Chapter Seven
The following day is Water Balloon Day. Each section wears a different color of shirt, the “band booster” parents provide the water balloons, and we get to end practice early so we can throw as many balloons at each other as possible.
Percussion is certain to come after us mercilessly today, but I’ve got it covered.
I spent extra money this year buying supplemental water balloons to make sure we can return the favor.
Unfortunately, all this excitement for the end of the day means the guard isn’t focusing well. We’ve been practicing our routine for the fight song—a song we’ll be performing endlessly this year—and it’s looking rough.
“Keira, you need to have your flag straight up on count four so that you’re able to sweep behind your back on six.”
I pick up our “Glen Vale Knights” flag from the practice field sidelines to demonstrate.
We use a lot of different flags in our competition show, but our standard one for football games is a simple flag with two crossed swords to represent that we’re the Marching Knights.
I demonstrate the combination for her once again.
“But I was doing it on four.”
“No, you need to count in your head.” I try my best to keep my voice light and airy. “You aren’t getting there until five, which means you’re behind for the whole rest of the combination.”
“Um, okay.” She looks confused, like she either doesn’t know what I’m talking about or doesn’t believe me.
“I can’t believe band camp is almost done,” Madisyn complains. “I bet this whole year is going to go like that. Before we know it, we’re going to be graduating.”
Addison and Devin nod sadly, and my own heart squeezes at the idea. There’s so much I want to accomplish this year. But concentrating on that is a foolproof way to get distracted and not perform at my best.
“Okay, let’s take the fight song from the top,” Sire calls into his megaphone. “Flutes, I need to hear you more during the refrain. And color guard, it’s still looking pretty messy. Let’s try to clean that up before the first football game, yeah?”
I bob my head. Ugh, I hate getting called out in front of the whole band.
Sire releases us for a break before the water balloon fight, and I beckon the guard out to the parking lot with me.
“I drove here today so I could bring these.” I open the trunk to show them a big plastic tote overflowing with water balloons.
“Whoa!” Li exclaims.
“Going a little overboard this year?” Devin asks with a laugh. “How many water balloons do you have?”
“Probably a hundred and fifty,” I reply sheepishly. “But they’re the kind that are easy to fill, so it really wasn’t that bad.”
That’s…not entirely true. I spent at least an hour after they left last night filling all of these—and then having to fight Kelsey to get them back when she discovered what I was doing and wanted to have a water balloon fight with her neighbor friends in the backyard.
But it’s going to be so worth it when the percussion runs out of balloons and we get to pelt them nonstop.
“I need help carrying the tote over to the field, though,” I explain. “I can’t lift this, so my dad had to get it into the car for me. I think he almost threw out his back this morning.”
It ends up taking four of us to get the tote to the field, and I’m sweaty enough that I’m actually looking forward to being hit by a few balloons.
Sire comes back out to the field, but this time he’s switched out his horn-rimmed glasses for a pair of swimming goggles. It’s a smart choice. While we all love going after each other, Sire gets hit by more water balloons than anyone else in the band.
“All right, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!
Remember, you can only hit people if they’re standing on the practice field, don’t aim for their face or their crotch, and no stealing water balloons from the other sections’ arsenals.
This is just for fun, so there’s no official winner, but we know there’s always a loser.
” He points to himself with a smile and the whole band laughs.
“You’re going down, old man,” Socks yells. That’s not his real name, but all the tuba players call him that and it stuck. I’m not even sure what his real name is now.
Sire picks up a water balloon from behind him and aims it toward Socks. “Don’t worry about me. I didn’t come unarmed.” He glances around the band. “Three, two, one…let the water balloon fight commence!”
We all scream and sprint to our various parts of the field where each section is keeping their supply of water balloons. We were given seventy-five balloons per section, but everyone always brings extra. I grab two balloons, run into the center of the field, and mass chaos ensues.
Within seconds I’m hit twice. I shriek as the ice-cold water bursts on my skin.
There are so many people running that there’s no time to look at who I’m throwing at.
I chuck one of the balloons haphazardly at a trombone player, then see an orange shirt in my peripheral view.
Percussion is wearing orange today. I manage to hit a bass drum player in the ankle, dousing his shoes.
I laugh in triumph and run back for more supplies, getting hit twice more on the way.
I can’t help screeching and laughing every time.
Sire is taking the brunt of the balloons, but the whole band is dousing each other with abandon. I see Nova and get her in the stomach.
“Ahh!” she cries. She gets me on the shoulder and it’s my turn to squeal.
The balloons keep flying, and I’m absolutely drenched, but I’m surprised that the percussion doesn’t seem to be targeting me, or anyone in color guard.
It’s odd. Last year I was trailed by two or three percussion players the entire game, to the point that I could barely take a step without being hit.
Eventually, the sections who didn’t bring many extra balloons slow down. Luckily, color guard still has a ton left.
“This is our time,” I yell to the guard members I can see around me. “Let’s take them down!”
They whoop in response, and we gather as many balloons as we can hold. I even lift the bottom of my shirt to make a little pouch where I can keep extras.
Max is easy to pick out on the field now that it’s a little calmer.
It could be the bright orange shirt he’s wearing or how he’s slightly taller than everyone else on the field.
Or maybe it’s the way his clothes are absolutely glued to him and distracting other girls as they sprint past. It’s like he wore the tightest shirt possible so he could sabotage the rest of us into slowing down and staring.
And it’s working too, because someone hits me right between the shoulder blades when my steps falter.
I grit my teeth and pull my eyes from his chest. After that stupid Popsicle stunt he pulled, there’s no time for anything but revenge.
I won’t be happy until he’s balled up on the ground, begging us to stop dousing him with balloons.
I grab mine and start throwing. I might as well be Buddy the Elf when he’s throwing snowballs in Central Park.
Max spins in my direction. His eyes sparkle with amusement, but then his expression turns serious. “You’ve got a good arm, Hazel, but you shouldn’t have messed with me.”
“You messed with me first.”
He yells over his shoulder. “It’s time!”
Time? Time for what?
I look to the thirty-yard sideline where percussion is keeping their water balloons and see they have a second tote. They came prepared like us, but I’m not intimidated.
“Bring it on!” I throw another balloon at him, but he dodges away. I hit Felix in the hip and Niko, a cymbal player, in the back.
The percussion players come running from different parts of the field. They all grab balloons from the same tote and make a beeline for us. I restock, ready to hit as many as possible. Brody lands the first balloon, right in my stomach.
He cackles with laughter and doesn’t stop even when I hit him in the chest.
“What the—” Callie yells out.
Devin throws up his hands. “Absolutely not. I’m out.”
A second later, Rosa yells as well. A percussion player hits me on my side and a foul smell rises up all around me. I take a second to sniff my shirt, but slowing down was a bad idea. Three more water balloons hit me in quick succession, then I get another to the back of my head.
“What is that smell?” Yori cries.
What is that smell? I sniff again. It takes me a second to recognize it.
“Vinegar?!” I yell and spin to face Max. “You filled your balloons with vinegar?”
The whole percussion section bursts into laughter, but it doesn’t stop them from throwing even more balloons at us.
Devin’s already jogging off the field, and the others scatter at the realization that they aren’t being hit by regular water balloons anymore.
Percussion members take off after them, and now the chaos is at a different level.
The girls’ screams are turning hysterical and any joy I felt is replaced with fury.
I can’t believe they’re ruining one of the most fun parts of band camp.
I spot Max racing after Addison while Brody takes off in the opposite direction. I bean Brody in the lower back and manage to hit Max in the back of the head. I laugh in triumph.
Max twists around as a balloon from Niko bursts at my collarbones, sending vinegar splashing down my shirt and up onto my face.
I scream and swipe at my mouth. Max stills, his eyes trailing down my body, and I’m reminded that I’m completely drenched.
My purple T-shirt is clinging to me, and heat rises in my cheeks as I imagine how I must look.
Max puts out a cautious hand in my direction. “If you stop targeting me, then I’ll stop going after you.”