Marking Time

Within four weeks of the first day of school, my summer came to a close. Not in the way you would think though; I was happy to see it go. Happy because that meant it was time for summer band practice.

Oh the joys of marching band! Standing at attention in the scalding heat. Your arms hurting from holding your instrument up, not to mention the breath and energy it takes to march and play at the same time. Your calves burning due to the backwards marching. Fights and heated debates about what is right and in marching and what is wrong.

But most of all, what I love about band, is the people in it. I have never felt more loved than when I’m in band. Sure, we all get on each other’s nerves from time to time, but who wouldn’t get just a little bit irritated when you’re on a marching field?

The West Pointe Panther Pride Marching Band is, without a doubt, my family.

So, naturally, the day that summer band started, I was particularly excited. As I drove my 2001 Chevy Cavalier to school I could hardly sit still.

My car, like most things in my life, I took great pride in. It wasn’t the fanciest of cars, but I had paid for it myself, unlike most teenagers who get brand-new sports cars handed to them the day they turn sixteen. I worked hard for my car, who I eventually took to calling Beth.

Beth was small, but big enough that I could take several of my friends around without being too cramped. She was what I called the “non-color” which really was a mixture of silver and champagne.

Putting Beth in park, I jumped out of the car quickly, almost forgetting to grab my saxophone in my hurry.

People were sprawled out everywhere. The guys, like usual, were playing football in the grassy courtyard in between the auditorium and the gym. And I could see a group of girls sitting on the concrete steps towards the right, watching.

The band room was on the west side of the auditorium, and we always used the backstage entrance as a short cut, that way we didn’t have to walk through the main entrance at the very southern tip of the school and trek all the way to the band room at the very northern tip.

Sitting on the steps that led up to the backstage door was a group of girls. Most of them I knew, but the ones that stood to themselves at the back of the group I didn’t recognize, and therefore I knew they had to be freshmen.

“Daisy!” Allison squealed and ran up to me, squeezing me tightly. “I’ve missed you!”

Allison was one of my best friends. She was in my section and we had been in band together ever since sixth grade.

“Missed me?” I huffed. “We spent practically all summer together!”

She rolled her eyes at me, “You know what I mean.”

“Hey,” I greeted the other girls sitting on the steps which included Felicia, Monica,
Kristen, Cadence, and Trinity.

They all spoke at once, swamping me with “hey”s and “how was summer”s. There was a round of hugging, like usual when we’ve been away from each other for an extended period of time. I finally had made my way to the back of the group where the freshmen were standing. They shifted on their feet, like they didn’t know whether or not to approach me.

“Hey, I don’t think I know you guys,” I began affably. “My name is Daisy. Who are you?”

As if someone had perfectly timed their responses they answered one at a time,

“Layla.”

“Chevelle.”

“Paisley.”

“Cool,” I began again, this time with an affectionate smile. “I play sax. And what do you
guys play?”

“Clarinet.”

“Xylophone.”

“Mellophone.”

Wow...Talkative.

“Okay, well I’ll be seeing you guys around.” I smiled again and then walked through the door.

The back hallway behind the stage was dark, like always, but I had traveled this path too many times to be creeped out by the shadows.

The back hallway linked the band room, stage, and choir room(which was on the east side of the auditorium) together. It was filled with old costumes, music stands, broken chairs, old props, and anything else imaginable that had been used in past year’s performances.

“Boo!”

I didn’t even have to turn to see who had jumped out at me. “Very funny, Robert,” I said as I kept walking.

He caught up with me and put his arm around me. “You’re no fun anymore.”

“Yeah, well you’ve been jumping out at me from that exact same spot for, let’s see, this will be the third year now? I’m kind of desensitized.”

We walked towards the band room and he sighed. “Well one of these days I’m going to mix it up. Then I’ll get you again!”

Upon reaching the band room door I turned around to face him. “Well, there are plenty of freshmen you can scare this year.”

He smiled, “You got that right! On that note, I’d better get back.”

I watched him as he turned on his heel and jogged down the hallway until his figure was completely consumed by darkness.

Outside the door you could clearly hear the sounds of the band room. Formerly known as the sounds of chaos. I complete mesh of different instruments playing as loud as they could, each one playing something different. It was enough to give any normal person a migraine, but to me, and any other band member I’m sure, the sound was comforting, heart-warming even.

The door slammed behind me when I walked in and everyone’s attention was, momentarily, drawn towards me.

“Daisy!”

And just like outside, everyone bombarded me with “how’ve you been”s and “I’ve missed
you”s.

And, once again, just like outside, I automatically recognized the group of awkward freshmen in the corner of the room.

Once I was done greeting Pierre, Laurie, Felix, Pete, Bridgett, Roscoe, and Keaton, I walked over to the, rather large, group of freshmen.

“Hey guys,” I started off on my usual first-encounter-with-the-new-freshmen speech. “I don’t know you guys! My name’s Daisy. Who’re you?”

“Julian.”

“Matt.”

“Valerie.”

“Darian.”

“Cathleen.”

“Taylor.”

“Gabriel.”

“Cool,” I said, equipped with my charismatic smile. “What do you guys play?”

“Tuba.”

“Trumpet.”

“Clarinet.”

“Trombone.”

“Flute.”

“Flute.”

“Sax.”

I turned to the last one who spoke, Gabriel, enthusiastically. “Yay! I play sax too! You’ll be in my section!”

“Awesome,” he smiled and laughed awkwardly, his eyes darting around the group as if he needed some reassurance from his friends.

I hated that initial speech with the freshmen, but it was essential. It was the ice breaker. After you showed them that you aren’t going to bite them or throw them in a trashcan they begin to act more unstilted around you.

Mr. Glass, the director, came out of his office, looking around. “Felix, will you go get everyone from outside?” In a more louder voice he added to everyone else, “It’s time to start.”

Today wouldn’t be the most productive day, but it had to be done. The first day of practice was always set aside for chair-placement tests. Basically, we played the first piece of music for one of the instructors. There were five instructors, Mr. Glass, the actual director, Mr. Roberts, the brass instructor, Ms. Morrison, the woodwind instructor, Wes, the drumline instructor, and Mrs. Cook, the guard coordinator. They would break us off into five groups, we would play, and then they would decide the chair orders, and who the section leader would be.

Section leaders were generally the first chair player out of each section. They would schedule weekly sectionals, which were practices after school for your section only. They would also go to meetings every Monday with Mr. Glass, Vince(the drum major), and the other section leaders. In these meetings you would discuss progress within your section, what you thought we needed to work on in full-band rehearsals, and it was also a time to create unity within the band. If our section leaders weren’t unified, how could you expect every section to be? And that’s what a band is all about: unity.

My section leader for the past two years, Amy, had graduated last year, leaving me and Allison the oldest in the saxophone section. The section leader was also, generally, the oldest and the most experienced player in the section. Allison knew, as well as I did, that I was practically a shoo-in for section leader; a fact that she was okay with. We had discussed it over the course of the summer and came to the mutual decision that whichever one of us got section leader, we would be okay with.

I had practiced all summer and I was feeling extremely confident.

Our theme this year was Harry Potter. I loved the music from Harry Potter, a fact that I think helped my playing tremendously.

I pulled a chair and stand out and put them in my spot in our usual formation; left of the director in the second row, nearly on the edge.

After taking my reed out and putting it in my mouth to wet it, I began to assemble my saxophone. Sometimes I hated being a woodwind player. It took so long to put the instruments together, as opposed to the brass player who just had to slide their mouthpiece into place. But on the flip side, at least my lips didn’t burn when I played.

Everyone began filing in, yanking instruments out from their cubbies, grabbing chairs and stands, and finally filling in the formation. The guys where hot and sweaty from playing football and it almost unbearably stuffy in the room.

When everyone was settled Mr. Glass spoke, “Alright, we’re going to run over the music in here a few times before breaking off for playing tests.”

The door slammed as he was speaking, and in walked a guy that I had never seen before, although he didn’t look like a freshman. He was wearing dark jeans and a baby blue cotton t-shirt. From where I sat, it almost looked like his shoes were untied, but I couldn’t be positive about that fact.

“Ah, Mr. Forrester, better late than never I suppose. Take a seat.” He motioned over to the mellophones who were at my left.

Mr. Glass continued to talk, but I knew the drill.

My attention was on who Mr. Glass had addressed as Mr. Forrester. He set his case down next to an empty cubby and pulled out a shiny, brand-new looking mellophone. After grabbing a chair and a stand, he came and settled in the empty space between me and Paisley.

Examining him closer, I noticed his eyes and his hair this time. His eyes were fantastic, the kind of eyes that someone would kill their own grandmother to have; a brilliant, vibrant shade of green.

But his hair was a completely different story. It was jet black, but it looked as if he had just woke up, spiking in all different directions.

“Who needs the music?” Mr. Glass asked.

Mr. Forrester(that’s the only thing I knew him by) raised his hand along with all of the
freshmen and a few upper classmen. Must be a freshman.

Allison leaned over and whispered to me, where no one else could hear, “You think he’s a freshman?”

Apparently her thoughts were going in the same direction as mine.

I shrugged in response.

When Mr. Glass was passing out music to those who didn’t have it, and chatter began to spread around the room, I felt it was as good a time as any to talk to him.

I turned to my left and saw that he was sitting there, arms crossed, leaning back with his horn on the ground in the upright position. There was no way he could be a freshman. Instead of looking awkward he looked... sly.

“Hey,” I said in the same tone I had been using all day, open and friendly.

He looked at me, smirked, nodded once, and looked away again.

It almost angered my, his reaction. But I soon remembered that, even if he wasn’t a freshman, he was new, and he must be feeling out of place.

“My name’s Daisy.... Who are you?”

“Simon,” was the only response I got.

“So... are you a freshman?” Attempt number three at conversation.

He looked at me as if I had insulted him. “Do I look like a freshman?”

“No..." for a moment I was speechless, but I quickly thought of something to say, “I only
meant that I’ve never seen you before. Are you new here?”

“Uh. Yeah.” His response was incredibly sarcastic, and his expression made me want to break his nose. “Let me guess. You’re a junior.”

Wow. He’s good. “Yeah.”

He scoffed, “Figures.”

I blinked, irritated. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Mr. Glass was walking back towards his podium, a signal that we were about to play.

“It’s a universal fact,” he said nonchalantly. Then he looked straight at me, his piercing green eyes holding me tightly into place, “All juniors are snobs.”

Turning away to pick up his horn, I heard him laughing to himself.

“So that makes you a senior then?” I asked snidely.

“Yep,” he seemed unfazed by my maliciousness.

Mr. Glass had his hands up, ready to go.

What a jerk. He’s lucky that we were about to play, otherwise I would’ve had a lot to say to him.

When we broke off into groups for the actual tests, I got the short end of the stick. I had to remain sitting next to the insufferable Simon. Mr. Glass sent the low brass with Mr. Roberts, the flutes, clarinets, and piccolos with Ms. Morrison, the drumline and guard went with their specific instructors, which left the saxophones, mellophones, and trumpets for Mr. Glass.

It seemed like it took an eternity for all of the trumpets to play. When it was time for the saxophones to play Mr. Glass chose me to go first, a good sign in my opinion. I played, not messing up or fumbling the notes. The music came naturally for me by this time.

Mr. Glass chose Allison next, and I could tell that she was extremely nervous. Playing tests always unnerved her even though she was a great player. From what I could tell she only messed up once, and it was only a minor technicality. When she had finished she turned to me and sighed. Giving her a thumbs up, I smiled encouragingly to her. She smiled back, and I could tell that she was satisfied with herself.

And then it was time for the mellophones... I have to admit I did, deep down, secretly wish that some part on his horn would stop working halfway through the song. Maybe a valve would permanently stick or something.

But of course his horn worked perfectly. More perfect than his horn, was his playing. In my six years of being in band I had never heard a mellophone player that played so well.

Allison’s jaw dropped and it took some serious self-control on my part to keep my expression neutral.

After he was done playing Mr. Glass complimented him, “what an exceptional player you are Mr. Forrester. You’re going to be an asset to our band I’m sure.”

I allowed myself to glance in his direction. There was a smug smile stretched across his face.

After all the tests had been played we were summoned to the main room(there were five rooms total in what the school called the “band department”). I know, from past years, that the section leaders were about to be announced.

Everyone was no longer sitting down, most were standing because they didn’t want to get a chair out just to put it back up.”

“Okay everyone, listen up! This year’s section leaders are: Clarinets, Felix Lewis. Flutes, Chloe Barnes. Piccolos, Zoey Fierst. Trombones, Keaton Maxwell. Baritones, Seth Colbert. Tubas, Monica Loken. Trumpets, Marcus Parker. Saxophones, Daisy Zier. Mellophones, Simon Forrester. Drumline, Hugo Jones. And guard captain, Emalee Tellers. Alright, section leaders we’ll have a meeting tomorrow after practice. Everyone get here bright and early at seven!”

Although I should have been ecstatic about being section leader, I wasn’t. Simon was the mellophone section leader, which meant that I now had to put up with him for the entire marching season. Lovely.

As everyone filed out, I grabbed my case from my cubby and swung out the door quickly, bumping into Simon.

“Lady’s first,” he motioned to the door.

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I knew it was childish. I also wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but that was even more childish. For the moment I contented myself with walking out the door in front of him, and not turning back.