Band Cramp

The cacophony of metal being slammed by kitchen utensils jolted Gareth out of his slumber. It had been a rough night; between the snoring staff members, who had given the over 18's party room a miss, as well as the younger members, who refused to stay quiet, Gareth had struggled to stay asleep. And now he was being woken up by an old man with a frying pan.

'Ge' up, yer lazy dogs, I want me brekkie!' he shouted in the grumpiest, driest voice Gareth had ever heard.

With eyelids flickering open and with the bottom of his eyes sore from a lack of sleep, Gareth groggily sat up. Warren had tastefully placed Gareth's single airbed between Chase's inflatable fortress and the room's only sleeping bag, which smelt like it had been salvaged from a food bin. Without a doubt, the occupants of both beds were the noisiest snorers in the world.

On the plus, the gym wasn't just populated with members below the age of 18 and a handful of staff members, but also with several over 18s who simply didn't like the atmosphere of Ealga's smaller classroom. Among these people were a couple of attractive girls, Gareth's thought. He kept his eyes on them as they entered the female shower room, on the other side of the gym..

'Stare at my daughter again, and I'll break you,' Chase whispered, staring fiercely at Gareth from the end of his bed.

'I was just looking...' Gareth mumbled.

'Well don't. Tracey has enough issues to deal with, without the likes of a criminal eyeing up her luxurious laburnum hair and batting eyelids. Now get showered, get breakfast, then meet us in the playground at 8.00am for stretch-outs,' Chase commanded, checking his watch.

With a look towards the gym doors and a quick scramble for his lighter, Chase nodded to himself and stepped out, presumably to light up a cigarette.

It then dawned on Gareth that the showers were communal to one gender. It then dawned on Gareth that he would have to shower with anyone else in there. It then dawned on Gareth that he'd have to shower, naked.

Swiftly rooting through his suitcase, being careful only when placing his medallion to one side, Gareth grabbed one of his mum's mauve towels. He wrapped it around his waist and stripped down in a way that would make an escape artist proud. Once he was naked in all but his towel and water-proof ankle tag, Gareth took a deep breath and made a beeline for the shower room.

'Hey sailor, I'll show you mine if you show me yours,' greeted a camp and somewhat high pitched male voice as Gareth entered.

'Errrrr...' was about all Gareth could manage in response, feeling immensely uncomfortable.

'Stop scaring the new bloke, Brett,' came a deep and familiar voice, putting Gareth at ease, 'or he'll steal your virginity, too.'

That last bit didn't quite put Gareth in as much ease as the first bit.

'Oh, all right. But he's a bit of a hunk, so just try and stop me!'

'I'm sixteen,' replied Gareth, awkwardly.

'You what?' the camp voice replied, higher than any male voice had elevated before, 'Oh well, there goes my toy boy fun.'

The camp voice had come from a male with a particularly neat and trimmed goatee on his chin, with a smile as wide as his cheeks could muster. He looked friendly, with eyes that glistened in the falling waterfall around him, and his hair dyed blonde, showing patches of his once chestnut hair. He was built up for a pudgy guy, and was particularly hairy on his stomach and chest. Gareth dreaded the thought of what anything else would look like.

'Don't worry about Big Gay Brett, Gazza,' came the deep voice, once more, 'you just worry about me and what I'll do to you if you ever get in my way.'

Gareth recognised the figure. He had dark, shoulder-length blonde hair, with piercingly cold eyes. He was thin, but muscular, causing Gareth to think that possible steroid abuse was involved, somewhere. This guy was Nathan McCormack's older brother, which Gareth knew was a drummer for the band. They didn't get along, not in any way shape or form. Robert McCormack believed Gareth was the one leading Nathan down a path of disruption and crime, and never let Gareth forget it on their chance meetings. Whilst Robert didn't smother his younger brother and nose into his life so much, he did watch out for Nathan and was weary of Gareth. He made sure everyone called him Bob, for fear that the name Robert would make him sound too posh and soft, apparently.

'Bob McCormack, nice to see you're still surviving after the ditch,' Gareth plainly greeted.

'If you were at the edge and I was on the higher ground, you know it would've been you in there,' Bob returned with a certain amount of reticence.

It was quite often they'd end up fighting, when they did meet. Their last encounter had led to a hollow victory for Gareth, as Nathan refused to speak to him for several weeks afterwards. Whilst Nathan wasn't the most ambitious and daring of folks, Gareth respected and enjoyed his company, particularly in the face of Darren, who could often be exhausting to deal with. You couldn't have a decent conversation with Darren. It was all about "doing" with him. But with Nathan, you could talk about all kinds of things and just whittle the day away.

'Should've packed some swimming trunks,' came a thick, Manchester accent.

Gareth looked over to the third and final occupant of the room. He made sure to keep his eyes above waist level, but he needn't have worried, compared to both Brett and Bob, as the final occupant wore bright red swimming shorts.

'Nah, I'm sure he wants to flaunt it, Dave,' Brett chuckled.

'Not everyone's as big and gay as you, Brett,' Dave replied, his accent thick, his "you" sounding like "yooah".

As Brett gave a wide smile and left the shower room, Gareth wondered how on Earth someone could even acquire such a nickname. To be called "big" and "gay" seemed really offensive, but sounded like something Darren would shout at people passing in the street. Brett seemed absolutely fine with it, however, and probably even encouraged it.

Gareth removed his towel, sheepishly, and quickly set about washing himself beneath the shower head. He was incredibly conscious of the other two guys in with him, but closing his eyes seemed to help make them vanish to another world for a brief while.

By the time Gareth opened his eyes, both Bob and Dave had left, leaving him in there alone... and, as he noticed, without his towel.

Surveying the doorway of the shower room, Gareth saw that everyone had left the gym. He had to hurry. No one could see him wet and naked, not on his first day to impress everyone. Unless it was Tracey, of course. She could see him naked and that'd certainly impress her, Gareth thought.

With hedonistic thoughts creeping into Gareth's mind, his wet feet suddenly slipped whilst avoiding a bloated airbed. With a crash, Gareth spiralled to the polished gym floor, his towel thrown elsewhere. Luckily, this was just in time for Tracey to come out of the shower with one of her friends.

Laughter erupted as Gareth lay in a heap of shame, his manhood sprawled out in front of him. He stared at the ceiling for several seconds, reeling in pain, before finally pushing himself off the ground to get away from the laughing girls.

'I hope the breakfast sausages are bigger,' Tracey snickered. A further rupture of giggles echoed through the gym as Gareth quickly changed into a fresh batch of clothes, to hide his shame.

********************

The kitchen was, as Gareth was reminded from the previous evening, literally just a food tech area. He was greeted to a lengthy queue as he opened the cyan door, in addition to the buzz of everyone talking. This wouldn't have mattered so much if the room had been much larger, but as it was, the food tech area was no bigger than a normal classroom... with a 30 or so occupants either lining up or eating their breakfast.

Letting out a sigh and joining the back of the queue, Gareth surveyed his new "classmates". Stefan was already sat down, eating what looked like a plate of pasta with a smaller girl, her hair dyed bright red. Bob McCormack was sitting with Ealga, both of them laughing loudly and obnoxiously at each other's jokes. Ealga gave Gareth a fleeting look as she laughed, suddenly making him feel that he was the butt of their joke.

Calming himself by rubbing the medallion in his pocket, Gareth thought about how this had to be better than prison, no matter what happened. He'd decided that his medallion was best kept on him, as it usually was, in order to see him through the undoubtedly difficult weekend. With one final trace of the medallion with his fingers, Gareth lifted his hands out from his pockets, ready to grab a plate.

At least breakfast wouldn't be so bad. Gareth's stomach let out a gurgle as it hungered for the sausage that Tracey talked about, or the pasta seen on Stefan's plate. What greeted Gareth, however, was not at all what he was expecting.

'What's this?' Gareth's eyes narrowed.

'Take a wild guess,' a Yorkshire accent responded.

Gareth looked at the large glass bowl of pasta, drenched in what looked like oil and smelling like rotten fish. He wanted to say the obvious answer, to let his anger and disappointment known, but decided he'd try and break the tension, instead.

'Pigs in blankets.'

The brown eyes of the unimpressed stare made Gareth wish he hadn't said anything. The middle-aged woman brushed the curly, charcoal hair from her brow and grabbed a plate. With a squelch from her large, plastic serving spoon, a small pile of oily pasta was dropped onto what would be Gareth's plate.

'Vinaigrette pasta. Enjoy,' came her response.

As Gareth was left to take in the dubious mixture of Spirali pasta, drenched in the most toxic smelling vinegar, the woman removed her apron with and dug into the bowl for a helping, herself.

'Oh, Madeline Purcell, by the way. If you wanna keep eating, then don't bite the hand that feeds ya,' came her final response, before walking away to take the last available seat.

Gareth simply stood there, extremely irritated. Where was the sausage the others talked about? He glanced at the counter, to find an empty tray next to the glass bowl of pasta. No doubt the sausages were on there. Egg, too, by the looks of it. Gareth had missed a cooked breakfast for a pasta substitute. He took a deep breath, surveyed the food tech room, and found a nice, hard wall to lean against.

With a grumpy push of his fork in his right hand and the plate held in his left, Gareth rammed a piece of Vinaigrette pasta into his mouth. He immediately regretted it. A salty sensation swept his taste buds into submission, a watery oil substance sliding down his throat. His eyes tightly pursed themselves and his nose wrinkled.

'Water...' Gareth gagged to himself, putting his plate down on the counter.

Surprisingly, his request was granted, as he turned around to find a woman with hooped ear rings and strawberry blonde frizzy hair down, holding a purple plastic cup of water. She gave an unimpressed smile with her thin mouth, her green eyes settling on Gareth as she gestured to the water.

Gareth took the water and immediately gulped down its contents.

'Aren't you forgettin' somethin'?' her somewhat dry, Irish voice asked.

'Hm?' Gareth responded, lowering his empty cup.

'Like a thank you or... maybe that's eluded you, too?'

Gareth wiped his mouth and placed the cup next to his plate, on the counter.

'Sorry. Cheers for the water. I owe you.'

'Good, then you can tell me why you stole tha' trumpet from us.'

Of all the responses, Gareth simply wasn't expecting such a direct question on something that had happened ages ago. He was lost for words for a moment, before responding.

'I have my reasons,' he causally replied.

The woman pressed Gareth's shoulder against the wall, as if to try and pin him there. She was in her mid 30's, but felt as strong as someone a decade younger. Gareth sharply looked around, to see if they were being watched. It seemed strange that everyone was turning a blind eye to him and this woman, despite being in direct view if any one of them looked up. Chase, Stefan... they all kept their heads down and continued to shovel down their disgusting vinaigrette pasta.

'They won't help you. We're a team, 'ere. They all know what's bes' for the team. See that pasta you've pushed aside? It's delicious. It's the bes' meal you've ever 'ad. Keep tellin' yourself tha' and you won't go 'ungry.'

'What the he-'

'Listen, kid, none of us like tha' pasta, but we put up with it. It's importan' to eat before the long day ahead, otherwise you'll jus' collapse out there on the field. Ea' your pasta. I got you the water because I know wha' it's like. So the leas' you can do is explain to me why you stole that trumpet in the firs' place. Tell me. Do it for the team.'

The woman's voice was low in tone, which Gareth suspected wasn't her natural pitch. She looked far too much like a hippy, to him, with golden bangles dangling from the wrist holding Gareth against the wall, and her clothes practically sliding down her body from how baggy they were. Even her top had one strap, only.

'What's it to you?' Gareth's eyes narrowed.

'Everythin'. We're a team, 'ere. Nothing's secret. You either learn tha' we're all in this together, or you fail on your own.'

Gareth hesitated. He knew the truth wasn't exactly going to be a welcome one, but he would remain in this situation until he actually said something, so it might as well be the truth.

'For fun. I did it for fun. My mates and I, you know, we decided it'd be a laugh, like. We were a team, so we stuck together.'

Gareth felt the woman's grip on his shoulder tighten as her brow creased.

'You did it... for fun?' she replied with a controlled rage.

'Look, if it helps any, I tried learning to play it. I just... wanted my mum to be proud of me for something. I tried learning on my own, but... as you said, it was a bit of a failure...' Gareth mumbled.

The woman leaned closer, keeping her voice down as a whisper. Gareth could hear the trembling in her voice. He prayed she would try and hit him, for at least it would give him a reason to retaliate and let out his own pent up rage.

'So, you sabotaged our hut for attention? You're after the wrong sor'. See you on the field and try not to brin' attention to yourself there, either. Friendly words of advice from yours truly, Melanie Frasier.'

The woman, known as Melanie, let go of Gareth's shoulder at last. With a yawn, she strode off and out of the food tech door, evidently ready to start the day.

Gareth cursed under his breath and grabbed the plate of pasta. There was no way he was going to eat the remainder of it, even if he was thankful he'd only received a small amount. Not thinking twice, he walked to the bin and brushed the rest of the foul smelling substance into its jaws. As he finished, he spotted Ealga slowly chewing her pasta, simply staring at him. Gareth gave an unsure look back and dropped the plate off in the sink, for Madeline to clear, as she was already washing others' plates.

'Gareth Firkins, is it?' said a deep female voice.

Gareth jumped and immediately turned to find a large, hulking woman smiling at him. It wasn't the smile of friendship, however, but the smile of someone who was about to dish out a punishment. He could feel the aura of evil from her as she rubbed her chubby hands together, her wild grey hair moving violently with the hands' movements. With a glance at this woman's fleece jacket, Gareth could see the title "Adonis Band Leader" embroidered on its front.

'Y-yeah,' Gareth responded, realising he hadn't said anything for an awkward few seconds.

'My name's Mandy Tomkin, the co-head of Adonis Drum and Bugle Corps... and your worst nightmare.'

'W-what?' Gareth replied, unsure if he had heard that last bit correctly, or any of it at all, in fact. Did Adonis really have a joint head? It seemed hardly likely, given Chase's strong personality.

'I let Chase do all the talking and he's told me all about you. I can't wait to see what you can do, on the field. I do all the behind-the-scenes work and stay in the shadows. Don't let me down, Gareth, otherwise you'll have more than laps around a field and prison to look out for,' Mandy cackled.

With a grab of Gareth's hand and a forced hand-shake, Mandy rested against the very wall Gareth was leant against a moment ago, rubbing her hands together and watching Gareth in the same way Ealga still was, as if plotting some terrible scheme to see Gareth in pain.

'Right, now you've all had something to eat, meet me in the playground in ten minutes for stretch-outs. Don't be late!' Ealga called to everyone, but her eyes remaining on Gareth.

Gareth walked out with several of the members, so he can be led to the playground in which Ealga spoke of. As he walked, he couldn't help but feel that everyone was against him, just waiting for their chance to strike when was at his most vulnerable. Gareth took a deep breath. He'd just have to make sure he wouldn't reach a state of vulnerability, that's it. He'll take whatever's thrown at him.

As he climbed the steps and away from the food tech floor, which was somehow below ground level, Gareth heard the frustrated voice of a girl about his age. Looking ahead, he saw a girl with short, brown hair and pale skin, wearing an annoyed expression. She looked like she was trying to open the double doors to the outside. Running ahead of those walking slowly, Gareth went to push the door open and realised why she was struggling - the door was immensely weighty and this girl couldn't put her body weight behind her to open it. After all, she was in a wheel-chair.

'Thanks, but I'm capable,' she smiled, but Gareth felt it was a forced smile as opposed to a genuine one - the cold expression in her voice alerted him to that.

'Sorry, I thought you needed help,' Gareth apologised as she went through the doorway.

'What, and you didn't think the others would have ran to help me first? We're a team, but they know I would've wanted to do it on my own. I'm not some weak paraplegic,' she explained, her voice agitated, but slowly softening.

'I'm Gareth.'

'I know who you are. I see you mean well, too. Sorry I snapped,' the girl responded.

'Elisa!' Chase shouted after the girl. 'We're about to warm up, so you can sit this one out.'

'Don't I always?' Elisa groaned and pushed herself to below a shaded arch.

Gareth looked up at the sky. It wasn't sunny, so she hadn't gone under to protect herself from the sun, but it was certainly cloudy from the downpour of the previous evening. If the clouds continued to darken throughout the already chilly morning, further rain would threaten their clothes. No doubt Elisa was seeking shelter from possible drizzle.

'As for the rest of you elegant hat stands, aka "The Pit", I want you to join in with this morning's stretch-outs,' Chase continue, looking behind him.

'I ain't doin' no stretches,' responded the gruff voice of a particularly aged looking man.

Gareth recognised him from that very morning, banging on kitchen utensils and waking everyone up, in the school gym. He was an elderly man with a crop of white hair atop his head and sporting a particularly bony face. His mouth seemed to naturally frown between his prominent cheek bones, as did his eyes. His nose was crooked and sagged, almost as if it was about to drip off of his face.

'Dad, you're a member of this marching band-'

'Drum corps! We're a drum corps, Chase, damn it. Everything's been a load rubbish since you took over and you know it. Making old men do stretch outs when he doesn't even march on the field? You're insane, Chase,' the older man retorted, interrupting Chase and sending his son into silence.

Gareth was rather enjoying Chase's reaction of being put in his place. Everyone else, however, uneasily shifted around the pair, uncertain if to say anything before they did their warm ups.

'R-right. Just you watch, Dad, we won't let a bunch of uneducated slackers like the Telford Scouts beat us at finals again,' Chase growled, more to himself than anyone else.

'You can sit out of this one, Old Man Sam,' Ealga commanded, avoiding Chase's furious stare in response, 'after all, you're 77 years old and I'm the one taking warm ups, eh, boss?'

Chase stared at Ealga for a few seconds more, his gaze absolutely terrifying to Gareth, as if he was ready to murder the large woman. Thinking better of it, he eventually gave a slight nod, averting his gaze.

'Thank you, Ealga. Now I ain't gone have to ruffle my suit,' Old Man Sam smiled, before turning away to pull something out from his pocket.

Gareth peered closer, to find Old Man Sam had pulled out a flask of what was most likely something alcoholic. Something certainly wasn't all there, with this man.

'Cindy, Bruno, Lofty, are you ready?' Ealga smiled a malicious smile, 'You pit members aren't getting away from this, especially Lofty. He could use some exercise.'

'If I must,' the stout figure responded, before giving a giggle not too dissimilar to a whinnying horse.

The figure was a bizarre sight. Atop his head was a mess of dark brown hair, crushed down as he put a "I Love DCUK" cap on. His glasses looked loose and ready to fall off his nose at any minute, its frame matching the beige, waterproof coat which engulfed his body. He looked rather like Humpty Dumpty had been wrapped in a bed sheet, his hospital treatment from falling off a wall having not gone so well. Evidently, he couldn't be put back together again, at least not correctly. Where his chin ended and his neck began was anyone's guess, but it was plain to even Gareth that this figure must be the one known as "Lofty".

'It must be a good weekend if Lofty didn't complain at that!' came a joking gasp from one of the other members of the corps.

'Give it time - the weekend's young, Yammers,' Melanie responded in her Irish tones.

'All right, everyone in a circle around me!' Ealga called out.

Gareth complied, watching as Ealga pulled out a pair of shades to rest them on her nose, despite the sun not evening piercing through the dark. Would they be just warming up their lips? Why didn't they have their instruments ready? It was a confusing situation, but he made sure he was in the edge of the circle with everyone else, who had decidedly left large gaps at either side of him.

'Put out your arms, Make sure you can't touch the person next to you... eh, Gareth?' Ealga shouted out.

Alerted, causing that slight angry bug to rise within him, once more, Gareth looked up at Ealga.

'It's Gazza, actually. My friends call me Gazza.'

'Good thing we're not your friends, then, Gareth,' Ealga coolly responded, 'now raise your arms to make sure you're not touching the corps director's daughter.'

Gareth turned to his left to see Tracey grimace at the thought of being next to Gareth, causing a great sigh from the teenager. He looked to his right to find none other than Chase giving him the same murderous look that he'd gifted Ealga not too long ago. Without further thought, Gareth grumpily raised his arms up at either side to ensure that he wasn't near Tracey or Chase. He needn't have worried, of course, as both had given him ample room to flail and flounder.

'Now circle your arms forwards and keep doing it,' Ealga commanded to everyone.

Gareth did so, his right shoulder clicking with every circle made. Glancing at the rest of the circle's occupants, it looked as if everyone was some form of swimmer who'd found themselves lost on land, in a school playground.

'And back the other way,' Ealga sighed, apparently bored of taking the session already.

Gareth followed the imperatives, despite his immense strain. Just when Gareth's arms began to feel like two rotating potato bags, Ealga's arms eventually slowed to smaller circles until they finally stopped, pointing out at either side of her. Gareth followed suit, only to find his arms droop from the incredibly strenuous pressure. Gareth peered to his right in order to see what manner of bird had weighted his forearm, but there was nothing there but Chase's fierce gaze, staring straight back. Focusing his attention forward, his arms shaking and now oblique from their once lateral state, Gareth looked right ahead into the mocking smile of Ealga. It was excruciating to hold up his arms up after the strenuous circling, and Gareth could do little but clamp his eyes shut, to take the strain.

'Relax,' Ealga finally laughed.

There was a collective sigh of relief as their arms all fell limp to their sides.

A series of other exercises followed. First, their arms were pulled across their chest and then up behind their heads to stretch their arm muscles further. A series of short press ups followed, in which Gareth realised he was weaker than he thought. Several balancing stretches were then performed, with each of them pulling their foot behind them to stand on one leg. Finally, their feet were stretched by pushing the toes up and against another's foot. Gareth was thankful he had Stefan's foot to stretch against, for he feared that Ealga, Melanie or Chase were eager to crush his toes from their sheer hatred of him.

'Now we're gonna do some pelvic and stomach stretches. I left these for last today because I thought we'd limber up the rest of our bodies, first,' Ealga smiled, making a bizarre winking motion at Lofty, who was now struggling to stand up-right.

'No, you can't do that, Ealga,' Lofty chimed in.

'Oh, here we go,' the one known as Yammers sighed, shaking his head at the ground.

'You've gotta work your way from your head to your toes. We should've done the pelvic exercises ages ago!' Lofty exclaimed.

'It doesn't matter, mate, you don't have a pelvis to exercise, anyway,' Ealga smiled.

'If I get down on the ground, now, I'll never be able to get back up.'

'Don't worry, you're like a weeble. I'm sure you'll bounce back up.'

'Lofty, mate, there are better things to argue about. What difference does it make if you can't do the next bunch of exercises, anyway? Just sit this one out,' the one known as Yammers said, reassuring Lofty.

Gareth followed Yammers' voice, this time, to find that it led to a burly man who must've been in his late 30s. He wore an immensely baggy, black t-shirt and camo shorts. A somewhat smaller version of him stood next to Yammers, who Gareth concluded must have been his son.

'All right, you don't have to yammer on, Ray,' Lofty responded, backing down.

'People call him by his surname for a reason, Lofty,' Ealga chipped in.

'Yeah, but people don't call me by any of my names, do they?' Lofty started up again.

'No, we just call you "Lofty" because...' Ealga trailed off in thought. 'Why the hell do we call you Lofty, anyway?' There was silence as no one seemed entirely sure, as if it had been passed down throughout the bands and generations for such a long time than no one know of its origin, anymore.

'Are we ready to thrust forward or what?' came an over-eager voice and wink from an immensely tall woman, approximately the same age as Ealga.

'Calm yourself, Siobhan, there are kids here,' Ealga winked back, 'so now put your hands on your hips and thrust in time. Forward, right, back, left, repeat.'

Gareth did so, feeling like the most stupid person on the planet. Forward, right, back... Gareth caught sight of a pigeon as he wiggled his hips, wishing he could take off at that very moment, and away from these hip-thrusting maniacs. He thrust his crotch to the opposite end of the circle and into view of Big Gay Brett. He then thrust his hip to his right, feeling particularly camp. Was this really a legitimate exercise? What was he warming up for with this, wiggling his hips whilst playing the trumpet?! It seemed ludicrous and Gareth felt very aware of how ridiculous he looked, let alone how everyone else felt.

'And back the other way,' Ealga called out, making sure everyone's hips were in time.

It was a short mercy, then, that watching Lofty was the most hilarious thing Gareth had ever seen. Gareth could see that Lofty couldn't do the exercise, nor wanted to, but was doing them anyway. It really was like watching a weeble trying to thrust its apparent hips.

'All right, now that you've all got your mojo, drop and rest your bellies on the floor.'

It was a weird request, but Gareth mimicked Ealga, all the same. As his chin rested gently on the stony playground, he could see Lofty decisively sitting this one out with Old Man Sam and Elisa. Whatever was about to happen, it couldn't be easy.

'Everyone in time with me - raise your arms off the ground and with your legs in the air. Only your belly should remain on the ground. Three, two, one, go.'

With his arms lifting and his legs following suit, Gareth felt his stomach rumble loudly from the lack of food from breakfast. No thanks to his raised arms and legs, a deep pain pulsated through his stomach, causing him to drop his limbs immediately. He tried again. The same result.

Ealga watched through her shades, stony faced, watching and waiting as Gareth attempted to continue with the exercise. She said nothing.

Standing to his feet and waving his hands in front of him, Gareth gave up.

'And down,' Ealga called.

'I can't do it,' Gareth gasped.

'I know,' Ealga responded, 'because you didn't eat before stretch-outs.'

'That has nothing to do with it. I just can't do it!' Gareth pleaded.

'Eating is important, Gazza,' Ealga replied, elongating his nickname as if it was an insult, 'as we release the energy during our stretch outs and it prepares us for the long day on the field. Because you decided you were better than the pasta, you're now gonna suffer, so suck it up and carry on.'

'S'all right,' Yammers butted in, 'he'll be the one on the ground, sweating and panting when we're on the field... and he can finally say to others "that's what happened at band camp".'

'Shame he's got no balls to produce anything for anyone,' Ealga snickered.

'All right, all right!' Chase shouted, fiercely, 'There are kids here, remember that. We're done here. Section leaders, take your sections and do some base technique before drill basics. Everyone's to meet up on the field in an hour, so do what you have to do. Pit, you're with me.'

Chase strode off to Lofty, Elisa and Old Man Sam, beckoning to two darker skinned occupants of the circle to join him. Gareth guessed Chase was also the "pit" leader, whatever the pit was.

Ealga called the percussion over to her and they soon headed off towards the small astro turf location, nearby.

'All right, brass, we're staying here. There's no reason to move,' called out the unidentifiable accent of Stefan, rallying up the rest of the brass line from the circle.

Gareth watched as a rather Latino looking lady threw an invisible rope on her colour guard members and reeled them towards her to practise on the field.

'Stay with me, Gareth, you don't want to be a flag waver,' Stefan clicked his fingers at Gareth.
'Oh, I know I'd like to be, though!' Big Gay Brett smiled.

'Stay with me too, Big Gay Brett,' Stefan warned, 'you're too good a mellophone player to lose. Now, your horns are already lined up against the building to our left, so grab them and come back quickly. We're going to do some breathing exercises.'

Once Gareth had returned with his trumpet, slightly polished up from last night's rehearsal, Stefan signalled to put their horns down on the ground.

'Line up in arc order around me. Gareth, you stay back and tell me where you think you should go,' Stefan commanded.

Gareth watched as the six remaining brass members formed a semi-circle around Stefan, spread out and with their horns held in front of them, their bells pointing vertically down and hands cupped where their crotches should be. As they did so, Gareth walked to where Stefan was, to see where he was supposed to stand.

Starting from his left, Gareth noted the small girl with bright red hair from the food tech room, holding a trumpet. To the right of her was the hippy lady, Melanie, who had held Gareth against the wall. Next to her was the bubbly Big Gay Brett, sporting the same slightly larger instrument as Melanie. To his right was the deeply dark skinned Dave, who Gareth had seen in the shower room, his head shaved of all hair and his hands full of an even larger instrument. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him was a woman with blonde, tied back hair and a deep blue cap atop her head. She sported the same instrument as Dave. To her right was a tiny male, looking particularly young, with his hair shaved close to his head and a squint in his eyes. He held the largest instrument of all. In fact, the instrument looked almost larger than his entire body.

'Next to the small guy at the end,' Gareth eventually replied, 'so I make it look symmetrical.'

'Small guy?' the little one yapped, his voice broken and his tone shocked.

'He didn't know any better, Aaron,' Dave reassured, placing his hand on the small kid's shoulder.

'Say that again and I'll do you in,' Aaron spat, his nose crinkling at Gareth.

Gareth snarled and was about to walk up to Aaron, when Stefan pushed him back. He didn't say anything, but simply stared deeply into Gareth's eyes and shook his head in warning. The anger subsided within Gareth's stomach and was replaced by the familiar hungry warble.

'Don't say anything, either, Kara. I know what you're like,' Dave commented, noting the blonde-haired woman about to open her mouth and seemingly rattle the world away.

'Guess again,' Stefan ignored them, focusing on Gareth.

Gareth didn't need to ask, this time. He simply walked to the open space to his left, next to the girl with dyed red hair.

'Almost. It's on the other side of Sadie,' Stefan smiled, raising his eyebrows.

Gareth slowly turned to look at the smaller girl, who in turn smiled back as the sun gleamed off of her glasses, reflecting into Gareth's eyes and making Sadie seem somehow demonic. As he blinked away the sun spots trapped within his vision, Gareth found himself on the other side of Sadie, saddled next to her and Melanie. It was as if a magic trick had occurred.

'All right, good. Put your horns down. We're gonna do two laps, return and then breathe into our horns,' Stefan smiled, his strangely white but crooked teeth glinting in the now exposed sun. He then pulled out a pair of drum sticks. 'All right, let's run in time. One. Two. One, two, three and move!'

Stefan smacked the two sticks together, sheering a snapping sound into the air. Confused, Gareth looked at Sadie, who was jogging in time with the now repeating snapping sound. Without further argument and with a shove from Melanie, behind him, he jogged in single file with the others.

'Left foot on the beat, idiot,' Aaron shouted from somewhere at the back of the line.

Wondering how Aaron could even tell that Gareth wasn't marching in time, Gareth adjusted his left foot to hit the floor when the drum sticks smacked against one another.

They jogged around the playground for a lap, before Stefan sped the tempo up considerably, creating more of a run than a jog. It soon made him realise how out of shape he was. Sure, he could sprint away from the police at a good pace, but that was all it was - a sprint. Consistent running was not one of Gareth's strong points and he soon found himself panting, falling further behind Sadie as they finished their second lap.

Sadie led them back to their instruments and Gareth blindly followed her, picking up his own trumpet and putting the mouth piece to his lips. Everyone did the same.

'Remember what I said yesterday, Gareth? Horn up,' Stefan panted, pushing up Gareth's trumpet bell to his eye level.

'That's what she said!' Kara chuckled.

'Yeah, yeah. Enough. Focus on your breathing. Everyone with me, now. Breathe in for four counts, then out into your instrument for four counts. Hold all the valves down. In for four, again, then out for four. One. Two. One, two, three, four and breath,' Stefan smiled, hitting his drum sticks together in time.

Gareth sucked all the air he could in, before blowing it back out in the space of two counts, desperate for air. Stefan made a face at Gareth, signalling that he could hear what Gareth was doing. A little embarrassed, Gareth felt forced to take as much air in as he could over the next four counts of breathing in.

Blowing out through the instruments with all that breath proved far more difficult than Gareth imagined. He desperately wanted to breathe in and out as quickly and deeply as possible, but he couldn't. Sweat started to seep through his pores, the morning warm up having caught up with him.

After several puffs in and out through the trumpet, Gareth's arms began to shake and struggle from holding the horn to Stefan's regulation. He glanced around and noticed everyone's horn was up as high as his, if not a bit higher. This felt impossible.

Against Gareth's will, his trumpet began to sag. Before he could attempt to try and bring it back up, however, the sticks stopped and so did the breathing exercise.

'Horns parade rest,' Stefan called.

Everyone snapped their horns down to cup them in front of themselves, once more. Gareth spotted the others and then rolled his eyes, annoyed at having been late from not knowing what to do. He put his horn in front of his crotch, awkwardly.

'Anyway, you know what's coming next,' Stefan commented, putting the drum sticks in his back pocket, sticking up and out in a bizarre way.

'Horrors?' Kara pouted.

'Horrors' Stefan confirmed.

'What's horrors?' Gareth asked, tired of being behind everyone else.

'Horrible,' Big Gay Brett responded, before laughing at his own joke.

'Do as I do,' Stefan requested, lowering his arms in front of him, 'and you'll know how important this exercise is. Everyone ready? Breathe in for four counts and raise your arms, in time, to the sky, then out for four counts and lower them back down. Then do the same for eight counts. Then for twelve counts. Then for sixteen. Then back to twelve, eight, four, then two, then one count a piece. Keep your eyes closed. Let's go.'

Gareth lowered his arms and then watched as Stefan raised his arms up into the sky, either side of him, deeply inhaling through his open mouth. After four silent counts, he lowered his arms gently in time with his exhalation, looking like the most camp ballerina that Gareth had ever seen. He was not going to do that exercise.

He turned to face the others in his arc. They all followed Stefan, although at slightly different times due to having their eyes closed. Gareth had guessed it was to help them concentrate or something, but they did look very odd raising and lowering their arms with fish-mouthed gasps. What he wouldn't give for a camera right now.

Gareth shoved his fist in his mouth to stifle a rogue chuckle, causing Stefan's left eyelid to flick open.

Stefan, still doing the breathing exercises and reaching the sixteen counts, walked over to in front of Gareth. It was like watching a flying fish swoop towards him, causing Gareth to turn away and catch his breath just to avoid laughing out loudly.

Turning back to his front, Gareth sighed and lifted his arms in time with Stefan, taking in a deep breath. Shortly after, as Stefan was about to exhale for sixteen counts, he lowered his arms gently throughout this duration. Gareth was wrong about breathing through a trumpet. This was harder. He had to maintain the strength in his arms to lower gently, whilst slowly releasing his breath for sixteen counts. Who could possibly do that, except maybe an athlete?

Gareth had already reached his limit. There was only so much air he could let loose by count eight. He stuck out his tongue in a desperate attempt to push out more air, but it wasn't happening. At last, he was allowed to breath in for twelve counts, which he could just about manage, providing he closed his eyes and didn't look at the closeness of Stefan's fish-faced breathing.

At last, they had reached quicker breathing patterns and were on two counts breathing in and out. Gareth opened his eyes once more, but immediately wished he hadn't. Stefan was breathing in and out rapidly in time with his rising and falling arms. His eyes were staring straight at Gareth, his face red. The flying fish had turned chaotic, which was made even funnier when they reached a repeated string of one count's worth of breathing in and out.

Gareth, now feeling the pain from forcefully breathing so much air in and out, soon lost control of his arms and let them flop in front of him.

With one last, long exhalation, Stefan and the rest of the brass members pushed every ounce of air out from their lower diaphragm and proceeded to collapse onto the ground.

'Told you... they were horrible...' Big Gay Brett gasped, lying on the floor and scrunching his eyes together.

Gareth fell to his knees. Brett wasn't wrong. It felt like a balloon had burst inside his chest and stomach, stinging from the residual bang. This was, of course, followed by another gurgling stab of hunger. Gareth did not feel good.

'All right, everyone grab your mouth pieces from your instruments, only,' Stefan called out.

Wondering if prison would have been worse, Gareth heard the echo of Stefan's words interrupting his thought pattern. Rubbing his eyes and taking one last deep breath of morning air, Gareth stumbled to his feet.

'Mouth piece?' Gareth asked, feeling somewhat giddy.

'Don't worry about it, Gareth,' Stefan reassured Gareth, 'since I'll be taking you aside for a minute.'

'Want me to knock 'em dead?' Dave's deep voice boomed, sending a shiver down Gareth's spine.

'All right, you take over, Dave. And I want to hear everyone pitching a perfect middle C whilst I'm talking to Gareth,' Stefan commanded.

As Dave walked to the front of the newly formed arc, Stefan moved out of the way and led Gareth to one of the school building walls. Wondering if Stefan had finally taken mercy on his bellowing belly, Gareth gave a weak smile.

'When we all reunite on the field, you're dead,' Stefan stated.

'Is that a threat?' Gareth retorted.

'No, I mean...' Stefan stuttered, took a breath, then started over. 'We have fifteen minutes left and then we're straight into drill basics, led by Chase. Your stomach sounds like a monster ready to rampage and suck away all your energy. Look, I bring my own instant noodles to band camp since I can't stand the vinaigrette. None of us can. Go to the gym, grab the noodles from my bag and make use of them in kitchen.'

'Cheers, Stefan. I mean it,' Gareth sighed in happy relief.

'Madeline won't care if you go in the kitchen and just use the kettle. Get something to eat, for goodness sakes. Let this be a lesson to you for not eating at least something, you crazy... Aaaah, the perfect middle C!' Stefan cooed, turning his attention away from Gareth.

As Stefan was guided back to the arc by their harmonious resonation, Gareth wasted no time. He raced to the gym and immediately dived for Stefan's fuchsia holdall. Locating the instant noodles with gusto, Gareth raced back to the food tech double doors, almost falling through them in exhaustion.

'And what do ye call this?' Madeline chirped, staring at the teenager who had just crashed through her doors.

'Your... kitchen?' Gareth replied through gasps of air.

'You think you're so clever, don't ya?' Madeline grimaced, crossing her arms.

Gareth didn't have time for this and made straight for the kettle. It was already filled with boiling water, perfect for instant noodles and Gareth's rumbling stomach.

Madeline could only watch as Gareth scoffed the noodles in rapid time, his eyes darting at the kitchen clock every few seconds, before he crashed back the way he came.

With two minutes to spare, at least by the kitchen clock, Gareth made it back to the arc just as they were breaking to head to the field. Smiling and too worn out to talk between a battalion of air, Gareth felt rejuvenated in his belly and with a reignited flame to stoke his vigour.

Then, Sadie walked passed him, her pace faster and her gaze fixed upon him. She gave a wry smile as the sun caught in her eyes, once more. With a demonic grin, and perhaps the poshest voice Gareth had ever heard, she said something simple which shook Gareth to his core.

'Marching can be murder.'

And with that, Gareth knew that drill basics were not going to be easy.