Chapter 7

"I'm sure he'll be busy," said the freshman Brian Andrews, not very hopeful.

"He really should have sent all this information out weeks ago," said his mother, both hands on the wheel, not looking away from the road. "Really, how can he expect everyone to just show up and not even know what to do for lunch?"

"It'll all be fine, really," Brian tried again.

Sitting on the backseat of the Volvo, next to his trumpet case, was a blue lunchbox with his name written across the front in sharpie. Over all his protests, his mother had dug that old elementary school memory out of a closet and packed a sandwich and an apple inside. Good old Mom.

"I can just take this stuff in myself, okay?" he almost pleaded. "I'll make sure to ask whatever questions you want, I promise." He tried to sound mature and responsible.

A glance from his mother withered his hopes. "I just want to make sure you'll have a safe place to keep your things," she told him. "And enough time to eat, and plenty of time to refill your water."

They were driving northwest on South Old Mill. Hannibal Middle School slid by on the left. The high school was the next left, only a few more minutes farther. Only a few more minutes until Brian's fate would be sealed for the next four years. He wanted to cry.

"Now," Mom was saying, "be sure to keep your hat on whenever you're outside."

"I know, Mom," he tried, but she didn't stop.

"Did you put on enough sunscreen? You can still burn even when it's cloudy."

"Yeah, yeah."

"And don't be afraid to speak up if you need a break."

"Mom!" he said. "Please! Just let me take care of things for myself, okay?"

She gave him a look. Not just any look, but the look. The Mom Look. "I'm not comfortable just dropping you off with a bunch of strangers all day," she said.

"He's the director, not just some--"

"You can never be too careful these days," she said, cutting off any argument. "Every week a new teacher's on the news, under arrest for something."

"Jeez." Yep. It was beyond hopeless.

The road went up a little hill, and the green and white sign was there on the left. A left blinker and a slowing down, at least a hundred feet early. A careful turn into the school's paved driveway. Down to the front parking lot, carefully avoiding the empty painted spaces. Never over fifteen miles an hour.

Around the side of the building, there were about a dozen cars parked near a pair of open double doors. The Volvo idled slowly forward, not following the stream of other parents' cars alongside the curb where other freshmen were jumping out with a simple wave goodbye--instead into an open parking space, with an open parking space to either side, and to a gentle stop.

"Okay, let's get you inside," said Brian's mom, almost cheerfully. She jingled the car keys into her heavy purse and stepped a high-heeled foot out onto the blacktop.

"It's okay, I got it," Brian said, as she moved to the back door, obviously with the idea of helping him carry his things in.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "You've got a lot of stuff."

"I'm sure," he said. "Just go on in."

While her heels clicked away, the new freshman quickly flipped open the blue lunchbox and stuffed its contents into his trumpet case next to the slide grease and valve oil. The lunchbox went on the floor of the backseat, hopefully in a place it wouldn't be noticed too quickly. He pulled the baseball cap down low on his forehead, and grabbed the black boxy case and his clear blue water bottle. His knee shut the car door, and he hurried inside.

If he was lucky, he could slip into a corner where his mom couldn't find him to say goodbye on the way out.

It was twenty till eight.

"That's Elaine, right?" asked Susan Beck. "Lara's the other one?"

"Yep," nodded the little redhead Mandy Young. "Lara's not here today. But Elaine's a section leader, so she has to be."

"It must be nice having big sisters," Susan sighed. Susan's mom had made a fuss dropping her off this morning.

"Yeah, sure," Brooke Washington snorted. "You can have mine."

"Mine too," nodded Mandy. "You can have both of them."

The trio of freshmen flute players were sitting on the strip of grass between the school's faded brick wall and the parking lot. They were watching the stream of other new freshmen tumble out of cars onto the chipped and uneven sidewalk. A few of the parents came inside for a minute. Most of them just pulled away as soon as the car doors slammed shut.

Mandy had already counted up the names on the marching band phone list--it was Elaine's copy of a list that wouldn't be passed out until later today or tomorrow. There were twenty-eight freshmen this year, including percussion and colorguard. And only eight of those were boys. Not good odds for a girl, when the pairing-up started. But, Mandy knew she had in her favor two popular older sisters, and she thought maybe she was pretty enough to get a sophomore boyfriend.

She kept eying Susan, who seemed nice enough. But who was prettier? If a boy compared the two of them side by side, which would he pick? Mandy had decided back in middle school that she was a clear winner over Brooke--they'd both gone to Jefferson together. But she's only had the last few minutes to try to judge Susan's looks, and it was a much closer call.

And how to compare her own rather wild red hair to Susan's sleek blonde, to Brooke's plainer brown? Teen Vogue didn't really have a good answer.

"You get everything second-hand," Brooke was saying.

"Or third-hand," Mandy put in, pulling up a clump of grass.

"Always have to wait your turn, always last in line."

"Yeah." Mandy was nodding. She got to be second into the bathroom this morning, but only because Lara was still home sleeping. "And they've always done everything first, so nobody really cares by the time it's your turn." She didn't see the looks on the other two's girls' faces. And she didn't see her oldest sister standing right behind her.

"Oh! You are such a whiner," said Elaine Young, hands on her hips. She rolled her eyes.

Mandy spun around on the grass, looking up. She made an eep! sound and covered her mouth with her hands, cheeks as red as her hair. "Hiya Lainey," she squeaked. Brooke and Susan were laughing.

"Hey yourself," said the clarinet section leader, not letting little sis off the hook. "You don't know how good you got it. Mom and Dad were afraid they were gonna break me. You get to do whatever you want, and they don't care."

"Do not!" said Mandy.

"No?" Elaine was smiling, a little bit wickedly. "Why don't we sit down with Lara and make a list, hrm?" To Susan, she said, "Do you have younger brothers or sisters?"

Susan nodded silently.

"Good," said the senior. "She can help. I bet she knows exactly what I'm talking about."

"Ah..." Mandy tried. "Pfff..." But she couldn't think of anything to say at the moment.

"Anyway," said Elaine, cutting off any retorts, "I was gonna ask you what you wanna do for lunch. You and your little flute buddies." She looked at Susan and Brooke, her eyes a question. "I'd offer to take you three, but I've got three baby clarinets of my own to look after."

"I dunno," said little Mandy. "There's supposed to be four of us, somewhere." No one had seen the last new girl yet.

"Well you better think about it. And you guys better find a place to put your stuff pretty soon, I think Sara's about to round everybody up."

"Okay."

"Think about it," Elaine said again. "And let me know if I'm gonna have to squeeze you in the backseat."

"The back seat?!" Mandy cried. "Why do I get stuffed in back?"

The older redhead shrugged and turned to walk away. "It might be different, if you could tell me right now..." she called back.

The younger redhead turned back to her friends, her arms crossed in a huff, almost pouting. "See?" she said to Susan.

But Susan was smiling. "It's way better to have an older sister than a younger brother," she said.

"Whatever," said Brooke, sharing a look with Mandy.

"Yeah, whatever," Mandy agreed.

It was five till eight.

The band room had a feeling to it. A really worn out, tired feeling. There were green plastic chairs lined up in rows facing forward, and it looked like they had been bought from at least three different suppliers. There were two different shapes of music stands, and the black paint was peeling off about half of them. Over in the corner, a battered drum set and a slumping piano.

There were framed pictures on the walls. Some were individual faces, and some were of the whole marching band, or the whole concert band. Over behind the piano were four different photos of the jazz band.

Jeff Somerall knew he wanted to be in the jazz band. He'd played in the middle school jazz band last year, but his high school audition hadn't gone very well. Don't worry about it, Mr. Williams had said. Try out again next year. That was all well and good, but he felt like he was missing out. How could he be a saxophone player and not be in the jazz band?

A girl walked in. Jeff watched her. It looked like she was carrying an alto sax case, but it was hard to tell at first glance. She was looking at the trophies.

He wandered aimlessly along the wall, in her direction. He looked a this photo, looked at that photo, getting closer to the trophy shelves. The girl was cute, at least from the back. And yep, it was an alto case, not a trumpet case.

"Think we'll get any?" Jeff said to her, looking up at the shiny silver and gold plastic figures proudly bolted to marble bases.

She glanced at him. "Sure, why not?" she said.

"I'm Jeff, by the way," he said. "Jeff Somerall."

She smiled. "Laurie Dickins, hi."

"I came from Hannibal." He waited. She didn't say anything, so he tried again. "Did you go to Jefferson?"

"Rock Hill," she said.

"Cool..."

The freshman from Hannibal scratched his head, unable to think of anything else to say. The girl from Rock Hill was looking at the trophies again, not at him. Maybe he should just--

The band room door swung open, a pair of hands were clapping, and a voice was shouting: "Okay! New freshmen!"

Jeff turned, and promptly forgot all about the cute alto sax player busy ignoring him, even forgot her name. Standing there in the doorway, yelling at everybody to get moving, was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Tall, leggy, blonde.

"Let's go!" she was saying, her voice cutting easily through all the racket people were making. "Outside! Two minutes! Leave all your stuff in here!"

The other freshmen hanging around inside were setting there things down and walking toward the doors. Jeff felt his eyes bugging out, couldn't move his feet.

"Out on the parking lot, let's go!" The blonde left the band room, but her voice kept calling out as she rounded up others out by the lockers.

Suddenly, Jeff felt himself bumped. A whistle jarred him back to reality. "Hey, come on!"

He recognized his section leader, Ian something. The freshman girl by the trophies was already on her way outside. Jeff hurried up to follow everybody else. Out between the rows of green and white lockers. Out the big double doors. Out into the already warming August morning, out to the pale gray blacktop.

Between the edge of the sidewalk and the first of the parking spaces, the section leaders were lining everybody up in rows. That blonde beauty was down at one end, walking toward him. She would take four steps then point at a spot on the ground, and that row all moved to line up there. Then four more steps and point for the next row. And the next.

"Dude, get over here," Ian was saying.

Jeff hurried over and found himself facing back toward the school building, standing in the front row. He kept his head turned, watching the blonde coming ever closer. Only three rows away. Only two. She was at the next row. She was right in front of him. She had the most perfect set of legs imaginable. Perfect ass, perfect hips, perfect--

"Hey!" someone said.

Oh yeah. He was supposed to adjust to the spot where she was pointing. Red in the face, he stood there, turning his head to follow as the perfect girl moved on down the line.

It wad kind of hard to breath.

Then she was coming back toward the center. She had a thick pair of drumsticks in her hand. "Good morning, everybody!" she said loudly. Her voice could probably carry across the entire parking lot, even if it was filled with running school buses. "Good morning!" she said again.

"Morning," a few people mumbled.

"That was terrible!" she said. "Good morning!"

"Good morning." More people this time.

"Is this all we can get?" she asked, turning to one of the section leaders.

"Come on, everybody!" said a very peppy redhead who sounded like she ought to be a cheerleader. "It's marching band! Woo-hoo!" A few people laughed--it was a little early for pep.

"Okay, last try!" the blonde warned. "I'll make you run laps! Good! Morning!"

Jeff shouted this time: "Good morning!" And so did most everybody else from their rows. But collectively they still didn't equal her volume.

"Okay, good enough. My name is Sara, and I'm your drum major this year. For those of you who don't know, I'm going to be your conductor for every field show and every parade we do for the whole season."

Sara. So that was her name. Sara. Now that he'd heard it, Jeff couldn't imagine her being named anything else. It was perfect.

"--start with the attention posture," she was saying. "I need everybody to bend over slowly, and let your fingers dangle toward your toes."

Jeff did.

"Don't reach, don't stretch. Just hang there. Everything relaxed."

Jeff hung there.

"Look at your feet. Heels and toes together. Keep your knees relaxed."

Jeff shuffled his feet, side by side.

"Good. Now, slowly start to come up. There's a string attached to your spine, between your shoulder blades. It's pulling you up, slowly."

Jeff could almost feel the string.

"Arms loose, just let them hang. The string pulls you all the way up. All the way up. Now you're standing straight."

Jeff was standing straight.

"Everybody straight? Straight as you can go? Arms loose. Now. The string pulls higher. It's lifting you up. Your spine is stretching out. Feel the weight come off your heels. Keep your feet flat. The weight comes off your heels. Everything balanced on the balls of your feet."

Jeff was standing straighter than he ever had before. Certainly taller. He actually felt a little bit lighter.

"Head up. Chin up. Eyes up. Look straight ahead. Now the string is an iron bar. It's going through your skull, through your spine, through your hips. It's bolted to the ground between your heels. If you move, you'll die a horrible and painful death." Sara's voice was quite cheerful.

Jeff actually felt like he might be in danger from the iron bar. He didn't move.

"Now finally, roll your shoulders back. Back all the way. Chest out, hands tight at your sides. Everybody got it?"

Jeff rolled his shoulders back, and suddenly felt it. The posture was actually pretty natural.

"Comfortable, no?" Sara said. "We're gonna come around and check you." She walked off somewhere. "Eyes front," she called out as a preemptive reminder. "Don't move."

Jeff stood there, frozen as best he could. He could hear the section leaders whispering at various places in the rows around him.

"Don't move," Sara said from time to time.

Ian walked by. "Good job, dude," he said quietly, and kept going.

Finally, when Jeff thought an hour must have passed, he heard Sara say, "Relax, relax. Good job, everybody! Shake everything out."

There was the sound of many shuffling feet, and a few groans and cracked knuckles.

"Right," said Sara, walking back to the front center. "That's attention. The point is we all have to look the same. During a show, during a parade. Marching, not marching. Playing, not playing. All the time, we're at attention." She held up her drumsticks, one in each hand. "Now, you don't get to come to attention slowly. We do it quickly, all together. There's a four count command, and when you hear it, you snap to attention on the downbeat. Listen."

Jeff watched her swing back with her right hand, and then clack the drumsticks together loudly--he winced a little. She was beating a quick tempo.

"Just listen," she called, over the sound of the drumsticks. "It sounds like this." And then, in time with her own rhythm, she barked out: "Band! Ten-hut!" And then there was a final click on the downbeat. There was a soft ringing echo off the school building. She said, "Then, on that last count, you snap to attention, and you shout 'Go!'"

Jeff was getting ready. So was everybody else. They could all see Sara was about to do the attention call again. But she didn't.

"No, no," she said. "You aren't already at attention, that ruins the whole point. Come on, loosen up, wiggle your arms."

Jeff loosened up.

"Okay," Sara said. "Remember, snap to attention on the downbeat, not before. And not after." She clicked the drumsticks again. "Band! Ten-hut!"

Jeff jumped quickly to attention, and shouted out, "Go!" The sound was very sloppy, everybody shouting at not quite the same instant. Then he realized his feet weren't together. He moved them.

"Don't move!" Sara shouted. "Nobody move! When you come to attention, you freeze. If you're facing the wrong direction, you keep facing the wrong direction."

The section leaders started walking around again, checking people. There was much more whispering this time. They kept saying things like, "Feet together," and "Chin up."

"At ease," Sara said, after a long time. Then: "'At ease' means relax." She walked back to the front again. "Everybody loosen up." She clicked the sticks again, called them to attention again.

The redheaded section leader walked by. "Chin up," she whispered to Jeff. "Eyes forward."

Oh yeah. He forgot to keep his chin up.

"Okay, better!" said Sara. "At ease, take five. Remember your spots!"

It was half past eight.