an Exhibition and one of his more famous pieces: Night on Bald Mountain,” he continues.
“It’s going to be a challenging competition show.
Significantly more challenging than what many of our fellow high school competitors will be performing, but I know you all are up for it.
We’ve proven ourselves to be one of the best marching bands in Ohio and I expect you to continue that legacy.
” He glances around the room, and I can almost feel his pride surging over us.
“During our two weeks of band camp, we’re going to learn as much of the show as we can.
We’ll start this morning inside to begin rehearsing the opening number, and then this afternoon we’ll be outside to run through drills and start field placement.
Color guard, you’ll be practicing in the gymnasium during the morning. ”
Others start to shift around, thinking that Sire is finished with his speech, but he clears his throat to call us back to attention.
“One last thing. Before we start rehearsal, I want to introduce a new member to our band who has just transferred to Glen Vale. I’ve had a chance to hear him play and I believe he’s going to be a big asset to our group.
” Sire smiles and gestures to Max, who is sitting in the back of the room with the rest of the percussion section.
“This is Max Coleman. He’s playing quads, and I hope you’ll make him feel welcome. ”
More than a hundred people turn to stare at Max, and my heart aches with empathy. I wait for him to give a small wave or maybe just bob his head and avert his eyes. Being awkward introverts together was one of the things that bonded us.
To my surprise, he stands up and smiles broadly at the group.
“Hey, everyone.” His voice is loud, deep, and confident. I barely recognize it from the scrawny eighth grader I last knew. “Thanks for the welcome. I used to play with Oak Grove High, but I’m stoked to be here.”
There are a few groans at the name. Oak Grove is about two hours away and is our biggest competitor. We always vie with them at competitions, and it’s one of my great ambitions in life to finally win Best Overall Auxiliary against them this season.
He laughs good-naturedly at everyone’s reaction. “Fair enough. I have to admit that I kind of hated you guys in the past too. But, now that I’m here, I’m happy to share their trade secrets so we can take them down.”
The band explodes with hoots and cheers. A few of the percussion members clap him on the back, and even Sire seems amused by his declaration.
“Wow, he’s cute,” Madisyn, one of my guard members, whispers behind me.
“Super cute,” her bestie, Addison, replies. “Thank god we have some new blood here.”
“Band just got more interesting.”
Adrenaline rolls through me. Nova catches my eye from her seat in the clarinet section and raises an eyebrow as if to say whoa.
I agree. When did Max become the kind of person who could make impromptu speeches in front of strangers?
And now he’s got my color guard members thirsting for him within thirty seconds?
I’ve been working since sixth grade to win over the band and still haven’t succeeded.
I don’t have more time to think about it, though, because Sire sends the color guard on our way.
Faith takes us through a series of warm-ups and then she and I review the beginning phrases of our first song.
It feels like some of the girls are struggling to pick up even basic moves, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised since we didn’t have a lot of people try out and had to accept everyone who did.
It’s no secret that our color guard has struggled in previous years, which explains the difficulty in recruiting new members.
One of our biggest issues is that we’ve yet to find a reliable guard director to oversee our program.
Sire had to scramble to find someone again this year, and the only available person was Faith—an alum who’s four years older than me, just out of college, and starting her first “adult” job in addition to working with us.
I want to help the guard in whatever way I can, but I’m not sure how to handle things yet. Some of our members aren’t paying much attention, but it’s their first day. I bite my lip and swallow down my worries. It’s probably just nerves that will settle out soon.
It isn’t until we’re all walking out to the field later that I see Max again.
He’s laughing with a group of other percussion players.
I fiddle with my hair. I know I should be happy that he’s making friends quickly, but they’re absolutely going to taint his view of the color guard—and me—if I don’t talk to him soon.
I wave him down, feeling nauseous. Here we go.
“Hey, Max.” My voice is strangled, and I’m not sure he even hears me.
The guys around him stop talking, as if they’re intrigued to see how this will go down.
Probably hoping he’ll be as rude as they are.
He’s much taller than I remember him, although I guess that makes sense since he’s had three years to grow.
His jawline is also more defined, like he’s lost the last of his chubby-cheeked kid years.
But his hair is still the same wavy jet black, always long enough that it’ll fall in his eyes when he reads or studies a board game.
His gray eyes lock onto mine, and my heart hammers in my chest like I’m thirteen all over again.
I’m not sure I realized just how much I missed him until this moment.
“Hey,” he replies.
“It’s been a while, huh?” I continue hesitantly. “Good to see you again.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s crazy that we’re at the same high school now.”
His face doesn’t light up in the way I was hoping it might. “It is crazy. At least your band’s good.”
“Better than Oak Grove. I would say ‘no offense,’ but I wouldn’t really mean it.”
There’s a flash of amusement in his expression and I take a calming breath. Okay, this is awkward, but it’s workable.
“Sorry you have to be part of our percussion section, though,” I say with a lowered voice. “Are you sure you don’t secretly have a talent for saxophone or flute so you can switch?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well…” I pause, searching for the right words and landing on: “They suck.”
His face goes blank. “If I remember correctly, Glen Vale actually beat us for best percussion at one of the competitions last year. We were all seething about it for days.”
I roll my eyes. He doesn’t need to remind me. The percussion players were absolutely insufferable after that win. They made T-shirts and big Winner pins and even a special handshake that they loved to do in front of the color guard to remind us how we’ve never won best in show.
“I don’t mean as players…I mean as people.”
His expression darkens. “They’ve been cool to me.”
Oh god. I realize a beat too late that I’ve completely stepped in it.
And while I’m right about the percussion section—especially Brody, their section leader and captain of the jerks—I shouldn’t have been so quick to say that.
It’s only Max’s first day, and he’ll figure it out soon enough.
He doesn’t need me to rub his face in it.
My brain whirs as I try to recalibrate, but before I can start over, Max speaks again. “You know, Hazel, maybe it’s a you problem. Sorry if we can’t all reach the level of perfection you’re used to.”
I blink at the heat in his voice, wondering if I misheard him. “Wh-what?”
“Not everything revolves around making sure your life continues just the way you want it.”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” His words hit me harder than I could have anticipated. “It’s just, you’re new here and I wanted to warn you as a friend. Brody can be awful.” I swallow. “And he hates me.”
I hope that detail will matter to him. Instead, Max regards me with an indifferent expression.
“I’m not going to turn my back on my section, Hazel. Like you said, I’m the new kid, again, which means I have to adapt. This is me adapting. Now do me a favor and stay out of it.”
He walks away and I stand there, dumbfounded.
What. Was. That??
I feel like an idiot. What happened to the funny, nerdy boy I used to know? I thought he might be happy to see me, that he’d even miss me like I’ve missed him all these years. But clearly my assumptions about Max were actually delusions. He’s not the person I remember at all.