Chapter 3: It Would Be Bad...

Everyone in the band had the same class first period, in order to practice together. We typically did marching band stuff while football season was going on, then switched to the more traditional symphonic offerings for the rest of the year, until finally finishing with parade season in the spring.

So it was, Friday morning, bright and early, I strolled into first period Symphony / Marching Band. The room was large; it had to be to accommodate over 100 students. It was built with risers, which were more like very large steps rather than the smaller ones you'd see in a choral setting. This was to accommodate students sitting while playing instruments. Enough room was required for a student, chair, and music stand. There were six rows and all, and the general setup was winds in front, then brass, and then percussion. We all had assigned seats, according to seniority and ability.

When I entered that morning, it was about two-thirds full. Normally I was one of the first to arrive in the morning, but this particular day I wanted to have an audience when I arrived. Instead of heading to my usual place in the brass section, I walked directly to the front of the class. There was a large dry erase board that covered almost the entire front of the room. It was rarely used in the course of band class; even now it was covered with mostly gibberish and doodles. I grabbed an eraser off the tray and erased a large space. As I picked up a marker, I noticed that most of the room had gone silent. I definitely had their attention, because most of them suspected what was coming. Uncapping the marker, I wrote in very large letters, "Party's on. Post-game." The room erupted with shouts and cheers as I capped the marker and walked over to my seat.

My post game parties had grown into some sort of legendary event. I normally threw two or three a year, and at least one of those was always during football season. Everyone was invited, and it was encouraged to bring friends. There was very minor adult supervision; my aunt was usually in the vicinity, but that was enough that most parents let their kids come. In addition was the long standing and absolute rule that there was to be no drinking, period. As far as I knew it was a rule well respected. I'd never caught anyone with alcohol in the two previous years. I wasn't a prude by any means ... I'd had other, more intimate parties with much, much smaller groups, without the alcohol ban. When you have almost two hundred people in a single location though, it's worth it to think bigger picture. The rules were the rules, and you either followed them or you were gone. Everyone followed my rules; they'd much rather enjoy my hospitality than go without.

So, with the nights activities well established, the rest of band class went by fairly quickly. After the bell rang, and we left the classroom to traverse to our next classes, I started to notice a weird vibe in the halls. It was like conversations suddenly got quieter as I approached, but then picked up again with a greater intensity after I passed. I asked Scott, who was walking with me, if he noticed the same thing.

"Yeah, something is definitely amiss." He confirmed.

"You think it's about our show yesterday?" I asked.

"Can't think of anything else that just happened" he said, dramatically waving his arms with the last part.

"Aye," I agreed. "That be true."

We parted ways and walked off to our respective second period classes.

It was about three quarters of the way through my third period class when I got an inkling of how fast things were moving. I had third period Honors History. Mr. Simonson was a fairly hands off teacher, and since it was a class full of so-called "smart" kids, it seemed to work out just fine. On top of that, it being a Friday, once he gave out the weekend's assignment, he left us to our own devices. Literally. He actually walked out of the room and didn't return.

In my seat in the last row, I was jotting some notes down about what Mr. Simonson had just discussed when I felt someone watching me. I looked up, and saw that Sylvia, the girl who sat directly in front of me, had turned around. There are a number of things that stand out about Sylvia. One, she had flaming red hair, which she kept short and stylish. After that, you notice she has the greenest eyes you've ever seen, which seem to be magnified by the contacts she wears. The combination of red hair and green eyes is damn near devastating. If you manage to get past those two, then the third will probably stop you dead. Mother Nature had been very kind to Sylvia in her development years, a fact not lost on any of the male populace of Washington High. She had blossomed early and often it seemed, and was well aware of it. At this very moment, in fact, she had crossed her arms under her ample cleavage, and was now leaning over the front of my desk, giving me quite a view.

My eyes wandered upwards, tried valiantly not to linger too long on her magnificent chest, proudly displayed in a low cut scoop-neck, and came to rest on her face. I raised an eyebrow. "You need something?" I asked. She was looking at me with pursed lips, and she certainly looked like she had something on her mind.

Sylvia had been adopted from Russia when she was eight years old, so when she spoke, it was with a tinge of an accent that hadn't yet disappeared despite her many years in the States.

"Rumor has it you are joining the football team." It was a question, but came out more like a statement.

I put my pen down and sat back in my seat, crossing my own arms. Somehow I doubt it produced the same effect.

"Does it now?"

"It does." She replied with a hint of a smile. Our good natured banter, while probably the extent of our relationship, was something we both enjoyed. "Any truth to that?"

"None I'm willing to encourage." I said. I picked up my pen and began to twirl it between my fingers absentmindedly.

"Ah. That is not a denial." She smiled. "Also, you are nervous. You always do that thing with your pen when you are..." she paused to look for the right phrase, "When you wish you were somewhere else."

Well, now. Seems Sylvia is more observant than I gave her credit for.

"Really, now?"

"Da," she replied. There's that Russian. "Usually you do it when I'm sitting like I am now." Her eyes dipped downwards very briefly, to illustrate her meaning. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Nicky?"

If I wasn't before, I am now, I thought to myself. This conversation had taken an unexpected turn. "I feel like a letch when you're on display like that. It's not a feeling I like."

"You're cute, Nicky. For future reference, if I am... on display, as you put it..." she paused, and hugged her chest a little tighter, for effect. "It's because I want to be on display. And only people I want to see the display... get the display."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sylvie." I replied, just as the bell rang.

"You do that." She replied as she smiled at me sweetly, then turned around, collected her things, got up, and walked out of class.

To my knowledge, Sylvia hadn't had any boyfriends. Girlfriends either, for that matter. She was considered pretty much untouchable, that she had no time for what she considered juvenile relationships. She was a driven person, and didn't want to waste her time with the high school idea of romance. That was the general consensus, anyhow, and yet, she'd just made a pretty blatant pass. Unless of course, she was just teasing me, but somehow I didn't think teasing was in Sylvia's playbook.

I entered the cafeteria and headed for my usual table. Rob was already sitting there, as was his girlfriend Paulina, along with a few of our other friends.

"Fearless leader!" he shouted in greeting.

"Hey, Nick, how you doing today?" Paulina asked as she popped a potato bite into her mouth.

I furrowed my brow as I sat down. "It's been kind of a weird day so far."

"I bet it has. Everything we hear today is 'Nicky, Nicky, Nicky'." Paulina gushed out the last part overdramatically, like a gushing school girl.

I put my head in my hands and rested my elbows on the table. "Ugh." I sighed. "This is exactly what I didn't want."

At that moment, a cadre of football players and cheerleaders walked by headed for their own table. The pack was led by Mark Moore. Just as they passed my table, Mark jammed his hip into the back of my chair, slamming me forward into the table.

"Oh, sorry, Nick. Didn't see you there." He chuckled, showing no remorse at all. He just kept walking to his table. I pushed myself out and looked up at the group, who was already past the table. The other people in his group didn't seem to be as pleased by his actions, but since he was still the top of the heap, so to speak, they didn't say anything. I did manage to catch Kara's attention for a second, and I made sure my glare let her know how much harder her request for my assistance just got. I turned back to my friends.

"See why? I don't need that"

Rob looked pretty pissed off. "What a dick." He said, looking like he was going to get up and go have words. Rob was a big guy, and his words were usually a precursor to fists.

"Let it go Rob. It'll just going to make things worse. I'm sure things'll get that way soon enough anyway, without your help." With that last part, I smirked a little, more to myself than anyone else, but Paulina caught it right away.

"Nicky, did you just say what I think you said?"

"I've made no decision one way or the other." I said as diplomatically as possible. "But some people's actions may push me one way or the other, merely out of spite."

The rest of the day had passed uneventfully, and then it was game time. The marching band had to head over to the stadium directly after school, for final practice, which was performed on the main football field. After that, we had dinner, usually pizzas brought in by one of the local mom and pop pizzerias. Then, we suited up, warmed up the instruments, and headed out for the start of the game.

For the pre game ceremonies, we marched into the stadium and directly onto the field. We stood at attention as the football team came out onto the field. We then played the national anthem, before vacating the field and heading up into the seats, where we filled up a full third of the grandstands. Our time there, which lasted until halftime, was spent playing incidental music for things like big plays or touchdowns, or to support some of the cheerleaders' routines. My time on this night, however, was spent watching very closely the game being played out on the field.