Chapter Eighteen
“Why does it matter?” Callie complains to me during rehearsal on Monday.
“Um, why does it matter that our flags need to be parallel on count five instead of six?” I stare at her incredulously. “Because if we aren’t using the same counts, then we won’t be in sync.”
She lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. Madisyn drops her flag to the ground. “I think what she means is why does any of this matter? What’s the point in working so hard when it doesn’t get us anywhere?”
“I agree,” Devin says and sits down on the gymnasium floor.
“But we will get better, I know we will, as long as we keep working.” I try to imbue my voice with conviction, but it doesn’t seem to be working.
Today is our first rehearsal since that absolutely disastrous competition over the weekend, and it’s clear that the guard is still dealing with some trauma from it.
There’s no way to sugarcoat how badly it went, but I was hoping we could breeze over those details and use that bad performance to spur us on.
It looks like everyone else is taking the wallowing approach instead.
“Hazel, give it up,” Addison says and sits down next to Devin. “It’s not happening. We should make our peace with the fact that we’re going to be cleaning up urine and who knows what in the men’s restrooms here before too long.”
“Yeah, thanks for that awesome gift, by the way,” Rosa says. “You just couldn’t rein yourself in around Brody and Max, huh?”
I clamp my mouth shut and glance at the others. Everyone looks downtrodden, even Li who usually rivals me for optimism and work ethic. A pit grows in my stomach. This isn’t how things should be.
“Well…” I suddenly wish Faith was here right now so she could use her authority to make them stand back up or at least give them free doughnuts as a distraction. I’ve got nothing. “How about we take a five-minute break to relax and then get back to it?”
I get a few shrugs and grunts in return.
I’m slow to put away all the flags today.
I know I should make each guard member take care of their own flags, but they’re so depressed that it feels like the least I can do.
By the time I get back into the band room afterward, it’s completely empty.
Or that’s how it appears at first. However, a glance at Sire’s office, which has a glass window looking into the band room, shows that Max is standing in there with Sire, Mrs. Lewis, and Mr. Jenkins, the percussion specialist. The door is closed, so I can’t hear anything, but it looks like a serious conversation given the solemn expressions on their faces.
I look away before they notice me gawking.
Why is Max in the office alone with them?
Is he in trouble? I hadn’t noticed any issues during rehearsals today, but I was very focused on color guard.
I hesitate, debating what to do. There’s an obvious answer, which is to go home.
Whatever is happening, it’s none of my business.
But, on the other hand, my parents know I often stay late at school, and after last night it seems like Max and I are moving toward becoming friends again.
If something bad is happening, then maybe I should stay in case he needs to talk.
After a few seconds of debate, I decide on a compromise.
I won’t loiter outside the office like a stalker, I’ll only sit at a concrete picnic table outside.
If he wants to talk then I’ll be there. And if not, no big deal.
This gives me time to put together my Fiona Apple playlist like I’ve been meaning to, plus it’s a good way to take my mind off color guard.
Fifteen minutes later, Max walks through the door and tips his head toward the sky—clearly thinking he’s alone—to take a deep breath.
He’s wearing a gray Led Zeppelin T-shirt that’s slightly too tight.
He certainly loves his band shirts, although I have no room for judgment since I’m currently wearing a fitted Letters to Cleo shirt I stole from my mom.
Max bends backward to stretch and his shirt lifts to reveal a sliver of his stomach.
The sight is enough to make my pulse leap.
Between that and his gorgeous pitch-black hair, I couldn’t pull my gaze from him if a meteor was rushing toward the earth to kill us both.
He straightens and almost jumps out of his skin when he sees me. “Hazel! What are you still doing here?”
I hold up my phone, embarrassed. “Um, mostly just messing around on this. But I saw you inside and thought I’d wait for you.”
“Really?” He seems genuinely shocked. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. It seemed like something a friend might do. Unless I’m overstepping?”
“No, I’m glad you waited.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, do you have time to hang out? I’ve heard there’s a walking trail down there, but I haven’t had a chance to explore it.” Max points behind the school to the edge of a woods.
My eyes widen and I try to keep my face neutral.
Clearly no one has taken the time to explain that forest to him or the implications of what he’s asking.
Our high school backs into a narrow strip of woods, and a long time ago the school district thought it’d be nice to make the area usable for students and nearby residents.
They created a walking path through the forest, added some stones for steps, and even a few benches.
Of course, as soon as the students got ahold of the space, they carved their names into the trees, sprayed graffiti onto the benches, and started using it as a “secret” place to smoke weed right off school property.
The space also got another kind of reputation.
I can’t count the number of couples who’ve snuck down there for some private time, and I don’t want to know what those trees have seen.
Nowadays, there’d be only one assumption if anyone saw me walk into those woods with Max.
Although, no one is here to see. I peer over at the forest. Nova and I poked our heads in freshman year, but I’ve never been back, and I have to admit I’ve always been curious to see more of it.
“Um…okay. But don’t expect much of a tour. I’ve never been there either,” I say as we set out over the lawn and down toward the entrance.
“Really? I figured it would be popular.”
“It is…for certain people. But you usually have to be dating someone to want to go over there.”
He glances at me, and my whole body heats. I don’t want to talk about dating with Max. I know he didn’t ask me to do this so we can make out under the oak trees.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find when we step into the shade of the tree-covered path—maybe trash, or drug paraphernalia, or bras slung over tree branches?
But it’s just a very quiet, very pretty forest. The dirt path is wide enough for us to walk side by side, and the bubbling of the water from a nearby stream is soothing.
“So, can I ask why you were in Sire’s office?”
“Wait, are you worried about me? I didn’t know you cared about my well-being.” His smile is teasing.
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Good to know. I won’t waste your time, then. We can just take in all this natural beauty. Or I could tell you about this fascinating conversation from my philosophies of government class I’m taking. We’re starting—”
“Max!” I snap, feeling like a little kid again. I shove his arm, and he has to catch himself so he doesn’t fall into the foliage along the path. “Fine, yes, I care. A tiny amount.” I huff. “Are you happy now?”
He chuckles. “Significantly happier.”
“You really do make everything into a competition. Even conversations.”
“Life is more fun that way.” He pauses and turns to look at the stream where it’s turned into a tiny waterfall. “I was in Sire’s office because I’m challenging Brody for the position of section leader. Sire and the others wanted to talk to me about it before moving forward.”
I gasp. “You’re challenging him?”
In our marching band, section leaders are chosen by Sire and Mrs. Lewis before our season begins.
They’ve never said exactly how they make their choices, but it’s pretty obvious that it’s on the basis of musical skill, leadership potential, and seniority.
There was no question that Brody would be named section leader this year.
He’s been part of the music program here since fifth grade, just like me.
He was first chair in symphonic band last spring, and he’s been the de facto leader of percussion since then.
And once you’re named section leader…that’s it.
I can’t remember a section leader ever being ousted mid-season.
It would shake up the entire section and obliterate Max’s relationship with Brody.
“I’m challenging,” Max repeats, his voice low and calm.
“They already made it clear how unusual this is, but once I explained what’s been happening when they aren’t around, they agreed that a change might be needed.
They’re going to discuss it more, and talk to Brody, and then give us a final decision on Wednesday. ”
I run my hands through my hair, trying to smooth my curls and my thoughts even though I know it won’t help. “But…Max, are you serious? Do you know what this will mean?”
“This isn’t my first year in band, even if I’m new here. Brody is furious, and he’ll be even worse if they side with me. And if Brody gets to stay as section leader, he’ll never let me live it down. I’ll have to hear about it every day for the rest of the year.”
I gape at him. “Then why would you do it?”
“Because he’s a bad section leader and the group deserves better.
” His eyes narrow and his expression darkens.
“Brody thinks the way to get the best out of people is to ridicule and shame them. He’s constantly calling out the younger players when they get out of rhythm or miss their marks on the field, and he encourages the rest of us to laugh along with him while he makes fun of them. ”
“I could have told you that. In fact, I think I tried.”
He winces. “I know. And I was a stubborn idiot for not listening. But he was cool with me, and, I guess, I wanted to believe you were just biased against him.” Max shoves his hands into his pockets and starts down the path again.
It narrows and weaves slightly upward so that I have to shuffle very close to him to keep at his side.
“What’s the real deal with you and Brody?
He told me a few things, but I’m pretty sure they were lies. ”
“I’m sure they were.”
“Did you date him or something?” His voice is uneven.
“Wow, you really have no respect for me at all, do you?” I shiver with disgust. “I would never date Brody. He’s hated me ever since freshman year when I won the Most Valuable Member award, and he was sure he deserved it more.
I think if Nova or someone else had won, he’d have let it go.
He did during sophomore and junior years when he didn’t win.
But since a color guard member beat out all the band members, he was livid.
He loves pointing out how much we suck, as if that’ll prove that I never should have won that award to begin with. ”
“That story sounds way more plausible than anything he told me.” Max winces. “I’m so embarrassed that I believed he was a friend. I think he was only chill because he realized I could be a threat if I wanted to be. And now I do.”
“You and I have never seen more eye to eye. I almost believe you’ve turned over a new leaf. No pun intended,” I say and gesture at the trees.
“Yeah?” He stills and turns to me. It’s so quiet here, with only the gentle rustle of the branches and the trickle of water. I understand why couples come here to be alone. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
Out of nowhere, an image of him kissing me fills my mind.
My breath quickens and I look away. When I was young, I spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining what that might be like, but I know kissing is the last thing I should be thinking about.
Max and I have only taken the smallest steps toward rebuilding our friendship.
I shouldn’t be throwing other emotions into the mix when we aren’t on steady ground to begin with.
“The best thing you can do for me is replace Brody. Assuming Sire actually chooses you as the new section leader.” I give him a teasing smile in the hopes that it masks any other emotions that might have been flitting across my face.
“You don’t think they’ll choose me?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Max’s jaw flexes and I have to bite my cheek so I don’t burst out laughing at his expression. I’m pretty confident that Max is about to be the new section leader, but the way he tenses when I question him is too funny to ignore. He makes it so easy to mess with him.
He takes a step closer to me. “Fine, we’ll make a bet out of it.”
“Of course we will. And what will I get when I win?”
“We don’t need to worry about that since it’s clear you’ll be losing.
” He glares at me, but there’s no heat to it like there used to be.
Or, at least, there’s no anger in his expression.
His eyes drop to my mouth for a moment, and a whole other kind of heat fills me.
“And when you lose—which you will—you have to buy me ice cream before the home football game next Friday.”
I wasn’t expecting that. My cocky swagger drops away and I shuffle backward. We’re going out for ice cream together now? Is he…asking me out on a date?