Marking Time

Day three of my captivity. Or so I’ve taken to call it.

It was Wednesday and to my surprise I had memorized the music. It really wasn’t that hard, so that fact had sped the memorization process up tremendously.

We stood on a lush green football field, which had taken me by surprise. Who had ever heard of a football field on the side of a mountain? We were all grouped, first, according to schools and then according to partners. There were about a hundred or so other students, a few of whom I recognized from other schools.

There were several camp counselors who were stamped with red shirts that stated, "Staff" on the back with huge, bold, black letters. They were all in the stands, spread evenly throughout. There were also camp counselors on the field every hundred or so feet with several black things, I had yet to identify, dangling from their arms.

A booming voice came over the speakers, "Test. Test." The speakers squealed some before evening out, and then they spoke again, "Alright. We've brought you out here today for a little challenge. We call it Drill Down. You might've heard of it before, but we have put a new spin on it." I had, in fact, heard of Drill Down. It's where you march (usually without instruments, but they were being unusually cruel to us), following all of the weird turns and movements your drum major shouts at you such as, "four steps forward, eight steps back". Whoever fell behind or got lost was automatically out. "Since we're not just any average marching camp, we're going to take it a step up." Then the camp counselors started to distribute the long, black things that they were holding on their arms among the groups on the field. I caught a glance of one in full form and I suddenly understood. "You're going to be harnessed with your partner."

This would go one of two ways.

The first way, the pleasant way, since Simon and I are both good at marching, we succeed. We beat everyone or at least get close to it.

The second way, the more dangerous and potentially life-threatening way, Simon and I clash on the field. Our personalities differ greatly, so there was always a risk of either of us exploding, in a rage, on our partner.

"Here you go," a counselor handed Simon the harness.

Simon turned towards me, and for the first time, just by looking at his face, I could tell that we finally had agreed upon something. This was not going to be fun.

Strapping the harness on was painful in and of itself, but, further worse yet, was finally having it on and standing there so close together. The awkwardness was so thick I felt like I could swim through it. Standing as far away from him as I possibly could, which was approximately twelve inches, I felt like I was about to fall over I was leaning so far away.

Then the first command came. "Band, ten-hut!"

"Panthers!" Simon and I both yelled. Since different schools yelled different things, there was a clash of sound, but otherwise the command had gone smoothly. I saw a few groups get thrown out for moving while at attention—not a good thing.

The camp counselor, who was the acting as the drum major said, "Mark time four counts." He clapped us off. Clap, clap, clap, clap, "Mark time, mark!" We both marked time fluidly.

So far so good.

Now he just stood on the stand, thinking. This was where it was going to get harder.
"Mark time four, take eight steps forward." Clap, clap, clap, clap, "Mark time, mark!"

I counted in my head. And-one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight-and-close.

We were in the right spot. We had gotten there smoothly. We weren't out. And better yet: we were both still alive.

"Mark time four, forward eight, backward eight." He clapped at a new tempo this time, a faster one. Clap, clap, clap, clap, "Mark time, mark!"

And-one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and-up, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight-and-close.

Perfect.

A lot of groups had gotten out in that round. The new tempo had taken them by surprise. All the better for us. We were doing so well. No problems. We might actually win….

"Mark time four, forward eight, backward eight, forward sixteen, backward sixteen." Clap, clap, clap, clap, "Mark time, mark!"

And-one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and-up, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Forward, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and-up, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and-close.

Even more teams were escorted off the field for mistakes.

"Mark time four, to the left eight, to the right eight." Oh great, slide-stepping. "Mark time, mark!"

And-one, two, three, four. One, two, three-

Simon must've felt like I was moving too slowly; not taking big enough steps. His instrument carriage was different from mine, which was not good for this activity at all. A saxophone you hold down by your torso, since it extends downward and not out, unlike the mellophone, which you hold straight out. His elbows were already at approximately the level of my head (since I was fairly short and he was tall) which made it easy for him to elbow me in the head when I wasn't moving fast enough.

The first thought that passed through my mind was, Oh no you didn't.

The action had knocked my mouth off of my mouthpiece, which was sure to get us knocked out of the game. So I thought I might as well get my revenge.

I elbowed him as hard as I could in the stomach.

Then I finally realized something, Bad call.

He doubled over and fell, dragging me with him. Hugo and Monica were the group to our right. They kept going because they couldn't see that we had fallen onto the ground. They ran over us, which made them fall too, Hugo with his snare landed on top of me, knocking the wind out of me.

It was just a chain reaction after that. Group upon group fell over us, hitting people in the head, the stomach, the face, the legs, the back.

I heard a whistle blow and then everything stopped.

"You stupid! What did you do that for?" Simon yelled at me.

I matched his tone, "Me? What did you do that for?"

"What are you talking about?" People on top of us were squirming, and it was hard to try and hold a conversation while they were smashing us.

"You elbowed me in the head!"

I could see light now and taste fresh air.

Finally Hugo was pulled off of me by one of the camp counselors. Simon and I were helped to our feet, and we were still attached by the ridiculous harness.

"What? You think I did that on purpose? I'm sorry that you're so short and when I'm at attention my elbow is right at your head!" he still used the same tone as he had when we were buried by people.

"Hang on," I heard the camp counselor say, but I didn't care.

"What? You were dragging me practically the entire time! You thought that I wasn't taking big enough steps!"

"Well, at least you've got one thing right! You weren't taking big enough steps that's for sure! But I wouldn't have elbowed you in the head for that!"

The camp counselor moved towards us once again, "Now just wait."

"Oh yeah? Just like you didn't run me over the second day of practice? I really believe that one!"

"I only ran you over because you should've been paying attention to everyone around you!"

"Guys," the counselor tried again to interrupt us, but didn't succeed.

"I was too paying attention! You just wanted to be a jerk and make me look stupid in front of my entire section!"

"Like you would need help with that."

The counselor had given up and finally left.

"How dare you!"

"Oh yeah, I dare," he said sardonically.

"Well you know what? You are the most selfish, inconsiderate, careless, presumptuous," another camp counselor, this time in a dark blue shirt, came up to us as I threw every insult in the dictionary at him, but I didn’t care. I still continued, "haughty, obnoxious, sanctimonious, prudent, simple-minded, absurd-"

"Hey!" the camp counselor in the dark blue screamed over not only me, but also above the murmurs around us that had ascended to a dull roar. "Knock it off you two!"

Simon and I stood there, saying nothing.

"You're acting like children! Couldn't you two have just dealt with each other civilly for one hour? Just one!" I shuffled my feet. When neither of us answered he spoke again, "No? Well your band is not going to get very far with two section leaders that are constantly at each other's throats, I can tell you that right now! You need to get your acts together!" Once again, Simon and I remained silent. "Now until you guys can learn how to get along, you're not going to take that harness off."

"What?" Simon broke the silence at the same time I did.

"You can't do that!" I protested.

"Oh yes I can young lady." He dangled a lock on his left finger, "You see this lock?" He moved towards us and clipped it onto the harness. "It doesn't come off until you can prove to me that you can at least regard each other politely. Do I make myself clear?"

Clinching my teeth together to keep from saying something I would regret, I only nodded my head.

"Well you two are in for a fun week," Monica remarked while we were all eating dinner.

I just glared at her.

At dinner I finally realized how hard it was going to be to stay in the harness with him. I was a righty; he was a lefty. I was on the left side of the harness; he was on the right. Not a good combination. Our elbows knocked against each other as we tried to eat. Key word: tried.

We were sentenced to having the harness on until Friday morning at seven. Only thirty-seven more hours left. I was counting.

Simon threw his fork down, "Maybe we should take turns on eating."

I huffed, "Finally. A bright idea."

"Hey! You were the one that got us into this mess."

"Oh well, excuse me Mr. Innocent!"

"Oh my gosh guys. Will you give it a rest?" Felix complained.

I threw my fork down too. "You know what? I'm not even hungry."

We both sat there, arms crossed, and angry.

Then Zoey asked, "So where are you guys going to sleep?"

I had never thought to ask the question, but where were we going to sleep?

Ms. Morrison answered without even turning away from her book, "In here."

Zoey's eyebrows went up mockingly. I could tell she was about to say something ridiculous. "In here. Alone. No sponsors. And harnessed together…." She spoke under her breath.

If looks could kill, Zoey would definitely be dead. I shot her a go-to-the-basement look. She only smirked. If only I weren't attached to The Idiot, I would have loved to have reached over and knocked her pretty little jaw out of place for that comment.

Monica had that confused look on her face, the one that makes her look as if there were nothing but moths fluttering around in her skull. "What happens when you need to go to the bathroom? And when you need to take a shower?"

We all turned towards Ms. Morrison, who actually did look up from her harlequin this time. She spoke in her usual, slow, monotone voice "Start getting creative."

I scoffed and flopped back in my chair, "Great."

Keaton looked up from his food, "Hey! How about we play twister again! It would be really interesting with you guys harnessed together!"

I looked at him, and I didn't even have to say it. He knew what I would've said if I'd spoken, Really?

"How about we just play a board game?" Marcus suggested.

I sighed, "Sure."

Mr. Roberts had cooked us dinner, chicken spaghetti, and I had to admit that he was a very good cook. Although, I didn't really get to enjoy all that much since it was practically impossible for me to eat. But, soon the foam plates were cleared away and they brought out Clue.

"Why was I never consulted about this? What if I don't want to play?" Simon said bitterly.

"Tough," was all I said.

Clue was, in my opinion, a pretty cool game. It actually required you to think. Zoey and Chloe of course skipped out on us. They went to walk around the campus. Probably hook up with some guys. The usual. Seth didn't play either. He generally didn't socialize with any of us. He just kept to his section, and that's about it. His personality was hard to decipher, and I had yet to crack it. Ms. Morrison sauntered off to the girl's dorm. She was pretty much a whack-job and we didn't really want her playing anyway. We had made up a joke that she had used her flute to kill people with and that she died her hair with their blood. Ironically enough, it was hard not to believe. Felix and Marcus also ditched us, complaining that they didn't know the music as well as they thought they needed to.

So, it was Mr. Roberts, Monica, Keaton, Hugo, Simon, and I who were to play Clue. It worked out perfectly because there was only room for six players.

"Who's who?" Monica asked.

"Dude, I want Colonel Mustard," Mr. Roberts said enthusiastically. He was what we considered the "cool" director. The one that got down on our level and acted like a teenager. He was in his mid twenties, so I guess he still had that kid-streak in him.

"I want Miss Scarlet, because I'm sex-ay!" Keaton put an emphasis on all of his S's and mockingly put his hand to his head as if he were one of those ditsy models that had no brains, just boobs.

"Mr. Green," Hugo called.

"Mrs. White," I wanted to make sure that I got a girl piece before they were all taken up. Yes, I am that childish.

"Simon?"

"I don't care. Just toss me one." He was tossed Professor Plumb, which left Monica with Mrs. Peacock.

"Let the games begin," Mr. Roberts challenged.

"Alright, everyone's here?" It was around two in the morning when the game concluded, the crime having been committed by Mrs. White in the conservatory with the rope. Hooray. I was now a killer. Mr. Roberts had been left in charge of making sure everyone had gotten back to the cabin and were safely in bed, because Ms. Morrison was currently passed across her bed.

When we all nodded sleepily he asked, "Even Zoey?" Of course he knew that she would try to stay out all night with guys.

"I saw her drag in about an hour ago," Monica said.

"Alright guys. Lights out."

Simon and I were left there standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. The only thing that we had been told about our sleeping situation was from Ms. Morrison, and we were hoping that Mr. Roberts might have a better solution.

"Uh, Mr. Roberts? What about Simon and I?"

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he thought about my question. "Just get your sleeping bags and sleep in here like Ms. Morrison had said."

"Wonderful," Simon sighed.

For some odd reason, however, it didn't feel weird at all, the thought that I had to sleep right beside him. Of course I was not too keen on the idea, but I knew that it wouldn't kill me to do it. It wouldn't even be awkward. It was probably due to the fact that we both hated each other, therefore there would be no need for kindness or politeness. There would be no hesitation on my part to elbow him in the gut if he got too close.

So as I begrudgingly rolled my sleeping bag out beside Simon's, I could only concentrate on the tiredness that was dragging down my eyelids. We laid down next to each other, having to unzip our sleeping bags about halfway down to allow our strap through the bags.

My back was practically against Simon's, but I didn't really notice it all too much because I was so tired. I snuggled my face into my soft, fluffy satin pillow and started to allow sleep to pull me under.

"Daisy?" Simon's voice sliced through the darkness and sent my eyelids back up with a jolt.

"Hmmm?" I moaned in response.

"I… I'm really sorry about this afternoon. I know I didn't mean to elbow you, but you thought that I would've and…. Well, I'm just sorry for giving you that impression. I know I ran over you at practice and…. All I'm-a-all I'm trying to say is…. I guess I'm just trying to say that I'm sorry. For everything."

Was this Simon who was talking to me? Simon Forrester whom I loathe entirely? The ache to see his face over whelmed me, so I tried to turn to see him as best as I could. All I could see, however, was just the silhouette of his back, all the way up to his head with his shaggy hair, from the moonlight that shone in from the front windows.

"S'okay…." I was too stunned to form any other response, and being so exhausted did not help my eloquence either.

"Good night, D."

"G'night."