The Band Instructor

16-year-old Suzi was nervous. She’d moved over the summer with her family from a small town in Iowa to Philadelphia. The school she was going to attend had eight times the number of students of her previous school.

As a sophomore, she had been in the high school band at her old school for several years because it was a small school, and because she was good with the trumpet. But the competition at the new school was much greater.

Band was Suzi’s thing. She wasn’t good at sports, and while she was a decent student, she wasn’t true honor roll material. But she was good with the trumpet. Everyone told her that, and she knew it too. Like others, she had her secrets, one big one, but more than anything, she wanted to be a part of something. The band. She wanted to be back in a band.

So she stood outside the band director’s office at 2:45, wearing her backpack, holding her trumpet case, as instructed on the slip of paper she got earlier in the day. A moment later the door opened, and the tall man with flecks of gray whom she knew to be Mr. Thompson stood before her.

“Come in, Miss...?” he said, looking for a name.

“Suzi, sir. I’m Suzi.”

Mr. Thompson closed the door behind her and then sat down behind his desk. He’d read her brief file and now took a moment to look at her. Dark brown hair about shoulder length, nothing exceptional about her face, not ugly, not a looker. Glasses. Looked like B-cup tits. He noted with interest that she did have very nice lips. That was important.

“You have a phone?” he asked. She blinked.

“A phone, girl. Do you have a cell phone?”

She reached into her backpack and produced a late-model iPhone.

Pulling the top off a book-sized box on his desk, Mr. Thompson nodded toward it. Suzi placed her phone within the metal box. Mr. Thompson replaced the cover.

“What gets said in Band, stays in Band.” Suzi smiled at the reference to Las Vegas.

“There’s one position left for trumpet. There are five seeking the position. One, coming in from Vermont, made All-State last year. He’s good, very good. Show me what you’ve got.”

Suzi stood up, unbuckled her case, removed her prize trumpet, and began to play something old school from Chuck Mangione, Feels So Good.

After about thirty seconds Mr. Thompson held up his hand, signaling Suzi to stop. She pulled the trumpet from her full lips and sat down.

“You’re good, I’ll give you that. Very good, in fact.” Suzi’s eyes brightened, her heartbeat quickened some too.

“But he’s very good too, and he’s a senior, so I’m inclined to give him the spot. I’m sorry. Unless...?”

“Unless ... sir?”

“May I speak freely, Suzi?” She blinked and nodded.