Chapter Three
The house smells delicious when I walk in through the garage door after band camp on Wednesday afternoon.
I make a beeline to the kitchen, where a Crock-Pot filled with pulled pork sits.
I open the lid and stir it, my stomach already churning for dinner.
Like usual, I’m the first one home. Mom and Dad are both still at work and then they have to pick up my ten-year-old sister, Kelsey, from her latest summer camp.
I jump into the shower since we spent the majority of the day in the beating sun, learning our field placements while sweat bees swarmed my legs.
Today wasn’t a whole lot better than the first two days.
The guard is picking up the first song more, but only because I ride them constantly to pay attention and stay on task.
I know the minute the rest of my family gets home because of the stomping and slamming doors. Kelsey might be in dance camps, but she hasn’t learned how to walk quietly yet.
“Hazel?” Mom’s voice calls up, just loud enough to be heard over the Veruca Salt song I have blasting in the bathroom.
“Just getting out of the shower. I’ll be down soon.”
“Okay, but hurry, I want to hear how today went!”
I dry my hair and take a deep breath. I’m not sure I’m ready for my mom’s enthusiasm. She’s been dreaming of my senior year the way some people dream of their kids going to Harvard or becoming astronauts.
When I get downstairs, Kelsey is sitting at the island with Mom, working on a gem suncatcher craft. Kelsey loves anything sparkly or girly.
“There’s our color guard captain!” Mom calls, as if I was named captain this morning instead of the beginning of summer.
She’s changed into one of her 5K shirts and her dark curly hair looks pristine as always.
I inherited the curls from her, as did Kelsey, though Mom is smart to keep her hair shoulder length since it’s easier to take care of.
She claps her hands together, looking me up and down.
“How was it today? Did you all make good progress? Are you leading your group to victory?”
I have to tap down the immediate irritation that rises at her excitement. She had such a perfect band experience in high school that she can’t imagine it going any differently for me.
“Mom, we’re not going to war, we’re just swinging flags around.”
Kelsey laughs and I grab silverware to set the table just so I have something to distract myself.
“ ‘Swinging flags around’?” Mom repeats. “Hazel, I hope you don’t say things like that in front of your group. It’s up to you to motivate them and help them understand how important they are to the band. You never want to diminish their value or make them feel less than the other band members.”
I should have taken a second shower so I could avoid hearing more of her advice and preaching.
The thing is, Mom isn’t just a band alum.
She was first chair trumpet, section leader, and chosen as Most Valuable Member both her sophomore and senior years.
Each winner is chosen based on a weighted combination of votes from the band directors and all the band members, and it’s a really big deal at Glen Vale to win it—kind of like the Oscars of our marching band.
Mom was beside herself when I won freshman year since I was “carrying on the tradition.”
Her plaques are still some of her most prized possessions.
She has them hanging on the living room wall next to a photo of Dad dotting the i when he was a tuba player with The Best Damn Band in the Land at The Ohio State University.
Dad may have “won” in college, but high school band was all Mom.
They always dreamed that I’d follow in their footsteps and be first chair in my chosen (brass) instrument, but when I picked color guard instead, Mom quickly recalibrated.
“Of course I’m not making my guard feel bad,” I argue. “We’re going to be the best color guard our high school has seen in a decade.”
She points to me. “Yes! That’s exactly the energy I love to hear. You all are going to kill it. Is everything starting to fall into place with your choreography?”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble.
“It’s going to be amazing. You’ve got this year’s MVM in the bag.”
Luckily, I don’t have to respond because Kelsey interrupts. “This is jazz week in dance camp and we’re learning a performance to a Whitney Houston song. You should come and teach us how to do flags too, Hazel.”
“Would you listen to my instructions if I did?”
“If you were nice. And brought me a milkshake.”
I shake my head. “No such luck, then.”
Mom asks Kelsey about her camp, and I have a few minutes to myself until Dad comes home, and I get the same questions all over again.
Dad opens the Crock-Pot and grabs a bite of pulled pork before Mom can yell at him. He’s a sucker for her cooking, which is a good thing because she likes making big meals. He’s still in his polo shirt and jeans from work, where he manages an IT help desk for a local community college.
“So, did Max end up joining the band?” he asks. “You haven’t said a thing about it.”
“Yeah, he joined.”
Mom and Dad glance at each other. They know how well we used to get along, and I bet they had secret conversations planning (or dreaming) about how happy I was going to be now that Max was back in town.
“Well…that’s good to hear,” Dad says a second later. “Do you think he’s transitioning pretty well?”
Images of Max running laps and laughing with his percussion buddies and giving me the cold shoulder rise up in my mind. I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Are all teenagers this sulky?” Kelsey asks without looking up from her craft.
“Only teenagers who have little sisters that ask dumb questions. So you’ll be fine.”
“What’s going on? I thought you and Max would be fast friends again,” Mom says.
“Yeah, well, people change.”
“Give him time,” Dad replies. “He’s going through a lot of change, but I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.”
I don’t care if Max had to move senior year, it’s no excuse for being so rude for no reason.
Mom stands and pulls plates from the cabinet. “Actually, I’m going to reach out to Melanie again about coming to D&D this Sunday.”
“Great idea,” Dad says. “Max could come and that’d give you two some time to catch up.”
My parents have been hosting their D&D game for as long as I can remember.
Every Sunday night, their friends come over with snacks and they all head down to the basement.
I always wanted to be down there with them when I was a kid, but Dad said it was a no-kid zone because they didn’t want to accidentally teach us a whole new vocabulary of curse words.
Once Max started coming over with his parents, I wasn’t so disappointed.
Kelsey always went to our aunt’s house on Sundays, so Max and I got to eat all the snacks and watch all the TV we wanted.
“Max wants nothing to do with me.”
“You like him, don’t you?” Kelsey asks with a grin. “Your cheeks are pink.”
“I do not like Max!” I say louder, and Kelsey bursts out into laughter. “I’m going to practice the routines in the backyard.” I stalk over to the back door.
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. And don’t worry, I’ll talk to Melanie, and we’ll work this whole thing out,” Mom says.
I swivel back to her, eyes wide. “No, don’t say anything to his mom about this.”
“Why not? She’s so understanding, I’m sure she can help.”
“But I don’t want help. I don’t want you calling his mom and telling her Max was being mean to me like we’re still in third grade or something. I can handle myself and I can handle Max.”
Dad gives me a reproachful look. He hates when I say anything to Mom that isn’t the most respectful because, in his words, Your mom is a superhero.
Nothing works around here without her. But sometimes Mom is too eager to swoop in and use her superhero abilities to save everything.
The meddling might have worked when I was still Kelsey’s age, but I don’t need it anymore.
She puts up her hands in defense. “I’m just saying, communication is never a bad thing. If you don’t want me to help, then fine, but that means you need to be the one to reach out.”
I can’t think of a thing to say that won’t get me in trouble, so I march out to the backyard. It’s easy to tell me to reach out, but they didn’t see Max’s expression when I tried to make simple conversation with him. It was like I was an owlbear trying to eat his face off.
In a different world, I’d love to be friends with him again.
I haven’t forgotten all the evenings we spent around the dining room table, playing Uno and Monopoly and eating way too many nachos, while our parents were downstairs.
No one ever made me laugh the way I laughed with Max.
But no one ever irritated me as much either.
Unfortunately for me, he seems to have retained only one of those talents.